Because you know a little chicken choking from a three-armed, mulatto lesbian would be right up his alley.

bn

It's not much, but George typed the above by stepping on my keyboard. I'd been holding her and reading blogs, listening to her purr and contemplating going back to bed (Saturday is hereby known as Sleepday in my world) and finally I had to move because I had lost all feeling in my left arm. I don't know how parents do it. George can't weigh more than 10 pounds and five minutes into holding her, cute as it all was, I had to give up. I've learned to lean my arm against the desk when she gets all obsessively meow-y and won't leave me alone until I pick her up and let her shed all over me, my desk, and, almost always, my freshly-applied coat of chapstick (ptoo! ptoo!), which means I'm still feeling the blood return to my fingertips while I massage desk grooves (not a kicky dance club soundtrack released by the producers of The Office) out of my arm. I've also learned that if I move an inch, the equilibrium of resting in my arms is disturbed and George leaves me to go sit on the floor. Don't worry, kitty. Mommy will regain feeling in her hands ... someday.

Hey, speaking of arms ... I was reading an article in Esquire the other day about cell regeneration. It seems a guy had lost the tip of his finger when it was sliced off by a propeller blade. A scientist had developed a powder with regenerative qualities whose main ingredient was pigs. Missing Fingertip Guy took the powder, sprinkled it on his finger for a few days, and apparently his fingertip grew back. Further tests are being done by growing extra arms on salamanders because, if memory serves, once severed, the salamanders can grow their arms back. I remember thinking how freaky it would be to have a third arm. I wasn't concerned about the fact that I would be a human being with a third arm and that people would stare and the talk show appearances would get tiring and that Howard Stern would probably want a hand job in the middle of interviewing me. My first thought? It would be difficult to find shirts.

I'm going to finish watching Fight Club for the eighty jillionth time and then I'm going back to bed. Why does the movie appeal more to women than men? Can someone explain that to me? Is it because there's existentialism and soul-searching and feelings along with the blood and punching?