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Table of contents
- Netherlands latest
- Gender roles are still quite rigid
- 7 Things You Need to Know about Dating Dutch Women to be Successful
- Promiscuous
- Thinking Differently: Neurodiversity and entrepreneurship
If you want to impress Dutch women, forget showing your car keys, or talking about how fine the wool is that your suits are made from. Instead, whip it out! Whip out the Albert Heijn spaarzegels saving stamps. I was watching the Dutch news earlier this week where an entire town will be without gas for the next few days. Spaarzegels can be bought for 0.
Netherlands latest
When you have a full book of stamps this will cost 49 euros Albert Heijn will give you 52 euros cash. Is that what you like then? Joris Koene , a zoologist at VU University Amsterdam who wasn't involved with the study, says it isn't clear whether the loss of libido is caused by a chemical on the darts or is a result of physical trauma, but the latter theory could explain why the snails harm each other.
What's more, the study suggests that damaging the fertility of your partner isn't such a bad idea if you're able to fertilize a lot of their eggs. The study also suggests that these harmful mating habitats are "expected to escalate [the sexual arms race] more drastically," Kimura says. For instance, snails vying for paternity will evolve new and better darts, from simple pointy cones to elaborately bladed harpoons, as Koene noted in a study. And they will likely also develop a resistance to the darts. For instance, female organs may evolve a resistance to love darts by becoming better at digesting unwanted sperm.
Or, evolving a tougher skin—though a long shot for these soft-bodied animals—could provide an anti-dart armor. Read Caption. It was hardly my first or last adventure in the erotic pleasures of public transit. I'd ended up going past my stop just to be with him, standing and talking for half an hour on Ossington waiting for yet another bus that he would take but I not. Pete was a leggy blond colt, 21 and marvellously on.
In the end I recruited him not for myself but, briefly, for the paper. The later dreamy 18 year old would, I thought, be a particular pleasure for Edgar Friedenberg. November 24, , to Edgar: I'm sorry I missed the chance to see you at the airport in Toronto. Even an hour would have been good -- though I'm sure you know we'd have found no decent place to eat. In this case it was a boy who'd been out listening to a band that does cover tunes from The Grateful Dead; he said he was fascinated by the Sixties.
He largely missed them, having been born the year I graduated from high school, I went past my stop talking with him, though never did find out his name. But perhaps he's the wave of the future in some small way, and exhibits such as you and I have a future on the lecture circuit. Now there's the answer to your retirement, Edgar; your credentials are impeccable, and the Age of Reagan can't last forever.
I never much like Christmas, my normal pace broken by the absence of urban amenities my public, not very domestic life depends on. In short: bars and restaurants are closed. Or were then, most of them. Later, many would open on Christmas Day: on Sunday hours. Sunday opening had been allowed only a few years before, with last call at 10 pm. Soon it would be Now Sunday is a day like any other. From the mid s, Ontario bars can serve until am. People who worked in these places certainly deserved a break but, accustomed to their usual vitality, I could find the quiet unsettling.
Still, there were other pleasures. The vision that stayed with me all my life?
Gender roles are still quite rigid
That was it: Kevin Bryson. December 25, , to Jane: I was at Stephen MacDonald's on Sunday for a nice party to which everyone was asked to bring something original for the tree.
Eddie's new lover Sam Carvelli brought silver whistles, Gerry Oxford got a big paper bumblebee at Balloon King, and I hung one of two tiny pairs of red shoes I'd bought. The other pair was for a man I watch dance at Cornelius, a reference to The Red Shoes, a late '40s dance film [the very film that inspired Vincent Warren in his Florida youth; I'd forgotten] that we once watched part of at the bar, and a tribute to the wonderful way this man moves.
We've been going through a very slow and prolonged flirtation, one that has advanced only as far as a kiss goodnight and that only a few days ago. I'm dubious about what more I might want, if anything, partly because I don't know what he wants, nor whether I could deliver it. In any case, what we have is a source of great pleasure. I had first seen this young man, dancing, nearly two years before: at The Body Politic 's closing party at 24 Duncan.
Everyone there danced wildly, but none more wonderfully than he, in a tank top, his head shaved as I recall, a friend a boyfriend? In time I'd know his name: Kevin Bryson. I'd later see him at parties, fascinated by him. But it was at Cornelius, leaning on that brass rail by the dance floor, watching him move, that my fascination became sheer awe.
