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Dr. Dobson's Newsletter: June 2002

How to make your young boy growup to be a man, not a diseased homosexual, according to Dr. Dobson's Newsletter: June 2002:

    Girls can continue to grow in their identification with their mothers. On the other hand, a boy has an additional developmental task—to disidentify from his mother and identify with his father. At this point [beginning at about eighteen months], a little boy will not only begin to observe the difference, he must now decide, "Which one am I going to be?" In making this shift in identity, the little boy begins to take his father as a model of masculinity. At this early stage, generally before the age of three, Ralph Greenson observed, the boy decides that he would like to grow up like his father. 16 This is a choice. Implicit in that choice is the decision that he would not like to grow up to be like his mother. According to Robert Stoller, "The first order of business in being a man is, 'don't be a woman.'"

    Meanwhile, the boy's father has to do his part. He needs to mirror and affirm his son's maleness. He can play rough-and-tumble games with his son, in ways that are decidedly different from the games he would play with a little girl. He can help his son learn to throw and catch a ball. He can teach him to pound a square wooden peg into a square hole in a pegboard. He can even take his son with him into the shower, where the boy cannot help but notice that Dad has a penis, just like his, only bigger.

Hey, son! Betcha couldn't help but notice my giant penis!

via Bradford Plumer.

Crapslugmoth

As I was walking out to get the mail yesterday, I saw a splat of black, brown, yellow and white on the side of my house. "Oh great," I thought, "some bird crapped on the side of my house." But, it wasn't bird crap, it was too symmetric to be the work of a bird. I looked closer and thought it must be a slug of some kind, the things on the front looked a lot like antennae, and it was roughly slug-shaped. But when I got closer, I saw that it was only slug-shaped in two dimensions: it was slug length and slug height, but laterally, it was very thin. Hmm. I looked closer still and saw that it was covered with fuzz, like a moth, and that there were two little legs poking out from underneath. It was a moth. It was the ugliest moth I'd ever seen, in fact. It was a moth dressed like a gaudy slug or a splat of bird shit.

Here's what I saw on my porch:

Nikon D100, 105mm macro

I showed my wife, and she poked it. It flew down to the ground, where I poked it and it flew into the bushes. It landed with its wings spread, so that I could get this picture:

Nikon D100, 105mm macro

It's not quite so ugly like that, though its head still looks like bird crap.

Update: and after looking at hundreds of moth photos, I've identified this guy. It's a "Beautiful Wood Nymph Moth" Eudysas grata (#9301). Err... I guess moth people have a different concept of beauty. And, I can now say that this guy isn't the ugliest moth I've ever seen; there are some critters there that beat this one by a mile.

Uncorrected Personality Traits

Reading this (Is My Child Becoming Homosexual?), I'm reminded of this classic Robyn Hitchcock song:

    Uncorrected personality traits
    that seem whimsical in a child
    may prove to be ugly in
    a fully grown adult.

    Lack of involvement with the father,
    or over-involvement with the mother,
    can result in lack of ability
    to relate to sexual fears,

    and in homosexual leanings,
    narcissism, transexuality
    (girls from the waist up
    men from the waist down),
    attempts to be your own love object.

    Reconcile your parents to you
    by becoming both at once!

    Even Marilyn Monroe was a man,
    but this tends to get overlooked by our
    mother-fixated, overweight, sexist media.

    So:
    Uncorrected personality traits
    that seem whimsical in a child
    may prove to be ugly
    in a fully grown adult.

    If you give in to them
    Every time they cry
    They will become little tyrants
    But they won't remember why
    Then when they are thwarted
    By people in later life
    They will become psychotic
    And they won't make an ideal husband or wife

    The spoiled baby grows into
    the escapist teenager who's
    the adult alcoholic who's
    the middle-aged suicide.

    Oy. So:

    Uncorrected personality traits
    that seem whimsical in a child
    may prove to be ugly
    in a fully grown adult.

    -- Uncorrected Personality Traits

Of course, Robyn is clever, ironic and funny, not scary, unlike the nuts who want to send your kids to fag camp.

March of the Pinheads

The reviewer over at Plugged In (part of Focus On The Family, ie. home of James Dobson, a.k.a. the guy who thinks SpongeBob is a big gay sponge who's gonna suck all the Hetero out of American youth) loves March of the Penguins. Still, he knows one way it could be a little better:

    The movie doesn't credit our Creator with the masterpiece of nature known as the emperor penguin. But if families will make a small effort to do so on their own, March of the Penguins transforms into an exhilarating exhibition of God's grandeur and brilliance. Psalm 19:1 says, 'The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.' So do the penguins.

Damn that secularist agenda.

Down By The Sea

Mrs. Cleek and I went down to Beaufort, NC a couple of weekends ago, for our yearly Beaufort weekend.

We stayed at the Pecan Tree Inn (brown-roofed building in back of the big hotel on the waterfront, right side of the picture). We've stayed at almost all the B&Bs Beaufort has (not many, given that the whole "Historic District" is just 2x4 blocks) and this one is pretty typical: old house, redone sometime in the past decade, hit-or-miss breakfast served too early for young kids like us, sign near the toilet asking that we be kind to the pipes, birds nest behind the metal plate in the unused chimney on the wall by the bed full of screechy little birds, etc.. Though they usually cost a bit more than a hotel, I much prefer having a room in an actual house, instead of one of a hundred identical units in a hotel. There's something about those fire-proof doors, industrial carpet and omnipresent disinfectant smell that rubs me the wrong way.

Beaufort's a tiny little town, or at least the historic district where we hang out is, and we usually don't bother driving anywhere. We just walk back and forth between the three good restuarants and the three good bars, avoiding the "family" places, cause why would we pay to hang out with screaming kids if we don't have to?

For a few bucks, you can get the water taxi out to a nearby undeveloped island where you can hang out for as long as you like, away from things like life guards and rescue personnel, bathrooms and beer vendors. Just you, some wild horses, and the Atlantic Ocean. A good time, though. Or, you can sit on the boardwalk and point at the huge yachts that people park there; there's always two or three there of at least 100' tied up at the docks (this beast was there this time).

But, that's about it - after you've seen the handful of shops and driven up the Cape Lookout lighthouse, there's nothing but eating and drinking. And that's the way I likes it.