Why no B-Day Sex is OK by me by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Another tribute to Omari, who hasn't posted in a while...

Birthday sex. My white whale. Call me Ahab, not Ishmael.. I have been in several long term relationships, dated short term, dated casually, and have never had birthday sex. I've heard tell of it happening, but it hasn't happened for me. I've given birthday sex, but never received birthday sex. Apparently I've stumbled into some sort of "it's that time of the month" conspiracy whereby the female population of wherever I happen to be at any given moment is synchronizing their biological clocks. I've largely accepted this as fact and am more or less resigned to a life without birthday sex. Generally speaking, I wouldn't turn birthday sex down, although I would probably be suspicious somebody was playing a practical joke on me. And not even a good practical joke, like cup-a-souping someone by shoving a fart in their face or placing dog poop in their coffee.

Regarding practical jokes, the American humorist H. Allen Smith wrote a 320-page book in 1953 called The Compleat Practical Joker that contains many examples of practical jokes. A typical one concerns the American painter and bohemian character Waldo Peirce. Peirce was living in Paris in the 1920s and made a gift of a very small turtle to the woman who was the concierge of his building. The woman doted on the turtle and lavished it with care and affection. A few days later Peirce substituted a somewhat larger turtle for the original one. This continued for some time, with larger and larger turtles being surreptitiously introduced into the woman's apartment. The concierge was beside herself with happiness and displayed her miraculous turtle to the entire neighborhood. Peirce then began to sneak in and replace the turtle with smaller and smaller ones, to her bewildered distress. This was the storyline behind Esio Trot, by Roald Dahl, though I don’t recall if Mrs. Silver gave Mr. Hoppy birthday sex. They get married in the end, so I guess probably not.

This year I am grateful that there will be no birthday sex for me. The air conditioning in my building has given out so no central air. I had been running the air in my apartment with the windows closed out of respect for our scant natural resources. It is at least 100 degrees in the bedroom. And though I had one of those giant bottles of Gatorade Rain (green flavored), I'm pretty sure that I would not be a good birthday sex host. Perhaps it is because of the combination of heat and humidity and lack of air conditioning. Or, although because, ultimately, we all came from water and we all are water, it's not always pleasant sharing your water with a total stranger. Does anyone care? I'll gladly accept rain-checks.

"Crotchmosphere" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Deep thoughts by Omari.

One of my favorite actresses is Robin Tunney. Whether she is Sarah Bailey in “The Craft,” another Sarah in “Julian Po,” Annie Garrett in “Vertical Limit,” or doing a hot sex scene with Lou Diamond Phillips in “Supernova” it doesn’t seem to matter. I suspect it is the freckles that get me. Those ephelis spots of wonder just give me the warm fuzzies in my nether-regions.

The word freckle comes from the Middle English freken, which, in turn, came from the Old Norse freknur. Freknur means "freckled." I figure these fair-skinned speakers of Old English and Old Norse must have had a tendency to developing freckles hence refer to themselves a freckled.

True freckles pose no health risk at all. They are all absolutely harmless. Some unfreckled people actually want to have them. For instance, in the non-fiction bestseller, Freckle Juice, by Judy Blume, Andrew buys a recipe to grow freckles like his friend Nicky so that his mom won’t know whether or not his neck is dirty. Needless to say the results are disastrous!

What amazes me about Freckle Juice, truly amazes me about Freckle Juice, is that Andrew's allowance is just ten cents a week. Ten cents a week? What’s that going to get you? A handful of Bazooka Joe’s? Geesh. Cheap parents. Though that is probably not the lesson we’re supposed to derive from Andrew’s story. I think it is probably that we should learn to love ourselves for who we are and not what we are not.

So in that spirit, I guess I should love myself for what I am not: I am not up on fashion. I was having a conversation with a female friend the other day about needing to buy new pants for work. My office is business casual, so I probably only need to get a few pairs of Dockers. My old Dockers are becoming a bit frayed. She says, “Don’t get pleats. Pleats are out.” And my response is something like, “But I like pleats. And I have a body-type that can wear pleated pants: generally slim, high-waisted, and tall. I am definitely not short and stumpy.”

The she say’s again, “NO PLEATS” and the only thing I can think of is that the flat front pants are going to be crotchally restrictive when I sit down. There will be no billowing of the fabric around the crotchal area. I won’t look as well endowed as I did before. Without pleats there will be no crotchmosphere.

What do you prefer on your men: crotchmosphere or no crotchmosphere? I have to go pants shopping this weekend. And maybe, just maybe, you'll also want to fantasize about what is crotchmosphere and what is actual crotch. Email me and let's chat about it...

He gets letters:

"I have to say, you made me laugh! That was the most random yet well-organized and somewhat informative post I've seen in a while. Nice work! Can't say I care to find out about your crotchmosphere but good luck finding someone who does. Just wanted to complement you on your writing style."

“Contingency Planning” by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Omari and I. Ladies men....(permalink)

Contingency planning is a must for the modern single guy. If you get a girl up to your apartment, you might want her to stay the night. So you can have sex in the evening AND the morning (provided of course you didn't bring her home from the bar really drunk, right? Then there's no morning sex, just the walk of shame). Anyway, planning for these possibilities requires that I keep a lot of things on hand that I don't ordinarily use or need, including more than one bath towel (what guy needs more than one bath towel????), girlie hair conditioner, girlie skin care products, extra toothbrushes, plenty of girlie toilet paper, and various beverages.

