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Sex with robots? It could happen.
It's widely reported that men's and women's sex drives are in opposition to each other. Younger women and older men have compatible sex drives, as do older women and younger men. The former set tend to end things much sooner than the latter set.
Except for one British woman who at age 62 went on a two-year sex binge encompassing more than 200 one-night stands. So there are some exceptions to the general rule. Somehow it's easier imaging Olivia Newton-John bed-hopping than a grandmother from Leeds.
Another bit of news of recent days was the remarkably life-like Japanese robot. She looks like an average late-20s or early-30s Japanese woman with long black hair, dark eyes, perfect skin, and a pink jacket. She nods and shakes her head, blinks her eyes, smiles, and bows geisha-style. She even raises her eyebrows. Her speech needs work. She still sounds robotic.
Given American men's proclivity to porn featuring Asian women (admit it guys), there could be a huge market for this. For younger men who tend to date younger women, she could go at it literally like the Energizer Bunny. If they ever develop a male version, older women might never knit again. And it might save countless men in north central England from being another notch in the lipstick case of a nymphomaniac grandmother.
There has been an uptick in the number of readers on The Writer's Kaffeeklatsch recently. It's about time to reintroduce the main characters and the bit players around here. This is where a disclaimer needs to be. Although many of you know my actual identity, I write this as an anonymous blog to keep Internet stalkers at arm's length.
First off, we are the Gaelic family because of both my husband's and my combined heritages. We both have roots that stretch back to Scotland and my roots go into Ireland. But we're also continental as well with French (me), Dutch (me), German (both), and Swiss (me). So far my genealogy research hasn't turned up any other countries. Not even that Indian princess that almost every American family claims to have hidden away in their ancestry.
Me - I've never referred to myself as anything other than Mrs. Gaelic or Mom, Mother, Mommy, or Wifey. If I ever decide to give myself a name on here, you'll be the first to know.
Mr. Gaelic - My husband and father of my children. I've never called him anything except Mr. Gaelic. And yes I refer to him as Mr. _______ sometimes around the house, just because.
Finola - My eldest daughter who is currently in her first year at university in New England.
Deirdre - My middle daughter who is a handful.
Maeve - My youngest daughter who just became a teenager.
Now the bit players.
Flannery - Mr. Gaelic's older sister.
Colin - Mr. Gaelic's younger brother.
Mr. Boss - Mr. Gaelic's boss. Wow, I was so original there.
Facebook Former - My former boyfriend prior to dating Mr. Gaelic.
My mama - My mother. Duh. She passed away in 1993 from a brain tumor.
My daddy - My father. Ditto. He passed away in 2008 from congestive heart failure.
Those are the folks that have been mentioned in more recent blogs. There are sure to be other folks that I'll write about and "name" at the time. If you couldn't tell, the names have been Gaelicized to protect the innocent. And the not-so-innocent.
Now, getting back to my "name". Suggestions anyone?
In the past few months there have been a few things in the newspaper that have been interesting to me, not for what the article says but for the accompanying photos.
First there was the front-page article and photo of people celebrating the summer solstice at Stonehenge. Smiling, happy faces greeted the morning sun. I took one look at the picture and gasped in horror. My children looked at the picture but didn't see anything that could have bothered me so.
"Look at what they're wearing," I instructed.
"Jackets and scarves," they replied.
"This picture was taken yesterday. Stonehenge is in the south of England." They nodded. I continued, "We'll be there in two weeks and we'll be well north of Stonehenge."
Blank looks. Then the Aha! moment when they realized it would be much, much cooler in Scotland and England than it is here. Time to rethink the wardrobe choices.
A second photo in this Sunday's paper caught my eye. It accompanied a full-page ad from BP with Robert Dudley saying that he knows the beaches very well since he grew up in Mississippi. The photo showed a whole line of what looked like only men wearing blue jeans, tee-shirts, gloves, and wellies. They were filling plastic bags with debris while three foreman-looking people either looked on or were handing out more plastic bags.
In shock and skepticism I showed it to Mr. Gaelic. "Can you believe how racist this is?"
He looked closely. All the men at the water line were black; the three "overseers" were white.
"Is it racist or reality?" he asked. "Maybe it's the only job they can find and maybe nobody else wants the job. But also, contrast this to the other pictures we've seen of cleanup crews wearing full body jumpsuits and heavy-duty rubber gloves."
It wasn't until I went searching online for a copy of the photo from the ad to include in this blog that I discovered what I consider to be the truth behind the picture. I never found the picture online. What I did find were article from such widely read sources as The Root, AlterNet, and The Stranger all noting that, while coastal residents are out of work, BP is using prison work crews for cleanup. What BP gets by hiring prison crews is cheap labor, people who won't talk to the press, and a hefty tax write-off.
I jumped to conclusions about a photo without having all the information.
Sometimes a picture is worth more than a thousand words. Sometimes it's just the tip of the iceberg.
On our recent trip to Britain, we hired a car to drive from London to York and on into Scotland. Along the drive, we all ended up with our own favorite sights. Whenever we'd see our favorite we'd announce it to the entire car.
"Graveyard!" was mine. What can you expect from a genealogist?
"Motorcycle!" was Mr. Gaelic's. Natch. Even going so far as talking to a group of riders at one of the rest areas while the girls went to the toilet. (Don't call it a bathroom. It's called the toilet.)
"Would you look at that shot!" exclaimed artistic Finola.
Deirdre's was "SHEEP!"
Maeve mooched off everyone else's favorites.
Another thing that we saw a lot of during our trip was alternative energy sources. In the Midlands, you could pass numerous nuclear plants within an hour's drive. Nearing Scotland, wind farms dotted the ridges of mountains. Seeing the juxtaposition of nuclear plants and wind farms on one side of the valley and the ruins of a castle or abbey on the other side didn't seem to bother the Brits. Were there ever calls for maintaining the vistas as there are in America?
Folks in Massachusetts cry foul when their view of the Atlantic may look like a picket fence with the addition of windmills placed eight miles from shore on barges. The administration looks to be ready to scrap Yucca Mountain plans. States express concerns for having spent rods transported through their borders on the way out West.
From what I've read, all forms of energy have both pros and cons. Coal, oil, hydro, solar, wind, nuclear, you name it. But according to a report on NPR this morning, there is a clean energy source that doesn't produce any carbon dioxide. Does the future lie in nuclear fusion?
One week. That's all the time you've got to vote in the poll on the top right side of my page. My husband and I decided that I needed some Me Time. Alone. Preferably in a different city. So, here are the pros and cons of each. Don't forget to vote!London - Cons: It'll still be dark and cold and dreary. The dollar isn't doing too well against the pound. The last time I was in London was with my father who recently passed away. Pros: They speak English. There are great theatres and museums to keep me busy so I don't think too much about my troubles. The last time I was in London was with my father.Paris - Cons: They speak French. The dollar isn't doing too well against the euro. The first time I was in Paris was with my father. Pros: I speak French. Lots of museums and restaurants. The first time I was in Paris was with my father.San Juan - Cons: Not much to do except the beach and I'm fair skinned (Gaelic, remember). Getting to the resort you pass such abject poverty that you feel guilty indulging in such luxury. They speak Spanish. Pros: It's still in the US, so no passport or changing money. It'll be warm and sunny. El Yunque. Remember, vote early, vote often! Polls close on Monday, March 23rd at noon Eastern Time.
