Dan says…

His name is Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab. You know, the guy with the exploding crotch, landing on a Northwest flight from Amsterdam to Detroit.

Personally, I’d love to see the guy set free. In Detroit. Not Little Iraq, mind you. I’m talking downtown. Maybe Poletown. With a sandwich board stapled to his chest that says “I’m the Northwest Crotch Bomber.”

I’d estimate his life expectancy at about 3.2 hours.

According to CNN, the crotch rocket Umar had in his pants had pentaerythritol tetranitrate as it’s primary ingredient. I won’t pretend to know what that is, other than to parrot what Wikipedia says about it: very effing explosive.

According to the TSA, a secondary screening employed for suspicious persons includes a swabbing, which the TSA claims would have picked up this chemical, thwarting the failed-anyway attack.

Problem is, Amsterdam (where the flight departed) doesn’t have a TSA enclave at their international airport. However, they do have weed bars. And unionized whores. But no U.S.-sponsored TSA. This needs to be fixed.

I’m drafting a pretend letter to President Obama right now to address the issue. Feel free to copy it and send it to him yourself, if you want.

Dear Mr. President,

I have an idea that’ll make our shores and our citizens safer. And it won’t cost us a penny. In fact, it’ll actually make us some money. And in this tight economy, who couldn’t use a little extra cash?

I know! Awesome, right? I have your attention, then?

You know about the whole crotch-bomber guy, right? And you and your top peeps have probably been working late since Christmas trying to figure out how to close that huge security hole so we don’t have anymore bombs showing up in crotches and on planes.

Well, Mr. President? Here’s my plan: Any airline (either collectively or individually) with flights from foreign countries to the United States, particularly those that accept connecting flights from places like FUCKING NIGERIA, would be required to invest in having a satellite (and slightly more militarized) TSA office in that foreign airport, to provide passenger inspections that were not influenced by the weed, prostitutes, or corrupt politicians the Netherlands seem to be known for.

The airline would be free to increase it’s ticket prices, but only on their U.S.-bound international flights, to compensate for this new constraint. This would provide an additional benefit: poverty-stricken terrorists won’t be able to afford airfare.

I know! Again!

Win, win, friggin’ win.

And we’d change the rules for screening passengers. Anyone with a terrorist-sounding first, middle or last name, like Abdulmutallab, Ahmed or Hussein would get the full “latex-and-lube” treatment prior to being allowed to board.

Oh, what’s that? Your middle name’s Hussein? Um…shit.

Well, you have to admit the rest of the plan is awesome. You can use it if you want.

Warmest regards,

Dan

…but Jane thinks…

Please, whatever you do, don’t use Jane, You Ignorant Slut letter head on your letter to Obama, Dan.  I have enough problems as it is without the CIA knocking on my door, or worse, every one in the Tri State Area with an Arabic sounding last name showing up in the driveway.

Also, you totally stole my argument about not allowing unscreened travelers whose journeys originated in Lagos, home of the most dangerous airport ever except for that one that Keanu Reeves drove the bus around for an afternoon at high speeds, to enter US airspace.

By the way, are you complaining about the weed bars and legalized prostitution in Amsterdam?  If so, I think I know what we’re writing about after we try to tackle healthcare reform.

TSA already pulls everybody who might bear a vague resemblance to someone of middle eastern dissent off to the side for “special” screening.   I’m pretty sure even a dark tan gets you at least a special trip to the dude who uses the metal detecting wand in addition to the walk-through.  Your calls for anal cavity searches probably say more about you than your desire for enhanced National Security, but I’ll leave that alone for the commenters who google “lube and latex” to remark on.

I am, despite the fact that I actually tried to apply to ACLU for college not realizing that it wasn’t somewhere I could happily spend four years safely ensconced in the warm embrace of lovers of liberty like myself, all in favor of profile-based screening.   I like my travel like I like my men:  safe and without bombs hidden in underpants.

An initial problem I see with posting TSA employees on foreign soil to do screenings is that they are, as near as I can tell, mostly inept.  There are absolutely some airport security workers who are qualified, competent, and on the ball.  I just haven’t met any of them.

