how's it dangling?

A short, choppy entry, made up of three utterly disparate thoughts. Indulge me.

In the end, eleven out of the twelve people in my riding class passed. Six out of the original six women. Five out of the original six men.

Me.

I've heard it said that women are better students than men, and while I can't say that this particular incident proves it, I can suggest that there's something about the shape of a motorcycle seat that can negatively impact the judgement decisions made by certain males. I suspect it is the act of straddling, and the pressure of one's weight placed directly on one's balls. There is something unique about a motorcycle's seat that appears to dislodge testicles from their customary place and spurt them straight up the spine into the skull, where they displace any prior tenants.

This is, however, just speculation on my part. Not having balls of my own, I have to rely on observation and hypothesis. If there's any man out there who can verify or invalidate my theory, please feel free to drop me a line. Inquiring women want to know.

In other news, I've decided to stop using the phrase "Christian Right," which, as far as I can tell, is insulting to the actual Christians I know -- who tend, in the main, to be reasonable people who love God in their own way but will kindly tolerate your own distinct brand of worship, which consists of a persistent delusion that God has moved into your bathroom and manifested Himself as an invisible Bengal cat with a fingernail polish fetish.

As far as I can tell, the so-called "Christian Right" has little to do with Christianity (save for the fact that the Thump-Book of choice is titled "The Bible," as opposed to "A Bible," which I think would be more contextually accurate) and still less with being Right, save in the fundamentalist extremist definition of the word. My new phrase therefore, in deference to the Christians out there who are people I would be willing to introduce my children to -- who are, in fact, people I would want my children to emulate, whatever their final religious choice -- is the "Fundamentalist Right."

This may seem a redundant combination of words to the astute, and this would be because it is. However, you may detect in my choice of the latter word a bit of tongue-in-cheek, and as for the first word, an assumption that fundamentalists of any religion want pretty much the same thing (power) and have chosen the optimal regional Religious Pedestal to climb on. When it comes to thumping of any kind, there isn't all that much difference between the Koran, the Hindu holy texts, or the Bible. Different language, same speech.

Moving on to more important news, I've taken up practice writing in preparation for the big November nanowrimo marathon. Last year I managed to finish 50,000 words of absolute garbage, none of which was really salvageable. On the other hand, the 50,000 words were extremely educational for me, if not necessarily for the readers, of which I insured there would be none. And if my past pattern of increased success holds, this coming nanowrimo will see me exceed my 50k limits with some improvement in quality.

My primary faults in writing appear so far to be that 1) my writing is unnecessarily florid; and 2) I write books I wouldn't want to read. The first problem is a technical issue, and one that I hope a good edit and some practice will eventually overcome. The second issue is more severe, I admit. It may be that there's an audience out there for, say, gloomy speculations on the nature of racial identity and the integration of "ethnic outside, white inside" cultural norms into suburbia. This is not, however, a group that I fit into. It seems rather contrary that I should write for an audience so alien that I would rather gouge out an eye than participate in it, but there you go. I can't seem to stop myself.

In later years, some anthropologist will come across the sadly neglected, poorly edited proofs of my first and final draft, and note wisely in his report: "The Invisible Cat made her do it."