Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

How stupid am I?

This weekend I got drunk in hot tub with three lovely ladies and all I could talk about was the fact that female menstrual synchony is a complete myth.

There's no way to win. Imagine me -- someone who does not menstruate -- taking on these three in a duel on the science of menstruation. What the fuck was I thinking.

And here's me, duking it out like an idiot:

But that doesn't make me any less correct. In fact, women who live together do NOT begin to synchronize their menstrual periods.

In this article put out by the University of Michigan, the scientists found that " ... there is scant empirical evidence that the phenomenon of menstrual synchrony exists."

But most women will protest this fact, saying they've experienced simultaneous periods when they live with other women. Complete bullshit, say the researchers.

"Popular belief in menstrual synchrony stems from a misperception about how far apart menstrual onsets should be for two women whose onsets are independent. Given a cycle length of 28 days (not the rule—but an example), the maximum that two women can be out of phase is 14 days. On average, the onsets will be 7 days apart. Fully half the time they should be even closer. Given that menstruation often lasts 5 days, it is not surprising that friends commonly experience overlapping menses, which is taken as personal confirmation of menstrual synchrony."

Even though I should have shut my damned mouth and enjoyed the drunken jacuzzi, the words "I told you so" never felt so good.

All those people -- leftward or rightward -- conflating this tragedy for their own political gain or points sicken me.

And God DAMN all the sympathy for Cho Seung-Hui. His former poetry professor put it right: he wasn't a troubled child, he was just MEAN. A mean bastard who should've offed himself long ago.

I've been many strains of leftist and one thing infects the whole ideology like a disease: that YOU are not responsible for your OWN actions. It's become cliché to say that -- the right does it to an annoying degree -- but it's now a truism, backed by a long history of examples.

This tragedy can be blamed on one person and one person alone: a waste of human flesh named Cho Seung-Hui. I wish I believed in hell because it would give me solace to know that he's being tortured in some pus-drenched Dantesque nightmare right now.

So to all the Christians out there, put in a few extra prayers for me that Seung-Hui rots in hell for eternity. And painfully. Thank you.

Here are my pictures from the events in Norfolk surrounding the Velux 5 Oceans race.

This is the winning boat, Cheminées Poujoulat:



Sir Robin Knox-Johnston's boat, Saga Insurance:



This is the transom (back) of Knox-Johnston's boat. By the rules, each sailor has an escape hatch, an "oh shit line", and an accessible life raft. These are built into the boat in case the sailor is sleeping in his cabin and awakes to find his floor has become his ceiling and the ceiling the floor. He can abandon ship out the back, knife-in-teeth, and cut his way to safety. My notes in red:



I don't have much experience talking to famous people so I stuttered out my questions and Sir Robin was nice enough to pose for a picture with me:



Knox-Johnston was the only skipper to return to his boat and get drunk with his shore crew. They brought out an entire case of Old Pulteney scotch (one of his sponsors), lit up the Marlboros and got blotto mid-day:



Here's the Spanish (Basque) boat, PAKEA. It's the only yacht to have rudders mounted off the back of the transom:



This is a quick video of Knox-Johnston's yacht. Notice the guy working halfway up the mast:

This strip club for sale in Norfolk is the last reminder that its neighborhood was not always full of multi-million dollar beach homes.

Norfolk holds a warm place in my heart because I spent lots of time there visiting my grandparents back in the early 1980s. After many years, I returned to Norfolk this weekend to join the events surrounding the Velux 5 Oceans solo around the world sailing race and I could barely recognize some of my old haunts. Especially the beach.

My grandfather would take me and my little brother to the Norfolk City Beach to go fishing and take home cool debris like rusty howitzer shells left by the Navy during practice drills.

Most people don't think of a beach being in the ghetto, but this one was rough in the 80s. There used to be a run-down hot dog stand and a shuttered cement factory on the sand amidst surroundings you wouldn't walk through after dusk.

But things have changed now. The cement factory is gone and the area is packed with massive, Carolina-style beach homes -- every fifth one still under construction.

And the above strip club is the only reminder of the neighborhood's old self. I'd never seen a gentleman's club with painted pictures of the women you can expect to see inside. Her sad eyes have looked out over the neighborhood for 25 years -- her face, soon to be torn down to make way for perhaps a TGI Friday's or an ice cream shop.

My top right incisor was extracted with metal pliers 10 months ago in a shitty strip mall on the outskirts of San Antonio, Texas --- on June 24th, 2006, to be exact.

$6,750 of non-insurance dollars later, I am ecstatic for this Monday when my mouth will receive a permanent tooth implant --- indistinguishable from a natural incisor.

As I write, there's a titanium bolt in my upper jaw that my gums have been trying to accomodate like new bedroom furniture for five months. A perfectly-matched piece of toothy porcelin will be screwed onto that bolt in less than one week. And I'm god damn happy.

Up to now, I've been wearing a "flipper" --- a retainer-like piece of plastic that sticks to the roof of my mouth with a goofy plastic tooth hanging off the front.

