Back And Into The Future, The DeLorean Returns For 2008

Knock knock McFly, anyone home? Haven’t you heard the news? The famous gull-wing doors and stainless steel brushed body sports car is back! Grab your skateboard and tune-up the flux capacitor because we are traveling back to the future. The DeLorean will re-enter limited production in 2008. Original production took place from 1981 to 1983 in Northern Ireland. With its short supply and high demand, the DeLorean quickly won the hearts of people across the world. Of course staring in one of the biggest movies of all time certainly helped its popularity.

Everyone remembers the silver bullet that traveled at the speed of light (or so Hollywood would have us believe). The car was so fast that paint couldn’t even stick to it! Ok, not really, but back in the day it held its own in the streets. These days, a 75hp car that does 0-60 in 10.5 seconds is certainly nothing to brag about. I think even a Hyundai could pump out better numbers. Although, if nostalgia is your weakness, then being able to purchase a brand new DeLorean straight from a shiny showroom floor may satisfy the kid in you.

Like many kids who grew up in the 80s, the DeLorean was my dream car. However, that childhood dream faded away over the years as my infatuation with the DeLorean was replaced with more powerful and sexier machines. With a price tag being estimated at well over $40,000 and performance specifications identical to those of more than a quarter of a century ago, not many people will be willing to shell out the dough for such a “weak” ride. Yes, I said it. The DeLorean is a weak ride by today’s sports car standards. Hell, it's weak compared to any car, sports car or not. It’s actually laughable, but still cool looking. And for that reason, the cool factor, the DeLorean will not only rise from the dead but it will live on! It has a special place in the hearts of technology lovers, making its comeback too exciting to ignore.

Keep in mind, this will be the same DeLorean from yesteryear. So more than likely the 2008 DeLorean will have the same cutting edge technology showcased in 1983 DeLorean. That means it will have a booming cassette tape stereo! Ooo, ahhh. Time break out your older sister's mix tapes from junior high!

Forgive Me For Shaming You

I once read that the cruelest thing you can do to a child is publicly humiliate them. Public humiliation is a form of emotional abuse. It’s a callous act. One that lacks compassion, caring and kindness. All qualities I’ve always felt I possessed. I’m a sucker for the kid that gets picked last in gym class. I’m sucker for the chubby girl sitting alone in a corner that nobody asks to dance. And I’m a sucker for the runt of the litter. The puppy that the breeder said would be disqualified from a show ring due to his back not sloping enough. The puppy that shook when I picked him up because he had yet to form a trusting bond with people. That’s the one I want. There was no “eanie, meanie, minie, moe”. It was simpler than that. I choose you.

People point when they pick someone. They also point when they pick on someone. So it’s rather ironic that finger pointing once again comes into play when we point blame. When we ridiculous and shame.

I have a tendency to humanize him, but what I did the other day was nothing short of inhumane. I know some people would say he’s just a dog. Although to me he is more than that, he’s like my child. The child I don’t have, don’t want to have and don’t plan on having for quite a few more years. He’s my child substitute and the perfect substitute he is. I couldn’t ask for more, yet I demanded more. I demanded something he isn’t able to give – to hold his pee the whole night long. I know, I know. At this point you are giggling at me. Up until now, you thought this was a serious post. And it is, to a point. I do in fact feel badly for posting that photo of my sad puppy the other day, the one with the caption that read “I’m A Bed Wetter”. I feel bad because…well, because I feel like I publicly humiliated him/my child. I made a mockery of his little problem. I made a giggle out of him.

In hind sight when I snapped the photo and came up with the phrase, I thought it was funny. But once I posted it, I immediately felt sorry for him and sorry for what I had done. I debated on taking the photo down. I felt I was being mean. However, I told myself I was being silly. The dog can’t read. He doesn’t know what even occurred. Dogs live in the now. It is people that often live in the past. So it’s the past that I must get over and to do that, I am publicly apologizing for my past mistake. I’m sorry for shaming you and shame on me for doing so.

You’re my little buddy. My boy. And despite the fact I was a good Daddy the night you wet your bed, I was a bad Daddy the next day when I made light of your accident. And that’s all it was, an accident. You had an accident and I made a mistake by posting that photo. I've admitted my wrong doing and freed myself of the guilt. Now lick my face to tell me I’m forgiven. So we can move forward hand in hand...er, hand in paw?

The Racist Wendy's Girl Logo Has Gotta Go!

