The turbinates are thin curlicues of bone in the nose that
are covered by thick mucous membranes. Under the mucous membranes
are erectile tissues.
In some cases, when these nasal erectile tissues
are engorged, the nasal nerves are irritated causing a sneeze.
It's actually part of the system that keeps foreign bodies
(dust, pollen, et al) out of your airway. And it also helps
warm cold air before it goes into your lungs.
Some people are hypersensitive and sneeze whenever
the nasal erectile tissues swell.
But consider this, an erection can be systemic
A side effect of taking Viagra, for instance,
is a stuffy nose. Not only does the drug cause engorgement
of the penis, but ALL erectile tissue. Including the erectile
tissues of the nose.
The same thing happens during sex, your nose
gets an erection. This can make breathing a little more difficult
during "the act".
Now, consider you're one of those hypersensitive
types. Instead of "Pant, pant", it's "Ah-choo,
ah-choo". It happens. But it can get really embarrassing.
Imagine you're out with your girl. She knows
you well enough to know about your sneezing problem. Dinner
finished, she asks, "Whatever shall we do now?"
You, "How about catching a movie?"
AHHHH! CHOOOOO! :::
Arrgh! My Ears
Last weekend I put a new vanity, sink and medicine chest in
my bathroom. (A quick shout out to Donato
for moving the cold water pipe over).
When everything was said and done and I turned the water on,
an earsplitting whistle overtook the bathroom.
Sandi and I grabbed our ears and fell to our knees. We found
ourselves smack dab in the middle of a bad Star Trek episode.
You know the one's where Kirk and Spock grab their ears and
have to fight through the aggressor's trick high frequency
Sandi (my Spock), by now, had already passed out in the corner.
Something. has. taken. control. of. my. bathroom. and. is.
killing. my. crew.
I need to fight. my. way. through. the. disorienting. pain.
to. the. source. of. the. sound.
The. new. faucet. Of. course!
Through stunned muscles, I quickly spun off the screen holder
at the faucet exit. And there it was, the source of the alien's
power, a two-piece plastic thingy. The water was being forced
through a hole on top and escaping through outlets on the
The water pressuring through this apparatus
creates debilitating high frequency sound emmissions.
Turns out it wasn't made by aliens afterall. But, instead,
The plastic thingy is a flow restriction device. A device
mandated by the idiot government politicos in California.
The same numb nuts that have brought us rotating power outages.
Well, I ditched the flow restrictor. And now my faucet is
illegal in California.
I'm a rebel.
And don't try to stop me. I'll bring you down too. :::
Hey, we all have relationships that have gone sour. Perhaps
yours is going sour right now.
Most of us have been the one that made THE thousand phone
calls. Most of us have received THE thousand phone calls.
And, if you're divorced, perhaps THE thousand phone calls
have cost you half your money and stuff.
Maybe not. But regardless, visit psychoexgirlfriend.com
and be prepared to laugh that nervous laugh again and to feel
the chills go up and down your spine.
Perhaps you'll recognize yourself in these calls. Perhaps
you'll recognize someone you once knew. Probably a little
of both. :::
I planned on intricately weaving
a wonderful tapestry of witty thoughts on marriage. And on
why you should never marry for love.
But I couldn't do it as well as these people:
Ironically, the least reliable grounds
for marriage is romance
The forty-six percent of
marriages that do last longer then five years have
almost all moved from being primarily romantic endeavors,
to incorporating (some other type) of relationship.
Venus, a beautiful, good-natured lady, was the goddess of
love; Juno, a terrible shrew, the goddess of marriage: and
they were always mortal enemies.
A good marriage, if there is such a thing, rejects the company
and conditions of love. It tries to imitate those of friendship.
Michel de Montaigne
Love is a reciprocity of soul and has a different end and
obeys different laws from marriage. Hence one should not
take the loved one to wife.
It is most unwise for people in love to marry.
At the beginning of a marriage ask yourself whether this
woman will be interesting to talk to from now until old
age. Everything else in marriage is transitory: most of
the time is spent in conversation.
Only choose in marriage a woman whom you would choose as
a friend if she were a man.
People marry for a variety of reasons, and with varying
results; but to marry for love is to invite inevitable tragedy.
Alright, Dad didn't like my wallpaper from yesterday. He likes
a more traditional picture. This next one my wife uses. This,
too, I photographed and PhotoShopped.
So, Dad, give this one a look:
Now you can use the same wallpaper used by me, your pal, Jim.
This image was photographed and enhanced by yours truly. I've
got a bunch of them and will soon share elsewhere on this
site. Probably in the gallery. Until then:
I didn't start off trying to tell this story. I had some other
points on marriage I wanted to hit. It just didn't come out
that way. I'll try again tomorrow.
But, I'm telling you, I love
The woman who wrote "The
Rules" for a happy marriage has filed
for divorce. Couldn't apply her own rules, I assume. Or
her rules suck.
When I seek advice, I look to the experienced.