Girlie toilet paper? Yes, girlie toilet paper. And plenty of it. I've been in a couple of long term live-in relationships and I've lived by myself for long periods of time. And one thing I know for a fact is that women use gobs of toilet paper. I don't ask. I don't want to know. But I think I can make a roll of toilet paper last a week. Living with a woman, I doubt that roll will live for 2 days before it is gone. I don't get it, but I got plenty of girlie, Angel Soft toilet paper for your sensitive nether-regions. A fine grain sandpaper would be fine with me, but I'm thinkin' of the ladies.

Another thing you need? Lots of extra toothbrushes in different colors (so you can match a lady to each toothbrush and stash the rest when one of the others comes calling). Also you need conditioner. I don't quite get it. I never use the stuff. Um...ok, well I use it sometimes. But your lady is never going to stay the night if she, with her dry and damaged hair, isn't going to be able to condition her hair in the morning.

And then there's her skin. Maybe she comes over and her skin is all dry and full of impurities. Do you think she's going to stay over if you don't have some sort of treatment masque that can recover her youthful appearance? Something that maybe will rejuvenate her skin with alpha and beta hydroxy complex that will lift dead surface cells and complexion dulling impurities?? I think not.

Now for the beverages. Men like me know that girls like to drink girl-drinks. That's why I have a blender, blue curacao, crème de banana, and plenty of ice. So this lady had come over and was (ostensibly) considering spending the night. I knew this woman was fussy about her drinks. Anyway, she asked me if I could give her a “Climax.” I was like, “No problem, babe. I've got crème de banana! I could also make you a “Jamaican Banana” or even a “Yellow Strawberry” if you want. I've even got blue curacao, so if you'd prefer a “Blue Hawaiian” or a “Blue Lime Ghost,” I'm your guy!” She abruptly left. I'm not sure why.

Whether or not you're into girlie toilet paper, toothbrushes, or fancy girl-drinks, if you're a woman somewhere in the mid- to late-20s to mid-thirties, I'd like to hear from you. I like them thin and cute.

I added a photo of me in wearing some toilet paper. I think it makes me look sort of sexy....

"How Can I Get In Your Pants?" by Mr. Banana Hammock (Not Omari)

I am so happy Omari is back (permalink) with his long and unfocused ramblings on life, metro manners, all things DC, and love....

I didn't really "date" in high school because, well, I didn’t have to. I had a redwood hot tub and my parents were out of town a lot. And, in this time before the “AIDS crisis,” sex was abundant. No need to date. College was even better because I had this gay roommate and he would drag me along to go gay clubbing. I was younger and skinnier and prettier back then, so I fit right in. There were an abundance of gorgeous women at the gay club who assumed I was gay and they were “safe.” They could drink gallons of booze and it was ok to come on over to my apartment after the club closed because I was “gay,” right? Wrong. Then came a series of long-term live-in arrangements and at that point you’re not really dating, you’re playing house. Now I find myself single again. Well for single for the last couple of years anyway.

All that said, I’ve been forced to hone my picking up chick skills. I no longer have a hot tub, I’m not young and pretty anymore, and women these days seem to play hard to get. What gives with that? I’m a nice guy. I’ll respect you in the morning. If I’m getting laid, I’ll probably even want to see you again since the chances of us having sex again are probably a lot higher since we’ve done it once. Of course if you’re crazy, I probably won’t want to see you again, but I’ll be polite about it. Anyway, craigslist seems to work reasonably well for me because I like to write. And I can make up immediately unverifiable stuff about myself. You’ll have to go out with me to find out that they aren’t true. Things like, “Hi ladies, I’m a millionaire. I own a mansion and a yacht” or “I’m really really big down there.” However, I say reasonably well for a reason. While I’ve had some great dates with women off this site, and while I hope to attract bright, dynamic, vivacious, and beautiful women on craigslist, much of the time I seem to attract the crazy girls. What’s up with that?

Picking up women in face-to-face settings--such as grocery stores, bars, the 42 bus, ladies room in a restaurant, and the like--involves a completely different skill set. My problem is that I don’t have a well-developed sense of “boundaries.” I've often thought that a good pick-up begins with explaining what separates me from the other guy. What I can do for this particular woman. So often I'll say to the girl things like “Baby, I'm no Fred Flintstone, but I can make your Bedrock!” or “You know how they say skin is the largest organ? Not in my case.” Basically, that I am going to provide you with great orgasms with my extraordinarily large penis. This approach isn’t typically received warmly.

Why this isn’t working, I cannot figure out. Should I also try cupping your buttocks as a part of my approach? Would it make a difference if I complemented you on the firmness of your buttocks while I was cupping them? While we are talking, should I stare at your breasts more than I am currently? Should I complement their size and shape and ask before I touch? Or should I just go ahead and give’em a squeeze? How about if I let my penis dangle out of the fly of my jeans? Should I try stalking? How do you feel about Rohypnol®?

I never, never, ever, write unfocused rambler posts, however this seems like it turned out to be just that...but if you're a white woman, at least 26 but less than 35 years of age, I'd like to hear from you. Say something interesting, perhaps something about art (I especially like Italian Renaissance art), or even something about what you’re going to let me do to you on my kitchen table (or what you’re going to do to me) because that’s what generates sparks...and because I'm shallow, include a PHOTO, thanks!

"Reconnecting with Omari" by Mr. BananaHammock (not Omari)

I was beginning to think that my "not Omari" series was going to have to be retired. Omari hadn't posted in a while. Then today, joy (permalink)! I was also busy with a self-portrait photo shoot today. I think I look a little deranged in this one.

I spend a fair amount of time in virtual worlds. My “job” requires that I spend a lot of time perusing the Craigslist M4W personal ads – dissecting them, commenting on them through the generous use of satire, even sometimes writing my own original prose that was not inspired by some quirky poster. This post, obviously, is not the case here.

