Dr. Brian Cox, OBE, is a particle physicist on the large hadron collider project and a popular science television and academic/popular media presenter.

Richard Branson is a bajillionaire entrepreneur of Virgin holdings fame, as well as a noted adventurer and media star. He is at the forefront of privatizing space travel and believes in business making a difference in our world.

Laird Hamilton is an athlete and eco-activist, a big-wave surfer who lives in Hawaii and is married to pro-beach volleyball player Gabrielle Reece. If she ever gets tired of him, I’ll take a number.

Trent Reznor is a talented musician, one-man genius behind Nine Inch Nails. He’s a tortured poet and an outspoken advocate of DRM-free media.

Number one on my list, Liam Neeson, is a fairly private but well-respected Irish actor whose work in film and theatre spans decades. He too, supports many charities assisting children, the poor and the AIDS-stricken.

My honorable mention? Minor celebrity Evan Newkirk, beloved by UCF trollops across North America, is a tireless public servant, brilliant writer/blogger, and apologist for pygmy marmosets everywhere.

Please feel free to add your comments on the subject – pertinent, salacious, or off-the-rails.

He had some conditions, though. First, he had us buy more beer. Second, he got to pick his methods. And third, he wanted us wearing t-shirts. Just in case wet t-shirts accidentally became involved.

We settled in back at the Big Yellow House, and he selected his tools for the job:

• Pressure washer

• Belt sander
• File and rasp
• Dremel cutting blade
• Masking tape and compressor sprayer
• Turtle wax and dremel buffer
• Vaseline intensive care
• Styptic powder

OK, a little unconventional, but we could live with that.

First, he put down a couple of plastic sheet drop cloths in the family room while he had us select our nail polish color. I say color, because he only wanted to load the sprayer once. Cleaning the nozzle can be a pain, so we all had to go with the same color.

The pressure washer didn’t work out so well. It was hard to aim, a little painful, and it broke one of Janiece’s side table lamps. Note to self: not intended for indoor use. Boogie went downstairs to hide at this point, but the rest of us simply had another beer.

The Smart Man could have been a bit more gentle with the belt sander and rasp, but we did have styptic powder on hand. And I guess the drop cloths were a good idea, after all.

After another round of beer, we decided that we’d give each other footrubs, round robin style, and let the Smart Man watch. He liked that. I think. He was kind of buzy futzing with the paint sprayer.

Unfortunately, the sprayer lacked fine control for polish application. The Smart Man’s stereo receiver and home theatre system will never be the same, it’s now covered with a fine coat of grape-colored purple lacquer. Still, he did a nice job of masking our toes (where the tape gripped and we weren’t bleeding) and the paint job looked fabulous.

One final drink, and we tackled the cleanup job. I think we’ll need to replace the paint sprayer, and I hope Janiece can get the spots of blood off her ceiling. (Anne should be just fine, we applied direct pressure.)

Next time, I think we’ll go to the nail salon. We like the massage chairs.

Note: None of this actually happened. At least I think it didn’t. But I do have a fresh pedicure.

T-shirt available at ThinkGeek.

1. Write a 50,000 word MS project plan.

2. Write a 50,000 word novel in Morse code.
3. Write a 50,000 word novel consisting entirely of limericks.
4. Write a 50,000 word comedic romance novel in Klingon.
5. Write a 50,000 word vampire novel with a fountain pen. In your own blood.
6. Write a 50,000 word literary novel in the bathroom, on toilet paper.
7. Write and illustrate a 50,000 word serial graphic novel. In full color.
8. Write a 50,000 word murder mystery on post-it-notes. Scramble them, then transcribe.
9. Write a 50,000 word novel in sharpie (or tattoo!) on your own skin. And that of your family, if your handwriting isn’t small. Preserve via digicam.
10. Write a 50,000 word novel in less than 30 days, while working full time, sleeping too little and drinking too much caffeine. Oh, wait, that’s NaNoWriMo!

