A Quokka Dreeds its Weird

This is brought to you by yesterday's diagnosis of acute bronchitis. In retrospect, I probably should not have waited one month to go to the doctor. I kept thinking, "It is just lingering irritation from the flu! It will go away any day now!"

Yesterday my boss listened to me tragically cough my way through our weekly meeting for the fourth week in a row, and said, "GO TO A DOCTOR."

I now have two prescriptions, an inhaler, six canceled clients, one blessed co-worker taking over the meeting I was supposed to run today, and a week off work. The inhaler, which I had never used before, is great. I hadn't realized just how much trouble I was having breathing until suddenly I wasn't. (Don't worry. Apparently my oxygen saturation is fine. Also, I don't have pneumonia.) Anyway, I am staying home and resting as much as possible for the next week.

Please recommend or send to me anything in the following line:

1. Things which are comforting. If you're not actually going to send or link them, they should be things I won't need to go out in person and buy. (On the advice of LJ, I already have a humidifier.)

2. Media in which someone is comforted. If you have heard of hurt-comfort, that is what I mean. If not, media which prominently features stuff like someone with pneumonia, a gunshot wound, hypothermia, etc, being cuddled, fed soup, or the equivalent. Any genre! Fiction, fanfic, movies, etc.

3. Media in which someone feels worse than I do. Any recs for good survival stories, with people stumbling around Mt. Everest, Death Valley, adrift on a raft, etc? Fiction or nonfiction.

Ridiculous cover poses below cut.

I'm afraid mine are less accurate than Jim's and Scalzi's, due to time and live animal model constraints. Sherwood and I spent some 15 minutes trying to get a calico cat, then a corgi to stay still enough for me to stand over them melodramatically waving a broom. When we finally got the corgi to lie down for a moment, I had to do the pose from memory for fear she would only stay in "dead dragon" mode for seconds, which indeed proved to be the case.

( Read more )

I got a last-minute invite to see a one-man show of "A Christmas Carol" at the International Printing Museum in Carson. If you don't live in south LA, Carson is a place you would probably otherwise go your entire life without visiting; the only reason I'd ever been there before was that it was part of our area when I did disaster relief with the Red Cross.

It was fun! The actor was a charming, talented Large Ham. Also, I got to see various forms of early printing presses, which was bizarrely apropos as the day before I had gotten editorial notes which included, "How are they producing their newspaper?"

But mostly, I wanted to share the moment in which the actor got several audience members to play small roles by giving them hats and a sheet of paper with their lines.

The small boy playing Tiny Tim squinted at his sheet, then read, loud and clear, "God BILGE us, every one!"

My friend Halle and I nearly fell off our seats. Afterward, her son asked us if bilge meant something.

"It's dirty water in the bottom of a boat," I said.

Halle elaborated, "So if you say, 'God bilge us,' it's kind of like saying... 'God, please PUKE on us!"

I am right now preparing Crispy Pork Belly (Siu Yuk), to be eaten with rice and sauteed ha choi. While I'm doing the parboiling, I am watching Nyesha kick ass on Last Chance Kitchen.

Also, I have ( pretty Parisian shoes. )

A naked three-year-old boy rushing out of the bathroom with a six-foot streamer of toilet paper trailing from his butt like a banner, tearing around the dining room table and shouting, "I'm a rabbit!" He made three laps before his mom re-captured him.

This book, one of the required texts for my 10:00 AM Monday Human Sexuality class, suggests that the class, while possibly lacking in academic rigor, will not lack in amusement value. I am picturing a cross between a 70s encounter group and a "Let's all draw our vulvas, watch a video of women ejaculating, and then make an offering to the Great Goddess!" workshop.

Its arrival this week was perfect timing, given that the month to date was the sort which, to completely misquote Emma Bull's War for the Oaks, left me grasping for straws of comfort like, "No matter what else happens today, at least I still like my clitoris."

This is the sort of book which has an anatomical drawing of a clitoris, and a woman pointing to it and exclaiming "WOW!"

The book has some interesting information about clitoral anatomy (the little button part is just the tip of the iceberg; a large portion of the female genitalia is made up of clitoral tissue and structures.) But most of the book is basically, "Wow! A clitoris!"

There is a long chapter on female ejaculation, in which women enthusiastically describe their gushing orgasms, with slightly terrifying details like, "And then I had to mop the floor!" The author then notes that you too may be able to teach yourself to ejaculate, if you don't already. Personally, after I am done having solo or partnered sex, the last thing I want to do is mop the floor.

Despite some dubious history and a cringe-worthy discussion of the Tao and Tantra, this book is mostly harmless. I expect it would be delightfully eye-opening to any women who aren't already familiar with their anatomy or the possible range of their sexual response. But for a graduate course... seriously? This is the best you can do? If anyone knows of more academically rigorous or up-to-date or more culturally sensitive books on female sexuality, please rec them to me, and I will rec them to the school.

I also boggle that this apparent typo in chapter one didn't get corrected through many editions: From as far back as the Kinsey report in 1953, intercourse has not been found not to be the most effective means for women to experience the full range of their sexual response, and yet, penis-in-vagina sex remains the ne plus ultra of sexual activity.

And I boggle more at this: During full-blown sexual response, clitoral tissues expand enormously. The erectile tissues fill with blood, causing the clitoris to protrude enough, as one woman put it, "to fill my cupped hand."

The Clitoral Truth: The Secret World at Your Fingertips

( Hilariously pornographic cheery illustrations below cut )

I have arranged the photos below the cut to represent my experience walking through the town, entering the gardens, now looking at the entire view, now leaning in to inspect a single flower.

( Come walk through the gardens with me. )

Happy birthday, Sherwood!

You asked for images of beautiful or interesting things. I'm putting up a set of photos my mom took of her neighborhood in Ahmednagar, India. I think she's a very good photographer, and she lives in an exceptionally pretty rural area.

( Cut for photos )

In case anyone feels like doing something to make my winter that much cheerier, here are some possibilities:

1. Donate to my beloved Virginia Avenue Project, a mentoring-via-arts organization which I've volunteered with for the last fifteen years. They do great work, and are strapped for funds due to the recession. Feel free to say I sent you if you do so!

2. Donate money or used books (if they're in good condition) to Reader to Reader, an organization which gives books to needy libraries, including on Native American reservations. They are particularly looking for manga for the latter, and also books by and/or about Indians.

3. Mail me baked goods, mix CDs, used books, or other goodies you think I might appreciate. In case you already own any books you're looking to unload and I'm looking to acquire, here is my Bookmooch wish list. I'm also including my Amazon wish list just in case because it has some older stuff on it, but that's mostly new stuff and I'm not actually asking anyone to buy me new stuff.

I'll put up my own "up for grabs" list later, in case I have anything anyone might want.

Finally, in the category of "not actually a gift but feels like one," an enthusiastic review of Steam-Powered: Lesbian Steampunk (forthcoming on January 25), right here.