There is one exhibit in the museum which makes Knyazkin be especially proud of. This is the 30-centimeter preserved penis of Grigory Rasputin. "Having this exhibit, we can stop envying America, where Napoleon Bonaparte's penis is now kept. Napoleon's penis is but a small pod - it cannot stand comparison to our organ of 30 centimeters," the head of the museum said.

Seriously, though, I loved studying the Russian Revolution in Modern History Class, and the French Revolution, to a somewhat lesser extent.

Anyway, back to the stuff I didn't have time to write about yesterday:

Ah, yes. Business men. The last few times I've been on business trips, I've found myself giving random business men the eye in the hotel I'm staying in. I have this fantasy of having completely anonymous, random sex while on these business trips with older (but not OLD) business men. It's rather strange. It's not something I would ever act on, because, as I'll explain shortly, this fantasy (like most fantasies) would never be as good in reality as it is in my head.

I'm a little worried though that it's some sort of Freudian Electra complex (like Oedipus, but for daughters/fathers). My father used to have plenty of business trips when I was younger, and I always used to wonder if he was having an affair. The business trip scenario is an ideal situation for affairs, for the aforementioned anonymity of it all.

But I digress.

Enter The Senator (AKA: "Wet Willy"). As I mentioned, our hotel room was poolside. At about 9:50pm Friday night, just as we were settling in, we opened the curtains and found an older, businessman-looking-man. He had thining blond hair, and maybe a moustache, I can't remember. Anyway, he was gross. But somehow, to me, alluring, in a very gross, disturbing way. Now, let me make absolutely clear that I did not find Wet Willy attractive in any way. Rather, it was just fact that there was a symbol of my fantasy in a hot tub, just outside our window, motioning frantically for us to join him. By that time, we were locked into our rooms, so we couldn't go out anyway. Which is obviously just as well.

So, then, the next day, I meet Willy. I'm soaking in the hot tub, and he comes over and gets in. Small talk ensues. He's, to no one's surprise, I'm sure, a big dork. He asked me what I did, and I tell him, and his whole face changes. I'm fairly certain the weiner was intimidated by me. Now, you have to be a pretty weak man to be intimidated by me. So, disgusted and disillusioned, I grabbed my towel, and headed back into our room.

THAT aside, all I could think about this week was, y'know, doin' it. I don't know, maybe hotels give me lusty thoughts. I just couldn't stop thinking about all the different places that are condusive to sexual relations. Take hotel rooms, for instance. You have a bed, maybe a few chairs, a desk, maybe an end table or two, and lets not forget the washroom, with those nice long sinks. The best part is, you can leave the room in a state of absolute lusty chaos, and someone gets paid to clean up after you, so you can return to a nice clean orderly room and mess it up again.

Then you have the pool. The best part of the pool is the weightlessness of being in water. Jana and I got into a conversation about how easy it would be to do yoga in water. It got me to thinking about all the neat and fantastic positions two people could get themselves in. Also, people generally look quite sexy when wet.

Is it warm in here? I think I'll go look at Rasputin's weiner again...