Thanks to Justin Garcia, a scientist at Binghamton University in New York, you can now blame your promiscuous sexual behaviour on your genetic makeup -- but you might not get away with it.

Garcia's research, based on DNA scraped from the cheeks of 181 young, sexually active adults, shows a link between a variant of DRD4, a gene that affects dopamine receptors, and infidelity, one-night-stands, drinking and thrill-seeking.

DRD4 was instantly dubbed the "slut gene."

A scientific argument for bad behaviour probably won't save your marriage, but at least you've got an excuse: it's not really your fault if you screwed up your relationship (or fear screwing up your next one) by sleeping with your wife's best friend/your boss/the babysitter and/or the clerk from the 7-11.

It's just your DRD4 gene acting out.

We all have the so-called "promiscuity" or "cheating gene" said Garcia in a phone interview from New York’s Binghamton University.

But don't worry, there isn't a little bit of Sex and the City's Samantha in all of us, there's a lot of her in some of us.

"The DRD4 gene, which affects the dopamine receptors in the brain, is important for pleasure and reward," said Garcia.

"It goes off when you jump out of an airplane, engage in sexual behaviour, drink alcohol and gamble."

Like genes that govern height, said Garcia, certain variants or mutations will affect how the gene expresses itself.

If you carry a certain variant of the DRD4 gene, he said, you might be pre-disposed to repetitive, intense sexual sensation-seeking: one-night-stands and infidelity.

"Whereas some people might jump out of a plane and say, wow, that was great, another person might skydive, land and say hey, I want to go up again!"

Garcia identified the gene variant through the study of the DNA and behaviour of 181 sexually active young adults and controlled for more general sensation-seeking.

Garcia said that there is a strong correlation between pleasure and reward for dopamine addicts and risk-takers: uncommitted sex and one-night-stands fit the high-risk/high-reward structure that results in the pleasurably, addictive dopamine rush.

Some thrill-seekers need more sensation to get the same rush.

Is there really a biological excuse?

Garcia believes "our big brains" and environment contradict a scientific excuse for bad behaviour — and he’s not thrilled that the blogosphere has leaped on his research, labelling DRD4 the "slut gene."

"We can have these genes that predispose us to certain kinds of behaviour. We can also modify our behaviour,"
said Garcia.

The reality is, said Garcia, if you are in a relationship and your partner strays, it may be true when they say they still love you and want to stay committed. Nonetheless, added Garcia, "There are always other issues at play in relationships, and particularly with infidelity, it’s devastating because you lose trust and so knowing this doesn’t really help."

SFU biologist, Dr. Bernard Crespi cautions, "We must be very careful about saying forms of this gene determine behaviour in any way."

Crespi points out that although genetic determinism is popular, "if the environment is different, the expression of the gene is different." If you identified children with the gene, taught them about the risks of impulsive behaviour, and studied them a decade later, said Crespi, you might have a very different outcome because you've changed the environment.

In fact, at one time, there could have been an evolutionary advantage to having risk-taking, impulsivity and hyper-sexuality in the gene pool -- even if you might not want that person as a husband or wife now.

"The expectation is that if a gene variant is bad, natural selection would have gotten rid of it. There may be some trade-offs."

Crespi said "The environment is so different now, the original situation in which the gene variant was useful may no longer be applicable." He cites the popular example of the people who are capable of loading on the fat: "In the old days of famine and starvation, people who put on more fat were favoured. It was a good gene back then. It's not a good gene now."

So is the slut gene good, even if it gives you a bad reputation?

Well, like the scientist says. It depends on your environment.

Among those for whom "slut' is an antiquated concept, this DRD4 variant has already been dubbed "the awesome gene."

The controversial Supreme Court case in which 71-year-old Shirley Anderson is suing her estranged children for support came before the courts and was adjourned for a third time in Vancouver today.

"We're feeling a little relief now, maybe," said Ken Anderson, who shared his story with Sun readers last summer in my story, What do parents owe their kids?: http://www.vancouversun.com/What+parents/3318018/story.html

Shirley Anderson, who refused to speak to the Vancouver Sun, wanted $750 from each of her children per month in elder-care support she claimed she was entitled to under an archaic section of the BC Family Relations Act. Anderson claimed her health made her unable to work, climb stairs or get out of the bathtub, said Ken.

However, new information has come to light that Ms. Anderson was actively employed at a cafe in Trail, and had been working while at the same time making a contradictory claim in the lawsuit against her kids.