A group of approximately 50 angry Gingers united and are seeing red! They came out in droves today to form a protest rally infront of a Wendy’s fast food joint in Manhattan. Their beef? They say they are offended by the Wendy’s logo. (Wait, hold your giggle and your “what the f*ck are you kidding me” comment.) They claim the logo is racist as it portrays redheads inaccurately, unfairly and the Wendy's girl has gotta go! The protesters belong to the NAARP - National Association for the Advancement of Redheaded People. To my knowledge, this is the first time the public is hearing their voices. With chants like “Biggie Size Bigotry”, their voices will certainly be heard and their message is clear with protest signs like these…

I have to admit, the NAARP has a good argument and reason for such beef. After all, how many redheads do you know that wear their hair in pigtails? Probably none, well I can think of only one. And not all redheads have pasty chalk white skin with dime size freckles on their face as the little Wendy’s girl logo would have us believe. So you see, there is reason to complain. No one likes being stereotyped. Blondes don’t like being called dumb anymore than redheads like being called fire crotches. Whether the carpet matches the drapes isn’t really anyone’s business. It doesn’t matter if you were born a redhead or you are a bottle redhead, you are still a Ginger kid in the eyes of the NAARP.

Famous redheads absent from the rally...Pippi Longstocking (a proud pigtail wearer), Carrot Top, Chuck Norris and Lindsay Lohan just to name a few. Apparently they didn’t get the memo.

Now I'm not sure how long the rally went on, but for those of you concerned, the redheaded protesters did spread on the SPF 50 to protect their fair skin from the mid-summer sun. (Remember Ginger kids, safety first.) Redheads make up just 1% of the world’s population and with the racial diversity in NYC, it’s probably an even smaller percentage. Despite their small numbers, it’s good to see them ban together for a common cause. And only in New York City could you see something like a Wendy’s racist logo protest while walking down the street. Just another reason to heart NY. Nobody will ever say the city is boring or uninteresting.

Want more? Then go behind the scenes of the Wendy’s racist logo protest with the NAARP mission report, photos and video footage on the Improv Everywhere blog.

Geek Booty

It's a simple game of "Hot or Not".

Hot...


Not Hot...


Any questions?

Saturday Stroll

Saturday Stroll

It was one of those rare summer days in Philadelphia when it isn't oppressively hot and humid, so I took full advantage of the beautiful weather and went for a walk (roll) on the trail along Kelly Drive, one of my favorite places in Philly.

What's great about the drive is that you feel removed from the city, while the Center City skyline reminds you that you're still there. Note the nearly-completed Comcast Center, which will be the tallest building in in the city. I also enjoy the other "scenery" if you catch my drift! Hey, a guy can dream, right?

I try to get out on the Kelly Drive trail, as well as the nearby Schuylkill River Trail as often as I can during the warm weather months, provided I have a nurse who is willing to walk with me. I do have to be careful when out in the sun. Some of my medications make me more susceptible to the effects of the sun, so I try to keep as much of my body covered as possible and wear sunscreen. At the same time, I must stay hydrated in order avoid potential heart complications.

But as long as I'm careful, I enjoy the opportunity to get some fresh air, a little sun, and did I mention that other "scenery?"

…And They Call It Puppy Love

He doesn’t mean to, but it happens. That's why it's called an accident. Sometimes it can't be helped. He’s embarrassed. He feels humiliated. He goes into a submissive state. He cringes his body, lowers his head and looks up with those big brown eyes. They are naturally watery. It often appears like he is crying as a single salty teardrop rolls toward a cold nose. He leaves out a small whimper, followed by a slight sigh. He waits for his scolding, but the scolding doesn’t come. He wet his bed. Again. That makes twice now this week. But just look at him. How can I possibly get angry? It’s his “I’m sorry” face. He shows it and I forgive. I forget. I cave.

He keeps me up past midnight biting my socks. My goal is to play with him to the point of puppy exhaustion. It’s then that he will collapse and the bedtime ritual begins. I finally wear him out. I look down to find a soft furry warm body lying palsied. A heavy head rests on my left foot. Induced in a deep sleep, the snoring begins. Now is the time I quietly scoop him up in my arms and carry him upstairs to be tucked into his bed. It’s what I imagine fatherhood must be like. It’s a small taste of it and I think I’ll enjoy it…minus the bed wetting of course.

