Rarely are my “blogs” really “blogs” in the traditional sense of “web logs” (i.e., diaries). But I just feel like I have to post a true blog on this week’s hormonal trifecta:
First, the New York Times calls to ask about my thoughts on “sex verification” in sports. This leads to a fantastic opportunity to place an editorial in the Times on the crazy lack of rules about sex in sports…and to tons more interviews….and, well, I’m tired. Boy, have I been explaining a lot about adrenal glands, “sex” chromosomes, and where clitorises come from.
Then our pet rat goes over the edge nuts. He had been acting weird and unpleasant with greater frequency, but suddenly he started biting like he’s a little vampire. I said to the mate, “That’s it, we have to cut his nuts off.” The mate replied, “That’s your solution to everything.” Point taken. Anyway, good news: he’s fine now. Why, he’s a little darling again! But man, I sure did suffer while my poor baby had to wear that stupid little gramophone collar.
Then my PMS comes on. Someday I’ll really write about my PMS, but not today. Someday I’ll write about how a measurable percentage of the progress made in the intersex rights movement would probably be traceable to my PMS. But for now, let me just say for now that I made the useful observation that Beethoven’s Seventh cranked really, really loud in the car is curative. But only if no one else is in the car and I also have a very large supply of dark chocolate.
Given all this, I really have to wonder how the heck it is that anyone ever thought I believed that sex hormones have no direct effect on our behaviors. Seriously, does anyone still believe that?
Also, my son now knows way, way more about testosterone, castration, and Lance Armstrong’s balls than the average nine-year-old. Several friends have noted that, now that he has seen what I’ve done to the rat when he acted up, my son’s teenage years are likely to be relatively peaceful.
Aw, come on, guys, it isn’t really my solution to everything!