Category Archives: emily

it’s not the money

The romantic euphamism is doing a Kickstarter project related to his comic, and it has been wildly successful, funded 1,000% over its original goal in the first 8 (out of 30) days, so you can rest assured that I’m not writing a post about it because he, like, desperately needs more support:

(If you’re not familiar with Kickstarter, it’s crowdsourcing site to fund creative projects. If you’re an artist with a creative idea that needs funding, it’s a fabulous tool.)

I just wrote a post about being a highly educated woman and the impact that has on my relationships – or at least on the way my relationships are perceived. And, ya know, I’ve got a jobby job, I go to an office and I write annual reports and I sit on committees. My life looks pretty grown-up, all things considered. I have benefits. A retirement plan. And here I am with this guy who makes his living DRAWING A COMIC STRIP. And you don’t have to tell me that comics aren’t just Dilbert and Garfield, I totally know, but really. Take that one home and introduce it to your mom, who’s been worried about you for the past 6 years while you floundered in singledom. It just doesn’t SOUND very promising.

(Actually my mom really likes him.)

So here I am, with my jobby job and my biweekly paycheck, attached to this person who, let’s face it, doesn’t have a retirement plan. And then along comes Kickstarter, with its financial exhibitionism….

Kickstarter looks like it’s about money, right? With its percent funded statistics and its system of pledges and rewards.

But the money part of it is a mask for the substance of the experience.

And I’m telling you, the substance of the experience has been kind of a turn on.

His creativity, his humor, his excited commitment to the project are all things I love about him, and there they all are, posted in public. And there are 700+ people in the world ready to pay for that creativity, humor, and excitement, to get something they would eventually be able to get for free. Why? Well there are people who commented along the lines of, “I have no idea who you are and never read your comic, but your Kickstarter is so funny I had to back it.”

They all share a little fragment of what I experience every day.

I have watched the Kickstarter for 7 days. I have created Excel spreadsheets to analyse the performance of various incentive levels relative to Kickstarter’s averages. It’s been a fun project to work on together – me doing all the mathy part, him doing all the creative part. And I’ve been dazzled all over again, brand new, like I was when we met.

It’s not the money, it’s the brilliant. It’s the funny. Long before we met, I wrote that humor is my number one mate choice characteristic. Well, now I let a professional comedian walk my dog.

Thinking about sex and relationships is part of what I do for a living, so I can’t help considering the larger meaning of my individual experience.

Could it be that the narrative that women are turned on by money be a misconstruction (by the men, who create the narrative), boiling the intelligence, humor, social abilities, and creativity of a guy down to the monetary reward that might, but doesn’t usually, go with it?

Could the standard “evolutionary” thinking that female humans are seeking a “provider” for their offspring be totally off-target, and actually what female humans want is not a provider of food and shelter, but a provider of inspiration, intellectual engagement, insight, humor? (Could it also be that what women want is context dependent? Why yes, I think so.)

My brother is a creative genius too, but only recently has he been able to make any kind of a living out of that work. And my dad, in his way, has that arty vibe. And both of them were supported by organized, intelligent, and (cultural conditions permitting) educated women.

No no. It’s not about the money. It’s the brilliant. It’s the funny.

behold, thou art fair

I spent most of the day home in bed with a norovirus that’s been making the rounds. (I used to be a person who never got ANYTHING. Where did that go? How did I become the person who gets EVERYTHING?) Now I’m watching one of my favorite movies, “Keeping Mum.”

Context: wife feels sexually neglected by her vicar husband. The new housekeeper intervenes.

Look at this:

Rowan Atkinson is my dream man. Astonishingly, I’ve only ever posted anything about him once before! (Note resemblances between tall, thin, dark-haired, mild-mannered comedian and the romantic euphemism.) I like the nerds, I like the smart ones, I like the ones who apologize easily and spontaneously bring chocolate with them when they come over.

Having spent my last post griping rabidly about the men in the world who make this an unsafe place for women – the predators – how about a post about the good ones?

I just gave my first lecture of the semester (I totally half-assed it, ended early, and it was still exhausting.) I did this activity at the end, where I showed 105 slides with highly diverse pictures of different women on them, and we went down the rows and for each picture, a student said out loud, “She is so beautiful.” The goal was to begin undoing the cultural brainwashing that mainstream narrative around women’s bodies and what it means to be beautiful.

It was pretty great, hearing 105 women validating all the other women in the room.

