What do you think about cloning? Can the Bible guide us in debates about this complex issue?
Take it from someone whose stem cells are sizzlin' like a fajita platter -- your friend Jimmy knows something about cell chemistry. But first, your question did get me to wondering what the Bible might say about these times when sheep are being cloned. I found this passage: "If a man steals an ox or a sheep, and kills it or sells it, he shall pay five oxen for an ox, and four sheep for a sheep." All right, so the Bible doesn't say much about nuclear cell transfer. Remember that it was written down long ago by folks who didn't even know a woman contributed an egg to the reproductive process. These folks were backward. But how about their sense of criminal justice! I mean, check out this penalty if I so much as tell my old man to go screw himself (and would I like to -- I wish he'd lay off mom until I'm outta here): "Whoever curses his father and his mother shall be put to death." So the Bible tells me I can run off with the neighbor's castrated beeve and make good by buying him a small herd, but if I flip off pop for makin' my liquidy home heave like a hurricane, I get the noose. And you want to know what this book has to say about cloning?
Got a moral quandary? E-mail Jimmy at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Off the rack and on the town. Re:Verse, 11 p.m. Thursday.
Two men sit at the edge of the bar, looking like high rollers and working a trio of college-age women: There's the business-casual blonde, the sweater-clad brunette and an Asian in an off-the-shoulder, cleavage-revealing top.
The guys, Bill and Robert, are doing their best to flex their financial muscle. Bill, in the dark-blue Banana Republic suit and yellow-dotted tie, mentions that he's a high-powered lawyer. Robert, meanwhile, is a business executive from New York. Have they already repeated enough times that they just had dinner at the Capital Grille for a business deal?
They buy the ladies another round of mojitos.
But after the women down their sophisto drinks, they flee like the place is on fire.
Oh, well. So much for Bill and Robert's attempts to pass themselves off as Trumps. Chumps, maybe.
The Pitch's fashion expert, a straight guy named Bud, has a term for the gag: Operators like Bill and Bob are $30,000-aires.
Bill didn't want his real name used, but his business card proved that he was actually still working his way up from the mail room, or thereabouts. Bud bothered to look up Bill's Jackson County personal property-tax records: He owns a 1990 Honda accord and a 1982 Saab beater. An acquaintance tells Bud that Bill lives in Hyde Park and hits the Grand Street Café on Sundays to mooch free drinks from a friendly bartender.
But Bill says the big-spender routine really does work. Women dig men who project success, he says, so he goes out straight from work while still wearing his business attire. He considers himself a social-scene pro, having moved from St. Louis five years ago. He hits KC's bars and nightclubs "pretty much 300 nights a year," he says. Bill figured Robert was the right guy to have as a wingman: Bob is married, wears his ring and has a book filled with photos of his kids tucked into a jacket pocket. Robert seemed like a good asset, except for a tendency to pick people up off the floor and talk about how much he can bench-press.
"There's something to the 'I'm out on business' vibe," Bill says. "It has an air of charisma. I will say that part of it is the outfit. And when you play a role, you have to wear a costume."
Of course, the downside is the bar tab still waiting to be paid on Bill's entry-level salary. Lucky for him, Bob picked up the tab.
Bartender Brian Smith appeared sympathetic after watching the ploy fail on the spirited trio of women. "Each one had two drinks, and they walked out of the bar like they assumed they didn't have a tab. Like this fucking dickhead is picking it up," he said, referring to Bill.
Looks like it's Taco Bell again tonight.
Notes from KC's blogosphere.
This weekend I went to Target and saw the most disturbing sight. These girls were giggling and doing girl junk when I looked their way. One of the girls had a half shirt on with these super low-cut jeans. Oh ... My ... God!! My eyes almost burned out of my sockets! When she turned around, her gut was hanging all over the front of her jeans. Not a pregnant gut, mind you ... a flabby disgusting humongous gut! To make matters worse, she had a huge ugly belly ring that had some sort of chain hanging from it! (Shivers.) It was the most disturbing thing I have seen in a while. Apparently, she thought she was pretty hot, because she walked around like "I'm all that." I didn't know whether to do her a favor and let her know that she should never wear that shit again or just leave it alone. I decided to just rub my eyes and move on. I wonder how many others vomited in their mouth a little after I left. On a brighter note, I lost a little weight since the sight made it so I couldn't eat any lunch.
From "Mythots Exactly," the online diary of Laurie Roberts