2 people: vampires, (black) people on Lady Gaga.

The other day when I was out drinking with friends I ended up being a little drunk and talking with a couple people:

1) A punkish undergrad guy who I ended up talking about "New Moon" with... He was really into it, and I asked him if he liked the whole vampire thing. It turns out he did, and he said he wished he could be one.

"Like in bed?", I was like, and he said yes, and that he wished girls were kinkier in bed.

2) A black woman who I talked with Lady Gaga about when "Bad Romance" came over the sound system. Her face lit up with mild appreciation when I asked her what she thought of the song, and she said she liked Lady Gaga, and though she had talent, and mentioned her songwriting right away.

I find it interesting - black people know she's a singer-songwriter, much more often than white people do, and I think that's tied into the way they respect her (though none are huge fans), which is along the lines of respecting the talent of a Prince or a Stevie Wonder (white people usually don't recognize or care as much who tries to write their own shit, I think).

I also think black women admire her adventurous, individualistic fashion sense... They sense that she's more like them than most white women are, when it comes to fashion.

We've come a long way.

I sent a friend the video to Miley Cyrus's "Party in the U.S.A.", and she wrote back that it bothers her when girls who like fifteen are sexed up, like they so often are in our culture.

So, I wrote back saying that New Moon star Taylor Lautner is like 17, but they always show him shirtless or in a wet t-shirt, so it's not just girls anymore, and she should be happy about that equality.

And, she agreed, and said (ironically) that it comforted her!

A happy thing or 2.

1) When I got my new passport back in the mail, my old invalidated one didn't come with it, and I thought it was lost forever. Fortunately, my previous steeling myself to loss worked, and I didn't feel that sad about it - like Epictetus says, work at smaller losses, and then you'll be good at bigger losses!

Then, the other day, my old passport was returned in a separate mailing. There was a slip of paper in both envelopes when I looked explaining that sometimes the State Dept. does that.

2) I had boughten this watermelon like 2 months ago, but after like 2 or 3 weeks, I hadn't gotten around to cutting it open, so I threw it in the fridge (it had been on my kitchen table).

Then, this weekend, I cut the watermelon open, expecting to find it rotten and throw it out. But, it wasn't! So, now I have a big pot of cut-up watermelon in my fridge.

My dog-naming prowess.

Got this e-mail from a high school friend last week (background: when I was over at her and her husband's house I kept calling their dog Bentley "Bender", and her husband liked the name so much that they renamed the dog, which I think was also adopted and arrived pre-named; also, her husband is a high school teacher):

So, question for you, since you named our last dog. We adopted another dog. His name is Cody, which [my husband] doesn't like b/c he has a lot of students named Cody. So, we need another name. The only problem is, he already knows his name and responds well to it, so the new name has to sound close to the old one.

We haven't been able to reach an agreement, so [my husband] decided that we need to consult the guy who named our first dog :)

I've attached some pictures of Cody and Bender, in case you need to see him to work your magic. Send us a few options :)

Here is one of the pictures of Cody and Bender that she attached:

As it turns out, I suggested "Odie", like in the Garfield comic strips, and she and her husband loved it, and this is her reply:

read below; we'll be sure to call when we're having children too. :)

[forwarded message from her husband:]

[My last name] wins again!

I wonder if they will consult me when they have kids - I bet so, I'm thinking now.

The library...

can sometimes be nice...

The new book I ordered just arrived.

I guess, honestly, that I've had them order way more than $30 worth of trashy books for me, so the fine really doesn't matter at the end of the day.

Ayn Rand and Nathaniel Branden's break-up.

From Nathaniel Branden's "My Years with Ayn Rand", pp. 344-345 -- the situation is that he never slept with her after her depression that ensued after finishing "Atlas Shrugged", but she still wanted to resume a physical relationship -- he fell in love with another woman (a model like a decade younger than him) and hid the truth from his wife and her, then he told his wife, then he wrote a letter to her spilling his guts, and she felt put out because she always hated her appearance, according to what Nathaniel's wife thought -- and, after an hour of her screaming, she slapped him a couple times, during which he remained silent, and then --

Frustrated by my long silence, Ayn demanded, "Well? Do you have anything to say?"

"I am deeply sorry," I answered truthfully, "for the pain I have caused you."

"Well, I have one more thing to say to you!" Ayn stated. And then she left me her final legacy: "If you have an ounce of morality left in you, an ounce of psychological health, you'll be impotent for the next twenty years! And if you achieve any potency sooner, you'll know it's a sign of still worse moral degradation!"

. . .

A few more memoir excerpts on fucking Ayn Rand.

More from Nathaniel Branden's "My Years with Ayn Rand" -- this time, p. 161, starting a new section within a chapter --

On the sofa, three members of our group were reading. Two days earlier, Ayn and I had lain there, embracing. I looked at Ayn and enjoyed thinking, in this moment, in this setting, that I knew every detail of the body underneath her dress.

Again, on p. 171 --

This Saturday evening I looked around the living room at our family. Frank and Joan were once again locked in private conversation -- about art, I assumed -- and Ayn said to me, "I don't want to disturb Frank. Let's you and I get the coffee and the pastry. Will you help me?" When we were alone in the kitchen, Ayn turned and whispered, "Isn't it wonderful, darling?" I knew that she meant all the elements of her life at present: our affair, Frank's discovery of painting, the Collective's response to the novel, and the emotional vibrations of joy and excitement in the room tonight.

"Yes," I said, meaning it. "It's wonderful."

For a brief instant, she stepped forward, pressing against me and smiling like a schoolgirl, who was delighted by her own daring. I responded by holding her ferociously, moving my hand along her thigh. I felt desire -- and a tenderness that was almost painful.

. . .