I am taking a break from responding to mail. Monday's column produced an avalanche of support from so many wonderful readers - many with questions of their own about how to be crazy, how to live with crazy, or how to recognize crazy. I am answering them all, but I'm at close to 250 and I'm quietly munching through them. I've said it before: my readers are the best. Thank you.
Now then. The sexy stuff. Two things twigged me today, and I can't let them go by. The first was a statement from this Dominique Strauss-Kahn guy who a court decided didn't rape a hotel maid. Fair enough; if the evidence isn't there, so goes the case. The problem, of course, is that his - shall we call it misbehaviour? - isn't a first. A writer interviewing him in 2003 has claimed that he attacked her and tried to rape her. His response? That after she interviewed him, he tried to kiss her. She has said he attacked her like a 'rutting chimpanzee' and she had to kick and punch him and yell 'rape'. He says the kiss was quite normal and consenting and then he left.
What we have here is a failure to communicate. I am a writer. I have interviewed a lot of people. Many of them have been men. And I can tell you exactly how many times one of them has accidentally jammed his tongue down my throat: zero. I can tell you how many times a man has stumbled and his penis has landed in me: zero.
And now for the other end of the spectrum: my friend Emily in Dallas fired me this link from the Atlantic this morning. Jeffrey Goldberg metes out awesome advice to a woman trying to discern who would have the best sperm in order for her to get pregnant. She presents the candidates. Goldberg offers up his take. Of course what they're both missing is that the best candidate might just be Dominique Strauss-Kahn. Dude is just giving it away.