What, Me Worry?
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Posted:May 1, 2008 9:04 am
Last Updated:May 13, 2008 8:14 am
5070 Views
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Somehow, I think this is backwards.
I know some very capable people. I also know some pretty broken people - addicts and alcoholics... In a lot of respects, those two groups are almost completely mutually exclusive.
Among my group of capable people - and by capable, I mean people who are totally able to take care of themselves and family, face adversity and ultimately thrive - there are some that are facing challenges. These aren't challenges that are catastrophes, but they're important, potentially life-changing events.
I worry about them.
Among my broken friends, the very nature of being broken makes them likely be close to losing jobs, losing life partners, losing their health, and even the possibility of becoming homeless.
I don't worry about them so much.
There are certain realities about both groups. The first, and perhaps most relevant to me is that my intervention isn't going to change anything for members of either group. Even if I wanted to, the most that I could do is stand by and watch... I can't carry their burden for them, no matter how much I love them, and how much I might want to.
The broken ones don't realize this. They've reached a point in their lives where the dialog starts and ends with their pleas for help. Of course, they aren't looking for help with their burdens, but with the trappings of their burdens - money for gas (because they drank or smoked their cash), a couch to sleep on for a couple days, help selling some possession at bargain-basement prices to get a deposit for a new apartment... that sort of thing.
For my broken friends, there is an inevitable course that you must follow, and my twenty dollars isn't getting them down that road any faster. For them, it is a matter of getting to the end of the road and discovering it is a dead end. I will know things have changed for them when they start asking for help getting off that road, rather than further down it.
My capable friends, on the other hand, more or less suffer in silence. They smile and laugh, go to work, take care of their family, have fun... but deep down, you know they're hurt. You also know that they're among the most talented and capable people you know, and that they'll get through the pain, and come out on the other side even stronger.
Why is it that I worry about the ones that can take care of themselves, and don't lose sleep over the broken ones?
There are a lot of reasons, but ultimately, it is about feeling empathy and sympathy about a situation that is cause by something external to them. I love them. The fact that they hurt is not their fault. I would do whatever I could do to ease their suffering.
About the best I can do is stand by and watch.
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The Culture Shock of Culture
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Posted:Apr 28, 2008 9:05 pm
Last Updated:May 3, 2008 7:44 pm
5079 Views
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I read. A lot. Mostly I read newspapers, essays, journals and other non-fiction items. Of course, a lot of it is online, but you have to admit, the selection online is rather good.
I generally don't have the time to sit down with a book... When I travel, I generally make a stop at the bookstore, and pick something up, and tear into it on my flight, often finishing the book before I arrive at my destination. But when I am around the house, I can't really make the time commitment to a book, when it is so much easier to read a news magazine or newspaper online.
Since I am not that close to books, libraries are not someplace that I am often found. For some reason, I've often felt a little uneasy at the library. I am not library people.
I used to work at a library. In fact, you might actually say that I lived in a library in college - I was the computer operator on for the statewide computer system that handled the bibliographic database for all of the libraries in the state. One semester I had a bit of a run-in with some roommates, and ended up sleeping in my office for a few months. But even though I worked in a library (and slept in a library), I never really became a library person.
The last time I went to the library, I was out of town, on a fishing trip, and I needed to log into the wi-fi there to get some work done. So it wasn't my local library, but it didn't matter. In this respect, all libraries are the same.
They give me the heebie-jeebies.
I wasn't all that sure I knew why they creep me out, but I think I am getting a better idea. For one, a lot of library science people are kinda weird. Politically/philosophically, they're probably pretty close to me... but a lot of them seem to be the alfalfa-sprout-and-chamomile-tea-types. Don't get me wrong... I like my salads, and I like my tea, but, you know, there's a limit.
Libraries are wholesome, in an "It Takes A Village" sort of way. I am not wholesome. I don't really know all that many wholesome people, and the ones that I do know don't know about this blog, that's for sure. Heck, I am a pervert.
And therein lies the rub: who wants to see a pervert at the library?
I had to go to the library today, to buy a bus pass for one of the . I had to stand in line at the circulation desk. There were moms pushing strollers and carrying Dr. Seuss books. There were carrying backpacks, bursting with their third grade spelling tests and social studies projects. There were women in their golden years doing their weekly volunteer work.