Ken, who was left to fend for himself at the age of 15, and forced to drop out of school took exception to the idea that he should support a mother who hadn't supported and helped him through the tender years of his adolescence. 

The little-used statute, which BC Attorney General Mike de Jong has reccomended repealing, obliges the adult children to support "dependent" parents.  Anderson, who has an active history of lawsuits, had enlisted Victoria lawyer Don McLeod to act on her behalf in a pro bono capacity. The parental support statute is particularly troubling in cases where children may have been physically or emotionally abused, or abandoned because a parents' conduct is not taken into consideration.

The case was adjourned once in May. It was adjourned again August, when lawyer Stanley Schwartz came forward after reading the Vancouver Sun story, and offered to represent Ken and Sherry, and help the kids defend themselves against the mother they say they "never had", a woman who had raised them in a "brutal" household.

Today the case was adjourned again when McLeod was unable to provide financial statements from Ms. Anderson. (She was not present.)

Becca Shears got booted off Craigslist for posting her breast milk for sale.

Shears might be Vancouver's first breast milk entrepreneur. She now has her milk for sale on Vancouver's Kijiji. She tried Craigslist list three times, but the posting got flagged  each time within minutes.

"I put it on Craiglist for free. Someone thought it was unethical. I thought to myself, so prostitution is okay, but not breast milk?"

To Shears, a mother of two, who is five weeks from giving birth as a surrogate mother to twins, it just didn't make sense that breast milk would be considered inappropriate. Facebook milk-sharing sites, like Eats on Feet (where the photo, left, comes from) is a global hub of milk-sharing online. It's like wet-nursing in the virtual world.

Even though Health Canada and the U.S. FDA have issued cautions to moms not to buy, or swap breastmilk online (http://www.vancouversun.com/health/breast+milk+doctors+warn/3903890/story.html), the practice of sharing, or donating breastmilk could be a lifesaver.

Canada has only one milk bank, at BC Women's and Children's hospital.

Frances Jones, program coordinator for the lactation/milk bank said that although they were able to provide breast milk to 1700 babies last year, they cannot come anywhere near meeting the needs.

"I would love to see regional milk banks across the country to meet the needs," she said. "It's distressing when we have to tell women we don't have enough milk to meet their babies' needs."

Milk donations are prioritized: first come are babies in the neo-natal intensive care units, (NICU). Everyone else has to join the lineup.

She is used to handling phone calls from women who want to buy breast milk online, the breastmilk black market. "This question comes up. Obviously it's a personal decision. Human milk can have viruses and bacteria and there is the issue of milk storage."

Jones demurred when I asked her if she'd reccomend against it: "Bottom line, it depends how well you know the person. If they're buying from a total stranger they don't know anything about the milk or how it's been handled."

It might not even be breast milk.

Shears said her first month's worth of milk will go to the parents of the surrogate babies she is carrying; after that, she is determined to give it, or sell it, to a parent in need. Because she lives in East Langley, and BC Women's only takes milk by donation, it would be prohibitively costly to pump, store and then drive the milk to Vancouver to drop it off.

"At what level do we say that this breast milk is not something of value? That it's only okay by donation. This is a huge gift. I could easily let my milk dry up, but for me to go to the trouble of pumping, storing, shipping, it's work. It's a part-time job."

The going rate in the U.S. for black-market milk is $2 an ounce. Shears is offering it for $1.50 -- unpasteurized. And she's tired of the taboos around breast milk and breast feeding.

Camara Cassin, of Nelson, is the mother to a terminally ill child, Anaya. http://healinganaya.blogspot.com/

lled B.C. Women’s milk bank and said my baby is really sick. They told us we could have breast milk if we had a prescription, paid $60 a litre, and that they would ship it to us if they had any extra."

 Anaya, 15 months, suffers Krabbe Leukodystrophy, a rare, degenerative brain disorder, and was unable to suckle after 4 months. Camara’s milk supply dwindled.

Anaya had severe, life-threatening reactions to formula of any type.

Unfortunately, the demand for BC Milkbank’s supply is so high among preemies in the province, Anaya didn’t make the cut.

Cassin and her daughter have relied on the kindness of strangers and lactating friends.

The breast milk won’t change her child’s terminal prognosis, but it has made her daughter’s life more manageable, and lessened Anaya’s suffering, she said.

