Contraceptive foam has been around forever! When I was first seeking contraceptive methods (back in the early 70s), foam was cheap, easy to get at any drugstore, and not too awfully weird. Messy as hell, though!

I was gang raped in 1972, just before Christmas. I almost didn't report it, because I was deathly afraid of not being believed or -- worse -- being blamed. I was a hippie, after all, out late at night and walking alone. I also had a joint in my purse, which the rapists smoked up while they were raping me.

But I was forced to report it, since the rapists abandoned me by the side of the road with no purse or car keys. Luckily -- if you can use such a word -- the police were kind and the prosecutors were diligent.

Of course, my case was "easy". I was white, the rapists were black; I didn't know them; they had committed three prior rapes; three of the four pled guilty and turned state's evidence against the fourth.

Even so, I was coached to wear a modest dress. My sexual history (Remember? Hippie?) was not brought up. The joint was brought up, but the defense attorney did not pursue that angle.

My rapists were convicted. I fear, though, that times have not changed all that much.

I'm sending this to my Little Criminal (who is now a cop, so I suppose I got him on the right end of the gun) and I'm writing a sonnet to my own mother (who will be 95, and put up with my youthful foray into show biz).

Not only does my mother think that being 95 excuses any and all bad behavior -- including yelling at waitstaff, she also insists on driving (just got her license renewed, unbelivably), moving the furniture around, and not using a cane to help her walk (canes are for old people). She refuses to acknowledge symptoms until she ends up in the hospital. She won't wear her Lifeline device when she's home alone because it's like giving up to her.

She's amazing for her age, but I sweat every day, waiting for the phone call that says she's wrecked the car or fallen and broken her hip.

My husband is a massage therapist who worked at a day spa. One of the aestheticians had a client who requested a pubic hair heart, so as to properly welcome her boyfriend home. While that's icky enough, the kicker is that this girl was -- no lie -- 15 years old.

Or maybe I'm just an old fogey.

The gun was enough to make me do what they wanted.

My favorite theater is the American Film Institute Theater in Silver Spring, Maryland. I've been going to this theater since I was a kid in the 1950s. It fell into rack and ruin in the 80s and 90s, but the AFI bought the property and restored it beautifully. The main theater looks just as it did in its heyday, with a 70mm screen, gradually sloping auditorium, and beautiful decor. AFI added two smaller theaters to the complex, both of which feature stadium seating.

The movies shown range from classics -- we've seen Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, Dr. Strangelove, the original Japanese version of Godzilla, King Kong, Swing Time, Repo Man, The Man Who Would Be King, and Lawrence of Arabia among others -- to newly released, such as Sicko, Becoming Jane, and The Namesake.

Right now they're running a John Huston series and an 80s movies series; fantastic stuff!

There are no commercials, only one or two previews, and a personal introduction by a staffer.

Even the popcorn is good, and there is a bar serving good wines and beers (gasp!).

It's a movie lovers dream come true.

This is an interesting conundrum, one we faced when our son was a teenager. He asked; we told, because we believe in honesty. But we also said that it was pretty stupid behavior and that we were lucky that we escaped that era with no criminal records and with our health and minds intact. We also told him that he should not do drugs, and that because we had, we would know if he did.

I suppose that was enough of a warning, because he became a cop. That's karma for you.

I always the late Shirley Hemphill's term: cootchielatchie.

Thank God someone finally recognized the animated bucket of hotness that is Strong Bad. I must, however, call attention to the fact that you neglected to mention his fine album, "Strong Bad Sings," containing such wonderful songs as "The Cheat Is Not Dead" and "Seriously," one of the finest love songs ever written.

You're right -- Ovie did score the winning goal in Game 1. I was there and the Phone Booth went nuts. Last night though -- that gorgeous breakaway and wicked slapshot to cement the win should leave no doubts -- Ovie MVP!

Unlike many other posters, I didn't start reading Stephen King's novels until I was in my late 20s. I read The Stand while I in labor with my son -- yes, from cover to cover, over two days.

It certainly took my mind off the contractions!

Curse of the Demon, starring Dana Andrews, scares the bejeebers out of me.

And I totally agree on Nosferatu -- scariest vampire ever!

I suppose they're just making the breast of a bad situation.

I would have died had I given birth at home. I had a rare complication after my son was born: my uterus turned inside out. I'm so thankful that I was in the hospital!

We raised our son in a gun-free household -- we didn't buy him toy guns, told him guns were bad, blah blah blah. He built his own out of paper towel and toilet paper rolls. The day we got a poster in the mail, he immediately grabbed the mailing tube and built himself a bazooka. Now he's a police officer, carries the real thing, and is never unarmed.

Maybe I should have let him have the toy guns!