Either she’s a child actor prodigy…

….or female narcissism starts out a lot earlier than I suspected:

Seriously, she’s three years old; what the hell is a three-year-old doing thinking about boys–much less obsessing about a teen pop star.

Rule 5 Saturday: Alice Greczyn

A restart, with something a little NSFW:

With regard to the WikiLeaks Dump…

…I say–fuck it. Pull our people out, bring ‘em home, and nuke the mountains where the Taliban hide until they’re blackened glass plains.

But hey–what do I know? I was for nuking Tora Bora while that rat fuck sonofabitch bin Ladin was there–which makes me for this war before I was against it. And I never served, which makes me a hypocrite of the first water, doesn’t it?

I only know this much: our people have bled enough. Call it done, and bring them home.

Ye Gods and Madmen!!!

What the fuck is this!?!?!?

Mother sues son she abandoned at age 15 for parental support

What!?!?!?

W hen Ken Anderson was just 15, his mother, Shirley, made it clear: She didn’t want him anymore.

Ken’s father, a long-haul trucker, had been transferred from Osoyoos, B.C., to the province’s Kootenay region. Although their marriage was rocky, Shirley followed, taking second-youngest son Darryl with her.

Ken was left behind. He had plenty of time to think about it as he wiped bug splatter off car windshields and pumped gas at the local station to make a buck. He says he can’t even remember how many couches he slept on, or how he kept himself going. He just knows he never got to go to a prom, finish high school or even think about college.

The way he sees it, he never really had a mother.

On Aug. 3 and 4, Ken, now 46, will face off in B.C. Supreme Court against the woman who gave birth to him.

What!?!?!?

Shirley Anderson, 71, is suing Ken and four of his five siblings for parental support. The case has been dragging on for years, but the August hearing should complete it.

Shirley has dusted off a little-used section in B.C.’s Family Relations Act that legally obliges adult children to support “dependent” parents.

WHAT!?!?!?!?

Ken is too overcome with a sense of injustice to know what is more of an affront: that the statute exists or that the woman who abandoned him even meets the definition of “parent.”

Ken says it’s been nearly two decades since he even spoke with his mother. “The only time she ever called was to ask for money.”

Christ’s Wounds!!! This is madness!!!

(A tip o’ the hat to Kathy Shaidle for the link).

That’s a damn good question….

In FB’s latest linkage round-up (Warning: NSFW–topless totty at the top of the page), there’s a link to the following article:Why Don’t Teenage Girls Swoon for Middle-Aged Billionaires?, by Satoshi Kanazawa.

Kanazawa raises a good point when he states:

Throughout human evolutionary history, and in contemporary tribal societies today, girls get married soon after reaching puberty and thus at the peak of their reproductive value. They typically marry much older men of high status, great political power, and ample resources. A typical marriage, both throughout human evolutionary history and in contemporary tribal societies, is between a newly pubescent teenage girl and a middle-aged or elderly tribal chief, who marries her as his third or fourth or eleventh wife. Young boys in their adolescence and early adulthood are almost never able to marry, until they are much older and have acquired the means and status to do so.

So why do today’s teenage girls find teenage boys, like Bieber and Lautner, sexually attractive, but not much older men of greater status and means, like Gates and Branson, who are exactly the type of men that the teenage girls would have married had they lived 10,000 years ago or today in tribal societies in Africa? Teenage girls today could not possibly have evolved psychological mechanisms to find teenage boys sexually attractive, because such an evolved psychological mechanism would have been highly maladaptive in the ancestral environment. Any teenage girl who was foolish enough to have fallen in love with and married a teenage boy, without the status and means to protect her and her children, was not likely to have left many surviving offspring.

In essence, the author acknowledges the Roissy Truism “The Gina Tingle conquers all”, and wants to know why?

My immediate, gut-level response would be, “Because they can.”

We live in what is, arguably, the wealthiest civilization in all of recorded history. Even the general “poor” in the West have access to material goods that would have staggered the imagination of our ancestors–even those at the beginning of the 20th Century would be amazed at what we have today. Historically, most people have lived at subsistence level; if you lost your livelihood, you didn’t go on unemployment–you starved. And, I don’t mean you go hungry–you starved:

There’s a reason the Gods of the Copybook Headings say: If you don’t work, you die! And, if Vox Day is right in his analysis of the economy of the West (The Return of the Great Depression), those gods may very well be limping their way up to the podium to explain that to us again.

Under such conditions, what Satoshi Kanazawa states is true: women wouldn’t settle for the prettyboys–they would grab up a proven provider with gusto. But we don’t live in historically usual circumstances–the imminent pressure of death doesn’t press down on the female side of the sexual marketplace as it usually does, so women are free to waste their time sexually pursuing whom they please, and the criteria for a mate becomes one primarily of aesthetics, instead of economics.