"Milk sharing has been around since women first gave birth," said Jones, of the BC milk bank. "It's a personal decision."

Shears is sure someone out there will want the milk.

"I've been screened for diseases, I'm a vegetarian, in a monogamous relationship, we eat organic, no smoking, no drugs. I'd even be willing to meet the couple and have an ongoing relationship if that would make them most comfortable ... it's anit-microbial, has natural anti-biotics and it is the best immune-builder on the planet."

And what about those  fetishists, the men out there that are looking for breast milk and lactating moms to satisfy, um, different urges?

She laughs.

"If they want it, they can find it, but not from me. I'm like, okay guys, are you kidding?"

Facebook knows when you'll get dumped. It's in the next two weeks. Merry Christmas everyone.

According to Brit journalist David McCandless, who scraped data from over 10,000 facebook status updates, the first two weeks of December are peak times for heartbreak. 

More couples will break up in the weeks leading up to Christmas than at any other time of year, although Spring Break (who wants a gf or bf on Spring Break?) comes close.

For anyone who is in a relationship, and doesn't yet know whether they're going to be his or her date for the Christmas party, the silence is probably a sign that you're heading for a seasonal break up.

Susan McCord, Vancouver dating and relationships expert, calls it "The Christmas question."

"Any time there is money involved, where you have to buy gifts and there is a financial pressure, you do become vulnerable."

But it's not just about money. The holiday season raises the stakes.

"People stress themselves out around Christmas. You've got this whole family thing. People start saying what am I doing in this relationship? If they've been dating for a year or so, they might feel pressure to pop the question, and might not be ready to do that."

The pressure of the upcoming season can spike fighting, said McCord. "If you've each got kids and havent met them, it adds to the pressure. On the other hand, if you've been together four or five months and you're not being asked to come to certain functions, family or work, it causes a lot of pressure. You might start asking yourself what am I doing hanging around here?" 

McCord speaks from personal experience. She raised her son as a single mom. She confesses that she was more often the dumper than the dumpee, and yes, pre-Christmas was often the breaking point. Breaking up is sometimes just what you do if Christmas is coming and you've got a kid.

"If you're not sure, it heightens everything. Fear of commitment, fear of meeting family."

Meeting family was the last thing McCord wanted to do. Partly because she didn't want to put her son through that, and also, if she wasn't ready to commit, she didn't want to put whomever she was dating through meeting her larger-than-life Dad.

"My father is right in your face," she jokes. "He's 'what are you doing with my daughter'! If I took them to a family function it was because we had a totally committed relationship at that point."

Gifts and expectations are another minefield the less-sure half of a vulnerable couple may want to avoid.

If you've met your bf or gf in the summer, Christmas is just about at the six-month point. The six-month point, McCord says, is make or break: make a commitment or move on.

The average amount young couples spend on each other at Christmas is $1,000, says McCord. "It's not just a Timex watch anymore."

Especially among young people, the prime facebook demographic of under-25s, many of whom are status-oriented, the pressure to overspend can be enough to push a vulnerable relationship over the edge.

"They start saying, do I really want to spend a thousand dollars?" says McCord. "Young boys and girls I know also get dumped before their birthdays for the same reason."

McCord, just for the record, has been married for three years. She had only been going out with the guy she later married for a few months when Christmas hit. He got her a silver bracelet that was thoughtful, represented a commitment (it was jewellery, after all), but had cost, she estimates, about $100.

It was perfect. If he'd spent more, she says, it would have scared her away.

How do you deal with it? Vancouver boutique dating coach Mick Lolekonda advises that you get out and enjoy the season. Be more social, not less. Spend time with friends and family. Don't isolate.

"Focus on making great connections, and expanding your social networks."

He also reccomends cutting ties with your ex so you can release any emotional holds more easily: Delete the contact phone number, take them off facebook. Whatever it takes to clear some space.

The holidays, he points out, are also a wonderful time to meet new people. "People are more open, they're more sensitive, their guards are down, they're going to more events, they're more social."

Who knows? That breakup could be the best thing that ever happened to you.

 So I want to know. Have you been on the receiving end of the pre-Christmas dump? Or have you dumped before Christmas?

Let me know how you survived.

(For the record, I have had the December dump, a few years ago. It was, in a word, rotten.)

 check out Susan McCord online at

http://www.youtube.com/twobeavers

http://www.vancouverdatingrelationshipadvice.com

Consider me spanked by the weather. I fell three times in the snow this morning.