Oddly enough I was thinking about Omari today and how I hadn't seen a post of his in a long time. Had he died? Had he found true love? Had he blogged himself completely insane? I visited his site today and nope, he is still alive and kicking, sharing his musings with all of us online folk. And then, an hour later, his Craigslist ad.

That “garlic aroma” that Omari cites in his post is caused by the mixing of allin and allinase which are present in garlic. The allin and allinase mixing occurs when the clove is crushed, or sliced, or milled, or chopped or whatever, and the allin and allinase combine to create allicin, which is credited with providing many of the health benefits attributed to garlic, including that great garlicy smell.

Patricia Arquette is said to have been quoted that her and her former husband Nicholas Cage had made this agreement that they would eat raw garlic during love scenes in their movies. When she was filming "Nightwatch" with Ewan McGregor, a problem arose. She said, “So I ate all these cloves of raw garlic... Ewan's allergic to raw garlic apparently, so... (laughs)" Laughs? Make me sort of wonder where she was kissing Ewan and what was swelling?

In any event, I'm not sure anaphylactic shock is a laughing matter. In some cases it can cause death. And those with peanut allergies I am told are especially susceptible. And also, where would we be without his great portrayals of Lincoln Six Echo in “The Island” or Christian in “Moulin Rouge” or even Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace as Obi-Wan Kenobi had he succomed to the wicked machinations of Ms. Arquette? I doubt Heath Ledger, for example, could run as well or sing as well (although from his performance in “Brokeback Mountain” he'd probably be fine swinging around his lightsaber) as Ewan.

I was watching The Patriot on cable last night in which Heath Ledger plays the supporting actor role of Gabriel Martin, a young, brash kid who defies his father, played by Mel Gibson, and joins the army to go to war against the British. Mel Gibson's middle name is Columcille, which ironically enough is also the name of a Megalith park and Celtic art center “a playground of myth and mystery” located in the Appalachian Mountains in eastern Pennsylvania where unleashed pets and open fires are not permitted.

Columcille (521-597 A.D.) was also the Irish Celtic Monk who founded the Celtic monastery on the Island of Iona off Scotland where the Book of Kells was created, and converted the pagan Northern Picts (Northern Scots) to Christ. He lived about 60 years after St. Patrick Interestingly enough, Celts were big fans of garlic and even introduced its formal name, Allium sativum. And Mel Gibson portrayed the Celtic struggle of the Wallace clan in his film “Braveheart” and brought us all closer to Jesus in his production of “The Passion of Christ.” The parallels are astounding.

On that note I think it's time I climb out of this virtual world and enter the physical one now...I need to go grocery shopping and I think I may need a reality check.

"Making fun of fat people" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Omari hasn't posted in a while. Too bad.

I'm into my 25th day of unemployment and I find myself hopelessly addicted to "Little House on the Prairie." I follow the trials of the Ingalls family and shared their joys and heartaches as they move from Walnut Creek to Winetka in the Dakota territories owing to greedy railroad companies (bad men), Mary's blindness, but I haven't been touched by a story so deeply as I have by today's episode "The Man Inside." And the lesson I learned? Making fun of fat people is not a victimless crime.

The third episode of the fifth season of "Little House on the Prairie," "The Man Inside" tells the story of Amelia, a new girl that Laura meets in school, who is ashamed of her very overweight father, John Bevins, played by Cliff 'Fatty' Emmich. 'Fatty' played a lot of fat guy roles throughout his career, including 'Fat Stranger' in "Slither," 'Obese Promoter' in "All the Marbles," 'Tubby Comfort' in "Columbo: No Time to Die," and 'Fat Man at Telegraph Office' in "Thunderbolt and Lightfoot."

Amelia is the character that I was hot for. Good looks, long blonde hair, boobies. Played by Julie Anne Haddock, Amelia's character was a bit hard on her poor fat dad. Her father works at the blind school where Mary works. All the blind students like him a lot. They claim that they can see his love. One day, Laura and some other students from school, start making fun of the overweight person, not knowing that they were making fun of Amelia's father. Amelia's father pretends to leave town since his girl is so ashamed of him. He hides out at the blind school.

You might not remember Julie Anne as Amelia in "Little House on the Prairie" but you may remember her as the tomboyish Cindy Webster in the first season of "The Facts of Life" or her role as Cindy Webster in the episode "The Slumber Party" in the second season of the "Different Strokes" or even her role as 'Club President' in the first season episode entitled "Julie's Rejection" from that great Nell Carter vehicle "Gimme a Break!"

Anyway, when her father is involved in an accident, he nearly dies. He wants to die so as not to burden his poor daughter with her embarassment of his weight. An operation to save his life is nevertheless performed. Amelia, after overhearing how much this blind girl Sue values his presence at the school because he made her this nice loom and bead necklace,she goes up to her father's room and reveals to her unconscious dad how much she loves him. He pulls through.

And what does Michael Landon want when he finds out that Mr. Bevins pulls through? A sandwich. Go figure.

And me? I start a new job monday. Bummer.

mmmm...Pussy" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Celebrating my 141st post with a not Omari...

While I do like cats and have had cats as pets, I probably prefer dogs. I grew up with dogs. First my Kerry Blue Terrier “Muffin” and later “Douglas,” a Cocker Spaniel. Douglas is more my mother’s pet than mine and she treats the thing like a third child, referring to him as my younger brother, as she sits complaining about the heat with her head stuck in the freezer. I guess that is menopause for you.