Your analysis of this recent situation overlooks the primary issue, though. They don’t hate us because we’re free, they hate us because we are assholes who have treated them like shit for generations, stuck our military bases in places they don’t belong to try to guarantee easier and cheaper access to oil, despite our protestations to the contrary we have chosen a side in the Arab-Israeli conflict – money talks, bullshit walks let’s remember, and generally stomped on everything in our path because we think we’re better than everybody else.  And because we’re not just assholes, but sometimes we are stupid assholes, we armed the entire region.  Doh!

We can profile.  We can screen.  We can require people to empty their bladders and bowels and fly pantsless while handcuffed to the overhead compartments.  But until we do the hard time required to figure out our own role on the world stage that is both respectful and reflects our desire to lead, we’re still going to have to worry about exploding crotches in the not-so-friendly skies.

Dan says…

I’ve heard this ridiculous urban legend recently that I think needs to be put to bed. The legend goes like this: women in their late 40’s and 50’s are having sex. I know. It’s crazy, right? Sex at that age? It gets crazier: some of ‘em are fucking younger guys.

I mean I saw The Graduate and all, but seriously? Mrs. Robinson is dead. Really.

This topic came about when I was pointing out to Jane one of the ads appearing on this site for CougarLife.com, the ad slogan being something like “He’s sleeping with someone younger – why can’t you?”

Jane bristled at the term. Cougar. Also known as old, gnarly cat, of the genus felinus cantmakus erectus, in the subspecies huntus perpetua.

Really? Is that all that’s in a name? A label? A cougar is a big, smelly, hairy beast always on the hunt to slake it’s thirst for flesh?

I think it’s about pigeon holes and people’s (read: Jane’s) desire to stay out of them.

Everybody wants to avoid being labeled in a negative way. Rarely does someone want to be categorized, unless it’s because she falls into the “drop-deap gorgeous” or he falls into the “hung like a Clydesdale” category.

To Jane, cougar = old skank.

I have a different opinion of that label altogether.

But first I have to offer up Exhibit A: Jennifer Lopez’s ass.

When JLo rose to fame and fortune, she did more than just make a name for herself. She made it ok to have an XXL ass. Even more than ok, she made it desirable. Growing up in the mid-80’s, if the guys I knew then saw a girl with an ass that big, no way she made it through high school without some therapy for the teasing she would have to endure. Now teenage guys are jerking off to those same big asses. JLo made having a large behind an asset. And men’s appreciation for this new, larger ass didn’t mean some other previously adored form was being neglected. Oh, no. It just widened the parameters for what shapes and sizes of female backsides were sexy and desirable.

Just like JLo’s big ass, I think the term cougar doesn’t lend a negative connotation to a woman. Totally the opposite, in fact. I think the label opens doors. It makes it feel more common, more normal for an older woman to have a sexual relationship with a younger man. And really? From my perspective, sitting here at 41 and looking in both directions (younger and older)? I see a younger woman, with her taut skin, pert breasts and bright eyes and I have to say yes, sometimes she’s a pleasure to look at. Ok, most times. And I’m generalizing here, but there’s probably also a whole lot about life that she hasn’t figured out yet. Like maybe she doesn’t know what really turns her on in bed, she’s just always done what she thought her partner would like or what she read on Dooce. And she’s more about the finish line, less about the journey to get there.

Having been the recipient of the rare flirtation by a younger woman, I can say that it feels pretty damn good. I have to imagine that an older woman receiving nuanced affections from a younger man has to make her feel good as well. That this strong young buck wants her the same as he would a younger woman? Ego boost, right? Stir the pot a little? (“pot” meaning, uh, nevermind)

And when I think of an older woman who’s sexually active, I automatically think of someone who knows what she likes. She’s been with a few men, gone through the years of trial and error under the covers, awkward elbows and falls off the Serta, so she can speak pretty plainly and candidly about what she wants and needs from her partner, be he younger or older.

Right. Are you kidding me? Clear, open dialogue about likes and dislikes without the emotional baggage of gender roles and the stifling affect of what’s proper to talk about and ask for when the only thing you’re wearing is a cowboy hat and a smile? Hell yes. More of that, please. What man on this planet wouldn’t want that?