 What are you wearing on your feet to stay upright on snowy paths and sidewalks?

I went down three times today thnks to a stubborn resitance to practicality and, um, my Uggs. Yes. Uggs. The boot I always swore I would never wear. But I made the mistake of trying a pair on last Spring, and they haven't come off since.

In my fantasy life (left) that's me, in the picture. I'm in Aspen, say, or at Sundance in my fur vest, strolling from event to event.

See below for real life.

First fall today: Foot out from under, ass on ground, Kitsilano alleyway, in packed snow on tire track, while walking my son to school. Flat on my back.

Second fall: Same alleyway, same tire track, same foot. Why am I wearing Uggs in 3 cm of fresh-fallen, slippery, wet snow? They may be warm and toasty, with their fleece lining. But tread? Nope. These are fashion boots. They're from Australia. Where it never snows.

I lie on my back in the alleyway for a full minute, letting the snow fall on my face.

I've got the warmth thing covered: I'm wearing a puffy down coat that makes me look, and feel, like a big sausage (thank you Happy 3 Consignment on West 4th! I was one of many in there on Monday... we were  passing the down coats from one to the other, like buckets of water on a fire brigade line; one lady bought three). But on my feet, I'm wearing Uggs.

I have a vague recollection of tossing my 5-year-old waterproof suede La Canadienne boots with grip wedge soles -- perfect combo of decent-looking but snow-functional -- in a donation bag last summer... Why?

I fall a third time this morning, on the plaza in front of my office building, which hasn't been adequately salted

Considering I grew up in Ontario, where it snowed at least 5 monthes of the year, I feel like a bit of an ass. I know better.

Falls are preventable. The last time we had heavy snow, I interviewed Cheryl Leia, a fall and injury prevention specialist at Vancouver Coastal Health.

Here are her tips:

Expect a slippery surface. (Duh.)

Wear well-insulated, waterproof boots with low heels and tread. (Uggs = no tread.)

Never wear indoor shoes outdoors... even if you're just walking to your car. 

Take a wide stance when you walk, to distribute weight more evenly and stabilize your centre of balance.

Shuffle, so both feet are down flat on the ground as you walk. (It's easy to become destabilized when you are lifting one leg as you are narrowing your base of support.)

Dress warmly. When your body is warm and relaxed, it responds more efficiently.

If you don't have boots with a good, winter sole yet, better get them quick. Jay Jay Quibuyen at 3 Vets told me today that the recession in China has slowed production of Sorels, the gold standard for grippy soles and warmth. Most stores received only 80 per cent of their orders this season, and there's been a mad rush for the last week at his store.

Sorels are lined and good for up to 40 below. They make you look like you're about to walk on the moon, but for fashion addicts, 3 Vets has the Joan of Arctic version, which have a fur cuff. Baffin boots are also excellent says Quibuyen.

He also recommends Yak Trax, grips you can pull onto an existing pair of boots. There are several varieties, including the "pro" for runners, that have extra Velcro to keep them in place as you fly fleet-footed over the snow.

Snow boots should not fit like hiking boots: there must be room to move your toes and keep blood flowing. Your heels and toes should have wiggle room, as long as your whole foot doesn't come up. And it's good to have room for a layer of extra socks.

My favourite addition to my winter wardrobe under my boots are my Lululemon Savasana socks: Wicking, 100 per cent Merino wool (but not itchy), with grip soles so you won't slide around when your boots are off (they make great house socks too for anyone, like me, who hasn't found the perfect slipper), and they have sexy buttons to peek over the edge of your not-so-sexy snow boots.

 I'll concede to practical boots, but under them, I'll be wearing my Savasana socks. A small pleasure, with style.

 Lululemon Savasana Socks Rock!

Are iPhones sexier than Blackberries?

It's complicated.

Let me explain.

I was due for a hardware upgrade on my Rogers cell account so, my sticky roller ball a tech-savvy friend and I all go down to the Rogers Plus kiosk at the Pacific Centre mall in Vancouver.

A very hip, very delightful girl with a crocheted beret, taupe lip gloss and a nail through her lower lip gives me the good news: I can upgrade to an iPhone for just a few bucks more than a Blackberry would cost.

It is the equivalent to getting the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Once you go iPhone, I've heard, you never go back. My friend Andrea Woo says she would eat, sleep and reproduce with her if she could -- that's love.

