That’s right, I’m putting the final flourishes on the first draft of a new essay right now. Using wry sardonic wit, a jaundiced eye, and other patriarchy-blaming techniques, the post will convey one spinster aunt’s unassailable opinions on the crappiness of evolutionary psychology. It probably won’t be as good as some other posts I’ve written, but then again, it will almost certainly be better than others. My secretary Phil gives it two-and-a-half stars, if that means anything to you.
Why stars? I asked. Why not something more germane to patriarchy blaming? They use forks on Epicurious. They use computer mice at MacWorld. I suggested to Phil that the tiny icon representing the measure of excellence on a patriarchy-blaming blog should be something more along the lines of rusty knives of castration, or rape convictions.
” ‘I give that post two-and-a-half senate bills guaranteeing a woman’s right to safe and legal abortion.’ See how much more blametarian that sounds?”
“Whatever,” said Phil. “You need another Vicodin?”
Which brings me to, yes I’m supposed to be on hiatus, but I’ve got a few spare post-writing minutes on my hands on accounta I performed an unscheduled dismount from my horse the other day and sort of tore up my knee. It turns out my Rx is unremitting lounging, mixed with Vicodin and intermittent ice pack applications, for a few days.
Well, back to the salt mines!