James Cameron, of Titanic fame, will claim in a documentary that the tomb of Christ and family — including a son — has been found near Jeruselum.  Not fiction, not DaVinci Code, but really, no kidding, that the bones of Jesus have now been examined  by the New York City forensic lab.  Here’s the story in Time magazine’s online Mideast blog.

Some of you, like me, read John X’s blog, MindTurds, linked at right, and you’ve read about his Viennese love link, “B”.  She’s been here to OKC and I’ve met her … OK I was headed off into a digression.  What I want you to know is that she’s written a little essay about “Scrotum” and my blog entry below by that name.  Please look under comments to “Scrotum” for her lively writing.

“Balzac’s ballsack” — I thought I was being so damn clever and no one blinked an eye, dammit.

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In my little political corner of the blogosphere, there’s a controversy going on about a conservative commentator who used a quote from Lincoln to bolster the point that those of us who oppose the war in Iraq have no civil liberties, should be shot without trial and are just plain traitorous treasonous jerks.  Turns out the quote was a fake and was rather quickly debunked.  Well, they guy comes back with another attempt to show that Lincoln was a Republican then and he’d sure as hell suspend habeas corpus again just to get at us agitators.  Nope.  Another fake.  So, there’s this place on the web called Sadly, No. and their take on the mess was that if you’re going to make up a quote, at least do a good job of it, perhaps something like this:

“As Abraham Lincoln, our 16th President, was often known to remark, “Joe Lieberman’s ass smells like a dying weasel crawled up there to have his last cigar.” 

OK, as a goofball, I think that’s funny because he said “ass”.  In fact, a few days ago, I mentioned that someone smelled so bad that it was “like something crawled in him and died.”

Having the quotable, quippy friends I have, someone asked:  “How do you know what that smells like?”

I love love love smarty pants people.

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The romantic life of braniac women.  Seems A-list women now mean “accomplished” rather than “attractive.”  Some dubious evidence that goofballs can be more grown up than their fathers.  I’ll say that my own experience is that the smart women have good sex.  More than that, I cannot say.  Anyway, read all about it here.

Read all about it in The Daily Mail!

(More British Journalism that cracks me up)

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Balzac’s ballsack

So much for MY children’s book award!

From the London Daily Telegraph:

By Sarah Womack, Social Affairs Correspondent

This week’s Newsweek cover story is about male depression.  Great.

I am still deciding whether my depression is more like Churchill and Lincoln or more like Hemingway and Robert Lowell.  Maybe Styron and maybe Mike Wallace.  I don’t like pain, so Van Gogh is out.

Who knew being moody and irritable was so damn chic?

I always thought it was more than a little inconvenient to go through life as if each day were a burden, an imposition, an inconvenience, a rather brutal punishment.  Now, I find out it’s what all the cool guys are doing.

Turns out there are a lot of new treatments for male depression.  You can’t get ‘em yet because it’s all experimental, but they are coming on line.  Good news for those of us who put “suicide” on our calendar for 2012, but if it’s a bit more urgent … well … there’s always electroconvulsive shock therapy.  Thomas Eagleton and all you know.  That image you have of Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, just forget about that.

In the meantime, you can have some great drugs that will keep you from being quite so far down in the dumps.  Of course, your libido will be sleeping with the Fido in the doghouse.  You won’t actually be happy, you understand.  Zombie like is one description I’ve heard, but “happy”, well, …. uhm … nope.

Behavioralists have been in vogue the past couple of decades in the talk therapy arena.  It’s a great gig.  You tell them your problems, they tell you attitude is everything, move along, the bill will be in the mail.  You can try some other form if you like.  Keep a notebook by your bed and record your dreams.  Get hypnotized into infant recollections of trauma.  Or, you just might try a VooDoo witch.  I’m not always quite so sure that there’s all that much difference between an African Shaman who reads entrails and divines dreams and the American psychiatrist/psychologist.  Well, the African charges a straight up one time fee of a cow and the American charges $125/hour for the rest of your life and, as a result the American dresses better.

I took the fun online test for depression offered as a link from the online Newsweek articles.  It was great.  It told me that I should immediately go to an emergency room and check myself in, seek hard drugs and a size 40 long straight jacket.  Turns out that not every Rohrschach image is a knife wound or a fresh branding burn on the private parts of nuns and Republicans.

Who knew?

So, what do you think?  Just when I’m grousing about being depressed, along comes this Newsweek coverage of male depression.  Is that Jungian synchronicity?  Irony?  Coincidence? 

by the way, today was a great day.  Worked hard, billed hours, was productive at my desk and here at home.  Had the top down, washed the car in the sunny 70-degrees.  Last night, significantly advanced the ball on my income tax project.   I can’t explain me.  It’s confusing in here, too.

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I’ve spent my whole life trying to be good enough for YOU.

I never was.

Now, I’m trying to be good enough for me.

I’m failing at that as well.

Oh, I can be good.  I can even be excellent.

Just not quite good ENOUGH.

For all my strengths, there are always weaknesses.

I just can’t get it perfect, of course.

Being a good lawyer isn’t ENOUGH.  I’ve MUST be a rich, successful, prominent lawyer.

Being smart isn’t ENOUGH.  I’ve MUST be the smartest man who ever lived, never making a mental mistake.

Someone, somewhere, has better clothes, better hair, better looks.  I’m not ENOUGH.

I wonder if someday I’ll have ENOUGH of ENOUGH.

I had fun at VZDs with Brave Combo Friday night, but the cover charge was $12.  That’s too much, in my opinion.  The crowd was truncated from its usual for this local favorite from Univ. N. TX and there’s no doubt in my mind that the cover charge accounts for some people just turning away.  Too much other fun stuff to do on a Friday night.