I mean, it's all thumbs on a Blackberry, right?

It's all stroking on an iPhone. Way sexier than a Blackberry.

The upgrade is a little pricier than the Blackberry upgrade, but delightful girl assures me this opportunity is rare. "Are you kidding me? It won't happen again."

Delightful girl is warm and accommodating. She cracks jokes, she looks at my phone, she shows me hers.

I'm sold.

"Okay. I'll take one. " (Even though Christmas is around the corner and I'm Santa Claus. Even though frugality is next to godliness. Even though I'm living in a pizza box.)

The hitch: the Rogers Plus kiosk is out of iPhones. I will have to go upstairs to the Apple store.

Happily, the Apple store isn't even busy. Dozens of guys (aren't there any chicks here?) are milling around in their electric blue Apple T-shirts, soul patches, leather Converse.

No one approaches me, so I pick out a guy in a toque, and approach him.

I ask if they have any iPhones in stock.

"Yeah, we've got the 32 GB," toque-dude says. "Lots of them."

"Um. Great. Can I take a look at one?"

"No. Sorry." He shrugs.

"Oh. Rogers has an upgrade, so I want to switch to one."

"Yeah, okay, but I can't help you."

I look around the store. All the guys in the blue shirts are helping people stroke their Iphones and their Ipads.

"Can someone else help me?"

"Naw."

"But there are all these guys, like you, just kind of standing around."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Um. No."

"Can I make an appointment?"

"Sorry. It's too late."

Okay. I've just been told there are no further treatments. My health insurance doesn't cover it. I will always be just where I am now: on the other side of flush, sexy and iPhoned.

"You've got the phones. You've got the staff. You've got me. I want to buy one."

He smirks. Then very slowly, very patiently (read: condescendingly) says this: "Perhaps you don't realize how in-demand this technology is."

"It's just a phone."

He chuckles. "It's not just a phone. And pretty much everyone wants one."

"Okay," I say. "I'll be back."

It's not a threat. I'm not flipping out. Or raising my voice. I'm just befuddled.

I go get my friend who was waylaid in Brown's, and we go back together. Toque-dude has disappeared off the floor. We approach another guy. (Soul patch, no toque, nametag: Kyle.)

I explain my dilemma. And he gets it. Fills in all the stuff that toque-boy left out: It takes 45 minutes to set up the iPhone account. There are only so many slots per day. And yes, pretty much everyone wants one. So the seething masses line up outside the store for about 90 minutes before opening every morning. If you're early enough, and lucky enough, you get your golden ticket: a slip of paper with a time to come back for The Appointment.

Kyle makes me feel so good, and competent and wanted that I promise him I'll be back the next morning, really early to line up, if he'll take care of my appointment.

My friend and I leave the store, take a few steps, take one look at each other and say it at the same time. "Let's go back to the Blackberry store."

Delightful girl? "She was awesome."

(Sorry, Kyle. You were awesome too. But toque-dude broke my heart.)

Bottom line: I don't know if my new Blackberry Bold is sexier than an iPhone. Probably not.

But good service?

That's sexy.

My plump-cheeked baby boy is now a 9-year-old long-haired, guitar-strumming, TV-loving, DS-playing, Harry Potter junkie. And apparently, I'm his mother.

I can't open my mouth without getting an eyeroll in return.  "Oh, yeah. Back in the 1940s, when you were a girl. Back in the olden days." 

I've tried to convince him that I'm a pretty amazing person. I do yoga, I write for a living, I have naturally curly hair. I survived a crash-landing in a 747. I once dated that actor you just saw in the movie.  And no, I'm not 50.

His reply?

"40 is the new 50."

He thinks I need to lose weight, and has some pretty strong opinions about my clothing: "No offense, mommy, but your thong is showing."

Even worse, he thinks I'm a bad dancer and finds my perfect French accent a source of genuine hilarity.

Not only that, I don't know the spells for things. ("Obliviate means disappear!")

A friend who has a son the same age said her strategy for bonding with her boy is to play video games with him.

I did try it, but after one day of binge playing Mario Cart on the Wii, the sun went down, we were still in our pajamas, the bed was damp with milk and cheerios and possibly snot, and we were veering a little too close to deeper addictions. Junk food. Late night TV. Milkshakes.

Then, last month, I found an old mothers' day card, the kind kids make, en masse, in their Kindergarten classroom. A heart, with a doily attached and an "I Love Mommy because..." list.