Menopause, or as I call it, that thing that has temporarily rendered my mother crazy, is a natural part of a woman's life. Technically it is the stopping of periods or menses. The average age is 52 however menopause can occur in the thirties or sixties. This time in a woman's life can be dramatic or quite simple, it is usually different for every woman but every woman does stop having periods. Some people call it adolescence in reverse - a rocky time with fluctuating hormones and emotions. As menopause progresses, a drop in estrogen can create thinning, tightening, and dryness in the vulva and vagina. These changes can lead to such discomfort that some women come to dread sex because of the pain. Poor mom. And poor dad as well I guess.

Dad can be a bit of a pervert. And I guess like father, like son. I’ve seen him grope mom in public, which I’d think was pretty cute if I wasn’t their kid. Sort of like, aw, he loves her so much he paws at her chest in a grand public display of affection. Now I’m not sure if this “vaginal discomfort” thing is happening to my mom, and I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask, surprisingly considering with my family everything seems to be fair game for discussion around the dinner table including squeaky beds late at night, folk remedies for preventing miscarriage (don’t ask), masturbation, and also Republican “values.”

And I figure if mom is suffering from vaginal atrophy, Dad, like me, has high speed internet. And if surfing for porn is good enough for me, well then it’s good enough for him.

Ok, you can ask me about the folk remedy for preventing miscarriage, but consider yourself warned.

"No Fat Chicks" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

It's been a couple of days since I've done an Omari. So here you go...

I once had a horoscope that read “You’ll take an action that has no other purpose but to make someone crazy. And to you, this falls under the category of ‘fun.’” The horoscope went on to say that the beautiful think about me is that I am a provocateur. And, truthfully, I probably am.

Provocateur. Someone who stirs up trouble? Or someone who goads someone into a certain type of behavior? An agent provocateur is a person employed to associate with suspected individuals or groups with the purpose of inciting them to commit acts that will make them liable to punishment. I guess like a spy. Except I don’t work for a government and I only do it for my own personal amusement. I’ll say things to a girl I’m dating like, “Wow. Look at the sun!” And then she does, becoming temporarily blind. I wonder if that is why my parents wonder why I’ve never married.

I’ve never dated a supermodel, but I did date runway model in High School. Or she became a runway model after High School in any event. All of the other women that I’ve dated long-term weren’t perfect. They weren’t heavy, but they weren’t rail-thin either. They were what I suppose is considered normal. For what it is worth, their inner beauty shone brighter than their physical beauty. However, they’ve all been height/weight proportionate. And while others have, I’m not about to put “No Fat Chicks” in an ad because that just seems callow at best and downright rude at worst.

I was reading a friend’s blog yesterday and she had recently written about a major contradiction behind the new ad campaign for Dove®, which features images of not so slender women. You’ve seen them at bus stop shelters all over town. She notes that while Dove® is using more normal women in their ad campaign, the contradiction is that Dove® is also playing on women's insecurity about their "jiggly bits." Basically, it is ok to not be a supermodel, but it is not ok to have cellulite-ridden asses. I also noted with some irony that the post previous to that one she was stuffing her face with cotton candy. Basically spun sugar.

So, for my amusement, I reworked the ad seen below and sent it to my friend. I must be off my game. She didn’t sock me in the jaw. Yet.



He gets letters:

"that ad is hilarious! i love it!"

"I’m on myspace with friends a lot (all bored at work, you see) and for the last few months our blogging and posting bids to ‘out-inappropriate’ each other have frequently included the phrase, or pictures pertaining to ‘banana hammocks’. Oh, and the phrases ‘sorry, no fatties’ on all of our bulletins. We’re all crude, horrible perverts (not really, I hope), and we’d like to salute you. Rock on with your bad self. And your banana hammock."

"Men's Needs" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your daily OMARI...and for the record, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis is actually the longest word in modern english.

Honorifcabilituninitatibus. Clocking in at 27 letters, honorifcabilituninitatibus is one of the longest words in the English language. It means “honorableness.” The word first appeared in English in 1599, and in 1721 was listed by Bailey's Dictionary as the longest word in English. It was used by Shakespeare in Love's Labor's Lost:

"O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words.
I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word;
for thou art not so long by the head as
honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier
swallowed than a flap-dragon."

Love’s Labor’s Lost starts in the court of King Ferdinand where explains to Berowne, Longaville, and Dumaine that they can stay at the court to study and contemplate for three years, but that they must: 1) never see, speak to, or be with a woman during those three years, 2) fast once per week, and 3) sleep only three hours per night, all in order to be most fit for concentrating.

Now I could probably deal with the fasting, but I am certainly not able to concentrate on three hours of sleep. And if I were to concentrate, the only thing I’d probably be thinking about is getting some hot man on woman love action. You see, because men have needs, although there is some debate as to what those needs actually are.

On his blog, Steve Danforth says our needs are thus: “We liked women who take care of themselves and can do things on there own…let us know your (sic) into us, I hate to say it but we like you to feed our ego's. Also don't play games.” Others say that our needs are evolutionary in nature, that men are not monogamous, and a man will happily have children with many women, as this spreads his seed around and increases the chances of successful propagation of his genes. And Web MD says that men need more protein than women.

As for fasting once a week, Philip Goglia, PhD, a nutritionist and founder of Performance Fitness Concepts says that we too often we turn to carbohydrate-heavy meals in the evening and that men are better off eating the majority of their protein at dinner, which helps their bodies rebuild muscle tissues overnight. I suppose fasting would impede that “rebuilding” process.

So. Wanna have sex?

"Italian Cuisine" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your daily OMARI...brought to you by Pop-Tarts®: “Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts, you can freeze them, then eat them.”

I was just now having a conversation with a friend about disembodied penises. She had just put up a CL ad and had mentioned some “dick pics” that she had received. I have never sent a single “dick pic” to anyone and don’t understand the motivation some men feel to do so. It must be some sort of compulsion as it seems, at least to me, beyond the normal bounds of civilized society. But for some reason it got me to thinking about one of my fantasies.