I think that on the path toward acceptance of interracial couples, gay couples and (eep!) cougars and their cubs, there need to be interim steps. We can’t go from taboo to totally cool. So we come up with this label to tell us that yeah, this thing is out there, it happens enough to have a name, and really? It’s kinda cool.

So I say happy hunting.

…but Jane thinks…

Jane thinks  a great many things, particularly on this subject, but let’s start with one general notion:  Most of the time any contemporary phenomenon is described as “empowering” for women, it’s actually just another way that women get shuttled away back into the corner.  And it’s common knowledge that NOBODY puts baby in a corner.

Equal opportunity in the job market?  Greaaatttttt….thanks.  Now I am expected to work full time and keep your house and children together.    Birth control pills?  Greeeaaatttttt…thanks.  I’m really enjoying the weight gain, the emotional consequences of artificially introducing unnatural levels of hormones into my bloodstream, the increased risk of stroke and breast cancer, not to mention the responsibility for not bringing new and unwanted life into the world.

The moniker “cougar” is just another stepping stone down this slippery slope.

Do I think that open dialogue about women’s needs and desires, particularly in the bedroom or whatever room you prefer, freaks, is valuable and should be encouraged?  Of course.  Do I think that a cultural acknowledgement of the beauty and wisdom and strength of older women is a long time coming and something we should all be campaigning for?  Of course.

Do I think that using a term that conjures up images of carnivorous predators is useful in these pursuits of greater social, emotional, intellectual, and physical enlightenment?  That would be NO.  Instead, slapping a bestial label on a population of attractive and confident women – and note, nobody’s calling Granny McLibrarian with the elastic waist pants and wrinkles so deep she could carry her grandchildren around in them a cougar, the term is reserved for women who are smoking hot, botoxed into statuary, lifted and smoothed, and generally loaded  – who happen to date younger men reveals society’s baser instincts.

An older man dating a younger woman?  We might raise an eyebrow, but you and I both know that this dude is getting a slap on the back and a wink wink nudge nudge.  Older man + younger woman is, though, so commonplace as to not even really merit comment.  The older woman with the younger man, however, has accomplished some incredible feat – clearly a consequence of her sexual prowess (carnivorous) and deliberate efforts (predator).

The only reason Dan thinks that my interpretation of cougar is “old skank” is that I laughed out loud and for days a long time when he told me that he thinks Jane Seymour is hot.  Dr. Quinn?  The Max Factor Le Jardin perfume postergirl, from, like 1912?  The testicle-necklace designer (and if that doesn’t prove my point about cougars being predators, what does??)?

I sort of get Dan’s point about J. Lo and the junk in her trunk.   To be sure, I’m way in favor of Appreciating the Big Ass.  But adapting our cultural norms of physical beauty to be more inclusive is only positive, whereas a widely disseminated (yeah, I said it) connotation that an attractive and sexually active older woman in a relationship or whatever the kids are calling it these days with a younger man is a) worthy of note and b) comparable to a wild animal is irresponsible and ultimately damaging.

Jane says…

I feel absolutely no delight or satisfaction at the current media crucifixion of Tiger Woods. I don’t care that he had multiple affairs with multiple women. I don’t care that he betrayed his wife, and I’m not that bothered by the damage he will have undoubtedly wrought on his young children’s development and sense of safety and family. By the looks of it, Tiger has been actively seeking out girlfriends, short term and long term, all over the map. It doesn’t offend me. I have no urge to raise an eyebrow in his general direction. I feel no impulse to judge or condemn. In fact, I’m not even remotely surprised.I am, however, horrified and disgusted by the girlfriends. Maybe not all of them, but truth be told I can’t keep these chicks straight anymore. They’ve morphed in my mind into one giant breasted, parted lipped, long frosted haired schema of slut.

Before you get your feminist panties in a wad, hear me out.

