UPDATE: "Let's give the boy a hand..."

My office looks out on an alley with another office building no more than 20 feet away. Across the way, is a man sitting in his office. His back is toward the window (and us). His blinds are mostly drawn. He is, without a doubt, masturbating to internet porn. Apparently, he's been at it all day. He even has headphones on. And the best part is that his office door is wide open.

I just wanted to share that. It's the sort of thing you see on the televisions all the time, but never in real life. Yay!

UPDATE: He's STILL at it. Yesterday, it was funny; today, it's sad. I feel bad for the guy. Not because we've seen him (or because I'm reporting his masturbatory habits to my readers), but because this is clearly someone who's had a bit of a mental break. I feel like psychologically stable people don't masturbate constantly at their desks with their doors open. (But please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.) Is there a hotline for this?

(I changed the headline because I thought it was a more appropriate song lyric than yesterday. I think that it's a nice amalgam of humor and concern.)

I'm inappropriate.

Apparently. If I had a nickel for everyone that expressed some level of concern over my last post . . . well, I'd have quite a few nickels. In the end, even after a few edits, I decided to just take it down. Why worry the people who love me any more than necessary?

If you missed it, the post was about a "teachable moment" that led to a little speech about censoring our internet presence to my new class. (For what it's worth, I named no names, posted no pictures, and even self-censored some of the initial judgment that made its way into the post.) I like to think that the final version was something that I would've shown my kids (perhaps not on the first day). But oh well.

It is interesting to me that a post about being mindful of one's internet presence led to so many being concerned about mine. Sort of meta, really. In any event, don't assume that I've been silenced permanently. I'll get something inappropriate up soon. Maybe my subject will be restroom sex. Or I'll share the vagina dream that I tell most people the first time I meet them. Or perhaps I'll just finally write that treatise on my idea to ship old people out to a deserted island where the rich can hunt them for sport (but you make it good TV by arming the old people with rudimentary weapons). Only time will tell.