Russia's greatest love machine.

(This is one of the hardest/most fun songs on Just Dance 2 for the Wii. Never realized how weird Boney M was until I found this video).

The History of Chinese Medicine: Fàng Pì

"When a disease invades the blood level, then retreats to the wei level and lingers before attacking the ying and the jing successively, only to then wander unpredictably throughout the body, it is a sign the pathogen has become confused by Traditional Chinese Medicine terminology and the prognosis is good."

This is only one of the many diagnostic principles outlined by Fàng Pì (280 to 310 A.D.) in his Highly Unusual and Seldom Effective Treatment Principles: A Needle in the Dark.

"When a patient arrives at death's door, he should be asked to pay up front," and many other such treatment principles were outlined during Pì's short career.

Fàng is also known for unique variations on established methods. For centuries the theory of "mother" and "child" organs, such as the liver and heart, stated that in cases of deficiency, strengthen the mother with tonifying herbs. In cases of excess, restrict the son.

"When a disease attacks an attractive female, the principle of drugging the husband should always be applied," Fàng wrote.

Fàng's methods fell into fashion because of their daring novelty. He was soon highly in demand among the wealthy nobility, particularly the wives of preoccupied dignitaries. But most notable was his work as a court doctor to the Emperor.

Fàng had written, "When the heart has been invaded by cold, but there is mist in the lung, heart hail will result. If not treated quickly, the hail Qi will descend to freeze the intestines." When the Emperor himself contracted an embarrassingly severe case of digestive trouble, Fàng Pì was summoned in the hasty effort to recruit experts from the kingdom's top physicians. His case study throws further light on this piece of history.      

"Mr. King, age 39, suffered an extreme case of frozen bowels. Upon initial examination, a sharp icicle, 12 cun in length, was found protruding from his anus. The most urgent course of treatment was reducing: in this case, reducing the practitioner's temptation to make any cracks about it. It looked like a tail." This initial examination was difficult: None but the Emperor's top ministers were permitted to look at the monarch and Fàng was forced to carry out his examination from three houses away.

"The patient was instructed to sit in a pot of boiling water for precisely 65 seconds while facing south," Fàng writes. "Then I told him to eat a snail. Unfortunately, the treatment was not successful." The king was known to posterity as The Standing Emperor.

Fàng Pì traveled extensively after this event leaving behind extensive notes, diagrams and case stories. He eventually met up on his journey with several of the Emperor's chief army officials. Bits of Pì are still being found all over China.

Question of the day

Why is Gonorrhea called "the clap?"

Several theories posted on yahoo answers, the best place to go for completely unreliable information, suggest the name references an early form of treatment: the penis was knocked or "clapped" together with two objects while the subject bent over, hoping the disease would simply be knocked loose.

In fact, the infamous "Clapper" was intended as a wireless version of this same treatment, only the manufacturers discovered it also turned the lights off. Unfortunately, every time someone uses the since re-purposed product, someone somewhere else in the world gets VD.

This is all I've got for today

A picture of a butt:

(  |  ) 


One with a beauty mark (or a dingleberry):

(  |.  )

Help, I swallowed a traffic cone:

( <  )

A pig's:

( @ )

Pretty graphic:

(  *  )


And now the money shot:

( $ )

So little.

Blanket City.

The kids built a blanket city they've slept in for two nights.

There are three bedrooms, and, a "Meditation Room."

but nevertheless: My Impending Brilliance

but nevertheless: My Impending Brilliance: "I've been slacking here this week. I've had a headache since Monday and now I have an earache. I'm pretty sure I have a brain tumor. But I h..."

My lady is funny. I really hope it isn't just the side effect of a brain tumor.

Spring Break.

Working parents know Spring Break isn't what it was back in college. Most of us take two or three days off from the job or work out elaborate kid-sharing arrangements with other moms and dads. Mostly there's a lot of cowering under a pillow with your laptop hoping to get two minutes' work done between arbitrating fights or saying, "oh, really?" with feigned interest when your ten-year-old explains in detail his triumph on the latest world in Super Mario Brothers. But I'm proud of my boys. Yesterday, without my even needing to say "use your imagination" when the kids were looking for something to do, Ezra conceived of a sort of live-action Sims challenge for Ambrose, who went along with it sometimes reluctantly but along with it nonetheless.

