Shut It Down

Again this week I found myself  in the 45 minute version of Mr. Mayhem and we were treated to another rendition of the  ringmaster calling his last class for the next week as he is headed to compete in  the Iron Man at Lake Placid Sunday the 25th. It was  but 4 years ago Tripp was tipping the scales at 270 lbs. Quite a feat in terms of weight loss and more extraordinary as this competition  is comprised of 2.4 miles in the water, 112 miles on the bike and the classic 26.2 marathon distance on foot. Is that material for a book or what?  There is much more about Mr. Incandescent we would love to know and when he catches his breath after this competition I will sit down with him and get some newspaper copy for all of us to sink our teeth into. 

To a near packed house in the noon hour you can just feel the ground swell I was talking about yesterday starting to cascade over the membership at Equinox. Make no mistake about it Tripp has a following that we are only beginning to discover. When I ask my other cycle mates about who they spin with and when  Tripp’s name comes up, a big smile creases their face. And if by chance they haven’t, I give them a bagful of superlatives to urge them to sample this motion picture with the ever changing script. 

I swear that I am more soaked after this class than any other. Maybe it’s just the hot weather but in  the pool beneath my bike, I could do a jack knife into by mid session. The music was eclectic and seemed to fit my ear preferences as it reached back into the early 80’s and when he finished with Enigma for the cool down I could hardly believe our time was over. At the bottom of this post is the link for the Iron Man in case you want to follow the exploits of our hero this Sunday. 

Iron Man: http://www.ironmanlakeplacid.com/

Compassion

A question was asked of me and here is how I responded:

As a stepdad, what's your view on your role and responsibilities with respect to your step-kids? How does this relate to the roles and responsibilities their mother and father have?

This question is a great one because it touches on boundaries and areas of step parenting that are just not spoken about. My role is clearly defined in that I have to be a reserve player on my wife's bench. By that I mean I do not start out making the family agenda and for some men this is not an easy role to be relegated to. Their male bravado wants to speak out and take at least a modicum of control. In the beginning it seems we are just there in the background and not expected to say to much. The kids are courteous at first not wanting to ruffle feathers if they are well behaved and that has been my experience, so I cannot answer when the family dynamic might be more of a acrimonious one.

My responsibility is to act responsible. What that means is that when I have an opinion I talk about it with my wife first. No matter how strongly I feel. And when I discuss a situation or a topic with her I filter out my emotions and appeal to her sense of reason and I do not rely or abuse the love she has for me. Because that tactic places her in the middle always a no win scenario. She wants to make me happy and at the same time her love for her children is unconditional and unbreakable. There might be quite an interval before she puts your happiness on a par with her offspring.

I cannot be responsible for what I think the biological parents roles should be. I can only hope that I do not exacerbate their tenuous position of having their children in my care. I have to respect that there is a degree of trust by default for the father not being present on a day to day basis. I without instruction have a duty to care for children that are not my own so I have to hold myself to a higher standard that has to be beyond reproach and avoid negative scrutiny at all costs. I need not add to the broken family's wounds by trying to enhance my position at the expense of any of my blended family.

My responsibility is not to view my role as a saviour because that is a thankless role and only invites disappointment because there is no way that I can live up to what that role entails because being human I will fail and a saviour winds up on the cross eventually.

Fish Tales

Did you ever meet a fish that flipped flopped more in the water than out? I did. She changed her mind more times than a cat on a hot tin roof. She was attractive, smart and had the vocabulary of someone that had a PhD. Well I could never pay too much attention to her fishy ways but when she decided to check up on me, well that was the straw the broke the camel's back. And it took that fish out of the water on a permanent basis.  

Bears and Wolves

On the edge of a new light outside the tunnel. I have the unconscious fear of insecurity, but this is not intuition only the vestiges of the wolves of procrastination that have my attention while my innate confidence sleeps the bears hibernation. All it takes is one step at a time and my footwork still works I merely have to put one foot in front of the other.

The success of one step I must refrain from admiring too long, else the next step become paralyzed like the first. Goal setting sometimes seems very droll but the payoff of the freedom of the mind is invaluable.  

No not the Zoo variety, the sexual version.  I am fully cognizant that the “art” has been lost in the rush to the bed.  In my youth since we could not avail ourselves in most cases of the mattress we sought the satisfaction that our hands could offer in the absence of the excitement of what copulation would bring.