He had written: I Love Mommy because she reads to me at night, she gives me ice cream, and she takes me to the theatre.

Ping! There it was. The answer.

The theatre.  This could be my opening. The crack where the light gets in. 

So I've decided we're going to the theatre. Of all kinds. I'm calling it The Culture Project.  

Culture Project Number One:  The Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. 

 I decide it will be a soft introduction to the symphony: A Tribute to Ray Charles with the VSO. To tell the truth, I'm afraid he'll refuse. So, I don't even tell him it's the symphony. I just say it's "a musical concert." And that he has to brush his teeth.

In the lobby of the Orpheum, he quickly grocks the situation: red carpeting, chandeliers, older people who, he points out in a stage whisper, "don't look very happy to see me."   Not only that, it's opening weekend for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I and we're here.

"You will rue this day," he tells me.

Once inside, and seated, he doffs his Helly Hanson jacket and evaluates the orchestra. "Mommy, why didn't you just tell me it was a symphony?"

Then: "That guy with the violin looks like Lucius Malfoy."

Apparently, Concert Master Dale Barltrop is a dead ringer for the father of Harry Potter bully Draco Malfoy. "This could be good," he says.

Separated at birth: Dale Barltrop, left. Lucius Malfoy, right.

The minute guest conductor Jeff Tyzil starts with a pop version of Beethoven's Fifth ("I know about Beethoven, mommy! Sshhh."), he's hooked.

We try to keep the whispered conversation to a minimum but he jabbers with questions about the brass, the sax, the drums, the cymbals until he finally decides the strings are his favourite (two thumbs up, Lucius).

The intermission is a success: the bar has a special on rum & coke ("Grandma would love it here!"), and the snack bar serves his favourite - Junior Mints. We buy a pack.  He lets me have one.  Things are looking up.

After the intermission, he is rapt when American blues artist Ellis Hall comes out to perform a combination of Ray Charles tunes and his own music. 

First, he's blind and he can play guitar. Very cool. Second, he's funny. Third, he's got three hip backup singers doing sweet vocals.  

This is something worth paying attention to.

My son sits up straight and demands that I too sit up, pay attention and uncross my legs.

"Why can't I sit with my legs crossed?" I hiss.

"It's not polite."

"Who told you that?"

He pauses for a second, then whispers "The Queen of England."

"When did you talk to her?"

"Yesterday. We were Skyping."

He turns back to the show. Okay.

He hasn't mentioned my thong all night, apparently he's got the Queen of England on his Skype contact list and after insisting we stay for the encore, and clap for more, he has a conversation with two ladies sitting near us.

When they ask him what he liked best about his night at the symphony, he says, thoughtfully, "The Junior Mints ."

Score one for Mom.

(Oh, and we hit the Ridge theatre for Harry Potter the next night. Score one for the kid.)

You might not have heard of Savion Glover; but if you've heard of Fred Astaire, Rudolph Nuryev, Twyla Tharp, Martha Graham - hell, lets throw in Keith Haring, Basquiat, and Picasso for texture and a little Count Basie, Bach and Stevie Wonder - you get the idea.

He's in Vancouver for two nights only, and if you do nothing else this year, do this: walk, don't run to the Centennial Theatre on Vancouver's North Shore. By tickets at the door (there are seats available), beg or barter your way in.

Glover is one of the originals; to call him a tap dancer is reductive. Most people call him a genius. Fearless. A virtuoso.

He is a tap-jammer not a tap-dancer, he has music and rhythm and soul.

I first saw him in New York, in the hit Broadway Show Bring in Da Noise, Bring in Da Funk, an explosive dance through African American history.  It was standing room only, as most performances were. We stood. It didn't matter. We were elevated. It's that crazy, magic thing that happens when you are in the presence of someone who, through art, seems to transcend the physical limits of the world and change the way we experience it.

I was surprised to learn today that Glover's two performances (tonight and tomorrow night at Centennial Theatre in North Vancouver) are not sold out. How could they not be? Here is an artist that people pay hundreds of dollars to see, stand in the rain to see and he comes to Vancouver and there are tickets available.

The cost? $40 - $60. The value? Priceless.

If it's not too late, if you are not too bogged down with Halloween candy hangover, homework, dog-walking, closet-purging ... whatever is on the schedule for tonight or tomorrow, cancel it.