The irony is palpable: just as men build empires to defend the nations they love, so too, men build civilizations to protect the children they love; and the consequences of a poorly-built (or, as I suspect is the truth in the West, poorly-defended) civilization are as tragic as those of a poorly-built empire.

Edit: Dennis Mangan has his own take on Kanazawa’s question (tip o’ the hat to Alkibiades for the link).

A lost opportunity, or avoiding a trap?

Back in the early 90′s, an older woman I worked with suggested that I move out to Los Angeles with her. The way she phrased the suggestion made it sound like an entirely platonic and benign idea: she knew I was spinning my wheels in school, and that life pretty much sucked where I was (for the record, I would sooner eat ground glass and wash it down with boiling pitch before going back into retail sales), so a change in venue might give me a new opportunity to get my life on track.

The reality of the offer? While I cannot know the woman’s thoughts, I did know that she was highly promiscuous, and liked her men young–she was a “cougar” long before the term was invented. She also hung out with the rough company, and I doubted my ability to swim the same waters as her crowd did. But the idea of pairing up with such a willing sex partner was very tempting–doubly so, given that I was a virgin still. I spent many sleepless nights considering that offer.

Ultimately, I said no. Had I gone, she would have tossed me aside within a month, leaving me alone in a large city without job skills, friends or family, twenty-five hundred miles from familiar territory. Then again, perhaps that’s exactly what I needed–to get dumped out of my safety zone and forced to deal with the world around me. Lord knows, cancer has certainly done that now–and there is no more guarantee that I will survive this than being poor and alone in LA just before the ’92 Riots.

It’s a hard thing, to recognize which way to jump.

Why is it…

….that every time the Journalist calls me, the Negotiator calls as well?

One would almost suspect one knew about the other–and was keeping tabs on me to make sure I didn’t stray to far off the reservation. Their reservation, of course.

Imagine if they found out about the Legal Secretary, and how I’ve been trying to open her up. Heh.

This bastard has my job, dammmit….

…and I suspect some of you would say the same.

Our Dark Lord and Inspiration, Roissy, tuned me in to the luckiest bastard in the world, one Richard Kern. Motherfucker. Until they create the “Official Tester of Clitoral Sensitivity to Stimulation from Cunnilingus”, that bastard has my job. Bastard.

I salute Richard Kern. You bastard.

The dangers of inertia.

One of my worst enemies in my effort to re-make myself is the inertia of life: it’s the collection of habits and repetitive behaviors that occupy most of our daily activities. It takes a serious shake-up in your life to get you to start fighting against the usual, to make an effort to try to improve yourself; for me, it was cancer, and the naked terror of dying like I am. 11 minutes hit on the difficulties of staying on your new course in his Sex and Philosophy post:

There is enormous freedom in that state of mind. Your entire ambition becomes to live just for another moment. Nothing else counts. The people around you become strangers, possessed by an evil invisible force that drives them to not enjoy every single moment as you are. If you care enough about them, you want to shake them, tell them to stop worrying about their petty little worries and go and live! But you know that you now talk a language they will never understand.

But the state of mind of a survivor state of mind is short lived.

Soon after I had been told that my ulcer was benign, I slipped back into my old life. As soon as your time horizon fades back into a foggy future, you start worrying the human worries again. You need money. You do not want anyone to steal your stuff. You do not want to risk serious injury or disease. You do not want to fall behind your peers. The evil invisible force gets you under its control again.

I have been experiencing the exact same phenomenon that 11 minutes describes above. And, like he, I am acutely aware of how wrong it is to fall back into the old rhythms–”Once you took a sip from the spring of wisdom, it is hard to forget its taste.“; indeed, sometimes I am so aware of how much I am not getting done that I start having anxiety attacks–I worry that I might die before I’m done, or (worse still) that I might fail to transform, and live out the remainder of my life grieving for what might have been.

The answer is as 11 minutes describes it:

Life is not a parade of great experiences, one after another. It is trite, mundane, often boring, exhausting and insignificant. But then there are the brief flickers of exception The amazing moments. And it is those that we live for. And the art of life is not to miss out on them. Once you miss the moment, it is gone forever.

Don’t try to seize the whole day. Seize the best parts of it. Use the rest of the time to recharge for the next great event that makes your life.

I have to learn to seize the best parts of the day–to recognize those opportunities and to take them. If I succeed, I succeed; if not…well, I made the effort, didn’t I?

Shrinking violet, indeed!

Just took a Narcissistic Personality Test posted by Susan Walsh of Hooking Up Smart, and I came out thusly:

Narcissistic Trait
Authority: 1.00
Self-Sufficiency: 1.00
Superiority: 0.00
Exhibitionism: 0.00
Exploitativeness: 0.00
Vanity: 0.00
Entitlement: 2.00

Given that the average score is 12 and 15, with celebrities scoring about an 18 (and true narcissists scoring about a 20), I would say that I have a long way to go.