Scientific Proof that Men Have One Track Minds

From Discovery.com:

"When women are speaking at great length, men tend to tune them out."

You think?!

Apparently there is a scientific "reason" that I hesitate to share because it will only encourage these beloved, baffling creatures to continue swearing up and down that "you did NOT tell me that! I do NOT remember you telling me to do that!" But in the interests of science, The Haggis shall provide:

Female voices, a new study finds, are more complex than male voices, making men's brains work harder when listening to them. The shape and size of the female vocal chords and larynx lead women to speak with a greater range of sound frequencies than men. Women also naturally have more melody in their voices. Listening to female voices activates the auditory center of a man's brain, which must analyze the different sounds at the same time he's interpreting the words. Men process other male voices in a different portion of the brain.

Which I guess confirms that a man can focus on only one aspect at a time: either content or tone. Which explains why he can be turned on by a breathy sultry voice reading the phone book OR completely miss the sarcasm when you say "Of course I'm not mad at you." ;)

Smokers' Rights = A Bust of a Night

Thanks to grandparental babysitting, the Haggis actually went on a bona fide date this evening! Besides that being news in and of itself, what occurred on said date was pure blog fodder, bar none.

We went to Bistro Bis here in DC to eat in the bar area rather than the more expensive dining/restaurant area. A couple of people were smoking but I figured I'd suck it up even though I wasn't psyched about eating my food through a carcinogen cloud. As it happened, about 3 additional people decided to light up in the brief 10 minutes we were there. And, as most smokers do, one woman was sitting at the bar, holding her cigarette behind her so as not to put smoke in the eyes of her compatriots. Gee, sure wish *I* was one of her compatriots, because she had no issues whatsoever with the fact that she was holding her cigarette right behind MY chair and getting the smoke on ME.

Just as I was about to get all up in someone's grill about the smoke situation, we looked over and saw a baby (not more than 9 months old) sitting in her stroller near the bar, obviously the child of one of 4 women drinking AND SMOKING at the bar. All of a sudden I was less mad about someone smoking on me, and more intrigued to know what mother would take her BABY to a smoky bar. Furthermore, it was not clear in the ten minutes we were there which of the women was the baby's mother. Isn't that curious? I can't imagine if you saw me and The Bambina in a restaurant or diner or wherever for ten full minutes that you would not see me look at/acknowledge/interact with her at least once during that time.

It was so bizarre and disturbing that it set me off on a rant that ended (of course) with me cursing the Republicans. ;) How do they justify their support for Big Tobacco, small business (ie, banning smoking will kill commerce) and their condemnation of abortion for "killing children," but they can't connect the issues: a mother in a bar smoking around (and potentially harming) her 9-month old baby--with the bar allowing the baby's presence without protest? Why is THAT considered personal choice and individual freedom? It just seems so selective to me.

In the end, at the conclusion of my rant, we ended up letting the waiter know that we were leaving due to the smoke situation, to which he replied, "Sorry about that, but it's DC; what are you gonna do, huh?" And I thought that it was a such an insightful reply. After all, it's the seat of the government of the largest remaining superpower; it's the nation's capital; it has more intelligent people and brain power working in it than potentially anywhere in the world. OF COURSE being in DC is synonymous with futile, hopeless impotence and inaction.

Fun for the Whole Family

You have to check this out. It is an amusement park where dinosaurs "and the Bible meet."

Dinosaur Adventure Land


My favorite line on this CHILDREN'S museum site is the part where it says, "Check out the Sodom and Gomorrah exhibit now open."

Nothing says "fun summer vacation for the kiddies" like "Sodom and Gomorrah." And why not, huh? This year, Dinosaur Adventure Land. Next year, a Nevada whorehouse.

Email and other Fossils

A recent report by the Pew Internet and American Life Project found that a majority of teens use email only for communication with institutions and "old people," preferring instead to talk to each other with IM (Instant Messaging).

I'm not old, but I do remember my senior year of college when we all got this thing called an "email address," as well as a small amount of information on how to connect to "the information superhighway" thru sites that were not names but numbers, such as 92.11.876.33.

How about that? I'm a relic at 33. I can now tell stories about how, back in the day, we didn't have any of this fancy-shmancey, newfangled nonsense like that crazy IM or those infernal cellphones and certainly not those abominations called blackberries that you pesky ingrate kids have these days.

And I thought I'd have to wait till I was a grandparent to give that rant. Lucky me. Old bird that I am.