But there was one male voice in the room – a 5 colleges student or a boyfriend of a student, I don’t know. And to hear that one male voice say, “She is so beautiful”… I mean, I’m all for women supporting women, but I could feel something happen to the energy in the room when that one male voice affirmed the beauty of a woman whose body absolutely did not conform to the cultural standard. It was almost painful how important that was.

Lesson: we need our good men. Not because we rely on men’s approval or even because they’re the gatekeeper allies, but because men bring an important and different energy.

I must acknowledge that for most of my life, most of my friends have been guys. I really, really enjoy not having to worry about hurting someone’s feelings, and for a long time my experience was that girls were terribly fragile, guys were made of rubber, and I am a bulldozer. And the good men were the ones who valued honesty over diplomacy.

Now one of my favorite things about good men is the extent to which they recognize their privilege, the extent to which they listen to women in the same way they listen to men, the way they keep their (inevitable) thoughts about how sexy a woman is to themselves. The good men are alert for the ways that a woman’s physical appearance might be impacting how they interact. They pay attention to making sure women feel comfortable in a social environment – not in a chivalrous way, but in a plain old polite considerate way.

(BTW, if you’re a good man and looking to learn what makes you good, the above list is a pretty decent summary.)

There are a lot of good men in the world. In fact, most of them are good. And only a minority of the ones who aren’t good aren’t good because of their own psychology, rather than some interaction between their psychology and their culture.

Kiss your good man tonight, if you have one. (I can’t kiss mine, I have this fucking virus.)

what your dog needs, your partner needs

Ugh. So this has been me sick in bed with some horrible plague that’s going around campus. TWO WEEKS of snot and aching and struggling to keep my lungs where they belong, in the face of great resistance on the part of said lungs. UGH!!

Anyway. That’s how I’ve been lately. How are you?

calm submissive

While I’ve been lying in bed, I’ve been listening to John Bradshaw’s Dog Sense, which is chock full of fascinating stuff about the science of dogs, how they evolved, how they develop, how they learn, etc. It’s not a training book, isn’t trying to be a training book, but it does offer critiques of various training methods, inevitably supporting Ian Dunbar’s positive reinforcement approach and maligning Cesar Millan as scientifically deficient. Which is true, Dunbar totally has the science and Cesar has no science.

Then yesterday I completed a mandatory online sexual harassment training and I had the response that I imagine Ian Dunbar has when he hears Cesar talk about dog psychology: “GAAAH! NOOOOO, THAT’S NOT RIGHT OH MY GOD THIS IS GONNA MAKE PEOPLE WHO DON’T KNOW BETTER THINK ALL KINDS OF WEIRD THINGS!!!”

But. I mean. Maybe it’s okay?

A while ago I wrote me and Cesar Millan. I read his stuff and watched his show when I got a dog. I read Ian Dunbar’s book too, and watched lots of his videos, and it was helpful – ish. He taught me how to shape my dog’s behavior through reward and denial of reward. Nice.

But Dunbar’s advice was to get a puppy that had had lots of contact with humans, and train it from scratch. Which I didn’t do. I did what every dog advocate in the world would want me to do: I adopted a 7 year old dog that had been tortured and then had lived in an orphanage for 5 years. He had fears and insecurities and poor social skills and worse leash manners.

So what did I learn from Cesar Millan’s book that I didn’t learn from the science? I learned that my dog needs me to create a stable, secure psychological structure, so that he knows where he belongs in the world. I learned that needs me to stay calm. I learned WHY being calm and patient is important, which motivated me to do it. It turns out that reason is technically wrong, but it’s close enough to be very very helpful.

As a person who is wrapping up writing a guide about relationships (it’ll be available sometime in February I think, at, this is a really useful bit of insight:

Just because something is grounded in the best science (Ian Dunbar) doesn’t mean it’s the thing that will be most helpful to people in an imperfect situation. And just because something is technically wrong doesn’t mean it doesn’t carry the important message.

It’s weird for me because I LOVE science and I share with John Bradshaw a puzzlement that the people who get TV shows as “experts” are hardly ever the people with academic credentials and scientific expertise. Yet the guy with the credentials and the expertise (Dunbar) hasn’t been anything like as helpful to me in having a positive relationship with me dog as the guy with unsubstantiated ideas but a dazzlingly useful approach (Millan).

So maybe – maybe – the sexual harassment program, despite being wrong, is actually helpful for people who don’t know about these kinds of things.