Any really bad writing ideas you can come up with?

Posting may be a bit light because things are always a bit of a madhouse in Anchorage, plus the travel hours are insane. Here, have some Bob and Doug Mackenzie to tide you over. “Alaska is like Hawaii.” ::snort::

I’m not gonna take the quiz. First, because I’m a rugged individualist at heart, and second, because the possible results are insipid. You’ll die in your sleep? Or while having sex? Obviously this quiz creator needs to browse the mystery, horror and SF/F section at his/her local bookstore.

So, without further ado, here are some of *my* favorite answers to the question, “How will you die?”

• I won’t! I’ll simply have my consciousness uploaded into a succession of artificially created bodies and live forever.

• I won’t! I’ll be bitten by my hot, centuries old vampire lover, become a vamp myself and live forever.
• I’ll be electrocuted and die during a freak lightning strike to my solar farm while interfaced to my home artificial intelligence.
• I’ll be sent to execution by a liberal death panel at 55 after my children realize I’m spending their inheritance too quickly.
• I’ll drown during a hurricane while trying to become the first woman to swim across the Atlantic.
• I’ll die of vacuum exposure after being struck by a micro-meteorite while serving on a Mars geological expedition.
• Zombies will attack me and consume my brains after I run out of propane for my flame-thrower. Fortunately, as an undead person myself, I won’t need brains.
• I’ll be eaten by a polar bear in arctic Alaska after my plane crash lands, I wander across the tundra and collapse in dehydration and hypothermia.
• I’ll be assassinated with poisoned coffee by a jealous professional rival who will be promoted, given a raise and a window office in my absence.
• I’ll die in a freak recycling accident, my plight unnoticed by local western Washington eco-enthusiasts.
• I’ll die having sex while skydiving; our cords will tangle, our chutes will not open, and the tabloids will have a field day. Unless we impact over water, then we’ll just disappear.

Eric already has come up with some fabulous, creative ways to die in his sleep. What about you, what are some creative ways you could die?

Can airport X-rays see a joint?
A knee joint, yes. Other types of joints, uh, I’ll defer to the experts on that one. Really, you can’t travel without your stash?

Free puppies that people can’t have
If people can’t have them, then they’re not available, and probably don’t technically qualify as free. I think. My head hurts.

Seattle nude housekeeping
Really? Is this a trend? Because, really, there are things that don’t mix well with vacuum hoses and caustic cleansers.

Work for puppies
So does this mean that the puppies would be your employer? “Hiya boss, want a bone?” Or does it mean that you get paid in puppies? “Nice job this week, Smitty, we’re increasing your pay from a beagle to a labrador.”

Xray porn
Since X-rays don’t really image soft tissue all that well, I can only assume that the searcher really likes bones a lot. A WHOLE lot.

My dad has gone crazy
Not to be cold and unsupportive, but how the heck is GOOGLE going to help you with this?

Miss Smug 2008
Wow, there’s an award? I never knew. What are the criteria – and is there a talent competition? I’ll make sure I’m entered for 2009.

Strip club UCF
Trollops, we’ve got a new gig!

One interesting piece of advice that author Jill Conner Brown offers is that every woman should have five men in her life at all times. They can sometimes be partially combined into fewer men with more skills, but she believes you’ll never find them all in the same man. Here’s her list:

A man who will take you dancing.

Apparently the Sweet Potato Queens like to go dancing. A lot. And from their stories, it seems that male dancing partners are optional, they’ll dance alone, with each other, or with the guys if the music is good. I admire their zest for life.

Personally, I don’t need this guy. I’m not at all a dancer or club-hopper. I wouldn’t be averse to an occasional slow dance or even a basic ballroom class, but in general I don’t need a dancing buddy.

I could use a fishing buddy, a travel partner, a road trip friend and a movie companion, though my boys fill most of those roles admirably now, while theyr’e still at home.

A man to talk with.