It’s 2AM and he cries out. He needs to pee. Outside he goes to relieve himself. I attempt to tuck him back in bed, but he seems restless. For 20 minutes, he struggles to remain silent before crying out once more. Groggy and feeling irritated, I roll out of bed again and take him outside thinking he has to go #2. He sits in the backyard gazing up at me with a look that matches my exhausted expression. “Dude, poop. Do something. Please.” I don’t think he knows what I’m saying. So back to bed we go. Another wakeup call around 4AM wanting a drink of water and a final wakeup call around 5AM to let me know he wet his bed. Gee, could of it been the 4AM drink of water that caused the hour later bed wetting incident? Or should you of just peed a second time when we were outside for the poop mission that failed?

This time he doesn’t want to go back to sleep, despite the fact I was on my hands and knees cleaning his bed. The smell of urine is replaced by that fresh Downey scent. New blankets, a couple pats and 2 kisses later…and he still won’t go back in his crate! I know what I need to do. A good Dad always knows what it takes to sooth his young one. He likes his wrinkles rubbed. I take him on my lap, cuddle him up and work my magic. He goes into a trance when you moosh together his chubby cheeks. The brown eyes shut. The head gets heavy. Just a few minutes into the massage and he’s out like a light. Works everytime.

So why does a housebroken puppy wet his bed? I have a few theories, but I’m not completely sure. I just know that I have a lot of laundry to do now. I think my puppy needs rubber sheets. And I need more sleep. For such a little guy, he sure packs a lot of liquid! I’m looking on the bright side though. He will never shit his pants. Dogs don’t wear pants – duh. And even if he pissed and crapped himself this very second, I wouldn’t trade him in for the world. He’s my best buddy. My puppy. And I’m in love.

Monstrous Muscle

These are real pictures of real muscle. They are not Photoshop fakes. They are not the product of excessive steroid use or other performance enhancers. They are the real deal. A real medical condition that affects both humans (including children) and animals called Myostatin Deficiency. The genetic mutation is a deficiency in myostatin, which is a growth factor that limits muscle tissue growth. Without myostatin, body muscle can grow to monstrous proportions!

You may have seen or heard about the Whippet dog named Wendy with the rare genetic mutation. Her unusual monstrous muscle physic that has led to her being called the Arnold Schwarzenegger of dogs. Some professional body builders, such as Flex Wheeler and Ronnie Coleman, are said to “suffer” from this as well.

Interested in seeing more muscle bound freaks? (I use the word “freak” in the most loving way.) Check out this photo gallery full of people and animals with Myostatin Deficiency.

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Google Cologne, Ahh The Scent Of Geek

Can’t get girls? Well it’s because you don’t smell like a geek! From the makers of the #1 search engine, comes the soon-to-be #1 cologne. Introducing “Google Eau de Toilette for Men”, the scent of today’s modern geek. Imagine tons of scantily clad busty babes, once only accessible to geeks via a keystroke, now eating out of the palm of your hand! A little dab will do ya. Just splash some on your puny body and hold on tight! Women will race to you and ravage your entire being like lions in heat! Of course, results may vary.

So if the constant pang of rejection is starting to takes its toll and you need a hand, look no further than Google Eau de Toilette. Get your bottle now! That is if you can find any. (The jury is still out as to whether or not this is a real product.)

I Had A Dream About You Last Night

We join this e-mail already in progress…

“Anyway, I had a dream about you last night. Well, actually you looked like our mailman (red hair, freckles) but for some reason, I identified it as you. You were driving down my street in your metallic salmon-colored Porsche and I flagged you down. And then you followed my friend and I to this house I've never been to. You were wearing a Penn State t-shirt trimmed in lace. (Not a good look, by the way. In case you have a lace-trimmed psu shirt.) I do remember cuddling with you at some point. You're pretty cozy. ;) But I don't think anything else happened - probably because you looked like the red-haired mailman. Perhaps the reality is better than that dream.”

I got the ok to post this, but I’m not going to identify who sent me this e-mail over the weekend. I don’t have the slightest idea why she would have dreamed about me. And in such a bizarre fashion? I don’t own a Porsche. Porsches are probably my least favorite sports car. Now even if I did own one, who in their right mind would pick salmon paint on a Porsche or any other salmon-colored car for that matter? When I read her e-mail, I actually had to think what the color salmon looked like. Does that make me dumb? Or maybe that just makes me not gay. Girls always have these fancy names for various color shades that exist in the world. I think nail polish and lipstick may be to blame for this. It turns out that salmon is a pinkish color, like a salmon fish. That makes sense, but me driving a pink car? If this was my dream, it would have been a nightmare! Would it sound manlier if it was a peach Porsche or flesh-colored Porsche?