It's a Wiggly Party

Over the past 4-ish months I have written about many of the changes that occur when a person becomes a parent. This weekend I realized that one of the biggest changes that comes with parenthood is the requirement that you learn all of the words to songs by beloved children's characters like Blue's Clues, Elmo, Big Bird and The Wiggles.

It is a risky space in which to reside, friends. You must immerse yourself in the music so you can adequately participate in the spectacle with your child; but you must also ensure that you do not become one of those inexplicable creatures who listens to it even when the child is not present or who starts wearing Elmo T-shirts "because they're cute."

In my particular case, The Bambina has suddenly and without warning decided that she LOVES The Wiggles. She squeals with delight when they come on the TV; she claps and smiles when the CD is played in the car. She simply cannot believe her great good fortune when she visits her cousin's house where there resides a Genuine Wiggles Guitar for her personal thrashing.

I had rationalized her enjoyment by telling myself that The Wiggles are wholesome, non-snide, fun and educational entertainment. If you are not familiar with the phenomenon, these four men (who just beat out Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman for richest Australians) who wear colored shirts and black pants (think Star Trek circa 1971), are a kiddie entertainment tour de force. They tour, they sing, they dance, they have kooky sidekicks like Wags The Dog and Captain Feathersword, and they are beloved by thousands and thousands of children worldwide. There ain't no stoppin' the juggernaut that is The Wiggles. Trust me. {Sample some of their work here: {The Wiggles
}

Well, after about 4 hours of listening to both It's A Wiggly Party and Yummy Yummy, two of the group's CD's, it became clear that The Wiggles are either the richest and worst songwriters in the history of the world, or subversive and evil malefactors who are laughing at our obliviousness to the smut they peddle to our sweet babies. Both conclusions were reached on a car trip with the Baby Daddy who was aghast that I was singing along to such drivel (but who needed only 10 minutes to be sucked in to the madness himself).

The former conclusion is supported by the fact that all of their songs follow a basic formula that you--and you--and even you--could use to write your own songs for your kids. The formula is as follows:

--Select a musical genre such as 50's doowop, mariachi, polka or nonspecific kids music (ie, the generous use of kazoos, bells, triangles, xylophones)
--Select an animal a kid would like.
--Put the words, "Do the.." or "Dance the..." or "run/roar/howl like the..." in front of that animal, i.e., "Let's do the tiger! Roar!"
--Select a verb signifying an act that a child might engage in, such as dancing, hopping, running or jumping.
--Use that verb to describe what "doing the tiger" means, i.e., "jump in the air; put your hands out there."
--Select a sentence that says, more or less, "we are all having fun! Won't you dance/sing/jump/hop with us too?!"
--Have one segment that details what Jeff, Murray, Greg and Anthony do/think/say about "doing the tiger."

Voila! You have created your very own Wiggles song! Now just get a colored shirt on, fake an Australian accent, and become friends with a pirate, and you are laughing all the way to the bank!

Unfortunately, the only way I have found to get through the 4.3 hours per day that I must be inundated by All Things Wiggle is to settle on Conclusion #2 and find something dirty in every d*mn thing they sing. I know it's juvenile, but I have rationalized it as a quite reasonable thing to do since they seem to sing an awful lot about rather "harmless" and "innocuous" topics like "doing the monkey," "making fruit salad: first you peel your banana, then you bring out your grapes," "shake your hips with Wags the Dog," and various other "clean" lyrics that would make Tipper Gore circa 1988 develop an ulcer.

I know it's so juvenile, but so far it is the only coping mechanism that has worked and it is the only thing holding me back from succumbing to the tempation and turning on Yummy Yummy even while alone in the car on my way to mail an inappropriate fan letter to Anthony (The Cute Wiggle).

Yes, friends. Parenthood: It is indeed A Wiggly, Wiggly Party.

Socialite Commentary

Rather than offering any interesting blog posts this week, I feel like I am simply acting as the purveyor of ludicrous you-can't-make-this-s**t-up material. First, the Pulitzer Prize winners at The Hill, and now Britain's foremost social commentator is provided here for your delectation and delight. Who knew that Joan Collins, in this age of random terror and global unrest, could so accurately capture precisely what is wrong with society today? How could she so accurately tap into the plight of the average citizen? Move over, Dorothy Parker! Get outta the way, Bertrand Russell! Here comes Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Colby Carrington!

BRITAIN DESTROYING ITSELF FROM WITHIN
BY JOAN COLLINS
UK DAILY MAIL
THUS AUG 04, 2005

A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within, said the American historian Will Durrant about ancient Rome. This self-destruction of values is exactly what is happening in England today.