Ok, so my fantasy. I come home from the office and girlfriend is wearing nothing but an apron around her waist. She brings me a drink and then, bending over, goes to check out how supper is doing in the oven. OK, so it is not such a pro-feminist fantasy, but considering I do almost all of the cooking, it is nice that she does it once for a change. And I can relax and have my drink and watch a mostly naked woman prepare dinner.

Yes, I am one of those types. In any relationship I've ever been in I own the kitchen and do most of the cooking. Generally I’m telling someone to “get the fuck out of MY kitchen.” Probably just like your mom used to tell your dad. I’ve always enjoyed cooking and my specialty is Italian or Mediterranean cuisine. I make my sauces from scratch and make a rather mean raw tomato pasta sauce with olive oil, garlic, and kalamata olives. I also can throw together a mean dish of breaded and fried chicken breast that is then marinated in vinegar, onions, zucchini, cinnamon, and other secret spices. I like to cook.

Anyway, it also got me to thinking that it wouldn’t be such a sexy thing for me to return the favor. I work out but I could stand to tone up a little. And don’t think me bending over to check on supper would be such a pretty picture either, my skinny and hairy ass sticking out, testicles in plain view. Eek. The mental image gives me shivers. Although whatever it was I cooked for you would taste fantastic. I just don’t know if you’d retain your appetite.

So, wanna come over for dinner?

"Dodging Stuff" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your nearly daily OMARI...

Way back when I was in elementary school we used to play this game called dodgeball. At recess you’d have this reddish rubber ball, the kind we also used to play kickball with, and throw it at the other kids running and screaming around the playground. I think they called the ball a utility ball.

Several years ago dodgeball, and other recess games like tag were banned or discouraged in some school systems. The reason? Children apparently are unusually fragile. This belief has manifested itself in a number of ways. For example, the physical education chairman at an Illinois high school has said that coaches who permit kids to play dodgeball "should be fired immediately." Even “tag” was not immune. A 1998 anti-bullying curriculum guide, "Quit It!," paid for with tax dollars, gave this advice to kindergarten and elementary school teachers: "Before going outside to play, talk about how students feel when playing a game of tag. Do they like to be chased? Do they like to do the chasing? How does it feel to be tagged out?" How does it feel to be tagged out? Stressful I guess. I have a very fragile ego right? If students feel apprehensive about this apparently stressful game, never fear: teachers may introduce them to a tag alternative called Circle of Friends where nobody is ever out. Now that sounds like one heck of a good time. And my self-esteem will remain intact since nobody is throwing a utility ball at my head? I don’t get it.

Dodgeball was re-popularized by a recent movie called “Dodgeball” starring Ben Stiller who was hilarious in “Zero Effect” and Vince Vaughn who was hilarious in “The Wedding Crashers.” I didn’t see “Dodgeball.” Not because I thought it would unearth some latent childhood trauma, like playing dodgeball. It just didn’t seem worth the $10 price of admission.

My sister, who is a bit crazy, used to throw stuff at me. Harmless stuff, like shoes and stuffed animals, and not-so-harmless stuff, like forks and sharp knives. So naturally I got good at dodging stuff. And looking back it was probably just in good fun. As the saying goes, “all’s fun and games until someone loses an eye.” And I would thank her for helping me with practicing dodging stuff by including her in games like “assassin,” where I would be the assassin with my BB gun and she would be my unwitting target. I also turned her Barbie Dream House into something that looked like a swingers’ convention.

I wonder what psychologists would say about that?

"Trapped in the Closet" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not R. Kelly)

I am at home today. Cleaning and watching "Trapped in the Closet" by R. Kelly, episodes 1-5. This has got to be one of the singularly worst set of songs I've ever heard. And yes, I own a copy of DC Star's "Rockin' in the Classroom" and many Gordon Lightfoot CDs. What is real bad is that I am singing a narrative of my cleaning and motivating myself to "go to the dry clea-ners, yea baby, the dry clea-ners." Ugh.

[singing soulfully]

I'm at home today. At home today. Been taken the day off today. I'm watching MTV. R. Kelly's Trapped in the Clo-set. It's a half hour long show long show of parts one thru five. Oooone thru five. Of the Trapped in the Clo-set videos. R-Kelly's cheatin' on his girl. The girl he's cheatin' on ain't a teen. Weheheheird.

Parts one through fiiive. One through five detail a tang-led web of sexual relations outside of marriage. Outside of marriage. Along the way guys on the down low, gun vi-o-lence, the moral standing of cler-gy, and ohhhther issuse are fea-tured. Gotta get me one of them Benz.

It seems to me. It seems to me, all of this inanity foi-sted on me. On me ya, baaby, was a result of his own bitches “ex-haling.” While I understand fidel-ity fidel-ity is important in a re-la-shunship, this predictable predictable predictable and corn-y ghetto nah-rra-tive don't do it fo-oor me, ba-by. Ohhh yea baaaaaby..

Chapters 6-10 are allegedly forthcoming. Fo-oh-oh-orthcoming. God help us all. Ooooh yea, Star Trek is on Spike.

He gets letters:

"I am laughing out loud at your post. And I am wondering which is more absurd, you watching R Kelly and composing that CL yarn or me listening to 80s vintage Moby techno and reading your post in the middle of the day. But it was good."

"you really got to quit with these postings. you've gotta to have something better to do than report your life on cl."

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to thank you for entertaining me daily. I've started to look forward to your prose. Todays installment "Trapped in the Closet" was great. I've been secretly making fun of that video since I watched it a couple of weeks ago."