Although nothing says “stud” like a t-shirt trimmed in lace. Now I do have a Penn State shirt. I have a few actually since I graduated from there, but one trimmed in lace? That I don’t think I have. Unless I have it and it stored next to my sparkly belly shirt. I like my belly shirt because not only does it show my belly, but its low cut enough to showcase my moobs (moobs = man boobs). You know how I enjoy dousing my twin peaks with glitter before I go out clubbing and cruising. And now you have me totally worried that my red mailman hair clashes with my pink Porsche! Speaking of mailmen, I have to ask, was I sporting the short shorts and black crew socks pulled up to my knees as well? Now THAT is a sexy look!

I like to think of myself as a cuddly guy. So I thank you for saying that I’m pretty cozy. Although I can understand how it didn’t go past the couch cuddling due to my dress attire. I wouldn’t makeout with a dude layered in lace either. Next time though, it might be safer to dream of me naked, minus the fire crotch since I’m not a redhead. Then let me know if it goes anywhere from there. Just remember though, if you ever see me driving by in my pink Porsche and lace tee, holla at your boy.

PPMD Day 4: That's a Wrap

PPMD Day 4: That's a Wrap

Part 4 of Winheld's World coverage of Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy’s (PPMD) 2007 Annual Conference, July 12-15, in Philadelphia.

I couldn't wait to get back to the hotel for brunch this morning. Maybe it was because I wanted one last chance to trade war stories with my new friends. Maybe it's that Pat Furlong, PPMD founding president is a superb motivator (as has been noted by at least one other person). Or maybe I was just really hungry. Whatever the reason, I managed to drag myself out of bed at 7:30 a.m. -- practically unheard of for me! My father, who accompanied me today, said that now that I have demonstrated that I can get up so early, I have no excuse for usually getting up so late. So I might never live this one down.

But that's okay because today -- and the last three days, for that matter -- were well worth the early wake-up call. All I've ever wanted to do in my life is to make a difference and that's what PPMD and each and every one of the 480-some people from 14 countries who attended this year's conference are all about: making a difference. It's exciting to be a part of something like that.

Whether we are parents, patients, doctors, researchers, nurses, researchers, etc., we're not about to stand idly by and wait for something to happen. As my father said to me afterward, everyone involved in PPMD seem to have adopted the 1960s philosophy of "power to the people."

With such resolve, it's only a matter of time until the goal is achieved...

PPMD Day 3: My Turn

PPMD Day 3: My Turn

Part 3 of Winheld's World coverage of Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy’s (PPMD) 2007 Annual Conference, July 12-15, in Philadelphia.

When your child receives a diagnosis of Duchenne's, you feel desperate and want a solution to the problem NOW, not five, 10 years down the road. I know that's how my parents felt nearly 25 years ago. Nevertheless, I was a bit disturbed when one parent raised the question of why, if a drug shows promise very early on (say after as little as 28 days), parents shouldn't be able to give that drug to their children.

"Why should our children have to wait 10 years, when they're already in wheelchairs, to start a treatment when we could have already had them on it and prevented that from happening? What kind of life are we giving them?" was his basic argument.

I understand where the guy was coming from. Everyone wants a cure, but taking dangerous shortcuts is not the answer. As one doctor said in response, "I don't want to give your 6-year-old a drug that's going to kill him."

Now, it's also true that when/if a treatment becomes available, there are going to be risks and parents are going to have to make decisions, but at least there will have been years of study so such risks can be minimized.

I'm 29 and we all know the life expectancy of someone with DMD, but you don't see me jumping up and down (well, I wouldn't be able to anyway!) desperate for a cure. The reality is that it's probably not coming for me. Even so, I've been fortunate to live in this day and age. The previous generation of kids with the disease didn't get spinal fusion, they didn't get trachs or g-tubes, they didn't get ventilators or defibrillators.

If the next generation is 15 or 16 years old and in wheelchairs when a cure is found that will stop the respiratory and cardiac aspects of the disease, but does not reverse the damage that's already been done, that would be great. If all you have to deal with in life is being in a wheelchair, it's hardly the end of the world. We live in a world that is growing more accessible every day.

