Weekend Happy, (Anti) Super Bowl Version

Before we get to the fun part, allow me to give you a wee preview of what’s on the docket: I’m currently working up a podcast that, if you’d like, you can take to the grocery store.  Want to know which brands give you the biggest nutritional bang for your buck?  When to go organic and when, if constrained, you can let it go?  Which commercial yogurt comes closest to the kind you would get from a grass-fed farm share?  I’ve done copious research — both analytical and culinary, natch – and will tell you my picks.  I’d also love to know what confounds you about grocery shopping.  Please leave your questions in the comments area.

Onto the fun.  This weekend, it’s the indoor kind, as there’s only one thing I can think of that will distract the menfolk (and, apparently, quite a few women) from That Sunday Thing that has managed to invade my beautiful Miami.

Ladies and gents, I present you Weekend Happy: The Noogie Edition.

Current Song:

The current Madame Sarkozy has released a number of tunes since this one, but zee lyrics here are so wittily provocative that I had to embed it.  White nights indeed…

Joke:

I am abysmally bad at telling jokes but can still appreciate a good one.  This one comes courtesy of my friend Jim Slade’s Gadfly: a good humor co-op.  I’m lucky enough to be one of the recipients, and this joke is one reason why I never delete Jim’s emails:

A man and a woman were sitting beside each other in the first class section of an
airplane.  The woman sneezed, took out a tissue, gently wiped her nose, then visibly shuddered
for ten or fifteen seconds. The man went back to reading his book. A few minutes later,
the woman sneezed again, took a tissue, wiped her nose, then shuddered violently once
more.
Although assuming the woman might have a cold, the man was still curious about the
shuddering.
A few minutes passed when the woman sneezed yet again. As before, she takes a tissue,
wiped her nose, her body shaking even more than before.
Unable to restrain his curiosity, the man turned to the woman and said, “I couldn’t help
but notice that you have sneezed three times, wiped your nose, and then shuddered violently.
Are you OK?”
The woman replied, “I am sorry if I disturbed you.  I have a rare medical condition. Whenever
I sneeze I have an orgasm. ”
The man, more than a bit embarrassed, was still curious. “I have never heard of that
condition before,” he said. “Are you taking anything for it?”
The woman nodded.

“Black pepper.”

Currently Reading:

Why Do Women Have Sex? Here’s Why.

This is one of those cases — as most expertly and frequently exhibited by Anthony Lane’s New Yorker film reviews – where the write-up is as good as or even better than the item being judged.  In this particular instance, we have the gloriously astute Victoria Bekiempis, a woman who writes things such as, “I’m a very rational woman, and I rarely let emotion get involved in problem solving.”

A pause here.  It is no stretch, dear reader, to assure you that those 15 words have never exited my mouth. At least not in that order. Ah, to be clear and rigorous like Victoria.

She wields her rationality with laser precision, noting the, if you’ll forgive me, peaks and valleys of a book that combines anecdotes and scientific analysis to try to answer that age-old question: why do girls like noogie? The science presented in the book, Victoria writes, is solid.

“For example, what’s that indiscernible scent that drives us women up the wall? That’s the smell of genes signifying immunological compatibility.”

However, she notes: despite how geek-happy some of us might get over the molecular and hormonal expressions of the heart, the book isn’t necessarily a Hallmark card.

“How it feels to be dumped doesn’t seem to be aptly conveyed in an endochronological context, no matter how fascinating a description of the exact molecular and biochemical pathways might be.”

A great little essay in one of my favorite newsletters, one I look forward to receiving every week.

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Currently delighting in:

The sensuality of dancers in general, and the majesty of Silvina in particular.

There is little that I find more moving, beautiful or sensual than the human body in motion.  Dance, to me, is therapy when I do it myself — hence the years of wistful tango and current obsession with inflicting my *Flashdance!* workout on the poor souls at the gym.

When professionals dance, and especially when they dance mere inches away from you, they can stun and lift and zing you to your core. I remember watching an incredible dance troupe in Buenos Aires; they so moved me that when I saw the gorgeous — and I mean jaw-dropping — Silvina Cortés in the street the next day, I stopped walking, put my hand on my heart, and did a little bow of reverence.  She, being a dancer, understood immediately.  We had coffee; I interviewed her and she gave me free tickets to the next performance.

That’s what I call a great weekend.

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Veering from our theme…

Currently contemplating:

Driving up to NASA Saturday night after dinner to watch a 4:39 AM projected launch of Space Shuttle Endeavour from along the Indian River.  (At the time of this writing, that was still the projection.  And no, E, that doesn’t mean I’m canceling on dinner.  I love you!)  There is nothing — NOTHING — more visceral than watching a shuttle launch in person. Especially in the dark; you see a whole ‘nother sunrise, and you are awed by the stunning accomplishment of the collective human will.

Along those lines, I’m still thinking about taking that trip to Kazakhstan.  I’d love to know where you want to travel.

Currently delighting in:

Hubble’s Pluto pix! I heart Hubble.  And love the story of how Pluto got its name.

Yet ANOTHER fabulous restaurant that I’m including in next month’s free quarterly update that I’m sending to buyers of Healthy Eats Here!, my organic/sustainable restaurant guide.  Find more about it here.

That’s all for now folks.  I’d love to hear what you’re into right now.

Have a wild weekend!

H