On Nan and Pop's fiftieth wedding
anniversary I asked Pop, "I know that there's no secret
for a long, happy marriage, but what can you tell me that
might get Sandi and me to our fiftieth?"
He answer, "Every now
and then you just have to ignore her."
There are volumes in that one simple sentence:
"Don't take everything so personal." "It's
seldom that serious." "Everything is not a battle."
"Give her space." "Let her complain."
And on and on.
I thought about a typical
situation I saw all my life -
Nan, spitfire that she is, could rant about anything. She
was particularly good at ranting at Pop. Pop was more subdued.
She'd go on and on about
him bringing a sick, stray cat home or about him picking up
a hitchhiker or any number of things. Pop wouldn't say a word.
Instead, he'd make tea.
you know we don't need another animal around here
Water goes into tea kettle.
do you think I have the time to take care of every sick animal
in this town
you're going to bring this thing back where you got it from
and another thing, you've got too many golf balls in this
In goes the lemon juice.
Herb, how many times do we have to go over this
Now the honey.
swear, Herb, sometimes you don't even listen to me ...
He sits down next to her,
tea in hand:
"Okay, enough, woman. Or I'll
send you back to Baltimore."
Sometimes you gotta ignore
'em. And sometimes you gotta threaten to send 'em back where
they came from. :::
Man, am I glad that I'm not an Hassidic Jew.
As an Hassidic Jew, you're waiting for the Messiah.
And the Messiah will only come when one, just one, Hassidic
Jew has a perfect, sinless day.
I could see me spending the entire Sabbath praying,
studying, chanting, meditating, fasting. Doing everything
correctly. Perfectly. Not one impure thought. Not a movement
outside the Law.
And then, at the eleventh hour, a thought out
of no where pops in my head -
"Damn, I bet a ham sandwich would taste
good right now."
And I wouldn't even get the ham sandwich.
I think God does this a lot to the Hassids.
I think He likes screwing with them. :::
In case you haven't been paying attention, baseball season
is a scant two weeks away.
And, just as a reminder, the New York Yankees have won four
out of the last five World Series.
Going into this season, their poised to take another one.
Sports writer Michael Knisley lamented this in his
latest article. He went so far as to barter his soul to
the devil just to stop the Yanks from winning it all this
One soul, slightly worn. Willing to sell or swap in
exchange for a good long-ball hitter and the American
League pennant or the 2001 World Series title. E-mail
serious offers to firstname.lastname@example.org. New York
Yankees need not respond.
Apparently, it's going to take (a) bargain with Beelzebub
to stop the Yankees this time, so I volunteer. Take my
So my alter-ego emailed him -
Dear Mr. Knisley -
Your latest column was very nice indeed.
And I like your little offer.
One problem though, I'm a Yankees fan. But you knew that.
Mr. Knisley replies -
I never considered that. Sounds like a flaw in my system.
Guess the Yankees are going to win again.
The Sporting News :::
Happy B'rynn Day
Last Saturday was my son's fourth birthday party. My house
was chock-a-block full of four year olds.
I took pics. Lots of pics of kids and their parents. Too many.
Two galleries full: Here.
And here. :::
Hobnobbin' with the
I used to write with reckless abandon. Never knowing when
the words would come or where they would go. Not caring what
would come out next.
Now the words are chosen carefully. My internal
editor checking and rechecking every phrase and every word
before anything is even written. The purest thoughts and most
absolute feelings get lost. Or broken. Fractured.
The windshield shatters. Struck by a head.
It is only when this editor disappears, perhaps
steps away from sheer boredom, can the real things even pretend
to happen. Only then can the hobgoblins of imagination poke
their heads out of their darkened holes.
It is poor to long for these days, because these
are the days. It takes mere moments to fill a page.
To burn through.
To bleed. :::
Listen. I'm not even sure I believe in God.
Because first I must wrap my head around the concept of God.
And so far, I haven't been able to do it.
The best I've come up with
is a derivative of the first two lines of Lao Tzu's Tao Te
The tao that can be told is not the eternal
The name that can be named is not the eternal Name.
I take the liberty to translate
"Tao" as "God" or "Truth".
It is with this near-idea
of "God" that I read this poem by John Newton -
I am not what I might be,
I am not what I ought to be,
I am not what I wish to be,
I am not what I hope to be,
But I thank God
I am not what I once was,
And I can say with the great apostle,
"By the grace of God
I am what I am"
I like that. It implies a
movement of self and Soul. A transition. Growth. With an awareness
of something greater.
John Newton wrote "Amazing
The odd, poetic irony is
that "Amazing Grace" was sung by slaves and is still
sung passionately every Sunday in black Baptist churches all
over the world. And it was written on a slave ship by the
ship's captain while making a delivery of human cargo to America.
That captain was John Newton.
Newton went on to complete
that delivery. And maybe even a few more.
In the end, he thoroughly
and heroically denounced the practice of people owning people.
And spent the last forty-three years of his life preaching
the "Good News".
Which brings even more meaning to his
poem "I Am
Hey! If you're new here. Read
my old stuff.