"Omari" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Not Omari does Omari doing Omari. Confused yet?

Roughly translated, schadenfraude means "taking joy in another's misery.” Lately this seems to be the one of the only ways I am able to enjoy myself. Yesterday morning I was commuting to work on the red line and some foreign tourist leans his head out the door and starts shouting something in some foreign language to a friend who was still on the platform. As the doors are closing. For all of us who have seem some idiot stick his briefcase in the door and the door not open after it has closed on the briefcase, well you get the picture. Made my morning. Thanks foreign tourist guy! Reading Omari’s blog also gave me some joy as well.

The Germans have great descriptive words like that. Another one, Weltschmertz, roughly translates as “world pain” or sorrow or sadness over the present or future evils or woes of the world in general; basically sentimental pessimism. It’s hard to feel like that when you have air conditioning. At Omari’s suggestion, last night I was trying to “giv[e] it some love while it [was] hard at work, keeping [me] nice and cool.” Or at least I tried. Failing, I figured that self-love was a more “workable” option.

Interestingly, Omari happened along my blog the other day. He encouraged me to peruse his blog which I did. In one post in particular he ponders the grey area of rape and posits the question of whether or not it is rape if a person in power in a corporation abuses said power by having intercourse with a low-ranking employee. I could not figure out if it was a philosophical meandering or he was searching for legal advice.

Feminist Andrea Dworkin was once attributed erroneously as saying that "all sex is rape" or "all men are rapists." What she really said was that "penetrative intercourse is, by its nature, violent.” However, the Maoist International Movement does indeed equate all sex with rape, owing largely to the language of rape law in imperialist countries and the very definition of “consent” which is described in such a way that is "usual" with "bourgeois" law that “the rulers write and interpret the law in such a way as to be able to catch almost anyone.”

So, any imperialist bourgeois ladies care to get violent with me?



He gets letters:

"I am not interested in getting violent with you as I'm already in a relationship (not a violent one.) Regardless your posts are interesting, if too disconnected for me. The German language thread you had going was snipped rather quickly, and I wanted more of that. Pretty sure that the mere mention of rape is going to thwart your Craigslist advances, regardless of your commentary on the subject. If you are actually trying to find one; I've no idea."

"Girl Fights" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Yum. Omari AND girl fights...

“Total Recall,” “The Mummy Returns,” “One Million Years B.C.,” “Black Momma, White Momma,” Undercover Brother,” “Wild Things II.” All great movies. What do they all share in common? Great girl fights. Who can forget Raquel Welch against Martine Beswick in those infamous fur bikinis? Or Denise Richards fighting Neve Campbell, and as they struggle in a swimming pool, finally ending up in a hot smoochy embrace? Or Denise Richards fighting Aunganue Ellis, tearing at each others clothes, and winding its way to a hot shower scene? The guys, of course pull up chairs to watch.

Social workers, teachers, parents, and school administrators are increasingly asking themselves-“Are girls getting more violent?” There has been a 70% increase in U.S. arrests for assaults by adolescent girls, which offers some support for the claim of increasing violence within this population. However, most recent literature and research on this topic has linked the use of physical violence solely to at-risk populations, for example, low income and minority children and those parented by single mothers. Others feel that physical aggression is possibly a symptom of changing gender roles; that violence is becoming normative for females across class, race and ethnicity and that culture of increased aggression may be emerging in adolescent females as the meaning of being a good girl/woman is in flux.

An author named Jay Dubya once wrote that girl fights are quite dangerous because they involve pulling hair and scratching and clawing with long “talons.” He reports an incident that ended in the death of a colleague and friend of his, Charlie Southard. He writes that “two big girls were pummeling and mauling each other as if they were vicious alley cats…it took a full five minutes to finally restore order amidst an overzealous audience of a hundred or so "student" spectators.” Three weeks later his friend Charlie Southard died of a massive coronary. The connection seemed obvious to Mr. Dubya, who, his biography reports, was not only a teacher for 34 years but also enjoys listening to music by the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles and John Fogarty. I guess that makes him an expert both in medicine and psychology.

I was having a conversation with a couple of female friends the other week at the Evens Ft. Reno show about girl fights. I find them hot. I don’t think I’m singularly unique on this topic. They don’t have to be fighting over me, just fighting over something. Tearing off clothes and eventually ending up wet, either naked or see through. The boyfriend of one of my friends, while not saying anything, gave me the impression of tacit agreement but feared actually saying so out loud for fear of not getting any hot man on woman action. Or maybe he feared her bend-over-boyfriend. I’ll never know as they are no longer together.

I don’t know where I was going with this other than I find girl fights hot. But only if they are tearing off each others clothes. And somehow water is involved.



He gets letters:

"I would really love to suck you cock ...."

"Tom Jones" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Omari, I do hope Leno discovers you...

went to the Tom Jones concert the other night with a friend and he began to make me feel not so bad turning 36 this year – sans birthday sex and all. The way I figure it, if a sixty-something Welsh guy can be a sex-bomb, why not me? I’m in reasonably good shape, have all my hair and teeth, can dance funky, etc. I cannot sing worth a lick and women don’t throw their panties at me, but I wouldn’t mind if they did. Heck, I wouldn’t mind if they thought I was straight, which I am.

Last November my father flew into town to attend the 9th Annual Oyster Riot at the Old Ebbitt Grill. There were plenty of different kinds of oysters and wine to taste and the there was live music. Some blues act named Chickenhead. A group of girls from NOVA approached our table and we were all chatting. Me being not much of a wine guy I went to the beer tent and grabbed a beer. Upon returning I noticed the ladies had moved on and my dad, funny guy that he is, leans over and says that the girls had asked him if I was his son or “partner.” He still to this day will not tell me what he told them. Thanks, Dad!