The contest rules. "You will have 30 minutes to survive."

Challenge 1: The farming quiz. Ezra found the questions online. Ambrose was totally confused by some of the questions about, for example, the regulation height of chicken enclosures, but he passed.

For the Farm Plan (#2) Ambrose simply drew a farm.

At work on the #3, the shelter.

#4 Ambrose carrying water from the river and pouring it into glasses using only a spoon.

I was trying to get some work done in between yelling at Ezra to stop being so impatient with Ambrose, who was getting really pissed about what really were very confusing directions ("You want me to draw a farm?" "No! A Farm PLAN. Just show like where the building is and where the fields are and everything." "So you want me to draw a farm.") and trying to encourage Ambrose to stick it out, which he did.

My reward was to let them spend the next several hours playing Wii and shocking their brain cells to death with waves of ultrasonic grating idiocy radiating from Sponge Bob through the TV.

Teach, your children well.

Happy Birthday, Indian Style.

It was Elizabeth's brother's birthday so this is what I posted on his Facebooks.

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Sunday night.

Lying in the dark I type this with one finger realizing I forgot to blog. It was a good weekend: Ruby Tuesday has a fearsome salad bar, for one thing. It can't touch my lady's pot roast however. Ok my eyes hurt now. Keep your eyes off her roast. Out.

Side effects include going blind.

Thanks to Kelly and Jeff for introducing me to this fitness sensation.

Dream on Black Chicken, Dream on White Phoenix.

Please enjoy the translated titles of these gynecological medicines.

Wu Ji Bai Feng Wan
(Woo Gee Bye Fung Wahn)

"Black Chicken, White Phoenix Pills"

Wu Zi Yan Zong Wan
(Woo Zuh Yahn Zong Wahn)

"Five Seed Abundant Ancestors Pills"

Kang Wei Ling
(Kong Way Leeng)

"Excessively Limp Effective Remedy"

Battery power at 4%

Quick post something ok a picture

me and merry making pizza

Two weeks.

I need to know all of this by next next Monday.

Goodnews.

My dad came out of surgery very successfully. I hope that today every person has an opportunity to feel as lucky as me.

For those about to walk.

And when the light flashes it appears to rock.

The burning of items.

I always hated science. I enjoy reading summary details of research that has some bearing on my life, or that The New Yorker can convince me raises philosophical implications about the way we live. The results of science can be eye-opening. The details of science, the equipment and the math part of it and many scientists themselves, are eye-closing. So when we were told in 7th-grade science that we had to do a research project and present the results in front of the class I decided to put it off until the last minute. I consciously procrastinated it.

We could pick a partner, and me and Andy picked each other, maybe by default. I had got it in my head we would build a hot air balloon. We would use rubber balloons. We would find a way to hang candles off of them. In the abstract part of my mind I could really see the idea working. That is the part of the brain where cartoon physics apply. These are the only physics I understand.

The science teacher Ms. Johnson (I can still hear the way she tried to get control of the class, "Uh, you people....") required that we show official sources of research for the project so I took a book out of the school library about building flightless model aircraft using household supplies. It was just for the grade because really, we wouldn't be needing the book. The idea was solid.

The night before the project was due Andy and I had all the supplies spread out on my mom's dining room table, where normally we used Ouija boards or spent hours drawing medieval battles. And cartoons. Cartoons that I'm guessing would still be funny to me now, because my sense of humor stopped right there, at 13.

We tried several different ways of getting the stems of the balloons to stay open long enough to let the heat from the candles get through. I tried using toothpicks to stretch them open. Nothing was working. We turned to the library book for inspiration. Andy flipped to a chapter titled, "Build your own Hall of Fame."

