The Woman Test(osterone)

So there I was, doing some early-morning coffee drinking and internet surfing, while listening to the ol’ tee-vee news. I was listening to the Today Show, which ended and faded into coverage of Wimbledon. Today’s games are women’s games.

I don’t watch tennis too often, but if I do, I prefer women’s tennis to men’s because the women seem so much more graceful, and it ain’t so godforsaken fast. There's also the added bonus of being able to watch athletic women running around in thin, short, tennis getups. And you can't forget the “high beam bonus” if it’s chilly. ;-) Anyway...I digress...

Playing in today’s women's finals is a player by the name of Amelie Mauresmo. I sure hate to be ugly, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t look like a man, or what used to be a man before some surgeon did a little chopping and drilling.

She looks womanly enough from behind, but her face looks really (really) manly. It has that “I’ve been mainlining steroids for a few years” look about it. You know....the unnatural box-faced look that steroids give to men and women alike.

More photos in case you figure I picked the worst of the internet collection.

To top things off, one of the sports commentators, Mary Carrillo, has a voice deeper than mine! Yikes!


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Memory Du Jour:
1970, Southern California
I was eight. My hoodlum neighbor friend and I were the terrors of the neighborhood. This was back in the day when kids could roam neighborhoods freely without worrying about being snapped up by some pedophiliac freak.

During the summer months, we spent countless days at the beach, as Southern California kids are known to do. There were two things we particularly liked to do to terrorize people at the beach:

1. While wet with salt water, we’d roll in the dry sand, completely coating ourselves. We’d then take two fistfuls of dry sand and look for the most relaxed line of fabulous beach babes we could find. Once our quarry had been identified, we’d run full speed down the line of women, jumping over each one, spreading beach sand over the lot of them. They’d scream, cuss and call us names that adults or teenagers ought not to call innocent little eight-year-olds! Some would chase us, but they never caught us.

2. We’d find ourselves a big, fat purple jellyfish that had washed up onto the wet sand. We’d pick it up by its top (the non-stinging part) and carry it to the edge of the dry sand. Once there, we’d artfully toss it in the air, flipping it like a pancake so that it landed on it’s “head,” with its tentacles exposed. Sometimes it took a few tries. Once it was appropriately splayed, we’d cover it with just enough dry sand as to obscure it from casual view. Then we’d find a place a few yards off to sit and wait for our first victim. Sometimes we waited quite a long time, but the wait was worth it in our twisted little eight-year-old minds. The first reaction people had to stepping on the jellyfish was “eww, this is gooey.” That reaction was replaced in a few seconds by vulgarities and other expressions of pain.

Ahh, the good ol’ days.

Quote of the Day:
"I think—tide turning—see, as I remember—I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of—it's easy to see a tide turn—did I say those words?" --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., June 14, 2006

Graphic Du Jour:
The Boy and The Girl, Medina Lake 2002
One of my favorite pictures of them