There's not a chance in hell that I've ever met any one of them... and for good reason!
It's not that there aren't people of all types at the library... I know firsthand that there are some, lets say, colorful people that frequent the library. When I worked at the library, my boss was a frequent patron of the local strip clubs. And in my late-night wanderings around the library after a glass of water or two, I discovered that more than one of the men's rooms had glory holes - not that I would ever use them, but you gotta admit, it would be a little unsettling to use the stalls. Anyway, as it turns out, library people are not as pure as the driven snow. But nonetheless, there's a certain institutional aura that libraries have... that it is OK to let your run free in the library (as long as they're quiet and considerate)... But I know some of the secrets of the library, and they're not what they appear.
So as I stood in line at the circulation desk, I imagined that every eye was on me. There was a woman across the way who was thinking she'd better keep her a safe distance away. I imagined that people were sizing me up... wondering if I was one of 'them', because, as I know from experience, 'they' hang out at libraries.
I got the bus pass. I hurried back into the sunshine, and got in the car, and drove into the evening traffic, and back to the America that I know and love.
The America of the garden-variety pervert.
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Typographic Devotion...
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Posted:Apr 25, 2008 11:34 am
Last Updated:May 13, 2008 8:15 am
4903 Views
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An enow is a mythical lover who exists only online.
An enow's lover is always female.
How do you ladies know if you have an enow?
Next time you're using your instant messenger, send a message to your friend that says, "Are you here?"
If you're lucky, you'll get the following response:
"I am her enow."
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It Wasn't Funny The First Time It Happened...
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Posted:Apr 24, 2008 12:39 pm
Last Updated:Feb 6, 2009 8:27 pm
4809 Views
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Last fall I wrote a series of blogs about meeting women in settings outside of CityHookups.com. I met a very nice gal who worked at the grocery store near my home, chatted her up for a number of months, and I actually did get to have lunch with her... I didn't blog about the lunch, because for a number of reasons, it wasn't noteworthy... it turned out that there wasn't the chemistry that I had hoped... she was seeing someone, and since I didn't see it going past just saying hello when I saw her at the store, I didn't think I needed to open up about my situation.
All in all, the experiment was a success, because I got to the point where one might actually start discussing the real details.
But that isn't really the point of this post. I found out the other day that she's now engaged (presumably to the guy that she'd been seeing all along).
I could not be happier for her!
She's a pretty ambitious woman, and it is good that she'll have someone to share her hectic life with... But talking to her about it reminded me of three events that happened in relatively quick succession when I was in my late teens and early twenties, that I found a bit unsettling.
When I was about nineteen or twenty, I met a really nice gal, and we went out a half-dozen times. I knew her from work, so I saw her pretty regularly... but it was a seasonal job, and at the end of the season, I saw her a lot less, and while we maintained contact, I only saw her occasionally, and didn't really go out again. A month later, she was engaged (to an old boyfriend).
The next summer, I met a gal who was the coach of my sister's softball team. I really liked her, and we went out a couple times. A few weeks later I got an invitation to her wedding (to an old boyfriend).
Not much later, I met a gal that worked at a coffee shop near my office. I would chat with her every day, and eventually we started dating... we were inseperable... did lots of things together. One day, she decided to tell me that she was a lesbian.
I love that I can tell those stories now... I actually think they're really funny, and I don't think that any of those events were a reflection on me. But when you're in your early twenties, and already feeling a little awkward around women, all I could think of was that I was the guy that was pushing these women back to their old lovers (or in the last case, towards women and away from men altogether).
So, ladies... if you're not sure whether you want to reconcile with your ex, or considering swearing off men altogether, we should talk... I have a track record!
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Database Maintenance
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Posted:Apr 23, 2008 11:26 am
Last Updated:Jan 25, 2009 12:56 pm
4765 Views
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Here it is, the middle of the day in North America, and CityHookups.com is having database problems that prevent one from sending email.
What I would like to know is, why can't CityHookups.com have database problems when it is the middle of the day in Accra, or Tblisi or Kiev, or anyplace else where these gorgeous women email me from who are looking for an 'honest man'?