In a breakout session in the afternoon, Mary-Lou Weisman, author of Intensive Care: A Family Love Story, about her son Peter, who had Duchenne's, spoke about ways of dealing with social isolation that those with the disease often face. She spoke of various organizations/activities in which parents can involve their boys. I certainly agreed with that, but for me, it wasn't so much the organized activities, but rather the impromptu gatherings at friends' houses during my teenage years that I really missed. I suggested that parents consider purchasing portable ramps so that their children can get into their friends' homes.

The next breakout session featured yours truly, as part of an expert panel on adults with Duchenne/Becker, moderated by Pat Moeschen (right). Also on the panel were (from left), Jared Aronson, Jason Abramowitz, me; and Evan Stutman (back, right). We spoke about our various occupations and took questions. Someone asked how we learned about our diagnosis and whether we were scared about it. Someone else asked about how we reacted to the transition to a wheelchair. And then, so as not to embarrass anyone in the room, we had a question about sex! Unfortunately, time was up, so we dodged a bullet on that one. My only regret is that we didn't have more time for questions. Maybe next year.

Later in the evening, I returned to the hotel for the lavish Conference Dinner. Some nice speeches were given and some video clips were shown. But what was most interesting to me was the people at each table and their dedication. Just look the distance many in attendance traveled to be there. At my table alone, we had a researcher from Australia and a couple with sons with DMD from the Yukon Territory.

I was about to leave -- until I saw the incredible dessert that was being served. Let me see -- chocolate or traffic? Traffic or chocolate? Yeah, I think I made the right call!

PPMD Day 2: Getting to Know You

PPMD Day 2: Getting to Know You

Part 2 of Winheld's World coverage of Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy’s (PPMD) 2007 Annual Conference, July 12-15, in Philadelphia.

A conference like this serves as a wonderful networking opportunity within the Duchenne's "community" -- doctors, researchers, nurses, physical and occupational therapists, respiratory therapists, genetic counselors, government officials, parents, patients; the list goes on and on. I met so many people today just outside of the conference today that I barely had five minutes to listen to any of the presentations inside!

Among those that I met today were: a 34-year-old middle school music teacher with Becker muscular dystrophy from New Hampshire and his mother; the parents of a young son with Duchenne's from Massachusetts who started a research foundation called Charley's Fund; a doctor from Pittsburgh; the coordinators of a project on Duchenne interventions from the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) in Atlanta, and a researcher from as far away as the University of Western Australia. I even met two people from Columbia University who already knew me from my TV appearance back in February!

I got to hear about everyone's various Duchenne-related activities. I, on the other hand, charmed everyone with my sparkling personality and smashing good looks (well, at least the first part was true) and regaled them the story of my near-death experience on the train yesterday.

It made for a hilarious story today. Let me assure you that I didn't find it so funny yesterday. I had no problems today, but tomorrow is a new day, so cross your fingers for me...

Black Tahiti Pearls & A Black Heart To Match

He lives a life that nurtures the separation of the heart. The money gives you power. The constant travel provides the freedom. Combine the two along with a hearty scoop of charm and it’s easy to see how my Uncle gets virtually any woman he wants, in the States and overseas. Seeing is believing and I’ve seen him in action. I lean up against a back wall at the Sotheby’s Auction House in NYC. I watch him work his magic on a woman half his age. "For me?" The young woman giggles in delight as he strings a rare black Tahiti pearl necklace across the nape of her neck. There is $25,000 worth of rare jewels now dripping on her 20-something-year-old skin. The same black Tahiti pearls my Aunt wears. (If she only knew. Correction...if she would stop denying the knowledge.) I feel nausea stirring in the pit of my stomach. His shrewd arrogance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. For a man whose business ethics I respect so much, his personal life leaves little to be respectful of.

It’s one thing to cheat on your wife, but to do it so openly and right infront of me, your nephew? To do this to my Aunt? Your wife for the past 30+ years and the mother of your only child? It's not just an affair. It's multiple affairs. It's countless women around the world and it's been going on for numerous years. It's a lifestyle. It's become a shrug.

Fuck you. It’s what I wanted to say. Fuck your millions of dollars. Fuck your white picket fence and fuck the matching Benzs in the garage. Fuck your yacht. Fuck your summer house. Fuck it all. It’s all smoke and mirrors. There is no depth to the life you are living. I just can no longer love what you do.

I look up to your extraordinary business sense, but it’s the only sense you seem to even have. Where is the substance? Where is the heart? Sure it all looks good on paper, but that is all it is – good on paper. It’s surface deep. And it’s only a matter of time before the paper cuts you. I know you don't care. Even if you read this, your response would be a shrug.