 (If it's something more fun, like a dinner party, cancel that too.)

Take your kids. Let them skip their homework and stay up late.

A chance -- and a dancer -- like this doesn't come often.

Centennial Theatre and The Vancouver Tap Dance Society presents

Savion Glover's 'Bare Soundz'

Thursday November 4
and Friday November 5, 2010 at 7:30 pm

Tickets at the box office (604-984-4404)  or ticketmaster

Tyler Clementi,  an 18-year-old Rutgers student took his own life shortly after his college roomate and a friend posted a live webcam feed on the Internet of him having sex in his dorm room.  His body was pulled from the Hudson River on Thursday.

Did Dharun Ravi and Molly Wei, the two fresh-faced kids that posted the video of Clementi online, have any idea of the dramatic consequences of their prank? Probably not. They probably didn't imagine they'd be charged with crimes, and face up to five years in prison. They didn't imagine that the body bag that Clementi was zipped into would be a weight they'd carry for the rest of their own lives.

They probably can't even imagine the suffering of the boy's parents.

 In Squamish, a week ago, a 14-year-old boy, Austin Adridge, was suspended from Don Ross Secondary school after being forced into a fight by bullies that had tormented him for years. He suffered a concussion and a broken hand in the incident, and the school's vice-principal obtained digital video of the incident on a student's cell-phone.

The video was so disturbing, several adults cried when they saw it -- a kid balled up on the ground, 25 other kids around him yelling "kill him", according to Zoe Aldridge, Austin's mom, who was shown the footage after she rushed to the school.

.The RCMP requested the video. It was evidence. When Austin's dad went to pick it up, he discovered the vice-principal had deleted the video -- she was afraid someone would upload it to YouTube. She didn't really know what to do -- what do you do in that situation?

Can there be any question that educating  students, parents, (and yes, school officials and teachers) about responsible social networking, and cyber-bullying is urgently needed?

My son is in Grade 4; a friend of his just got her own email address. He's put out that I won't let him have one (yet). "My mom thinks email is all creeps all the time," he announced yesterday. I struggled to find a good reason (other than all the creeps) that I won't let him have his own email address. If he wants to register on a free game site, I make him use a pseudonym, fake his age, even change his gender. He thinks it's a little weird, but he humours me. I don't really know how to explain what it is I'm afraid of. I'm not even sure what it is I'm afraid of. Bad things. Bad people. Invisible online tracks, portals for hackers, mistakes archived forever by Google.

At a PAC meeting the other night at my son's school, I threw out the suggestion that we find a way to incorporate education about cyber-bullying and social networking into either the sex-education or social studies curriculum.

The response was mixed.  Both the principal and vice-principal leapt at the idea. They're big on social responsibility, ethics and fairness. They've had experts come to speak to parents,  but know kids are the ones that will be most vulnerable.

After the meeting, however, another parent came up to me in the hallway. Didn't I know the classrooms don't even have computers? Not only that, why would we want the kids on facebook and social networking sites? It was as if I'd suggested we all work together to corrupt the youth.

He didn't get it.  I bet there are a lot of people out there that don't get it.

Lets not let our kids be among them.

Jeff Jarvis, author of What Would Google Do, is going public about what might be the ultimate taboo for men: hard-ons (or lack thereof).

Jarvis, who underwent a radical prostatectomy last fall, is disarmingly frank about the surgery and the after-effect that most men don't want to talk about.

"Some people get action back in a matter of a few months," Jarvis told me in a phone interview from New York. "I've had nada. Absolutely no response."

What Jarvis has had an overwhelming response to is going public on his blog Buzzmachine.com with what he is going through. "My blog got quite intimate and detailed," he said. When he began blogging about his cancer diagnosis -- "it's not only losing function, it's things going up your rear end... I grossed Howard Stern out" -- one of the first, and most surprising responses was from a friend that had gone through prostate surgery 10 years before.

"He sent me an e-mail and gave me incredibly intimate and detailed information about what I was going to go through. That was extremely valuable to me."

The blog became a sort of public forum, an agora for men and women to talk about everything from ejaculate-free orgasms to, well, not having any at all. (It takes, on average, 18 months for nerves that have been damaged to regain function, so although he's not out of the woods yet, things could still firm up.)

Jarvis also heard from women, including the head of a foundation in England, commending him for coming out of the closet. It's not about being a squeaky wheel. It's about drawing back the curtain and letting light in. "She gave me stats on morbidity. Far less is spent on research and treatment than on other cancers." 