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Just Call Me Mommy
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Posted:Apr 19, 2008 10:13 am
Last Updated:Apr 20, 2008 6:32 pm
4731 Views
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Back in December, one of our dogs had puppies. A couple weeks later, the bitch contracted parvo, and so we had to bottle-feed the puppies for a week or so, until the puppies were old enough to be weaned.
If you've never weaned puppies before, let me tell you that it is a messy process. It was suggested to me that the puppies be fed in the bathtub, which makes for easy cleanup. This actually worked really well.
Because I was so integrally involved in the puppies early care, they imprinted on me... not that it matters, since all of them have found new, happy homes... including Floyd, who we decided to keep, after a potentially significant eye injury. I am happy to report that his eyes are fine, and Floyd is now a happy, healthy puppy.
Unfortunately, my early role as surrogate mother has created a problem. Now, whenever I go in the bathroom where we fed the puppies, Floyd will dash from wherever he is in the house, and push open the door... looking for 'mommy' to provide him with food. If you latch the door, he scratches and whines outside. If he actually makes it into the bathroom with me, he interferes with almost every possible thing that one might do in the bathroom... though I have no plans to exhaust that list.
Floyd, just lie down and shut up!
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Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick
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Posted:Apr 18, 2008 2:20 pm
Last Updated:Apr 24, 2008 10:39 pm
5018 Views
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I read a [post 1370877] today about age...
Several years ago, a family friend of ours (about fifteen years younger than us) adopted a baby. Up until that time the couple was a typical twenty-something couple - rather conservative, but novice DINKs (Dual Incomes, No ). The baby arrived, she got a better job, and really embraced motherhood.
A few months later, at the traditional Fourth of July barbecue, we arrived a bit late, to see the new mother flitting around, taking care of every entertaining detail - setting the table, attending to everyone's drinks and snacks, directing kitchen traffic... all the while, dressed in the most dowdy and motherly of long skirts and peasant blouses... and hair pulled back into the tightest Mrs. Butterworth's bun.
I turned to my partner, and I said to her, "When did she end up 20 years older than us?"
The topic of time and age have come up a bunch of times for me in the past week... My previous post was a (not very funny) joke I wrote about the perception of time. And as it turns out, today is a good friend's birthday.
I am forty-six. I don't feel forty-six. Fairly regularly, people are surprised to find out that I am forty-six. I feel like I am in my mid to late thirties. For the first time in my life, I am actually in pretty good shape, and though there's still some work do be done on the body, the engine purrs like a kitten.
Here's the thing... I am not so naive as to think that one interpretation of my self-perceived age is just the denial that comes along with mid-life crisis. In fact, everything about me that is visible here on CityHookups.com fairly screams 'midlife crisis' - Open/poly relationship, working out, single male profile, as opposed to a couples profile... I could go on, and I am sure there are ones that I am missing, too.
But when I sit here and think to myself, "OK, 49AK, it is time for you to grow up and be an adult..." I don't see where feeling thirty-five, and enjoying my relationships, and liking to travel, and liking to be in shape are in conflict with owning a business, and paying the rent and supporting the family.
There was a time, perhaps forty or fifty years ago, when the Nuclear Family was the norm and when someone (typically the man) decided that his horizons had narrowed to the point that finding out what was on the other side of that hill became an irresistible urge to explore, that the very fabric of society was threatened. Actually, that wasn't the case, but it sure seemed that way - "Did you hear about the Feldbaum's down the street? He just bought a Corvette, and hired a home-wrecker secretary at his insurance office... Mindy was in tears all day!"
I am not suggesting that those things were necessarily good, or even benign, but the problem with them was not that they happened, but that the social framework in which they were judged (back in the 60's) was just too restrictive to allow for a more healthy interpretation (or healthy implementation). For better or worse, our society has changed, and at least some of us can negotiate our personal relationships to allow us to explore what is on the other side of the hill, without shaking the very foundations of our homes.
Perhaps the term is the problem. Maybe we need to call it something else? Midlife crisis implies that there's something wrong... but I don't see that there's anything wrong with realizing that you have more opportunities and more resources to do the things that you wanted to do when you were thirty-five (or even twenty-five).
How about this: Midlife Awakening.
