Somehow I missed Orgasm Day yesterday (þ: Glenn Reynolds). Amber Taylor claims that this event would be the “polar opposite” of International Kissing Day; I tend to think these events are rather orthogonal, myself.

However, it’s still Masturbation Month, so everyone’s got that to, er, celebrate at least.

Someone is trying to organize a “time traveler convention” this weekend at MIT. I’ve read and seen enough science fiction to know this is a really, really bad idea—particularly if it works. (þ: Alex Knapp)

Yeah, this is pretty much right, although the high ranking of Philly was a bit of a surprise, since Scott and I thought it was kind of a cesspool when we visited for APSA in 2003:

þ: PoliBlog.

Today, Kelly promised me that she would avenge my death, should it be from unnatural causes. I feel strangely comforted by this promise, although I am at a complete loss to explain why.

Heidi Bond is also thinking about synchronicity and the extroversion-introversion divide:

While I like all my friends very much, I don’t understand how interrupting a perfectly good train of thought with the annoyance of a call could be perceived as a benefit. And I think that about sums it up—calls, however dear the friend, are an annoyance.

And so I wonder whether there’s a difference between cell phone usage of extroverts and introverts.

Undoubtably. Of course, you could be an introvert like me, but be trained to carry your phone with you all the time, and reap the worst of both worlds.

Jacqueline has two completely NSFW quizzes for her readers. I’m not entirely sure what my scores (which you will pry from my cold, dead fingers) said about me.

James Joyner and Jeff Jarvis are up in arms that Fox network censors have allegedly insisted that Pamela Anderson’s nipples be “taped down” on her new sitcom Stacked that debuted tonight (without my viewership), lest viewers be offended by her attributes sticking out.

While I agree with the general principle at stake here—indeed, who is going to tune into a show starring Anderson who doesn’t want to see her nipples?—I am forced to wonder why this problem exists in the first place. I suppose the issue could simply be that soundstages for TV shows are notoriously chilly, to compensate for the heat radiated by the lights and other equipment, or it could be that Anderson has atypically attentive nipples*—I know of a few young women with this “problem” myself, and it’s not one you can really point out to them.

I guess the moral of the story is to let the nipples soar; besides, the show will probably be canned in six weeks anyway.

I bought a pack of Zeiss Lens Cloths at Wal-Mart yesterday to clean my glasses. The box says it contains 50 lens cloths, and was just under $3. Each lens cloth is individually packaged in strips of three, and I received 17 strips (yes, I counted), so I actually bought a box of 51 lens cloths.

I am at a loss to explain this discrepency. Would people be confused by a box that says it contains 51 cloths? Or, alternatively, would people be so excited by the bonus lens cloth as to feel like they’d gained some sort of karmic reward? Inquiring minds apparently want to know…

Dan Drezner links a New York Times Style section piece that Will Baude rightly characterizes as “bizarre” on something called a “man date”—or, at least, something that isn’t really called that, since the reporter made up the term. (Compared to Mitch Albom, Ms. Lee is a piker.)

Perhaps the most bizarre part is the coinage of calling it a “date”—the only sort of non-romantic dates I’ve ever heard of before involve people under the age of 10, and even the term “play date” sounds fundamentally stupid to me. I’ve certainly had dinner with people and been confused about whether or not it was actually a date, but I have never experienced that confusion at dinner with someone I wasn’t interested in romantically.

It’s occurred to me recently that there seem to be basically two different types of people: the sychronous and the asynchronous. Synchronous people like to have conversations; they want to deal with things “in the present,” then move onto other things. Asynchronous folks, on the other hand, want to correspond and have some time to think things over; at the extreme, they won’t use the telephone even for simple matters due to the risk of bothering someone when they’re otherwise disposed.

Then again, maybe these are just manifestations of the broader traits of extroversion and introversion; I suspect most introverts (like me) prefer email to phone calls and IMs, while most of the extroverts I know aren’t much for email—they might read it, but good luck getting a response amounting to more than one sentence. Of course, these days you can’t really be just one or the other—although I do long for a return of the days of the handwritten letter sometimes.

This is some pretty damn hideous carpet, even by institutional standards—my grad student office at Ole Miss had hideous carpet too, but at least it was more-or-less one color.

Actually, there was also some hideous solid orange (well, modulo the bits with various stains) carpet at the Museum of Contemporary Art today, but the little sign claimed it was a deliberate choice of an artist so I guess that makes it pardonable.

I don’t know what’s sadder: that Jenna Bush was at a party doing the “butt dance,” or that this is the first I’d heard of this phenomenon, which according to the New York Post is performed “when the deejay plays the 1988 hit ‘Da Butt,’ by E.U.”

Come to think of it, it might also be sad that this is the first I’ve heard of this 1988 “hit.”

Update: Those of you jonesing for a copy of this classic hit need look no further than the soundtrack of School Daze, for the low-low price of $5.99 at Amazon.com.

Today is the first of five consecutive days that I have to be up at an ungodly hour (today and Tuesday due to oral comps, Wednesday due to my flight to Chicago, Thursday and Friday due to my morning panels at MPSA). I get the odd feeling that I may not be a happy camper as this week progresses.

I came home today to find a gas leak in my apartment, apparently caused by a hole in the hose between my gas stove and the supply line in my kitchen. Fun! (Thankfully, the gas to the stove was able to be switched off until the landlord can get a replacement gas hose tomorrow morning, without also disabling the heat and hot water.)