I can’t even tell you how foreign that idea is to me.

My guide is all science. I think (I hope!) it’s also really helpful. It happens to have very much the same message about human relationships as Cesar has about dog relationships: stay calm, listen, don’t assume that what your partner needs is the same as what you need, and don’t make your feelings more important (or less important) than your partner’s.

And if the science doesn’t work, turn to folk wisdom. I’ve also been watching a lot of West Wing, and there’s a whole episode grounded in Ephesians: “Be subject to one another.”

If you can’t do it because the science says so, maybe do it because it’s in the frackin’ Bible.


adventures in birth control, or: emily has a small uterus

This morning I got an IUD. And then I spent the rest of the day in bed with a heating pad over my abdomen and an ice pack at the small of my back, doped out on ibuprophen and acetaminophen. I decided I should write a blog post about the experience, as anecdotal reference for anyone else who’s thinking about it. It happened like this:

Step 0. Take 1,000mg of ibuprophen before arriving at the doctor’s office. Wear comfy, warm clothes. (I always get cold at the doctor’s.) The usual pee in a cup/ blood pressure and heartrate/naked from the waist down rigmarole. The doc comes in. Okay.

Step 1. Describe to the patient what is about to happen.

DR: The first step is I’m going to feel the position of your uterus. Then we measure the depth of your uterus. This is called sounding –

ME: LOLZ. Like a well?

DR: Yes! You know, most people don’t know that term. Are you familiar with Mark Twain?

ME: Uh, sure.

DR: Well “mark twain” was what you called when you were sounding the depth of the river, so he chose that as his pen name.

ME: And now I’m going to name my IUD Mark Twain. Or Mr T for short.

DR: Well, then the next step is to place the Mirena. This is what it looks like. (He shows me an IUD in its kit, identical to the one I keep in my office to show to students.)

ME: Uh-huh.

DR: Now, they did tell you that because you’ve never had children this is likely to be more a uncomfortable procedure for you?

ME: Yeah. Um, listen in 2000 I had a colposcopy and cervical biopsy and I experienced a lot of vasovagal sensations and nearly passed out.

DR: Oh I see. Well, we’ll make sure we’re set up for that.

(It transpires that “set up for that” consists of having smelling salts in the room. I kid you not.)

Step 2. And so I set myself up in the stirrups. He inserts two fingers and palpates my abdomen – this is the “feeling the position of my uterus” part. No problems here.

DR: Relax that muscle just as much as you can. Good.

ME: (deep, slow breaths, relaxing pelvic floor muscle. I’m good at this.)

And then.

Oh and then.

I get “sounded.”

At first it was just a bit of pressure and a pinch, like a Pap smear, …but then.

I yelped like a kicked puppy and jolted my hips off the table.

DR: Try not to pull away like that.


ME: Okay. I’ll do everything I can.

He coaches me to breathe slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth. “Slower than that,” he says. I teach that kind of thing; I’m working on it. But it FUCKING HURTS.

Step 3. Placing the Mirena.

Feels like stabbing my uterus. The assistant puts in ice pack behind my neck and I press my hands to it, desperately trying to shut the gate on the stabbing pain shuddering from my uterus to my toes and back up to my teeth.

Step 4. Cut the strings, while soothing at the patient who is shaking and crying, pale lipped and trying not to hyperventilate, pass out, or throw up. And it’s over.

DR: Roll over slowly on your left side for a minute or two. It’s not that hard for everyone. You’ve got a small uterus.

ME: (through slow, shallow breaths, lying in the recovery position) Well. It’s not the size that counts.

You learn something new about yourself every day. Me, I have a small uterus. Which has no consequences in my life until I decide to go for long-term contraception.

I lay on the table in the office for about an hour, sipping juice and rotating an ice pack from my forehead to my lower back, until I could sit up without feeling dizzy and the pain resembled really bad menstrual cramps. The doctor continued to soothe at me, telling me, “Make sure you tell your guy about this and get him to buy you something real nice.”

I swear to god he said that. I couldn’t have made that up if I tried.

All I could think to say was, “I’m going to have to cancel my meetings for this afternoon.”

Eventually I could put on my shoes and stand, at which point I drove home, got in bed, and have barely left it since. I played a lot of Angry Birds an listened to Ian Carmichael reading “Strong Poison.”