My piece-of-crap flipper prevented me from tasting food and drinks properly. You wouldn't think a piece of plastic would have such an effect! For 10 months, I got used to stuffing it in my pocket to fully enjoy Chicken a la Camarguaise or when taking the first sip of a homemade Martini.

And my flipper has never fit. It often fell out during conversations, or sometimes, out of boredom I'd flick it up and down with my tongue, not realizing people were watching.

But many women were attracted to my piratey countenance and when I visited less khaki pants-infected places, the hipster gals' eyes were on me. Had to fight 'em off with a stick because of this gap in my mouth.

I was worried I wouldn't be taken seriously by Asian businessmen abroad but they could give a shit. Most men over there are missing half their teeth and even many women are so bucked-toothed they could eat rice through a picket fence. No one cares.

But the worst part was being reluctant to give a full smile. My flipper was so poorly constructed that I became insecure to show a gum-exposed grin, even in Asia. That's the part I'll miss least.

A tooth is probably the smallest body part to live without but it made a big difference. Now I feel camaraderie with the amputees of the world. Maybe.

I started DCDrinks with my friend Derek back in November 2005. Derek had taken a job as a sommelier at the Best Restaurant in DC (Citronelle) and I had proved myself as the Best Home Bartender in DC, so our egos were raring to go. Plus, we honestly like to drink --- writing about it came second.

But as a rule, when one hasn't blogged in over a month, the blog is dead. So we've declared its death with one beautiful line from the least annoying French philosopher, Guy Debord:

"I have written much less than most people who write; but I have drunk much more than most people who drink." - Guy Debord

God DAMN DCDrinks to HELL. May it never come back. We started the blogging-about-drinking trend in '05 (hey, we have no false modesty here) and we can't stop the monster now ...

Also, as an aside to this, I'd like to say that writing about blogging is annoying as fuck and I will never do it again. God damn all those who do it regularly.

I love when people switch 180 degrees from where they used to be.

Ice Cube's new movie, Are We Done Yet?, seems like a fun-lovin' re-heated version of John Candy's The Great Outdoors from the 80s. Last night after watching the Are We Done Yet? trailer, I cued up his 1991 song, No Vaseline, which --- to date --- is the best 'Fuck You' Song ever recorded. He wrote it as an attack on his former band-mates, NWA. In case you had the misfortune of not hearing this song when it came out in 1991, here it is:



Here're the lyrics:

Got damn, I'm glad ya'll set it off.
Used to be hard, now you're just wet and soft.
First you was down with the AK,
and now I see you on a video with Michel'le?
Lookin' like straight bozos.
I saw it comin', that's why I went solo.
And kept on stompin',
when ya'll mothafuckers moved straight outta Compton.
Livin' with the whites, one big house,
and not another nigga in site.
I started off with too much cargo,
dropped four niggas now I'm makin' all the dough.
White man just rulin'.
The Niggas With Attitudes -- who ya foolin'?
Ya'll niggas just phony,
I put that on my mama and my dead homeys.
Yella Boy's on your team, so you're losin';
Ay yo Dre, stick to producin'.
Callin' me Arnold, but you Been-a-dick;
Eazy E saw your ass and went in it quick.
You got jealous when I got my own company,
but I'm a man, and ain't nobody helpin' me.
Tryin' to sound like Amerikkka's Most,
you could yell all day but you don't come close.
Cuz you know I'm the one that flown,
ya done run 100 miles, but you still got one to go.
With the L-E-N-C-H M-O-B, and ya'll disgrace the C-P-T.
Cuz you're gettin' fucked out your green by a white boy,
with no vaseline...

Compare that with Are We Done Yet?:



I love when people change. Only boring people keep the same opinions their whole lives, plus, "foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of weak minds."

Ice Cube knows it. Do you?

What were you doing on January 14th, 2007?

Like me, you probably woke up late, slouched around the house for a few hours before checking the internet and going back to sleep. Later, you had a microwaved bite to eat, and hours later, dinner came with cold white wine and a warm meal. Then back to sleep --- waking up 12 hours later for the ole office job at John Q. Non-profit Corporation in your nation's capital.

On the other hand, on that same day on January 14th, 2007, an old British man named Robin Knox-Johnston --- age 68 --- departed alone on a sailboat from Australia headed for Norfolk, Virginia where he arrived last night at 7:43PM, March 31st --- 75 days at sea --- after a harrowing 14,500 mile leg through the toughest oceans of the world in the Velux 5 Oceans Race. (News Link)

Back in 1969, Sir Robin Knox-Johnston was the first man to sail alone non-stop around of the Earth (wiki link). The Britih papers at the time were preparing an obituary when all of a sudden he coasted into the harbor in England on his jury-rigged excuse for a yacht to break the world record.

This, once again, proves that sailing is --- hands down --- the toughest sport on earth. GOD DAMN basketball, football and all those other men playing with their balls. They're teams of milk-fed pussies in comparison!

Here's an interview of Knox-Johnston last year before he departed on this latest race:



He's my new hero. It's a shame that few people will know who he is...