Now while my father has gotten better in recent years, it is not beyond him to pull some seriously embarrassing shit. Maybe a little too much to drink at Christmas dinner and he’s pawing at mom’s boobs. Maybe a little upset on the day after Christmas about not getting a blowjob and complaining about it at the mall, in front of me and my then girlfriend. Or maybe the one-eared elephant gag.

I don’t think he is the creator of the one-eared elephant, but it was his favorite gag for a while years ago. I think it left me sufficiently scarred as I still remember the incident. First, the gag requires that you be a man. Also, it requires a pair of pants where you can turn the one of the front pockets inside-out. Last, it requires a pair of pants with a zipper or button fly. I think you all get the picture. Nobody was safe from the one-eared elephant unless you said yes you’ve seen one before.

In addition to lifting his shirt to show his remarkable sixty-something abs, Tom Jones also danced his signature dance which emphasizes pelvic thrusting and other sexually suggestive moves. Kind of makes you see Reverend Shaw Moore’s point when he was not supportive of Ren McCormack’s idea for a dance in Bomon. Anyway, I don’t think I could pull that sort of crap on the 42 or Red Line and get panties thrown at me, so I probably have to come up with another shtick.

Ever seen a one-eared elephant?

"Menstruation" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Omari fix. Regards.

Menstruation as a cultural text can be read as a symbol and signifier of what a culture says for and about women. The Roman author, Pliny, in his Natural History wrote that a menstruating woman can turn wine sour, cause seeds to be sterile, wither grafts, cause garden plants to become parched and fruit to fall from a tree she sits under. Aspects of this are echoed in Hindu socio-cultural practices, where a Hindu woman abstains from worship and cooking and stays away from her family as her touch is considered impure during this period. And under Islamic law, a menstruating woman is not allowed to pray, fast or have sex.

Unlike many other people and cultures, I have a relatively positive attitude toward menstruation. Oh, I know there are many many men out there who are made extraordinarily uncomfortable by this monthly miracle of biology. But not me. No, I welcome it enthusiastically, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that you are not pregnant. And while you are cramping and feeling bloated and icky, I’d be happy to rub your feet, cook dinner, and fetch your Midol ®. I won’t even ask for a blowjob.

In the US, while PMS has been empowering in that it puts a name to and legitimizes the symptoms women have "always already" suffered silently, PMS is problematic because it has contributed to further stigmatization of the menstrual cycle as dirty, disgusting, and despicable. And I hate being yelled at for some irrational reason.

Anyway, while I do indeed have a positive attitude toward menstruation, one thing I would like to know is, “Lisa, why in god’s name didn’t you tell me you were on your period before I went down on you for crissakes.”



He gets letters:
"You are verbose I am not. But you are pretty with your thumb on your nose. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Conspiracies" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Even more Omari for your consumption...

I recently finished a book by Jim Marrs called "Rule by Secrecy: The Hidden History That Connects the Trilateral Commission, the Freemasons, and the Great Pyramids." Apparently,the world's richest and most powerful individuals wield excessive influence over governments and news media through their control of multinational corporations and secret societies such as the Council on Foreign Relations, the international Trilateral Commission and the Bilderberg group. Their aim is one-world government and centralized social control and the ideas come from Freemasonry and the Illuminati. He also sets forth an argument that extraterrestrials founded the earth's earliest civilizations.

Another important scholar, David Icke, who spins a tale of a conspiracy as old as time itself, leading us to a rather disturbing hypothesis found in the Book of Genisis, that brother Cain was indeed the offspring of the Serpent and Eve, and that his twin brother Able, was the offspring of Adam and Eve. From there we jump to the truth of a reptilian-like race of people, still living on the earth and controling mankinds agenda. They look very much like humans, but are only disguised as such. Queen of England? Lizard. George W. Bush? Lizard.

It reminds me of that TV show from my youth, "V.""V" tells the story of a race of aliens who visit Earth with the promise of technology and cures for disease in exchange for our aid in producing a chemical needed on their planet. Again, another conspiracy. Their true intent is to steal Earth's water, and people...for food. Their peaceful facade slowly disolves to expose their facist mentality. Scientists, who are viewed as a threat by the aliens for their potential to uncover the truth, are persecuted, not only by the aliens, but by the humans who follow the aliens like sheep. And the aliens are aren't really human looking, but giant lizard-humanoids, much like David Icke describes.

"V" starred Marc Singer of "Beastmaster" fame as Mike Donovan, who helps lead the resistance and Robert Englund or "Freddy" plays Willie, a good natured alien who doesn't seem to know what is going on. Former Ms. New Hampshire and Melinda Cramer Janssen #2 from "One Life to Live," Jane Badler, plays evil alien Diana.

I was never a big fan of "One Life to Live" but instead followed pretty religiously "Days of Our Lives," even to the point where my mother, while I was in Europe, would send me synopses of the soap that would appear in our local paper. I even remember with fondness the Summer of 1996 where Stefano kidnaps Marlena for like the second or third time, takes her to Paris, and keeps her in a giant gilded birdcage.

I admired Stephano's tenacity as well as the tenacity of the alien/lizard's visitors from "V," but these are just fictions. As for David Icke, he is clearly nuts. However, I would like to cover all of my bases and say "all hail our alien-humanoid overlords."

"Gaydar" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Over the weekend Omari posted on "the month of summer." Blah.

