Earthling Antics

  GUESS WHAT?   Guess what? Men and women are different, though where I live, it's not PC to say that.  Our genes are different, our cells are different and our brains are different too—and I'm so glad. Men can be such jerks.   Female mammals—you know, we animals with large mammary glands--tend to put our offspring first and will do anything to protect them. We seek out security in the form of a good mate, though thankfully these days, some of us human females no longer have to rely on males for security.   As for males, they go for power, which gives them access to sex. These days, nothing much has changed with men.   We have tried to deny this male-female difference. Male babies prefer things with wheels and female babies prefer plush dolls because, we say, they have been culturally biased from birth. Well guess what? Girl babies, be they humans or chimps, do prefer plush toys and males do prefer things with wheels, and studies have proven this.    While males are

   Almost 1000 important new laws are passed in CA each year.   CALIFORNIA LAW ALERT!   Section 1708.5 of the Civil Code. 2021 My friend was concerned. "Stealthing will soon be illegal in California. It passed the legislature unanimously with only one major amendment—the word penis was changed to sexual organ ."    "I'm sorry", I said in response to my friend's concern, "but stealthing ? What is it?"   "Well to be blunt, it means if I take off my condom when I am screwing without partner permission, I am screwed."   "And if you don’t get partner permission, what will happen?"   "My partner can sue me."   "And if you do ask permission?" I persisted.    "Well," he paused, "she or he can say ok , or she or he can say no and in either case she or he can sue me because who the hell can prove to a court-of-law what either of us said when screwing. It's a he said she said,

  SEEING WAS BELIEVING   I have learned over time that my memory is a confabulation machine. Am I a mountain nymph skiing gracefully down the mountain, slaloming to and fro--as I remember? Or could that be me-- ass out with ski poles wildly flailing-- as the damn video shows?    Could my sister be right, that dad was cremated right after he died, or was my trouble-making dad poised like an angel in his coffin, as I angrily recall? One of us is wrong, right? My memories are so unreliable that I've ditched the phrase, I remember .  In truth, I'm a figment of my own imagination.   Ask my husband who I am. My husband might describe me as an impatient and once- attractive politician. My daughter, as a mostly loving, patient mom. My political opponents describe me as a biased, retrogressive jerk, and my supporters, as realistic, fact-based and honest. Clearly, I exist differently in the eyes of the beholders.   I even experience myself differently. On Tuesday, my pink blouse

  PROMOTING GNARLY KNOLLS: AN ACTIVE RETIREMENT COMMUNITY You Won't Die of Boredom Here Gnarly Knolls is my retirement home.   And I like it. What I don't like are the 11 costly vacancies that reduce the home's revenues and cause our rents to rise. And I especially don't like our incredibly stupid marketing agency that keeps the vacancies vacant. Would you run to a retirement home with this oh-so clever slogan?                                                                                         "We enjoy full-care care-free living"   One of the agency's brain storms to help fill those vacancies was to post monthly resident audio interviews on the website. Smart? You bet! Because, even though no one listens to them, they succeed in keeping the marketing firm raking in dough. You may ask: "Why is that interview not video taped?"   But if you were to then look at us residents, that question would be quickly withdrawn.   The intervi

  A MEMORABLE FUNERAL: MINE   I died on May 12 th of this very year and I was sure I was headed to Hell.   When alive I was accused of being an irritable know-it-all, a non-stop ranter, and an award-winning boozer. I was considered a selfish man who squandered my kid's college tuition on sports cars.  But after observing my funeral and hearing folks memorialize me it turns out that I was a knowledgeable renaissance man -- a man who knew everything about everything; a discerning man, who could identify every brand of liquor ever brewed, and who could identify every sports car ever made; a man who put his kids above almost everything. The world, I now believe, is lucky to have known me. I am so sorry for its loss.  

  LIFE? IN THE FAST LANE Aaa-Aaa-Aaa. I could hear the Texas police sirens wailing.My mother pulled over and a cop said to her, "Lady, do you know you are driving in the HOV lane—the high occupancy vehicle lane--alone, without a passenger?"   I tried to get Mom's attention. I kicked and rolled over and acted up and did everything I could from inside. Finally, and to my relief I heard her say, "But officer I'm not alone.   My child is here"—and rubbing her belly, added—"She's right here, with me."   The cop wrote a ticket anyway.   Mom appealed, and the ticket was dismissed. Whew. We escaped the $215 fine, hopefully to repurpose to me for toys.   But then Mom got cocky and reckless, and again got a ticket for the same so-called offense in the very same HOV lane. Again she appealed the ticket and another judge will soon decide: Was I a person when Mom got ticket number 2?   And what about the women in Texas? What are they th