Next week, Cornell is going to break for a hot sec. to honor our country’s Thanksgiving (for the “peace-making” between “whiteys” and “injuns”). As per custom, we’re gonna fete this holiday up big by feasting on some turkey (or, like me five years ago, beasting on Tofurkey — the horribly sad and gastronomically inept soy-isolate protein “turkey”).

It’s a busy time of year, so I’ve turned to all sorts of crap to distract me. (The year is not busy enough for you yet? Oh, aren’t you just the luckiest duckling!)

Actually, my “snark attack” on your lack of work is quite apropos to this week’s theme, sort of.

Lemme explain: remember in Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing when the dude put up the two four-finger rings next to each other, one inscribed with “LOVE” and the other inscribed with “HATE”? This week, I’m holding up only one fist. And I’ll give you a hint: it ain’t the fist of love.

Dudes can be cruel to be kind. As a womyn, I can say that. Dudes, you can be cruel — to be “kind” — either to embarrass us or reproduce with us.

Case in point: about a month ago I was walking to a party with my gal pal. We were gabbing about, you know, Sex and the City, and which character we’re most like, and what sort of vodka-tinis we’d be imbibing later, and then we talked about doing our nails, and kissing boys and having the red tide come visit us every 28 days.

Life is hard when you’re a baby. Wake at 7:30, cry at 7:40, suckle at 8, “spit up” at 8:30, sleep at 9, wake up at 11, poop at noon, cry at 12:10, stare at a black and white mobile that won’t stop its goddamn spinning at 12:50, smile at 3 and sleep again at 7. It’s an incredibly demanding schedule that should inspire special perks at the end of the day. But the plight of the modern baby has generally been overlooked by society ... until now.

Bienvenue, Baby Massage!