Last week, or in Omari-speak day 8 of “the month of summer,” the New York Times ran a story suggesting bisexuals are “liars." In it Benedict Carey reported that an upcoming study "casts doubt on whether true bisexuality exists.” The article relied heavily on a single study whose senior researcher has a career marked by ethics controversies and eugenics proposals. Why do care about this topic? That revelation would cast doubt on the enthusiasm displayed by women actresses in girl-on-girl porn. I’m probably not the only guy that would find that disturbing.

I’m sure that is not much of a revelation to most of you. Any girl who knows a guy knows that his ultimate fantasy is to participate in a three-way with two other women. Or at least be allowed to run the camera. My two biggest fantasies involve either having Penelope Cruz scream at me in Portuguese and then we drop right there and have hot and sweaty sex or Penelope Cruz and Winona Ryder have a girl fight, scratch and claw at each other, ripping off clothes, potentially maybe getting all wet (in a sprinkler or fountain), and while I try to break it up after getting a good look, the three of us drop right there and have hot and sweaty sex. Or they have hot and sweaty sex but let me run the camera.

Let me also say that I have pretty good gaydar. When I look in the mirror, my gaydar doesn’t go off. I developed my gaydar over the years hanging out with gay friends, many who insisted that every good looking guy they came across was definitely gay. Even if they weren’t. They just didn’t know it yet.

While I’m not gay or bisexual or even a lesbian, I am comfortable enough in my heterosexuality to hang out with gay friends in gay bars while they gaily do their business. Why? No competition for the women who hang out there also. And their guard is down. They feel safe among these same-sex lovin’ fellas. Safe enough for me to approach them to ask if they want to come over to my place and, I don’t know, see my motorcycle helmet collection.

So, wanna come over and see it?



He gets letters:

"U ONE OF THOSE BROTHERS ON THE DOWNLOW, RIGHT?"

"I would like to get a good look at your helmet collection."

"I'm a guy" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your daily Omari...

While I’ve got some great friends, I think some of them might be conspiring to turn me into a metrosexual. While I probably have some metrosexual proclivities, I certainly won’t appear to you on the street as one. You’ll see me bopping around on my morning commute, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, plugged into my iPod. Hardly metrosexual. And I only use hair gel because I’ve got 3, count them, 3 cowlicks on my head. Anyway, back to the conspiracy.

I think some of my friends might be conspiring to turn me into a full-on metrosexual. For instance, in years past as birthday gifts I’ve received Lab Series for Men facial scrubs, some peel off masks, and this year: an Earth Therapeutics herbal gel mask. You can chill it in the fridge, wear it, and it relieves eye puffiness. I’m not sure why I would even care. I’m a guy.

I actually enjoy the peel off mask. I sort of feel like Christian Bale playing proto-metrosexual Patrick Bateman in “American Psycho.” Here I am standing in front of my bathroom mirror peeling off my mask, with a soulless, modern-day monster look on my face. The only difference probably being that his apartment is a lot nicer than mine. Oh, I also don’t kill people.

Anyway, in the grand old tradition of crack dealers, my Earth Therapeutics herbal gel mask came with a free bonus Hydrogel under-eye recovery patch. A sample. Of course not enough for my under-eye area to completely recover, but just enough to get me hooked. And how much is this habit? The patches suggested retail is $8 a patch. Granted, a lot cheaper than crack, but still I find it offensive that these corporations try to sink their hooks into you and get you addicted to their product.

You know what though? The mask actually does relieve eye puffiness. Not that I care. I’m a guy.

"Feministic Views" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

My daily Omari...

I couldn’t decide what I wanted for lunch today so I took a healthy approach toward eating and decided to graze at the salad bar. I’ve included a picture below. Before anybody writes to say, “hey buddy, why not try some salad with your dressing” bear in mind that the dressing is blue cheese dressing. And when you close the lid and shake it vigorously, the dressing more or less evenly coats the vegetable involved, and I guess, eventually my arteries.

I like all cheese, but blue cheese especially. The National Dairy Council also reports that 3 servings of dairy a day in a reduced-calorie diet supports weight loss. Also a new study among active women using oral contraceptives found bone loss was prevented for those who got their calcium from 3-A-Day of dairy. Getting enough calcium can play a major role in the prevention of osteoporosis later in life, which can be a problem for the ladies. Milk is probably another important source of calcium, but I am a bit lactose intolerant.

A few years back we had a temp named after a famous president. First and last name. And I think he understood the importance of dairy in your daily diet. Anyway, every morning when he came into work I’d stand up and say, “Good morning, Mr. President.” He was at some point offered a job and went up to human resources to fill out paperwork for the job. He never returned. Apparently he complimented the receptionist’s “rack” perhaps even calling it "nice." I don’t know for sure what was actually said. I wasn’t there. But he never came back. I was struck by his enthusiasm for dairy after noticing his that his computer desktop was a big picture of Naomi Campbell sporting a milk mustache.

I’m not sure where I am going with this but all this talk of milk, and our former temp’s love of milk and I guess breasts, reminds me of, well, breasts. Ironically, I was having an email conversation with a friend who grew up in the same town as I did. She wrote me last night to mention that A&E was showing a 2 hour long documentary called “Cleavage." A Hooters waitress named Nicki reportedly said that, "Believe it or not, I'm a feminist. I have a lot of feministic views." Unfortunately I missed the email and the documentary. In addition to Nicki, I was told that other commentators on the documentary were apparently actresses, a journalist who once went "undercover" in a giant padded bra, and a professional clown.

I told my friend that while I also held feministic views, I personally preferred smaller breasts and that she should praise me for reaching out to those less fortunate, breast-wise.

I’m still waiting for that praise to come through email. Any minute now.



He gets letters:

"Seriously, I know I've written before, but I can not tell you enough how much you make my day when you write that stuff. :) PS - here's your email thanking you for liking smaller boobs. :)"