For the next several hours, every time we hit an obstacle in planning our project one of us would say, "Maybe we should just, you know, build our own hall of fame." As the hours left to work on the project shrunk we were reduced to finding more ingenious ways of slipping that expression into the conversation. (Andy and I became Facebook friends about two years ago, 21 years later. His first message to me read something like, "Hey, Eric, you know what you should do? Build your own fucking hall of fame.")

We finally had something rigged together, a paper cup with a tea light in it suspended by strings from a balloon with its stem cut off. Someone lit a match. The balloon melted instantly. The next day we presented the results of our research titled "The Burning of Items."

Referencing a piece of oak-tag with columns labeled "crayon," "pencil," "potato chip," "action figure" Andy and I stood in front of the third-period science class in safety goggles holding tongs and a Bic lighter, marking down the time it took for various items to burn. I was the MC. "And now, a crayon... 20 seconds."

Kim Gambin, an angry little girl with red hair, freckles, and a penchant for calling people "faggots," was sitting in the first row of lab tables. "This project sucks!" she screeched.

"Uh... you people," said Ms. Johnson, still trying to restore order. But Kim was right. The project was scientifically proven to suck.

Mother's daughter.

Took the kids to the specialty toy store. Out of everything, Merry wanted this.

Cassie.

Look at my pretty doggie.

This is how we talk around the house.

Good bye, balls.

Dear balls:

I am drinking herbal tea as I write this. Herbal. Fucking. Tea.

If God existed and came down out of the sky and said I could do it without getting sick, dying or hurting anybody, I would not drink herbal tea. I would start the day off with a joint followed by the first of two packs' worth of Marlboros. I might have a bloody mary, or just some Baileys in my coffee for breakfast.

I'd take something to keep me awake until noon when I'd smoke another joint, finishing the day off with beers until evening. A nice stiff scotch after work, and a cigar. Another joint before bed. At least once a month, eat some mushrooms. If I could.

Can't. When I was forced reluctantly to quit drinking and taking drugs I held on to coffee and cigarettes with white-knuckled hands. I held on to you.

After I quit smoking (a few times) all I've really had left is caffeine. And now my very sensitive and delicate constitution has made it impossible for me to drink much of that anymore. I'm getting sledgehammer headaches every day if I don't drink coffee soon enough in the morning, or have it five minutes too late, or just because my body feels like fucking with me. There's the term "free buzz." I get free hangovers.

So here I am drinking herbal tea and mourning the loss of you, my balls. I'm putting you on the shelf in a little box along with my 20-year-old cassette tape of "Live Fast Die Young" by the Circle Jerks. It's time for James Taylor now, or some other neutered folk singer. Now it's Live Slow Die One Day at a Fucking Time.

Lo, It's time for the Dad Shorts and the fanny pack, the socks with sandals and those threadbare tee shirts that Dad Frumps, who are usually old, always seem to wear, promoting long-past and forgettable charity sporting events --- The Race for Rickets or something. The Mumps Walk. Canoeing for Cholera.

So good bye, balls. It was great while it lasted but it wasn't meant to be. It's not you, it's me.

2tired

Lloyd Christmas on love.

Sunday.

Merry was in rare form tonight. We went out to eat and on the way, I was telling one of my made-up stories (about the origin of the expression "full of baloney"). "Bo-ring" she interrupted from the back seat. At the restaurant I leaned down to tell her a secret. "Hey, watch the beard!"

Saturday.

Shamrock Shakes are back. Get one! This is not a sponsored post. I just want everybody to experience it.

Why to have children.

Hair today

A new challenge of sorts: She is getting bangs. I shall grow my hair long.

What's happening to me?

Since I cut down dramatically on caffeine I've noticed a very alarming thing happening to my body. My mouth keeps opening involuntarily and sucking in big gulps of air. There's an embarrassing vocalization as well. Someone told me this is called a "yawn."

I quit?

I had a headache all day and I'm pretty sure it's because caffeine and I no longer agree. However, looking up "caffeine addiction" has not been very encouraging. This fellow needs some.

I love the shirt.