Yes, I still call the country of my birth England, in spite of the peculiar political correctness that insists that it be called 'the UK' and that we, its denizens, must be 'Britons'.

Even though the Welsh are proud to call themselves Welsh, as are the Irish and certainly the Scots, woe betide the Briton who calls himself 'English' -- a much-frowned-upon no-no.

I believe that when a country loses so much respect for itself that it can no longer even be identified by its historically correct name, insecurity and lack of respect filter down to its inhabitants.

Recently, I have concluded that London is no longer the 'seat of civilised society' that the world once considered it to be, and is certainly not the safe city I grew up in.

A particular incident demonstrated the lack of respect and manners that is but a small example of the horrible, encroaching decay of the country that I love dearly.

My husband Percy and I were at a ball at the Grosvenor House Hotel -- a black-tie event attended by the socalled 'elite' of the city.

As Percy held the door open to let me through, a 6ft tall, middle-aged, horse-faced male pushed past me, trod on the hem of my dress and rushed outside to climb into the taxi that the doorman had waiting for us.

This was a person who should, or at least looked like he should, have known better. The cause of his behaviour? The awful pervasive disregard that we have for civility today.

Bump accidentally into someone in the street these days and you are soundly cursed. Look at a poor derelict collapsed in a doorway for more than a second and they'll spit at you. Surely everyone has experienced the barely suppressed rage lurking behind the faces of a vast number of car drivers.

We've become the 'Whatcha lookin' at?' culture. Why do young people consider it cool to be arrogant, swaggering and rude? Why do so many people in England seem so cynical and self-centred?

I witnessed young, drunken yobs roaming the streets kicking cars, screaming insults, pushing people and even pushchairs out of their way, attacking each other viciously and then turning on the police when they tried to maintain order.

THE WHOLE scene evoked the image of hordes of inebriated Vikings sacking devastated towns. Even during the day, feral mobs roamed the cities with absolute disregard for anyone else's property or well-being. Traditional virtues of male chivalry and female propriety were very far from view.

After all, a lack of manners and politeness in a society can only be a reflection of what the society thinks of itself.

It's frightful how being told that you are no good makes you hate yourself, and hate others. And it's frightful how quickly a whole country of self-loathers can be bred.

The Hill's 50 Most Beautiful People

You have to check this out.

The Hill Top 50


Further evidence that the entire staff of The Hill is still in high school. A) because they think many of these people are hot, B) because they even consented to having this feature be part of their "newspaper," and C) because many of these people, both male and female, remind me of That Guy or That Girl who was considered pretty or hot in high school only because s/he was the best available in your little town and then you went to college and met waaay hotter people and couldn't believe that That Girl and That Guy were the Venus and Adonis of your world, because they are so totally average (or slightly better than average but nowhere near maximum hotness) now that you get to compare them to a wider array of hotties.

It has always been said that DC is show business for ugly people. Now, I'm not saying these people are ugly; I'm just saying that if these are the entire Top Tier from all of Capitol Hill and DC, then we are witnessing Einstein's theory of relativity in action. If you live in DC and work on the Hill, then perhaps these really ARE the 50 most beautiful you've ever worked with. But if you live in DC and work anywhere else in town--even at a Subway or a Starbucks--then your larger perspective--and dare I say--greater capacity for judgement than a Hill worker [average age: 22, primary purpose in working on Hill: ego] might lead you to conclude that while some of these 50 are not heinous-looking and may actually be quite pleasant (although certainly not all...), they are by far NOT the 50 Most Beautiful Anything in DC.

I'm embarrassed that I even read the article and embarrassed I even wrote this rebuttal. But I am just agog that the feature even made it into a paper that has a sliver of hope of being taken seriously. Although, maybe they are playing to their key audience: the Hill staffers who vie desperately to be picked by The Yearbook Committee for one of the Superlative Awards at homecoming. Totally hilarious and totally cringeworthy.

And what of the people who were selected? Did they think they'd escape this without ridicule? "Would you like to be one of The Hill's Most Beautiful People?" should be up there in the annals of Questions That Require An Emphatic No with other doozies like "I have something to tell you, and I have invited you on to Jerry Springer to do so" or "Mom, can I go over to Michael Jackson's ranch for a sleepover?"

Good thing we've ended the war, solved the social security mess, and cured cancer or else this Top 50 article sure would look pretty brainless and embarrassing for that paper, huh?