PPMD Day 1: Part of the Family

PPMD Day 1: Part of the Family

Part 1 of Winheld's World coverage of Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy’s (PPMD) 2007 Annual Conference, July 12-15, in Philadelphia.

It's a family that no one chooses to join, but when your child is diagnosed with Duchenne or Becker (considered a less severe form of Duchenne) muscular dystrophy, you automatically become a part of it. That was one of PPMD Founding President Pat Furlong's key messages in her opening address on this, the first day of the conference. Pictured (at left) are me and Frank, my nurse.

It was a message that certainly resonated with me. For years, I tried to ignore that "family." I didn't want to be a part of it at all; I just wanted to live my life. But you can't leave this family (just like the mafia). Sooner or later, it pulls you back in! For me, it was all of the medical stuff I've been through in the past five years that brought me back. It made me realize just how fortunate I am to be here and that I should use my good fortune to make life better for others with my disease.

Honestly, a lot of what was covered today was over my head, but I'm supposed to be an intelligent person (though that is debatable), so I gave it my best effort to follow the proceedings. One thing I did understand was the excellent analogy offered by Dr. Steve Wilton of the University of Western Australia (gotta love that Aussie accent) presented an analogy, likening the lack or shortage of the dystrophin protein in the muscles of someone with Duchenne's or Becker, to a tractor with a faulty shock absorber. As the doctor explained, the tractor might work for a little while with the bad shock absorber, but eventually it will break down. But how do you do remedy the problem? Do you try, for example, to repair the shock absorber? Do you try to replace it with something else? This is the dilemma that scientists face in their quest for a cure.

Dr. Richard Finkel of Children's Hospital of Philadelphia (who also happens to be my neurologist) spoke about how doctors prove the benefit of a potential treatment. For example, walking 30 feet in a given amount of time may not mean much in one's daily life. But if a treatment improves a child's ability to accomplish that task, that may be one way of measuring that treatment's effectiveness.

One important point I took away from today is that researchers are not looking for a single treatment, as many people might think. That's because the genetic mutation in those with Duchenne's isn't the same from one person to the next. In some people, material is missing, whereas in others, the order is wrong. So there may be a need for four or five treatments, each tailored to certain portions of the Duchenne's population.

Last but not least on this day, I nearly killed myself (and my nurse) boarding the train on the way home! You see, getting into the passenger car requires me to make a sharp turn, while at the same time trying to get over the threshold. Well, as I made that turn, I must have turned too widely because I got stuck, dislodging my arm rest. Frank put down my bag and helped me get across the threshold. He then turned around to pick up the bag. At the same time, I inadvertently knocked the left arm rest into my right hand, throwing the wheelchair into reverse at full speed -- right out of the passenger car and into Frank! Then, as we tried to get me back in, the train started moving. It was quite embarrassing, to say the least. Better luck tomorrow...

Need A Summer Job? Be A Condom Tester

Are you are student or recent graduate currently looking for a summer job? Or are you already established in your career, but wouldn’t mind making a little extra doe on the side? Well you are in luck because I’ve got the job for you! Everyone wants a job where they can get paid for doing what they love. And you love having sex, right? So why not get paid for it?

No, I’m not talking about becoming a hooker, although from my understanding it can be a pretty lucrative business. What I’m referring to is a way to make money having sex that is actually legal. Yes, you too can f*ck morning, noon and night and get paid for it! And who knows, in the process you may even help save the planet from the spread of disease! You would be like an x-rated version of Mother Teresa.

Durex brand condoms is asking men and women to test a range of its condoms and provide feedback on their experiences. Hopefuls must explain in their applications why they would make “expert” condom testers. How they test the condoms is not specified. However, if you consider yourself an expert when it comes to rubbers, then you should probably have a variety of “testing methods” in mind.

Durex is expecting thousands of applicants for a new unpaid job as a condom tester. Oops, sorry I didn’t read the fine print. It’s an unpaid job, but hey there is still sex involved so how bad of a job can it be? Besides, think of how impressive the title “condom tester” will look on a resume you hand to a future employer.

• Apply Today!
  Durex Easy-on Condom Tester Application Form

(And you thought I made some of these posts up. Nope, you just can't make this shit up.)

