This is Adam doing something I saw a lot of as a young girl — playing lacrosse. This was taken in the mid-’70s. I used to watch him play lacrosse, but he was a lifelong pal playing with a bunch of other lifelong friends, never a boyfriend. While I might have sensed he liked me, he never told me, and he never sent any messengers to tell me, and so I never assumed otherwise.

Look at those legs!

Adam was a really cute boy, a redhead with freckles and a great smile and laugh, an amazing athlete with an athlete’s body,  great dancer, and he had a kick-ass last name that made him mysterious to me — it sounded almost Inuit. We knew each other from kindergarten on; our older siblings grew up with one another. If anyone ever picked on me, Adam had my back. A bitchy redhead named Margaret Conrad once slapped me across the face in middle school. Adam appeared out of nowhere, took her by the arm and made it clear she was never to lay a finger on me again. Duelling gingers!

When we got into high school, Adam was always lurking in the shadows, looking out for me. We got drunk once and made out; his was the first boner I ever felt, albeit over top his jeans. He still played lacrosse, I still went and watched. If he really tried to woo me, I can’t recall it. I don’t know why I didn’t make a move, but I think, when I look back, I might have assumed he was a little off. He would stare at me strangely and not speak. He would start to say something and stop. He would withdraw completely, for weeks, if he saw me hanging out with new guys. He didn’t hang out that much with my crowd. He was a slow talker, sort of stoner-ish, and maybe I wondered if he was a druggie (fool — that would be considered a bonus in later years). I didn’t know what to make of him once we got into high school, and I didn’t worry too much about it, and proceeded to go out with a complete tool named Robbie for three years. He was dumb, shallow, a cheat and lousy in the sack. To this day, I am embarrassed I went out with him. (more…)


I don’t get it, but I guess that’s what happens on the other side of 30, you stop squeeeing over shaggy haired pre-pubescent boys.  Well, unless you’re a junior high social studies teacher.  Anyway, BCP Reader Amoureuse showed us this site of Lesbians Who Look Like Justin Bieber.

Remember me? I embarrassed myself on VH-1 and tried to convince you Tila Tequila was bi!

I don’t think the website Some Ugly Baby is here to encourage baby bodysnarking.  I regard it more as a celebration of those odd babies out who don’t quite fit the Gerber baby mold, those babies that make stangers bite their tongues, those babies that defy convention in their own unknowing way.  I am a fan of the unexpected, subversive, ugly baby.

I don’t have a baby of my own, but I believe I would know if my infant was ugly (maybe, maybe not).  An ugly baby doesn’t mean an ugly adult – it’s obviously a transitional phase that predicts little about a child’s looks in the long-term, which is why I’m not too bothered by how amusing I find ugly babies.  That said, I am always sort of weirded out when I see little kids and can visualize exactly what they’re going to look like in middle age.

This is definitely a middle-aged baby.  A lot of babies look like old men, of course, especially the brand-new ones. (more…)

*From Dlisted*

This baby has something to SAY, damn it, much to her parents’ delight.

I love how engaged and adamant she is.  I see a future in punditry.  As an interesting addition, after my mom sent us this video, my dad responded with a link to this essay on “The 30 Million Word Gap” by Betty Hart and Todd S. Risley from a 2003 edition of The American Educator.  Dad explained:

Re the little chatterbox, whose father is obviously quite responsive to her attempts to communicate: attached is a study of language behavior in families of professional, working class, and welfare families.  You don’t really have to read it; the main conclusions are that there are enormous differences in the quantity of words spoken to small children (and children of professionals receive much more encouragement vs prohibitions).  Educators call it “the 30 million word gap”. 

Nicholas Kristoff’s column in Sunday’s The New York Times referenced this also.   My conclusion?  Talking to your babies is good policy, especially when they start to talk back.

Thankfully, the media has alerted us to Patient Zero, the original source of the virus known as Swine Flu threatening a global pandemic, so the blaming can begin.  An image of the offender in action can be found below, in flagrant disregard for international health concerns


From a 1929 issue of Modern Mechanics, please enjoy this short tale of a bad-ass, wandering poodle and his faithful human companion.


Heart = Warmed.  I love you, Tramp Poodle Dog, and your sweet wee boots.

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