I think it is only natural that once you reach that safe and stable point in your life, that you want to build on that, and do more. Isn't that what growth is all about? We learn to crawl, then walk, then run. We learn to accept food from our parents, then feed ourselves, then buy our own food. We live under our parent's roof, then spend the night at a friend's home, then move into a college dorm, and then our own apartments and houses. Does growth somehow end at age twenty?
When I was twenty, I certainly thought so... but I wish I had a nickel for every time I said to myself that I wish I knew then what I know now... an indication of just how wrong I was.
When you're forty-six, it is a different kind of growth, I think. It isn't that you become taller, in a metaphoric sense, but rather that you become more complex. Maslow called it "Self-Actualization".
I am going to stop having self-doubts about my midlife awakening. I am going to stop assigning a number to the age I feel. I feel like me, and the old adage, "You're as young as you feel," absolutely applies.
And when someone looks at me (or my CityHookups.com profile) and asks, "Why is that old guy acting like a ?" I will ask, "Why is that young person acting like my grandparents?"
When I first started writing this blog entry, I was going to ask as my closing question, "What is your actual age, and how old do you feel?" But instead, I will close with a call to action. Throw away the number. Be yourself. Grow every day.
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Cross-Cultural Man-Revelations
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Posted:Apr 17, 2008 12:12 pm
Last Updated:Apr 24, 2008 8:12 am
4775 Views
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A man says to his dog, "There are some things that I understand about dogs, but it seems to me that it isn't enough just to know the facts... For example, I know that for each human year, it is the same as seven years for a dog... but the idea of a year and the idea of a day are not the same... so I was wondering, does that mean that one human day is the same as seven days?"
The says, "Yes... that is true. One human day is the same as seven days."
The man says, "Wow, that's great to know. I feel like I understand you better.
"Is there anything you want to ask me?"
The says, "Yes, there is. Why is it you only feed me once a week?"
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Experiencing Beauty
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Posted:Apr 15, 2008 1:11 pm
Last Updated:Mar 28, 2009 12:00 am
4995 Views
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Back in my early college days, I had a number of majors, including physics and computer science. Imagine my dismay when I found that there was no way of avoiding the art classes on the way to getting my degree. The art class was actually an epiphany for me, opening me up to a new way of thinking about the world -- and eventually turning me away from the deterministic scientific method, and sending me into the more qualitative and subjective world.
One of the professors made the point that in drawing, you don't ever want to erase things... that the errant strokes of your drawing add to the character of your subject. She made the point that if you really need a literal representation of your subject, you should take up photography... but in drawing, the flaws were as much an integral part of the final piece as the strokes that were 'right'.
The point was not lost on me. If everything were perfect, whether in art or in life, it would all be so boring. Mother nature understands this all too well... even the most homely sprig of grass, as it pokes through the cracks of the sidewalk, reveals the beautiful greens of spring, and takes on a form that only that plant can have, determined both by its genetics and the environment. We'll often comment at how unsightly the grass is, but what we really mean is that the setting is unsightly. If we really stop to look at the grass, we see it's beauty revealed.
There are two lessons there... the first is that beauty is often hidden right before our eyes, and the second is that it is not the perfection that makes something beautiful, but rather, the flaws. In fact, it hardly makes sense to call those things flaws, when really they are the source of the beauty and wonder in the first place.
This past weekend I actually took some time to stop and really look at things. I made a concerted effort to set aside expectation and to just experience the things around me. I went to a little restaurant in a small town, and enjoyed the local fare. I watched birds as they wandered through the woods, setting up housekeeping for the spring. I wandered around in the rain, gathering dandelion greens to put in a soup. I went to a sports bar and visited with some new friends. I spent three hours driving down the interstate, starting in the center of one of America's premier cities, and ending in the seemingly flat and featureless heartland of the midwest. I hung out with a friend.
I thought I knew what I would find, but I was surprised, anyway. There was beauty and wonder in every moment of my weekend... and it was in places and forms I never could have anticipated.
What doesn't kill us makes us stronger... and coincidentally, more beautiful.
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Things, Said and Unsaid
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Posted:Apr 6, 2008 3:50 pm
Last Updated:Apr 16, 2008 4:47 pm
4730 Views
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An CityHookups.com person once told me that she didn't want to like me.
