In the August 6th issue of the New Yorker, on page 22, you will find a Talk of the Town tid bit featuring Roy Den Hollander - the would be abolisher of Ladies’ Nights. Hollander’s federal lawsuit claims that special incentives for women, such as reduced admission fees and drink specials at bars and night clubs, are discriminatory based on sex.

I agree.

Personally, if ladies’ night went the way of the Kyoto Protocol, I wouldn’t shed a tear. In fact, a placard declaring drink specials for the fairer sex is an invitation to go elsewhere, so I don’t mind much if Hollander’s suit has legs.

Where I take umbrage is his invocation of Seidenberg and DeCrow v. McSorley’s Old Ale House (1970) as a precedent. Hollander’s main argument is based on fiscal favoritism, whereas the McSorley’s case dealt with equal access to a public venue, the outcome of which had obvious ramifications that extended beyond an East Village pub.

If Hollander wins, and ladies’ nights are abolished nationwide, where are the larger implications for fiscal equality? Women still earn 44-77%, on average, of what a man earns, women pay 68% more for healthcare out of pocket, and women spend about $800 more on clothes, beauty products, and accessories than men. So, catching a $10 break on a cover charge at Lotus doesn’t really seem like a societal injustice that might merit a federal lawsuit.

I’m on my third iPod in ten months.

I’m not sure if I’m cursed or just unusually demanding of my portable player, but the little guys keep croaking after what feels like only moderate to moderately-heavy use. First two go-arounds, I was able to take it back to Best Buy and they simply replaced it with a brand new iPod. When I got sad-mac’d this time around, I took it back to the Geek Squad, and after being alternatively ignored and patronized for the better part of an hour, finally I was informed that Apple had changed their policy regarding the 80 gig iPod.

OH, REALLY?

Evidently, there are now two options: exchange the current fucked up iPod for a refurbished one (ie someone else’s fucked up iPod), or send it away for servicing. The Geek Squad attendent strongly suggested the latter, even though it would take up to 8 times longer.

So if this screen shot looks familiar to you:

…then you know I’ve got about three weeks more of tune-less commutes, and since music isn’t just my livelihood, it’s my life, you know that its not just beyond unacceptable…it’s fucking plain crazy.

Enter the pinch hitter:

1GB mp3 flash player with an FM tuner and a mic for digital voice recording. It’s powered by a single AAA battery that I can swap anytime I like and the whole doodad is about the size of a super absorbent tampon - the kind you insert with your finger (really small!). Not pictured is the little ring from where I can string my player and wear it like an awesome nerd-necklace (which I am so planning on doing) and the whole she-bang set me back a cool $37.

While I’m looking forward to getting my video iPod back, I’m not sure if she’ll go back into regular commute rotation. Rarely do I use the video feature, and I don’t really need to carry my entire music collection on a daily basis - just the 10 or 20 new albums I’m currently obsessed with. After all, if some dirty hipster wants to swipe my super portable, way more practical Coby, sure, it’ll suck - but it definitely won’t sting like the iPod (at ten times the price).

There are a handful of times in one’s life when the unequivocal answer should always be an emphatic yes:

1) When offered a pile of cash, no strings attached
2) When asked to help an elderly man or woman cross the street
3) When your long-time friend, who happens to be a dominatrix, invites you to a dinner prepared and served by her submissive slave.

While most of my friends are bighearted, their generosity usually stops short of handing over wads of greenbacks, and despite several years as a Girl Scout, I’ve never had to come to aid of anyone who would benefit from a stabilizing forearm. Thankfully, Mistress Mame (not her real/dom name), an old friend from a previous life, invited me to her home to enjoy the culinary skills of her sub slave. And though my placid facial expressions and my proper demeanor never betrayed me, I was fucking blown away.

Mistress Mame, though a smallish woman with a nice rack and a sweet ass, is a powerful force and her presence commands attention; I guess that’s a prerequisite of the job. Like most young professionals in New York, she lives in a nice sized, two-bedroom walk up with a roommate. The décor is quirky, a combination of vintage finds and West Elm chic. On this particular night, the large, white floor tiles were especially immaculate, and Mame requested that I leave my ballet flats at the door.

Then she announced that slave had a present for me. “Slave,” she commanded, “please present Angela with her gift.” Still unbuckling my shoes, I looked up to see a pleasant looking, older man holding a glass of rose. He also happened to be on his knees. Wearing lace boy short panties. And a fuchsia garter belt. And fishnet stockings. And a black leather collar with a metal ring. And that’s it.

“Super nice to meet you, slave!” I took the glass from his hand, took a generous sip, and then Mame told him to get back to preparing our dinner. I took a seat at the table where I’d have an eyeful of slave working on our dinner salad. His butt jiggled a little when he chopped the cilantro. Mame sat down, adjacent to me, and fiddled with a small remote. “It controls a vibrator inserted in his ass,” she said. Sure enough, each time she pressed the little black button, a red light lit up on a device tucked into slave’s garter and his ass cheeks clenched.

to be continued….