A Free Press columnist makes reference today to one of Islam’s most puzzling details — the 70 dark-eyed virgins who await the jihad martyr in paradise. Never mind the essential weirdness of the idea (heaven is an orgy in a high-end brothel, something I believe other Muslims dispute), let’s address the practical end of the question: As the virgins are used up, are they replaced by other virgins? Or are the virgins magically re-virginized? What if you get attached to one of them, and the sex gets better on subsequent go-rounds (which usually happens; ask any recently de-virginized woman how it was for her), and you want to keep her around — does she get a pass? And what about woman martyrs? I can scarcely think of a worse deal for her than 70 male virgins.
It’s times like this I wish George Carlin were here. I still think his stump-the-nun “Easter duty on the international date line” question was one that could keep religious sages at work for decades.
I see Pastor Jeff just left a comment below indicating he’s tied up today on a panel discussion of “intelligent design and the media.” So I guess he can’t take this on. Or maybe he’s just … in hell.
A fine Easter weekend. Alan fixed the bathroom sink, which I broke by trying to clean out a clogged drain. The drain gets seriously clogged about twice a year, because drains were not meant to carry the main sink detritus of half the population — hair. I tried to be a strong housewife and handle it myself, and ended up screwing it up but good, and due to lack of plumbing supplies, it was out of commission for a week. This bathroom is an after-market addition to the house, and was done on the cheap, I believe. It’s the size of the head on a 737, and I’m the only one who uses it. The size also makes working on the pipes a job for either a dwarf or a very skinny person, neither of which Alan is. So last week the air rung with peevish calls of goddamnit until the job was given up for a while.
(A five-goddamnit job — is that a southern expression? I first read it in a Florence King column.)
But now it’s all fixed, and I’m happy once again that I have a husband who can do stuff like this, swearing or no. And the drain runs again. (For now.) When Alan went to Lowe’s to find the right size pipe, he asked the clerk, “Don’t you have anything sturdier? I could crush this in my hand.”
The clerk looked at him, looked at the pipe in his hand. “You bad,” he said.
When the Fellowship was winding up, and I had my job tryout in Minnesota, a small part of me was secretly pleased when I didn’t get it. That was the part that didn’t want to take on an even more horrible winter, along with the part that knew the Minnesota-nice thing would drive me up a wall in about a minute. I’m sure plumbing clerks would never say such a thing there. Temperamentally, I’m far better suited to Detroit.
The week awaits. My taxes are done. I recommend that, whatever you do, you should never, ever move, especially if you have to liquidate securities to buy your house. I’m filing three returns this year, and the Schedule D could cripple a Sherpa.
NN.C Byline Watch: Ten Things Your Local TV News Won’t Tell You, from SmartMoney.com.