What can one say about Bush killing yet another person? The man already bathes in blood, drinks blood, and dreams of a bloody Heaven where Jesus pilots an F-15 and napalms them thar tear-rists.

Linney, you're right. Some Broadstreet writers and readers do delight in a woman being depicted as an object, for it further informs the feminist narrative, but you also delight in such postings, for they also inform your narrative. If you're going to besmirch, then at least be decent enough to admit that you're dirty and delighted...

...and bloody, if you're a Bush voter, for you share that blood.

...clouding the scan. Augmentation can also interfere with sensation and breast feeding, so it's a weird thing when a woman is augmented and some consider her to be more womanly, when she's less likely to enjoy sex, feed her kids, and live to raise them.

Likewise with starving oneself to seem "sexy." Such sexiness can close down reproductive potential.

We might as well go back to foot binding and dunking witches. We're not modern. We're primitives with shiny scalpels.

Say, what's it like knowing all women, which you must to assert what you did? And women do have choices. A doc once suggested a boob job. I chose: I considered him a kook.

Regarding airbrushing, didn't the Egyptians do their equivalent in stone?

Hey, crush on. It's all good.

I've gone with feminine monikers in the past, but noted that most women seem to signal their gender through their handle and I thought I'd pick a boyly shingle for once and see how that played.

And I always loved that Roy Bigguns character on Wings!

"I'd never attempt to diagnose anyone from a photo or a film...."

But you did diagnose me as "mentally ill" in our last spat.

Nevertheless, I'm glad you're back, even if, as kitchengirl jazzily notes, you're trying to make sweet music from one of your old saws.

Say, did you choose your moniker in response to Svutlana? Or did you precede her? Or is it just chance?

I want to read our senators' emails.

And W's.

And especially Cheney's.

...annouced that he's thinking about enlisting in the Marines.

Oh, you should have seen the mobilization! Neighbors and family stormed him, telling him not to go.

I live in a working class neighborhood. American flags hang on our street. So, all those urging him to not enlist gives me hope.

the warrior princess, then she should have one boob, ala the Amazons.

I have a big breasted pal who's a professional athlete and there isn't a day when her boobs don't get in the way. Now imagine boobs on the battlefield. There would be the big battle and a warrior's individual battle with her boobs.

Be wary. You don't want to be on one of fetboy's lists.

...will vote and vote and vote again.

Hell, if I promise to hate gays, kill ter-rists fer Jesus, and clear me some brush, will ya all elect me president?

I don't read anyone's blog and I read Salon way too much. I come here where I don't want to work and I suspect lots of others use it to avoid work. How would one even know that Svutlana had a blog? Do people Google these make-believe names that we use at Salon? If so, then at least my moniker will lead them to the delightful Roy Bigguns.

Good points.

It isn't just that "Greed is good," but gluttony is good. Based upon what I see on HGTV, buying the palace with the black granite countertops isn't about having some interesting metamorphic rock, but rather having friends over to admire and envy you.

This is why rich people form queues to buy the MOST expensive items. You can't be elite unless most are excluded.

However, the problem with the black granite countertops is that one spends their precious heartbeats paying for the countertops so that people will gather around them and admire their owner, which is a poor substitute for having a tribe, a clan, a community. With the smoke and mirrors of indirect lighting, the gleam of the granite, and the clinking of glasses, it might seem like one has assembled a tribe, but it takes more than admiration and envy to construct community.

As a species, we're gobbling the Earth, but I hoping that the coming poverty might be an anecdote. It's time we're shrunk, as a nation and a species. If that shrinking reconnects us and gives us the community that we've needed all along, then there will be that one very fine thing wrapped in the misery.

When people visit me from out of time, they are amazed that I know my neighbors in all directions. They are amazed that I've been in all their homes and they've been in mine. One doesn't have to buy the black granite to be loved.

but my feet are, unlike the feet of my high heel wearing gfs, with their bunions and corns. Like so many beauty-related affectations, it's a smearing of fiction. Sure, you might seem sexy in your high heels UNTIL you remove them and reveal your lumpy, bumpy troll's feet.

...don't don them. However, donning high heels can garner attention. The problem with that attention is that it's fleeting. It's either that high heels over time destroy your feet, leaving you in frumpy black sneakers or time corrodes your sex appeal, leaving you, if you WASTED decades teetering on high heels instead of developing skills, quite sad.

David Terry paints. That's sexy and it'll still be deeply attractive when he's 80.

A woman who's 80 and bitter because she's become invisible because her skin sags is sad. However, a woman who's 80 and can frame a house or write a novel or be a damn fine neighbor is deeply attractive.

Napolean Dynamite had it right: skills are sexy.

Yes, appearance matters, but let's all be the change we desire instead of changing into shoes that provoke a desire that hinges upon ephemeral fashion and ephemeral youth.