It’s been nearly 12 hours and the pain has subsided to the intensity of slightly bad cramps. I expect it’ll be tolerable without meds in the next 24 hours or so.

And after that, I’ve got 5 years of worry-free pregnancy prevention, for the cost of about two months of contraceptive pills.

Worth it? I expect it will be.

It doesn’t hurt for everyone – some women, and even some women who have never had children, have quite benign experience with getting an IUD.

But I do wish someone had let me know ahead of time how much it MIGHT hurt, so that I could have, for example, take more pain meds beforehand and brought someone with to drive me home.

My advice then: be prepared for the worst. Hope for the best. Take what comes. It’s an amazing piece of technology and I fully appreciate what it means for me and how privileged I am to live at a time when such effective and effortless birth control is readily available covered by my health insurance.

But prepare for the worst, just in case.

the little sexuality fugue

Teaching a 100-level course with all a variety of students in it is HARD.

(Can you tell I’m working on my class for next spring?)

It’s particularly hard for my class, since there is no “next” class for them to take. There is only this; if they want to go deeper, they have to go to graduate school. And really, they have to go to grad school at Indiana University. So I feel an urgent need to give them as MUCH AS I CAN in just 13 2-hour lectures.

Last year, toward the end of the semester, I began thinking closely about how I was teaching, and I realized I was teaching in multiple voices at the same time. Like a fugue. Like this:

Or maybe more like this (Ernst Toch’s Geographic Fugue):

Multiple voices, each performing a variation on a central theme.

What are the voices?

1. Basic sexual and relationship health information.
2. Cultural attitudes that shape sexual and relationship health.
3. The science that generates research on both sexual health and cultural attitudes.
4. The cultural attitudes that shape the science that generates research

The challenges of teaching in multiple voices?

If you don’t know how to listen, it’ll sound messy and chaotic and overwhelming. And if you only hear one of the voices, you haven’t received the entire work. And if I can’t be sure that you’ve received the entire work, how do I know you’ve really understood any of it?

You can get an A in my class without every recognizing voices 3 and 4. But then you’ll be confused and frustrated by, for example, the lecture on sex research. Since the students bring different knowledge with them, only some of them will be able to hear all the voices at once. Last year, I had maybe 6 who Got the whole thing, all four voices. Out of 187.

Which seems to demand that I consider for whom I’m teaching. If I design my class KNOWING that most of the students won’t get half of what I’m teaching, won’t even NOTICE it, why not spend more time on the stuff they’ll all get, and go deeper into it?

When I consider that question seriously, this is the answer I get: boredom. My own boredom.

I can only care so much about the statistics on who uses which form of contraception or condom efficacy research or frameworks for thinking about gender. The basics of sexual health and (especially) the cultural attitudes about sexual health bore me senseless, and I can easily cover what I believe any sexually literate person should know is about half the time allotted to me. And the rest of the time I use to talk about the REALLY COOL SHIT.

It turns out the “AS MUCH AS I CAN” referenced above is qualified with “OF THE STUFF I REALLY LOVE.” Like most works of art, the curriculum of my class is an act of love – in this case, a love for the science that generates the knowledge that I’m there to teach.

the “feelings” cap

Because people have been asking:

This year I capped my class at 100.

The waitlist has 67 students on it. I have been offered bribes of baked goods to let students into the class; I will not be swayed.



1. I hated that giant room. I really like the smaller room we’ll be in.

2. 200 is a manageable number when it’s ordinary students, with ordinary levels of curiosity, intelligence, and intensity. 200 is TOO MANY when it’s 200 brilliant, driven students who thrive on challenge.

3. Homogenized ages. Capping the class limits who has access. At 100, it’s about half seniors, 40% juniors and 10% sophomores.

Why does this matter? Because there are no prerequisites to the class, people come into the room with massively varying degrees of academic exposure to these topics and even MORE varying degrees of personal development. Last year we had students who had fully transitioned from one gender identity to another, and other students who had never even considered the possibility that there was more to gender than just men and women. How the HELL do you teach that class about gender? (Very carefully.)

4. This class isn’t an ordinary class. It’s laden with FEELINGS. The first and second lectures feature a huge number of photographs of bodies, especially genitals, and that alone is an intensely personal experience for just about everyone in the room. And then the sexual function/dysfunction lecture. FEELINGS ABOUT BODIES AND WHAT THEY DO.

Two more of the lectures are about relationships, including the ways in which our families of origin shape our approach to romantic relationships in adulthood. That’s all feelings, all the time.

