You can call me Daddy, or you can "call me Daddy"

Today is Travel Day in America, when more people expend more energy to get to more places and see more people (and drink more booze) than any other day of the year. I am celebrating by staying put, perhaps venturing out to see a movie three blocks away. 'Cause I'm all contrary like that.

On NPR this morning, a psychotherapist flogging this book talked about the delicate antithesis of sex and parenting. Raising kids relies on consistency and familiarity with each other, but erotica thrives on intrigue. I appreciated her insights, especially since she is not American and therefore able to size up American culture, and the couples within it, from a distance. Americans are famous for the Puritanical paradox that "sex is dirty, so I'll save it for the one I love." Add to that the notion that Americans are a lot like the world's big brother, obsessed with finding solutions to things, whereas balancing domesticity and intimacy is "a paradox to manage, rather than a problem to solve."

Soon afterward, in the course of daily surfing, I came across Hipster Haiku, written by a woman whose first name is incredibly sexy and whose last name is ... also relevant to today's topic. Therefore, in the spirit of synergy, I offer this:

The way you clean stains
Off of everything we own
Makes me very hot