SEX(-positivism and the war over feminism)!!!

Now that I have your attention.

Reader, as I’ve made abundantly clear in a previous post, I’m no expert on feminism or female sexuality (curb the “That’s what she said” jokes, please), and I encourage any who are of the fairer and increasingly better educated sex to weigh in on this post, but I’ll soldier on, as this is a topic that I find very interesting and one that has contemporary relevance.
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Playing the Odds

A colleague pointed out to me today that the NY MegaMillions jackpot is now up to $500 million. Of course after taxes, the most anyone could take home is a mere $375,000,002 (or $269,250,000 if the winner takes the lump sum option). And while the Forbes Top 400 no longer has anyone worth less than a billion on there, a half billion dollars is a totally absurd amount of money to make on a mostly unproductive investment.

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Tim Tebow, Lefty

Today’s New York Times has an article about what may be the last remaining new angle on Tim Tebow–his left-handedness.

The headline: Tim Tebow Gives Left-Handers Someone to Cheer.

I’m left-handed. I’m not the only DUFLer who is–Anthony T is definitely a lefty, and I’m not sure about Diana, but she acts like a lefty.

I won’t be cheering Tim Tebow, and the fact that he and I share a hand will not enter in to that decision. My dislike of Tebow stems from his outspoken opposition to abortion rights, his insensitive missionary work, and his general football shittiness. (I also sometimes mock his virginity.)

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There’s No Such Thing as a Pitching Prospect: The Story of Generation K

They were supposed to be stars, to save the Mets from the doldrums of the post-Strawberry-Gooden-years. Three pitching prospects all in Baseball America’s top 35 prospects. Paul Wilson, the first pick in the 1994 major league draft. Bill Pulsipher, in Triple AAA Norfolk by age 21. Jason Isringhausen, the man with the power fastball and killer curve. And they had a good nickname too: Generation K. 
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The Brawl in Hockeytown

In a comment on her last post, Diana said that the stereotype of hockey players as brawling goons still exists.

Unfortunately, this post will do nothing to dispel that notion.

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Dispatch from Yap: Nightfishing and the Rule of Threes (2)

Continued from Part 1.

My mind alternated between stoic acceptance of my (presumably inevitable) fate and disbelief. Sog was a nice enough guy, he wouldn’t avenge my disrespect by engineering my death from beyond the grave, would he? The rule of three had been satisfied, right? Well-loved dogs have to count. How did all of these deaths happen? I concentrated on the road for the rest of the drive to change the subject.

Things grew calm as I drove into Ron’s driveway, Tomil’s red clay dirt blanketing the ground. His younger brother, Sean, greeted me and offered a betel nut. I accepted and we had a chew in Ron’s outdoor living room.

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Taking a Walk for the Walk’s Sake

Me thinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow. ~Henry David Thoreau

Yesterday I sat in Carroll Park, writing and observing the newly blooming trees of spring. Being unemployed allows me this luxury.

About 10 minutes after I sat down, a man sat next to me and pulled out his Android phone. For 20 minutes, I watched him scroll through his smart phone, checking news headlines and weather updates, Facebook feeds and check-ins for Foursquare. I am no mind reader, but it did not seem that this man had any inkling of his surroundings or awareness of anything besides his friend’s Las Vegas weekend pictures.
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