And then the lectures about gender, sexual orientation, and kink. Feelings, feelings, and more feelings.

If I have a fault as an instructor (and I do), it’s my tendency to forget that people are busy having their minds blown while I’m at the front of the room rambling through my decade-old rant about how only 1/3 of women are reliably orgasmic from penetration. They’re having FEELINGS. And that requires time and space.

I keep an eye on 100 students having feelings. Not 200.

So that’s why there’s a cap on my class.

the body of a (female) blogger

In reading other women blogger’s responses to the disappointingly stupid piece, Womanspace, I ended up watching the video, Perils of Blogging as a Woman under a Real Name, and generally reading about women’s experience as bloggers, especially about science.

While I deliberately limit the personal stuff I put on the blog, like Kate Clancy (whose blog, Context and Variation is AWESOME), I view my own life and experience as inextricable from my work. This post is one example of that.

See, a number of bloggers told stories about being told they were hot, and that their hotness contributed to their legitimacy or interestingness as writers.

My own experience has been being told that I’m NOT attractive and therefore it’s not a surprise that I’m wrong.

Which. I mean.

In reality, it’s the same phenomenon, two different version of having our voices minimized because of our bodies, our appearances.


I mean.

Suppose you got to choose: you can have your voice minimized by people’s perception of you as attractive or you can have your voice minimized by people’s perception of you as unattractive.

Yeah… so… I had this really complicated internal reaction, like bodies don’t matter and haters gonna hate, and at the same time I wanna be a pretty girl too! and is it a coincidence that these women are this successful and happen to be the pretty ones? and will I fail to advance professionally because I fail to conform to conventional standards of beauty and femininity?

(This is me officially hoping that no one decides to comment, “But gosh Emily, you’re pretty!” My attractiveness or lack thereof isn’t relevant to my blog content, which is exactly the point!)

I have had the good fortune of always feeling like I was being taken seriously by my mentors in the academic world – even at times when, in retrospect, I didn’t necessarily deserve it. My appearance and my gender never entered in to it. It is a gift I try to pass on to my own students, to hear their voices without assessing it in terms of their bodies or gender display. Because my looks were not my identity, I viewed them as irrelevant, and nothing in my academic experience made me feel otherwise.

Until I started blogging.

I put a photo on the blog because a friend told me that it helps people recognize that there’s an individual human being sitting in her living room writing these posts, that there’s a face behind the typeface, if you will. A person.

And according to a few anonymous folks on the interwebs, who comments don’t make it past the trash bin, I am an ugly cunt, so no wonder I’m wrong about whatever it is I’m wrong about.

And what I want to know is: if I had shorter hair and were wearing blue instead of pink, and had stubble, would I be told I’m an ugly motherfucker so THAT’S why I’m wrong?

I doubt it. I think my appearance is a justification for dismissing me only because I’m female.

And here’s another complicated feeling:

Have you noticed the phenomenon that most of the women “sexperts” you see in the media are thin, with long shiny hair, big eyes, and a pretty smile? I find myself thinking, “Is it that the people who know the most about sex or are the most effective educators also happen to be conventionally attractive?” Or, “I wonder if the sexperts who are least likely to disturb Big Pharma happen to be conventionally attractive, and what causal mechanism might be at work there?…”

Not to say that pretty, thin, young, long-haired, big-eyed women can’t also be outstanding researchers and educators! But I can’t help thinking that the reason they have the gig is not that they’re especially good at the job, but instead because they’re especially rich masturbation material.

And I feel VERY BAD about the fact that I have these thoughts. It feels totally unfeminist for me to judge them in this way. I actually know a number of them in person, went to school with them, and know that they’re genuinely good at what they do.

An example of someone I don’t know: Take Cara Santa Maria, over at Huff Post’s “Talk Nerdy to Me.” Remember my three criteria for writing about sex science: good science, good prose, good advice. Her’s is perfectly fine science and perfectly fine, if a bit dull, prose. She doesn’t so much do the advice part, so no worries there. Her credentials, too, are unfaultable. And yet I find myself thinking, “She would not have this gig if she weighed 30 pounds more, were 10 years older, or had a less feminine, symmetrical face.”

And then I think, “Is this just jealousy about not being so thin/pretty? Is it professional jealousy that she has a gig like that and I don’t? Is it TRUE? Is it MEAN? Can it be true and mean at the same time? Isn’t it just to be expected that the media will select for conventional beauty?”