 

I always heard from my mom and dad that they reserved their consummation for the marital bed. Although my father did admit to ejaculating in the back seat of the car with the help of my mothers right hand. But even those revelations held no solace as I was after the ultimate prize, the peak sensation as only intercourse could avail me of but I often got the simple release of the reliable “hand job” from some of my pubescent lovers.

 

If I can recall the first time it might be better to refresh with the very first time my genitals got involved outside my pants. It was a summer evening as I recall and in a parked car away as far as possible from the streetlight, in the back seat with not one but two 13-year-old girls who were quite curious to see and touch my nether regions, as they were perfectly willing to reciprocate in the viewing and touching of theirs as well. 

 

That turned out to be an episode that I remember on occasion in my life until this day.  I often wonder what would have transpired if they went beyond simply caressing my erection and me giving them their first intercourse of the digital variety, that we affectionately called “getting fingered”.  There never were enough of any preparatory accoutrements like tissues or towels to cleanup afterward because; well that might have seemed too orchestrated and we wanted to make believe that was not what we were after on those warm mid summer nights. 

 

But I am getting ahead of myself here. We were talking about the lost art of petting. As stated there seems to be a rush to the bedroom to copulate but my fondness is necking and petting. What is petting anyway?  I think of it as a layered approach. There is the preliminary “feels” around the shoulder and sides of the back.  In the backseat of a car or in a movie theater, which really revealed how willing my female companion wanted to be “felt up” that is, to have her breasts caressed. I would put my arm around her and as my hand drifted slowly down her arm if she wanted more she would lift her arm to expose the side of her breast. That meant the waters of resistance were parted, and my hand felt the fullness of her budding mammary.  If we were in the back seat of the car the necking provided the entire ardor I needed from her to have a free rein over her topography.  I can remember one female actually taking my hand and placing it on her breast because I was beating around the proverbial bush.  Once however the petting above the blouse was achieved, the flesh was yet to come. In the middle of a long French kiss I would start to unbutton the blouse button by button. I would wait for the first lock to open before proceeding on to the next and next but usually her chest cavity would open signaling me to venture on.  Once that blouse was opened the obligatory feels over the bra were made including a heavier squeeze to take in the complete fullness of her buds.  If she was adventurous she would interrupt our kiss and reach back and unhook so as to unbound them.  A deep sigh from me usually ensued as I lifted the cup and felt her fleshy globes and by the time I arrived at her nipples they were erect and inviting my mouth. 

 

That was getting to third base and when I tried to steal home too soon I usually got tagged out trying to unzip her slacks or if she was wearing a skirt a firm hand mid thigh stopped my travelling hand.  But if her legs parted it was a signal that I go a little slower and give her inner thighs enough flame to proceed up the trellis to her Mons pubis.  I might go back to her breasts to reignite her breathing all the while engaging in the best kiss my French skills could offer.

 

Sometimes I would leave the next stage for another time just to prove I left something on the table and give my young lover time to think about what happened in the heat of our moment.  It was risky but I would rather have complete assent than risk not seeing her again.  

 

Music in a Coma

The popular music of today I cannot seem to connect with.  There are some songs that catch my attention but for the most part there is no visceral connection between my solar plexus and my ears.

Years ago I held music in a higher esteem than I do now because today it either lacks the fundamental elements of style, percussion and syncopation because my brain cannot engage with it.  I think it’s not about age or time of life because I listened to the most varied music available from industrial, punk rock, adult contemporary to get this country music. I would not be able to classify what is happening now. Hip-hop does not draw me in, for the most part because in my opinion it is not music but rather urban prose.  Expression yes, music no. I might draw some fire for that statement but when lyrics that rhyme are put together merely because they rhyme it is not music to me. It’s like an anagram that is spelled first and the words are configured to fit the anagram not the reverse.  Take SCUBA for instance it is a word by itself but not many know what it stands for.  In that case it just so happened a pronounceable word came about.  Today rhyming is from the head not the heart. 

I also used to think that in my life as a dancer in the 1980’s that music juxtaposed with dance gave more meaning to some songs over others.  I now know that this is not true music comes first and the interpretation of that music dancing came second.  It just so happened that I had the venue to give music Dionysian art it so richly deserved.

