A proposal

Somebody posted a picture of Harrison Ford in Witness today on some movie blog and it occurred to me that this is the sexiest man in the sexiest movie there ever was or ever will be.

Even when he's covered in corn dust:

Or wearing this hat, and this expression:

Exhibit A as in okAAAAAAy:

Exhibit B as in Beefcake:

Those were essentially the same photo, one with background lumber and one with chains, but whatever. Exhibit C as in Case Closed:

+ You know who else is in this movie? Loops with the #1 worst haircut that ever has been or ever will be. Wow.

That's all I've got. That's the whole post! Now you know what blogs are for.

Get strong, stay healthy

This weekend: SarahB and I rented a couple of Citibikes early Saturday morning and took a trek through the park and also (briefly) on an actual city street. Since I am both a nervous Nellie and a pathetic cautious Cathy I have long dreaded/avoided this scenario, not because I'm lazy (although I am) but because I am anti-death. (Not that I believe death should be abolished, although, you know, fingers crossed.) I can't quite square the terror I feel at the idea of traveling on an actual road along with actual cars with the reality, which is that riding a bike in the city is perfectly safe, and the fact that more than one person I know has been struck by a car while simply crossing the street IN A CROSSWALK. Of course it's also possible to be struck by falling air conditioners, falling cranes, exploding manhole covers, exploding gas lines, etc., ad infinitum, so pick your poison, I guess. There's no shortage of ways to die in this city; I should probably worry more about being stabbed by an umbrella. But since I'm currently in the market for (a) new ways to sweat and (b) any way to turn an hour-long commute back into what it should be, which is 20 goddamn minutes, Citibike seems like an easy, cheap option that bears further investigation. Stay tuned.

This fella: Holy smokin' jesus, batman, look at this picture of my ideal man, Harrison Ford, wearing my ideal costume. The navy stripes, the crewneck, the collar askew, the whiskers, the clipped cut, the look of semi-confusion mixed with irritation. I appreciate how he's turned into such an irascible crank as he's gotten older, since he now reminds me of myself. Perhaps it bodes ill for future prospects that my ideal man is basically a man version of me? Also TBD.

Related: If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend ("If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, your apartment would redecorate itself in only the finest and most luxurious of fabrics. The predominant colors would be Nantucket blue, slate grey, and the color of the sea before a storm." "If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, Nora Ephron would still be alive somehow. She would have dinner with the two of you at least three nights a week.")

This book: Quirk by Hannah Holmes will give you a new appreciation for your prefrontal cortex (what Holmes calls the CEO of the brain), oxytocin, serotonin, dopamine, science, evolution, and even mice and rats. For the love of god, mice and rats! Not to mention monkeys and prairie voles.

On the reason women have evolved to be more naturally cooperative than men:

The female mammal, whether rat, vole, or human, is compelled to stay near her infants so they can nurse. So that's one layer of cooperation she needs. That bondage means the female must neglect her food foraging when she's nursing and must leave her young unprotected when she's foraging. But if she's able to tolerate a female sister or neighbor, the two can share child care and reduce their risk. That's a second layer of cooperation. 

This song: Gotta love the Junkies.