Not only does she recommend a man to talk with, but this man must be unflinchingly supportive and always agreeable. Listening skills are essential; talking skills not so much.

I’m not sure why this particular one needs to be a man, because women are far better companions in verbal analysis. I do have a couple of men friends who are great at this too, but it’s usually not a native skill. Also, if you need someone with great listening skills who will unfailingly agree with you, a dog is lower maintenance than a man. (Murphy even tilts his head at me when I talk to him, as if to say “Tell me more!”)

A man who can fix things.

She likes men who can fix plumbing, cars, carpentry, etc., and feels that having one or more of these in her life is pretty essential.

I’m personally a fan of being able to fix things myself. The ability to do so, learned from my oh-so-capable mother, is a point of pride for me. My youngest son also inherited a fabulous fix-it sense and regularly assembles Ikea furniture blindfolded, without instructions, and with one hand tied behind his back.

Also, fix-it capabilities can be hired from the yellow pages or Craigslist. I’d actually prefer a man who helped with housework and yardwork. (I had one of those, Bryan was a total gem.)

A man who will take care of you.

Apparently a man who will pay for things, who has sugar daddy tendencies and likes to spoil a woman, is high on the author’s list.

Bluntly, the hell with that! I can take care of myself just fine, enjoy providing my own security and prefer my independence, whether I’m married or not. The myth of the knight in shining armor is highly overrated.

I’m not averse to a dinner out, random flowers or shiny gifts, but I can provide those for myself. My awesome UCF friends keep me pretty happy on the flowers and random cheerful stuff front.

A man to sleep with.

Self explanatory.

I’d argue that this can be found on Craigslist or in a specialty electronics store as well.

Seriously, though, what women need is someone who makes them feel adored, respected, beautiful & special, whether in a platonic relationship or a passionate one. Friends and a healthy dose of self respect can provide most of that – and, well, the rest is private.

So, of the “Five Men” that are recommended, I don’t need any of ‘em. And yet, I like men a lot! I adored my husband, I think my sons are made of awesome, I have several wonderful male friends and I enjoy working in a male-dominated industry.

I’ve actually been thinking about this subject a bit lately – what I miss about being married, about having a partner and best friend in the home, and rereading the Sweet Potato Queens gave me a great sense of perspective.

What men – or women – do you need in your life? Or more importantly, what do you want? Please keep it to PG-13 or better.

Here is my proposed starting lineup:

The rules, so far?

1. Contestants begin the competition by paddling to Cuba from the Florida Keys on their own makeshift rafts. First team on the ground gets food.
2. Challenges could include surviving waterboarding, the longest filibuster, the longest silence, shooting & dressing prey (not hunting partners), hunger strike, media deprivation, listening skills, navigating a gauntlet of hostile protestors, skin diving for silver dollars, etc.
3. Halfway through the show, the tribes must combine into a purple tribe without killing each other.
4. Here’s the twist: anyone voted off the island has to disappear from the public media scene and the national stage for, oh, at least four years.
5. The winner could earn his or her own private island, to rule in perpetuity. It might be an empty island, but it would be his/her very own. Mail plane optional.

Can anyone think of additional contestants? Rules? Challenges? I think this has real potential, Hollywood!

Note: I am not a fan of reality tv, and politically I’m independent/libertarian, annoyed by both extremes. This is satire, and anyone who takes it too seriously will have to join the winner on his/her island.

After ten minutes of noodling about, I can safely say that this is not my thing. I can approximate the meter but am completely lacking the humor part of the form.

There once was a game geek named Zach
Whose screen turned surprisingly black
But then he restarted
His crash was outsmarted
And now he continues to hack

A singer and actor named Ben
Auditioned for All the Kings’ Men
He dressed to the nines
and remembered his lines
He’s opening Friday at ten

There once were two dogs who stood guard
Both Panda and Murphy barked hard
Then they slept in
Missed all their bacon
And now they dig holes in the yard