“Whether a man is drawn to a woman’s body or her face may depend on whether he sees her as a short-term fling or a long-term lover”– LiveScience.
Men considering just a fling with a woman were more likely to peek at a picture of her body than men who were thinking about a long-term relationship, research found. The guys considering a long-term relationship showed a preference for looking at her face.
The findings may reflect men’s evolutionary drives… Men who want a fling may be subconsciously looking to a woman’s waistline to judge the woman’s current fertility. Men looking for long-term partners, on the other hand, may be more interested in her face for clues of reproductive potential in the future.
Otis Ray Redding, jr. covering Samuel Cooke – “You Send Me.” I don’t want to hear your version of “B.M.F.” that you just put on YouTube, and I don’t want to discuss Kolb v. Vick in Philly. I just want you to play this, darling. It’s OK if you look down there more than up here, but only while this song is on.
. “Perhaps all pleasure is only relief.”– William S. Burroughs
The Gods of Los Angeles (no, not the Pharcyde, and no, not the old Menacesquad; good guesses, though) decided to gimme a little Isleys this evening in the form of some dude pulling up behind my car at my regular gas station at approx. 5:12 PST, banging the living hell out of this song from his very fancy Toyota factory-stock speakers, hopping out to fill the tank, and never once adjusting the volume while going about his fueling-up business. Almost nobody witnessing it was amused in response to this act. Almost. Three guesses as to which of the gas station patrons was amused.
The Isleys: My Life/Ears After a Long Day :: Warm Hands : My Back After a Long Day.
I work with people for a living, people with lots of problems, and I like my job, but I am asking you all to understand that sometimes after work I am tired. Not like “My sports star, tightly-wound-or-so-I-thought husband is fucking around on me” tired, more like “I need a hug and a cup of tea” tired. So these kinds of generous acts by anonymous Angelenos like my Toyota dude (who may or may not have had olive skin and a shaved head and a last name ending in a vowel, YOU RACIST) are like little presents that make me say Damn, Universe: You’ve gone and soothed my soul and reminded me of the current musical decade (’70s) once again. The Isleys are the masters of the love-as-a-sailing-expedition metaphor; if we’ve ever gone on a date and then you parked your car at the end of my street so we could “talk” for a little while, you’ll recall that “Voyage to Atlantis” is plainly the makeout jam of the current musical decade (’70s). “For the Love of You,” however, has the Ras Kass and Masta Ace cred which makes it more bending-the-block appropriate and which means sooner or later it would end up on this web log.
I’m pretty sure sexytimes were better in the ’70s, the current musical decade. They had to be. Grown-ups just don’t make luhh–huuvv like they used to, which is why every time I see Kells I say Step aside, young buck. SLOW JAMS IS AN OLD MAN’S GAME. So: fewer Jeeps, please, and fewer closets. Less flying, flirting, bumping, grinding. More drifting on a memory, rays of sun, gentle breezes, paradise within, sheets, candlelight, and especially more handclaps and lots more Yeah/Well well well.
“The new guy uses that word too much,” they say, “Our guy did important things too! Also!: Wah, wahwahwahhhh.”
Next up: “You can’t tell me what to do; you’re not my real dad” and “Ew, that’s your new boyfriend? OMG I am sooooo much stronger and more handsome than him.”
Even in absentia, W. is annoying as all hell since his droogs will just not stop saying words that end up quoted on newsy websites. No matter; I predict that Barry O. will soon turn all of this into a positive by wielding these unprecedented critiques in a spectacular and unprecedented display of making one’s haters one’s motivators.
2. Firstnew Sade album in 10 years to be released February 8; comes packaged with a set of 400-count sheets, jojoba oil, and several prophylactics.
“The Sweetest Taboo.” Because it just never gets old; it really doesn’t. And because rain at the beginning of a song means you and your pants will soon be separated (please see above).
Still waiting to hear about Pele’s status with the Soccer HOF and to find out if Jay-Z has crossed the million-album-sales mark yet. Fingers crossed!
4. Help Me Reconcile My Feelings About a Current Global Aid Crisis, episode 27:
Should the US send aid to Uganda, a nation with lots of hunger and sickness but also a lot of fear of the gays and a contentious relationship with its homosexual citizens, even going so far as to make homosexuality a crime punishable by death?
Wait, do I love any producers, rappers, politicians, or comedians from Uganda? Have I even heard of anyone from Uganda other than Idi Amin? No? Then fuck ’em. (sorry, Mom. Also, just kidding, Mom and everybody reading this.)
This debate kinda reminds me of how I love my gays yet I love Buju Banton, ’cause I’m kind of a bad person. Conveniently, this debate also provides a good segue into me posting some Buju. (My love of the Conquering Lion aside, I am confused by and distrustful of a people whose belief system somehow equates homosexuality with oral sex, even when the sexuality experienced is of the hetero kind – which, for those following along at home, means no sex with the mouth. Because Selassie or Marcus Garvey or somebody, uh, disapproves? Spell it out for me, please.)