On the Right Track

On the Right Track

Against the backdrop of the Pennsylvania legislature's current debate over funding for mass transit systems across the commonwealth, I took the train into Center City Philadelphia today for the first time since I was a toddler. A proponent of mass transit since my days as a graduate student in urban studies, I was never really able to put my mouth where my money was due to the fact that the train station nearest to my house was heretofore inaccessible. When I picked up a friend at the same station earlier this week, I saw that it had been made completely accessible. With a conference to attend downtown next week, I thought I would go on a trial run today. I'm glad I did.

The savings in cost alone made it well worth it, as parking my full-size van in town costs at least $20. Roundtrip tickets for me and my nurse on SEPTA's Regional Rail service were $6 a piece for travel during off-peak hours* (of course, fares increase on Monday). And don't forget the cost of gas these days -- which should make funding for mass transit a slam dunk, but the way. Aside from cost, my van has a raised roof, so I can't park in most garages.

Riding the train itself very simple and convenient. The train conductors were friendly and helpful. With the long base of my wheelchair, it was a bit difficult to make the turn into the passenger car, but I wasn't about to let that stop me. While riding, the swaying motion of the train had me slightly on edge, as I don't have much balance, but tightening my wheelchair's chest strap resolved the problem for the most part.

Once in town, there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to grab a bite to eat at historic Reading Terminal Market. Hey, I might be skinny, but I'm not stupid -- I never pass up a good meal if I can help it!

*SEPTA riders with disabilities can qualify for reduced fares by filling out an application. I plan to do that ASAP!

My Quirkiest Quirk

Everyone has a few quirks, some more annoying than others, but it’s normal. Quirks help make up our personality. Similar to our mannerisms, it’s what makes us unique. It’s what makes me, me…or what makes me weird? Probably a little of both. It’s the little idiosyncrasies that that often go ignored in my eyes, but become visibly apparent in the eyes of another. Like when my 3-year-old niece and I were enjoying some Target fruit snacks the other day. She pointed out the fact that I separate the chewy little bites into color/flavor groups. “Why you do that?” she inquired. “Do what?” I replied. I didn’t have a good answer for her because I didn’t have the slightest idea why I do that, I just do it. I also eat them in this order – orange, grape and then strawberry. The red is always last because it’s my favorite. I’m not raciest. I don’t support fruit segregation, but I do seem to be giving special treatment to the red. But why do I eat them in groups and in that particular order? If you figure that out, let me know because I don’t do that with any other food, only the fruit snacks. It may be my quirkiest quirk. I give you Exhibit A.

Although, it doesn’t end there. I have other quirks. I’m a bit of a neat and clean freak too. I don’t like germs. I don’t like mess. Combine the two and I feel uneasy. I feel disorganized and out of my element. I have trouble thinking, even functioning in a world that looks as if a tornado blew in and left a thick layer or crud and debris marking its destructive path. Simply put, clutter and grime is not a friend of mine.

I think it’s the meterosexual in me. I don’t mind getting dirty, but I don’t like germs. More specific, I don’t like man-made germs. Filth left by strangers. Hotel rooms gross me out, even the five-star ones. I just can’t relax without imagining what bodily fluids a blacklight could reveal on the sheets. My skin is crawling just thinking about it! But I can’t let it get the best of me. I can’t be one of those OCD neat and clean freaks! I keep it under control.

When I was in high school, I believe I had a mild form of OCD when it came to my alarm clock. I would check it constantly before bedtime and throughout the night. It was bad. I must have checked to make sure the alarm was properly set at least 20 times in a single night. I would lay there and tell myself I just checked it 3 times before I turned the light off, but I just couldn’t fall asleep without checking it again. And again. And again. I don’t remember how I broke myself of the habit and I don’t even know why I was so worried my alarm wouldn’t go off. If it didn’t go off, so what. I would be late for school, big deal. I wasn’t even worried about being late for school so why the excessive time checking? To this day I don’t have the slightest clue. All I know is that I kept it to myself in fear that I would be labeled a freak.

I don’t have any Obsessive Compulsive Disorders now, but there are a few things that I do which some see as rather strange. I would list them, but perhaps even today I’m apprehensive to share this info in fear that the world will apply the freak tag upon me. And maybe I deserve to be called a freak, but aren’t we all freaks to some degree? My “kinda sorta not really girlfriend” reassures me that she disregards the peculiar little quirks that I do possess and focuses more on all the adorable idiosyncrasies and sweet layers that make me who I am. She refers to how I tend to bite my bottom lip when I am in deep thought. How I rub the back of my neck when I am nervous. How I tilt my head to the right when I’m flirting. And even how I give her this smirk when something sexual is going thru my mind and I’m trying my hardest to behave. These things I am not even aware of until someone brings them to my attention.