I have no expectations of Tiger Woods in terms of “moral” behavior. He is not a role model; certainly not for me, and he shouldn’t be for anybody else. Dude can golf. Big fucking deal. He worked really hard at it for a really long time. Read Malcolm Gladwell. Maybe he’s born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline. I don’t care. He is also one of the biggest fame whores in the sports business. Show Tiger an advertising contract with a lot of zeroes on it and he’ll sign his name on the dotted line faster than you can say, “I’ve got a hot waitress in Vegas I want you to meet.” There are plenty of athletes who are wildly sucsessful and hugely talented and equally dedicated to their sport, but they don’t all seek out the limelight and the perks and the cash with as much enthusiasm as Le Tigre.

The women, on the other hand, suck…as I’m sure he could tell you.. ba dum bum.

It took about thirteen seconds for these girls to start selling text messages, emails, and phone recordings. All the while “revealing” (right, as if they hadn’t already told all twenty hundred of their best friends that they were doing Tiger Woods) that they were having relationships with the golfing wonderboy. Relationships? If any one of these women actually believed that she was having a meaninful and significant relationship with Tiger Woods, what the hell is she doing selling the personal and private correspondence between them? Revenge? Lame, plus, unimaginative – revenge is, let us not forget, a dish best served cold. I suppose it sounds antithetical to say it, but I would have expected more from them. At the very least, they should have anticipated that they weren’t the only mounts in the stable. I can’t find it in my heart to excoriate them for being stupid, but I am sickened by their mercenary response to the news breaking. Having an affair with a married man? Not cool. Making money off the relationship? That’s called something else altogether…I’ll give you a hint: rhymes with “SCORING.”

…but Dan thinks…

I’ll take issue with a few things Jane said in a bit. Right now I need to talk about the mental midget that is Tiger Woods.If you have kids on a sports team (and your kid isn’t the best player), you probably know how the star of the team gets treated. Kid gloves. Waving palm fronds, sometimes.

Because Tiger plays a non-team sport, since he was 3, appearing on the Mike Douglas show, he didn’t need to share the limelight with anyone. And for all intents and purposes, Tiger was an only child.   It was all Tiger, all the time. So while he was honing his superlative golfing talent, he was failing (and his father, Earl, patriarch of the family, was also failing) at developing just about every other facet of his life.

During tournaments, Tiger has thrown clubs into the gallery.  Of people.  His antics on the course are sometimes compared to Happy Gilmore.   (Mainly by me, but whatever.  I count, right?)  Socially, Tiger is retarded.  Remember those notes you sent in elementary school?

Do you like me?

[   ]Check this box for yes

[   ]Check this box for no

This is more or less how Tiger asked out Elin, his soon-to-be former wife.  He was so socially awkward that in college his nickname was Urkel.  So how did he score all these women?  14+ since he was married?

I knew a guy in college who played a mean guitar.  Ugly as fuck.  Personality to match.  But when onstage, women were lined up 4 deep to watch him play.  Add that intangible quality to a guy who is probably the richest athlete in the world and easy on the eyes?  Uh, the trim line starts back there, honey.

Because Tiger was so unskilled, so inexperienced in handling anything outside of where to drain his balls, he started draining his balls everywhere.

And Earl had re-written all of Tiger’s school books to show that the universe DID actually rotate around Tiger, so what was the moral conflict?  I golf, therefore I do whatever the hell I please.

Tiger didn’t know how to or understand the reason why he should keep his freakdom on the down-low.

I’ve cheated on a lot of things in my life.  Never a woman.  If there isn’t enough to keep you there?  You leave.  But Tiger never learned that or a billion other lessons about how to be a decent, normal human being.  Like Jane, I feel very badly for the kids and for Elin.  And hello?  How does a guy get tired of that?

As for Tiger, I’m going to enjoy seeing this guy who has so few mental tools to work with try to find his way around this course.  I bet he doesn’t make the cut.

And Jane?  Apparently Tiger has an affinity for the blond girl-next-door type.  Why he chose to screw carny versions of his wife instead of his wife is beyond me.

The fame whore thing I don’t buy.  He didn’t chase down Nike.  He didn’t call up GM and say “I love Buick!  Can I pimp your stuff?”  They ran him down because he was a superlative talent that appeared to have his head and his outside-the-lines life together.  Paris Hilton?  Lindsay Lohan?  Fame whores.  Whore whores.  Other than endorsements Tiger hides from the media as much as he can (social retard, remember?).