'It's very telling how people react to this. Someone on Twitter said I was using cancer to promote my book. Another said I was 'oversharing.'"

Jarvis said he is confronting what his own limits might be on publicness. "I don't want to drag others into my own glass house, or on to my children's DNA," he said. What his wife and kids think are not his business to write about.

What he does hope is that his blog serves as a source of information for others going through the same thing.

It was Howard Stern that inspired Jarvis to get undressed, metaphorically, for the greater good.

"He is disarmingly open and honest and that has real value in media today. Him talking about masturbation and his small penis was freeing to a lot of men. There was authenticity in that when the media is full of plastic people."

Stern's small penis, he said, becomes a "metaphor for openess. He gave me the courage to talk about my situation."

The good part about having a (thus far) unresponsive penis? "If I go into a mixed sauna, I'm free from the embarassment of becoming aroused," he joked.

The best part, however, is simply that it is, he said, "very freeing to be oneself."

Join Jeff Jarvis and Denise Ryan online Thursday September 30 for a live chat about prostate cancer, erections and going public tomorrow at 12 noon on Vancouversun.com

See a video on erection enhancement options.
Clinician Shannon Griffen discusses sexual function after prostate surgery  and demonstrates a penile injection for erection enhancement.
Warning: graphic medical content.

Reader Nancy sent in this link (The Dangers of Borax) to alert me to possible dangers of Borax (will it never end?).

But there doesn't seem to be much real debate. Borax has significant advantages over synthetic cleaners, and its dangers pale in comparison to chemical cleaners.

Borax is a naturally occurring mineral composed of sodium, boron, oxygen and water, derived from volcanic deposits.

It can cause lung irritation if inhaled, but is sold in a crystalline form that can't be easily inhaled, and it has no scent. It can cause skin irritation, so wear gloves.

Basically, if you don't eat it, or inhale it, you're good to go.

So, be warned: Borax is toxic to pets and small children if ingested, and can cause skin irritation. However, most natural cleaning websites recommend Borax in natural cleaning solutions similar to Sabina's which I included in my last post.

Today non eco-friendly colleague I share my desk area with — called Joe Toolbox for the purpose of this exercise — claimed, loudly, to never have fixed anything in his life. "If it doesn't work I throw it in the alleyway," he said.

But in this day of disposable everything repairing what we have is one of the greenest things any of us can do. Walk the alleyways in Kitsilano on any day and you'll find microwaves, toaster ovens, vacuum cleaners, whole dishwashers, notes attaches. Still works! Take me home! Fix me!

A friend of mine recently took an unwieldy 20-year-old vacuum in to be repaired. She was a little self-conscious about dragging the old thing in, but didn't want to shell out for a new one. The repairman told her never to get rid of it. "They don't make things like this anymore," he said. "This is a workhorse. These days they build things to break."

So I set a challenge for myself, to get my kettle fixed. It's one of those designer jobs, it was an extravagant gift, something I can't afford to replace with an equivalent. After 12 years, it leaks.

Not throwing it in the alleyway seemed positively medieval. Where do you take a stainless steel designer kettle?  A tinker? Do tinkers even exist?

They don't. But welding shops do. So I took it in to Broadway welding on Venebles, where a diminutive young woman in coveralls and a headscarf emerged from a spray of sparks to take my kettle.

She said she could repair it for about $10.

My house is filled with things I can't bear to throw out, but don't know where to take to get fixed. I have an entire drawer filled with costume jewelry — it's good stuff, some by great local designers. But there are broken clasps, bits that have come loose, lost stones. If it's not fine jewelry I don't want to show up at the Birks repair department with it. Where do I take that?

What about clothes? My mother used to cut down her old coats for me when I was a kid. She cut down my father's vests for my brothers and remade them. She cut down a dining room table to make a coffee table. 

During the depression, my grandfather went door to door repairing pots to make extra money. (He did it with lead, but we don't talk about that part.) 

Where do I take my flat iron to be repaired? One of the sides popped out. I've tried Krazy glue, but when it heats up the glue comes loose. Do I just throw it out?

I have a cool art deco mirror with bakelite framing that I found, yes, in an alleyway. But it needs to be re-silvered. Who does that?

I can't even tell you  

If you have any tips on where to get things fixed, send them in and I'll post them here on the blog.