Mannerisms and personality will come thru no matter how nonchalant you think you are being. You can’t hide who you are and I can’t hide these things anymore than I can hide the fact that I color code my fruit snacks. It’s who I am – quirky.

Man Shoves 66 Weenies In His Mouth & Lives To Tell About It

Is it just me or does the overwhelming urge to shove 2, 3 and even 4 weenies in your mouth at the same time seem a little gay? On second thought, wanting to shove a single weenie in your mouth sounds a little sketchy if you are a dude. You have to admit, it has a certain connotation to it - some underlying homosexual tendencies there. Of course, I’m talking about hotdogs though and not penises. But still…this is pretty gross.

It’s a 4th of July tradition in NY, Nathan’s Famous Hotdog Eating Contest. The goal is to shove down as many hotdogs as humanly possible in just 12 minutes. You must eat the dog and the bun, although you are allowed water to help the weenie slide in with more ease. Some prefer to dunk their weenie and buns in the water, which creates this stomach turning pile of regurgitated looking mush. (Yes, I’m getting nauseous just writing this.) Whoever downs the most weenies once the 12 minute mark is reached is declared the champ! They are awarded the yellow mustard championship belt for their efforts and a massive stomach ache.

This year’s winner, Joey Chestnut, took in a total of 66 weenies! He upset the 6th time defending champ, Takeru Kobayashi, who came in 2nd place with 63 weenies. Despite having a wisdom tooth pulled just a week before the contest and suffering from “sever jaw arthritis”, Kobayashi competed in memory of his late mother. He was on track to win, but in the closing seconds of the contest, he spewed the final 3 dogs in his mouth. Heartbreaking and nauseating. Don’t be too sad though. Not many men can say they took in 63 weenies in 12 minutes! So smile, your Mom would be proud.

Improve Your Sex Life with Yoga

You already know yoga can give you greater flexibility, better muscle tone, a surefire way to release stress, and maybe even enlightenment. But better sex? You betcha! Yoga offers myriad physical and emotional benefits that add up to more fun in the bedroom and a more fulfilling, meaningful sexual relationship with your partner. Whether heating up your sex life is the main goal of your yoga practice or just a happy side effect, chalk this information up as yet another great reason to roll out the mat. It puts the “O” in Yoga. Here are the 5 major ways it works…

• Sensuality
  Yoga is sexy! How often do you put on as few clothes as possible and stick your butt in the air? Yoga helps you develop an awareness of sensations in your body. It teaches you to savor every sensation in your body, including the really delicious ones that happen during sex. It also helps keep you rooted in your body and out of your head, where your swirling thoughts can keep you from enjoying the experience at hand when between the sheets.
• Confidence
  There is no doubt about it. Confidence is sexy! Need a confidence booster? Try this on for size. A recent study shows that people who practice yoga gain less weight as they age than people who don’t do yoga at all. And while feeling more fit is an undeniable turn-on, a sustained yoga practice also encourages you to develop a reverence for your body.
• Energy
  Who doesn’t want an energy boost? Over 1/3 of women say tiredness causes them to cut back on sex. But just 8 weeks of a simple at-home yoga practice significantly improved sleep, even for chronic insomniacs. It’s a simple exercise to connect the dots - practice yoga, sleep better, have more sex.
• Intimacy
  Yoga’s effects transcend the physical. It helps us become more comfortable in vulnerable positions, whether it’s a full backbend during class or a heart-to-heart conversation in bed at night. Yoga helps us peel away layer after layer of our defense mechanisms to get back to our true nature, which is loving and compassionate. When we peel away our protective armor, we can be much more connected to each other no matter where we are, including in the bedroom.
• Better Orgasms
  On a purely physical level, many yoga poses increase blood flow to the pelvis. In our sedentary world, the muscles that run through the pelvis are chronically constricted. Yoga involves engaging and drawing up the muscles of the pelvic floor, which strengthens the muscles that play an integral role in orgasm.

Hmm. Now it makes sense why I’ve always been attracted to girls that are into yoga. They are right up there with gymnasts in my book. Perhaps good on the mat does translate to good on the mattress? Although I do have a thing for dancers too. Good on the floor = good on the floor? Well, yes. So far I've found it to be true.