So basically I have A Lot Of Feelings about physical appearance and being a sex educator in the public sphere. It feels very complicated and I don’t know what the solution is.

this is what sexy looks like (free stickers!)

The stickers are here!!

The romantic euphemism gave me this fun idea:

Mail me a self-addressed stamped envelope – yes, an actual physical envelope in the mail – and I’ll send it back to you with some stickers!

They look like this:

this is what sexy looks like sticker

And this:
Greenbean is what sexy looks like

And this:
Red Robot is what sexy looks like.

They’re based on this post. They’re 4″ diameter, round paper stickers. They stick to things. They’re fun!

And they’re free!

Send your SASE to:

Emily Nagoski
PO Box 1526
Northampton MA 01061-1526

It’s all part of my taking-blogging-more seriously effort. You’ll notice there’s a URL on the bottom edge of the sticker. That’s my URL. Like, this is my “website” and stuff, not just a personal soapbox for me to whine and be self-righteous, but a platform for promoting a specific idea.

The idea is called “the dirty normal”.

More on what that idea is later. For now… FREE PINK SEXY STICKER!!

this is what sexy looks like

So it was frickin’ freezing this morning when I went to run the dog. Literally. It was 30 degrees.

So I piled on the thermals and the earwarmers and the legwarmers and the gloves and I pulled a windproof skirt over my fleecy yoga pants, plus a neck gaiter, and I pulled a neon yellow cycling shirt over all that (a color a former boyfriend once called “don’t-hit-my-daughter yellow,” because my dad bought it for me).

Just imagine that for a second. Fleecy pants with legwarmers and knee-length windproof skirt, black thumbhole thermal shirt, black gloves, gray earwarmers, black floral neck gaiter, and a fluorescent yellow long-sleeve fleece-lined mock turtleneck. And white-and-pink minimal running shoes. On a body that has spent 34 years loving cheese and chocolate, as well as dancing and rock climbing.

Now imagine that outfit stepping out into the dark and cold of 6:30am in late October in New England, onto the frozen wooden front steps… and INSTANTLY sliding ass-first down the stairs, to bump skull against stair.

I just lay there on my ass for a minute, in that dark and cold.

I lay there sprawled and checking in with all my various body parts (none of which were injured), while the dog waited for me at the far end of his leash, and I thought, “This is what sexy looks like.”

See, I’m a REALLY good dog mom, to pile on all those clothes at that time of day, to run with 65 pounds of shedding, slobbering attention-hog. It makes him happy. And making the dog happy is part of how the romantic euphemism can tell I’m a nice person, as sexy on the inside as I am on the outside. It’s the emotional, personality equivalent of pneumatic tits and a bouncy ass.

And so I ran with the dog, just a couple miles, and I picked up his poop and ran him home and fed him breakfast. Then he went back to bed and I went to work. And this right now, me sitting at my desk, having spent the day talking with students, this is what sexy looks like. Sexy smells a little of coffee and local, heritage apples.

And later tonight – SO late, not til 8:30pm – when I get home at last and the euphemism is waiting for me on the couch, with that shedding, slobbering dog asleep at his side, that’s what sexy looks like too. It looks like white dog hair on an army surplus jacket, and like root vegetable curry warming in a crock pot. And also like 6 feet of brilliant, funny, tolerant, patient, generous, sexytime boy, let’s not forget that.

ebooks of compiled posts

Hey there folks, based on people’s feedback, I’ve compiled the 10-part Orgasm series, everything from your first orgasm to simultaneous and extended orgasms.

It’s not new content, it’s just the blog content organized for you and put into ePub, Mobi, and PDF formats. Handy, right? The romantic euphamism did all the technical part, so thank him for it.

It’s free, creative commons license, so download away and distribute to your friends, lovers, siblings, parents, enemies, whatever. I just want people to be able to access the information.

You’ll find them under the downloads tab.

With it, you’ll see a Paypal link. Dig this: I’ve decided to take blogging a bit more seriously. Mostly until now it’s been for my own entertainment, but I’ve been hearing a lot lately about how it helps people, and I feel like it’s a good thing to do. So I’m going to buy a domain and set things up a bit more formally, which takes a little money. If you have a few spare bucks and the blog has been useful for you, feel free to help out. If the blog has been useful but you really kinda don’t have a few spare bucks, seriously don’t worry about it.

So that’s the news.