7 Things You Need to Know about Dating Dutch Women to be Successful
Kevin Bryson, dancing. That vision I've said has stayed with me all my life? That was it. Kevin Bryson. But my awe was coloured by anxiety, in part for the potential fate of men like Kevin, but also for the more likely fate of the fragile world they had made. Jane, as usual, got to hear my quandaries. Death, and fear of death, does not make for foresight, yet we confront much more than the possibility of individual deaths.
I find happiness watching Kevin and other men dance, in buying a few of the records they dance to and playing them at home, drinking here as I might drink in a bar -- all to hold onto perhaps escape into what might be lost. It's too easy to see all this as frivolity. We slip so easily into being tourists in our own lives, explaining what we see and feel only through the language of a Michelin Guide to gay life written for people who don't live it.
The notion that AIDS has "matured" an "adolescent" gay world, that it's made all us silly disco faggots "grow up" and start taking things seriously, is one of those insidious, tour guide ideas that self doubt has made too many gay people eager to borrow. It ignores not only the profound, hard working seriousness of many of the lesbians and gay men I know, but ignores too the explorations of energy, eroticism and aesthetics that all that "silliness" embodies. We have been scared into a willingness to give up what are, in fact, our most distinct -- if flawed -- creations, to dismiss them as immature, to become "respectable" in ways that not only require dismissing our own vitality, but have little to do with preventing disease.
Nervous-making ACT's unofficial advice: Safer fisting, water sports, scat, sex toys, tit torture I was hoping it might help me shape things I wanted to write on my own -- even though I wasn't yet sure what they might be. Maybe it was possible to wrap up everything in one huge piece in ; now I don't think that's the way to go.
There's simply too much of it and it's too central now; it would be like trying to do one big article on sex. The latter is not to be an official AIDS Committee publication: it's written in the kind of sensible and effective street language that some of ACT's funders find nervous making. They've already been in trouble for talking about "fucking" and giving junkies advice on how not to get sick.
That's one of the things I'd like to see an article on: the effect of censorship, or simple prudery about dirty talk, on efforts to control the spread of sexually transmitted diseases. I'm told though I haven't seen the issue that Blueboy ran an article on safe sex that included a list of ten "don'ts" -- three of them censored by Canada Customs.
All you get is the number, followed by a blank space. Dennis knew the messes AIDS organizations, nearly all gay-run, could get into just by trying to speak to gay men in their own language. That list from Blueboy both censored and uncensored versions; Canada's moral gatekeepers hadn't liked "ass" or "piss" would show up in TBP, in a January piece where Michael Lynch said we must "reclaim our delicious obscenity" if we were to save our lives. He called it "Talking Dirty" -- "the only language in which we can speak frankly of our sex and how to keep it safe.
Randy Coates once discussing HIV transmission with a class of medical students used the term "passive anal intercourse. Then one student dared ask: "What's passive anal intercourse? Battles over safe sex dirty words would largely be won -- if not easily or forever. Australia led the way; Canada soon followed.
The US, spooked by the Religious Right, would lag far behind.
Promiscuous
Dennis also got to hear another theme, in fact one of his own. In an AIDS panel at Sex and the State, he had stressed a point already made but too often ignored: where a large percentage of the gay male population was infected with HIV, limiting the number of one's sex partners was no guarantee of safety.
The chances were great that it might take only one partner, perhaps even one's own lover: we already knew it could take years for HIV infection to make itself apparent. Yet, as I'd said to Dennis, "I know kids who feel that their serial fidelity is some kind of defence.
This is not only bad science, but a threat to our culture of "naughtiness" -- to me a very distinctive and positive culture that I fear too many people, for a variety of deep seated reasons, are willing to sacrifice. This was a rant Dennis didn't need -- if too many others did. But then, rants would turn out not a very good form of safe sex education. This theme too would become an article, one of my own, but I wouldn't get down to it for some months. In this odd after Christmas moment I was happier to tell Dennis where, for me, these thoughts came from. It all comes from standing in bars watching beautiful men dance including at Cornelius the DJ, a sweetheart named Michael knowing how profoundly wonderful I find all that, and asking myself not only how long some of those dancers might live but also how long the living will have a place to dance.
Thinking Differently: Neurodiversity and entrepreneurship
Or will know they can and should. But that's not my sole preoccupation in places like that. In fact I have a good half dozen preoccupations when I'm at Cornelius: Howard, Mark, Kevin, and a few more whose names I don't know but all of whose moves I do.