Where Oh Where Have My Boobs Gone?

This drawing of me was done by Ambrose Quintanilla IV. I'm too paranoid and self-conscious to see any resemblance. But, it's cute. It looks like the hot mom in a Ren and Stimpy cartoon.

My Husband's Toe Has A Bad Toupee

Back on May 19, I posted My Husband's Toe Has A Hilter Moustache which was as offensive to podiatrists as it was to Holocaust victims.



At the time, I predicted that in a few months his toe would look like it had a bad toupee. Indeed, I am as prescient as I am precious.



If nothing else, it's fascinating-- perhaps fascinating is too strong a word-- to see how much a toenail grows in four months.

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go To Kabul

I sure hope the Justin Bieber World Tour isn't going anywhere near Afghanistan.

For centuries, Afghan men have taken boys, roughly 9 to 15 years old, as lovers. Some research suggests that half the Pashtun tribal members in Kandahar and other southern towns are bacha baz, the term for an older man with a boy lover. Literally it means "boy player." The men like to boast about it.

I get the creepy feeling that former NSYNC producer, Lou Pearlman, is in his jail cell right now, planning his next boy band, Bacha Baz.

In Kandahar, population about 500,000, and other towns, dance parties are a popular, often weekly, pastime. Young boys dress up as girls, wearing makeup and bells on their feet, and dance for a dozen or more leering middle-aged men who throw money at them and then take them home. A recent State Department report called "dancing boys" a "widespread, culturally sanctioned form of male rape."

It's sad when an article from the San Francisco Chronicle sounds more unbelievable than The Onion.

That helps explain why women are hidden away - and stoned to death if they are perceived to have misbehaved. Islamic law also forbids homosexuality. But the pedophiles explain that away. It's not homosexuality, they aver, because they aren't in love with their boys.

You have to wonder, are all the men gay because they're taught that women are unclean or are men taught that women are unclean so they can keep the homosexual party going for generations?

It's no wonder Michael Jackson was dabbling in Islam before his death.

Oh, Those Wildwood Days!

The Jersey shore-- the place, not the MTV reality show-- is so much more than tacky, Italian kids from New York. It's also filled with tacky, Italian kids from Philadelphia. But, if you go on Labor Day, when all the other vacationers are packing up their cars and heading north, it won't be filled with anybody, tacky or otherwise.

Wildwood, NJ-- located approximately 90 miles south of where Snooki and The Situation reek havoc-- is primarily a dysfunctional family resort. Which means hotel rates plummet when the rug rats are forced back into school. A room two blocks from the beach, costing $129 on Sunday, falls to $56, 24 hours later. We couldn't resist. Ever since I got my vintage birthday bike, I had a hankering to ride on the nearly world famous 2.5 mile boardwalk.

I also had a hankering to read a thick history book and illegally drink beer on the beach, both of which we did. My hardback of choice was David McCullough's "The Path Between the Seas: The Creation of the Panama Canal, 1870-1914" and my beer of choice was Redbridge gluten-free. My husband downed Tecate with lime and tore through "Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich" by Mark Kriegel. Our reading was briefly interrupted when an old biker dude, a few yards away, stripped down to reveal a thong Speedo. You just can't concentrate on things like words and sentences when that kind of a train wreck is happening one towel over.

Early the next morning, we wrestled our bikes out of the back of the station wagon, strapped on our helmets to begin what would be a kidney-jarring ride. Wildwood really needs to replace some of boards on the boardwalk! As often as we could, we rode along the concrete Tram-car path just to save our innards.

Wildwood is actually three, three, three towns in one. The cleverly named North Wildwood is to the north and Wildwood Crest is just south of Wildwood.

Back in the '80's, developers in Wildwood Crest started blowing down the ultra-cool, mid-century motels and replacing them with cookie-cutter, condo monstrosities. Luckily, some preservationists intervened and saved many of the original structures. Now called the Doo-Wop district, it is a tourist attraction for those of us who like all things Mad Men-ish. The hotels are all operational and have groovy names like the American Safari Inn, The Blue Marlin and The Tangiers. Riding around on my vintage bike, I must have looked like a plant from the tourism office.

The Caribbean hotel might be my favorite.



But since I'm a sucker for all things Hawaiian, I just may have to stay at one of these places next summer.





I still can't figure out why the Granada has a tiki theme.



Two days in Wildwood was just about enough. For one thing, I had a hard time finding anything to eat. Pizza, cheesesteaks, chicken fingers, fried fish and all things gluten-y were everywhere. By the end of night number one, I was calling it Glutenwood. Last night, I had two bunless hot dogs and half a banana split. If it weren't for the banana split and the lime in my gin & tonic, I wouldn't have had any fruit at all.



The sign says, "You Are Now Leaving The Boardwalk Of Fame And Happiness." I had no idea Confucius vacationed here!

Penn and Teller On Vaccinations