Mike Munger writes:

Now, those of you who have had the great pleasure of beholding Kgrease in the flesh know that (1) there is a lot of flesh, and (2) my hair is shoulder length, very curly, and with lots of blonde highlights. Some of those highlights are from the sun, but most come from chemical products applied by a trained and highly competent hairdresser. (That’s right: “My name is Blonde….Fake Blonde.”)

A wash/haircut/highlights job from my hairdresser costs $90, plus $15 or so tip.

I think it’s pretty safe to say I’d never had guessed that Mike spent $105 on his hair, although I suppose it’s also safe to say I suspected the “clean cut” look on his vita or here was probably closer to nature’s effects than this. Surreal, indeed.

I met my friends Alfie and Annie for dinner tonight at Corky’s, followed by beers at the Fox and Hound on Sanderlin; both events were punctuated by bad service, but otherwise quite enjoyable.

As both Mr. and the future Mrs. Sumrall are avid Signifying Nothing fans, I indulged a request from Annie for her photo to be posted to the blog; apologies for the low quality, as the flash on my camera phone sucks royally, although daylight photos come out fairly well.

A nasty thunderstorm this morning, in addition to tripping the master circuit breaker on my apartment (hidden behind a panel on my outside electric meter, instead of hiding in the circuit breaker box in my laundry room), killed a power strip in my bedroom and my microwave oven, both of which were pretty close to being on their last legs anyway. So now I’m the proud owner of a new GE microwave oven from Wal-Mart, which seems roughly equivalent in features and wattage to the old microwave.

Had a fun day today at Mal’s St. Paddy’s Parade in downtown Jackson with glowing Kamilla, object-of-glow Andy, adjective-defying Kelly, and Friday (Kelly’s dog), including a 3 mile stroll from the humble abode and back that compensated for the HAC being closed today. For your edification, here are a few photos from my camera phone of the beautiful people (i.e. not me) frolicking in West Street Park after the parade.

Those under the impression that limiting legislative sessions to 90 days every two years would reduce legislative stupidity have another thing coming, apparently:

The Friday night lights in Texas could soon be without bumpin’ and grindin’ cheerleaders. Legislation filed by Rep. Al Edwards would put an end to “sexually suggestive” performances at athletic events and other extracurricular competitions.

“It’s just too sexually oriented, you know, the way they’re shaking their behinds and going on, breaking it down,” said Edwards, a 26-year veteran of the Texas House. “And then we say to them, ‘don’t get involved in sex unless it’s marriage or love, it’s dangerous out there’ and yet the teachers and directors are helping them go through those kind of gyrations.”

Under Edwards’ bill, if a school district knowingly permits such a performance, funds from the state would be reduced in an amount to be determined by the education commissioner.

Edwards said he filed the bill as a result of several instances of seeing such ribald performances in his district.

One is forced to wonder if Edwards was among those protesting Elvis Presley back in the 50s. On the upside, I initially misread the headline as “Lawmaker Seeks to End Sexy Cheerleaders,” which would seem to eliminate any purpose for having cheerleaders to begin with. (þ: OTB and others.)

A few odds and ends:

• Had a nice time Friday night hanging out with my friend Kamilla and some of her fellow Baha’i at their mid-fast feast. Plus I got to show my massive dominance at Scrabble at the Video Café afterwards, although I don’t think anyone was really impressed.
• My friend Kelly (who also hung out with the Baha’i) is exhibiting some recent work as part of a show at Lemuria starting on Tuesday. Buy some of her stuff; it’s helping a good cause.
• I’ve got three tests to write and an honors committee progress meeting between now and Wednesday afternoon. Don’t expect lots of blogging in the meantime.
• There might be some really great job news I can share in a few days. Or there might not be, I’m not entirely sure yet. You’ll know it when you see it.

There are few things more distracting than, while killing yourself on an exercise bike, hearing the 20-ish young woman behind you on a treadmill either (a) grunting like tennis player Monica Seles or (b) having a really loud orgasm. Since I have no delusions about my physical attractiveness, I am forced to assume that (a) is the correct explanation.

I cobbled together an op-ed on judicial nominations and the filibuster for the Clarion-Ledger. Let’s see if it makes print; maybe they’re looking for a Mary Matalin (or at least a George Stephanapolous) to Bob McElvaine’s James Carville.

A couple of interesting things I noticed today are being discussed at Begging to Differ:

• Today’s New York Times carried a story on unisex bathrooms; I tend to think the solution to this issue (discussed today by Will Baude and Hei Lun, among others) is the spread of unisex, handicapped-accessible/baby changing restrooms, which would seem to be the solution for the gender-confused or gender-transitioning, rather than “desegregation” of bathrooms in general. Incidentally, every story I’ve heard about womens’ restrooms has echoed Amber Taylor’s indication that they tend to be worse than mens’ rooms (initially, I was surprised too); I should ask the custodial staff for an objective evaluation.
• I learned a new word today: heteronormative, which apparently doesn’t mean that you think diversity is a good thing (i.e. what the word would mean if it were constructed from the actual meaning of the stem “hetero”; more properly, the word should be “heterosexualnormative”). Greg has more if you care. Given my epistemological leanings and the likely composition of the audience, I suspect Ms. Pinkett Smith’s comments were probably more heteropositive or heteroempirical. Or something.

I am a lousy 15% metrosexual. (þ: ChicagoBoyz)

Tim Sandefur and Ed at Dispatches from the Culture Wars are blogging about their favorite pens. Mr. Sandefur’s preferred Pilot V-Ball Extra Fine Point was my favorite for the longest time as well, and I still have a few floating around the apartment, but recently I’ve become more enamored of the Sanford uniball Vision Elite, particularly in the super-fine blue-black and red inks, the latter of which I use for grading.