 Musicians like the Stones, Eagles and Led Zeppelin are still active because the money is so attractive and their solo careers have long since sputtered. I am glad they still perform but it lacks the anthem of originality, rebelliousness and the fact that our parents hated it made it attractive as well. To wit music sales are paltry when compared to the 20^th century.     I also attribute the fact that there is a dearth of musical talent as well.  Another statement that might have me assassinated but when hip-hop and country music are the headliners something is seriously missing from the collection. Not that that form of expression does not have its place but it feels like the supporting cast has taken over the starring roles. 

The Wolf's Cry

The Wolf's Cry
By Jack Briant
May 6, 2010

Blue true love never came from the wolf’s cry. We think that the animals cry within us is love calling, it’s simply our hormones goading us into brainwashing the mind that it is in love. Well hardly. All five senses gang up on us at one time and we think we have no alternative but to believe nature has found us our mate. Ah but there’s the rub. When the five senses can no longer conjure up the excitement they together helped produce, we are usually left with just one sense and alone it can’t quite carry it off. Compound that with our partner having the same plight and a different sense than the one we rely on, the disintegration process has already begun. She is visual and you are touchy feely. She likes to “see” things and you want to “feel” them. The communication is headed for a break down. The language barrier between you becomes a bridge too far. In the beginning it’s all-blissful, but inevitably ennui rears its ugly head. And just like a shark that fails to keep moving love sinks and just gets too heavy to start breathing again.Lust is the main culprit, which takes this imagined love as its wolf’s cloak. Lust is a beautiful emotion God gave us but it usually gets us into trouble once we have had the peak sensation. And lust can take us for quite a ride and can even make us forget the torture she puts us through in between love making sessions. We imagine she’s in love with us during the sex act only to find she’s grown even colder after the last time in bed.
Funny when you ask why we try to bed someone it is usually because they’re hot. And we hope we fall in love with their mind later. And if they aren’t blessed with a steamy presence we get to know their mind first and go to bed with them later.
So what do we do? Go to trueharmony.com and try to get our 27 character defects lined up with someone else’s? Do we leave it to chance meetings in bars, the supermarkets or serendipitous chance meetings?
The first conundrum is when we find someone attractive how quickly do we head to the horizontal dance between the sheets? If it’s the first night the stigma of he’s a player and she’s a slut gets stamped across our foreheads. If we go back into the 20th century we waited in some cases until we were married before we engaged in coitus. But it’s the 21st century and fortunately/fortunately it’ more like the third date when we “consummate” the relationship. Too soon? Who is to say? A month, two months? Does that insure respectability or even longevity? The trick is to have had as many lucid moments as possible before we share our body with someone else. We could get casual about sex, practice it safely and hope we hook that striped bass we can take home to the family for more intense viewing. But casual sex can harden our attitudes about love and we get calluses instead of finding a tender spot with someone.
Some men and most women resort to being a bit more particular in choosing a bed partner. If it includes alcohol and we end up in bed sooner than we had planned our regret period may leave us wishing we had waited. Better we get a little more analytical and decide tonight’s the night before we have imbibed any spirits. It might take some of the spontaneity out of the moment but better that than waking up with buyer’s remorse the next morning when we glance to the other side of the bed. Let’s face it, we make decisions based on emotions and then we justify them with logic later. Don’t we do the same with carnal knowledge?
There can never be enough time when it comes to thinking we love someone. But love is a disappearing act, it not only comes and goes but it becomes ghostly when the amount of love we give relies on how much we can take. That sweet feeling becomes bitter when we mix in the sour grapes of judgment and cynicism. Attachment is the ultimate spy that we clamor for and takes with it disillusionment as its partner and we are never the same. Expectation becomes insistence and no one can live up to those selfish claims not even us. Things that we think are required for love are the elements that decompose it.
Just what are those elements? Smothering disguised as attention. Possessiveness wearing the mask of faithfulness, and needing becoming a un healthy co dependence. And in the end sensuality and sexual attraction become emotional apathy. Which brings me to the biggest lie of love sex. It is the celebration of the biological function that gives chemistry a bad name. Acrimony and jealousy seem to be covered up by great sex. And when everyday life comes calling the prime ingredient of the relationship gets thrown out with the Wednesday night trash. When monogamy becomes routine, sex is the glue that keeps the two pieces together. But unless the union has interlocking pieces the parts will separate and die. Not a very lovely view of one of the greatest gift to us humans, sex but when we place so much emphasis on it when we begin a relationship we will wonder if we can ever trust our libido.

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