What I took that to mean was, that she thought she DID like me... but she didn't want to find herself in a situation where she was getting involved with someone that wasn't really what she was looking for... and by that, I mean, someone that was in a relationship (non-traditional, as it might be).
There are others that haven't said that... but I suspect they feel the same way.
I don't know how I feel about it. The first person seems slightly antagonistic towards me, but that is probably my interpretation of her effort to keep me at a distance. I've decided to help her out, and keep my own distance. As for the others... I don't know.
Silence...
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The 'L' Word
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Posted:Apr 6, 2008 3:34 pm
Last Updated:Apr 7, 2008 3:40 pm
4884 Views
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Here is the freeing thing about polyamory...
The opposite of polyamory implies that there is a finite amount of love that one has. If I love you, if I choose to love someone else, too, then my love for you is diminished.
I don't believe that is true. Sure, there are some people out there that want monogamy, but I don't think it is true even for them. All that monogamy really means is that there are certain aspects to a relationship that are reserved for just one person. But I just cannot accept the conventional definitions of relationships; they're too limiting.
Our traditional western understanding of relationships favors the "limited love" interpretation... And so even if you accept as an academic premise that there is no limit to your love, it is a cultural predisposition that we dole out our love as though we ration it.
I was reminded of this because of a couple things that some friends wrote in blogs recently. One asked if she was loveable. The answer is... Of course she is. I love her. My life would be missing something very important to me if she were to be gone from my life. My relationship with her in special and unique... And she's been a part of my life for quite a while... Though perhaps not as much a part of my life as I would have liked... But there's potential for that to change... And it is something for me to change.
A second friend and I have been discussing feelings... And she recently wrote that she tosses around the word 'love' as if it were birdseed. One interpretation is that it is thus meaningless, but I've chosen to take the other interpretation; that she allows herself not to be bound by artificial, cultural limits on what love is, and how we express it.
To my first friend: I love you. To my second friend: I love you.
There are others out there too... And I hope you know... I love you, too.
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OK, Which One of You Did This?
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Posted:Mar 24, 2008 11:41 am
Last Updated:Apr 5, 2008 4:37 pm
5321 Views
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I was sitting at Easter dinner yesterday, when one of the adult of my partner says to me, "Hey, I met a friend of yours at a party..."
I asked, "Who was that?"
He said, "I don't remember her name, but she knew you from CityHookups.com..."
This is wrong in SO MANY ways. First, you outed me, using my real name. Second, you outed me to my partner's . Third, you outed me!
Let me say that it isn't a big deal that the know about me and my CityHookups.com activities. The already knows, and what me and my partner do isn't really his business... and he mostly steers clear of it. But how could you have known that?
I've long had questions about some of the ethical standards that we as a community keep... but have (until now) chosen to keep them to myself. Personally, I am about being open and honest - I have no secrets with my partner about what I do on CityHookups.com, or anywhere else, for that matter. But that is solely my decision to make. Just because I am open doesn't mean that I am comfortable with the idea of people discussing my CityHookups.com activities -- especially those that identify me in real life -- with others... and it would not be hard to imagine that disclosing that kind of information to one's could be a problem.
I am not ashamed of being on CityHookups.com... But if someone I didn't know came up to me and asked me about you, I would never even reveal that I knew you, and I would certainly not reveal your real name.
Before you start thinking that this is some sort of isolated incident, don't be fooled. People come into the chatroom all the time and ask things like, "Have you seen so-and-so?" or "Do you know how to email someone..." Or, you meet someone at a Meet & Greet, and they start asking personal things about one of our friends.
There are lots of reasons to keep these things to yourself. It isn't about secrets, it is about discretion.
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What a Great Story!
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Posted:Mar 23, 2008 2:17 pm
Last Updated:Mar 26, 2008 9:40 pm
5379 Views
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A very good friend of mine, BigGirlzRSweet, posted a blog entry today, entitled "[post 1330310]" about losing her virginity. Her experience, and especially, her re-telling of the story, is exquisite, and I would suggest you read it.
Having read hers, I am going to tell mine. I don't know if my experience was quite as wonderful as hers, but it was pretty good... so here it is:
During the spring of my senior year of high school, I was entangled in the usual mid- social network angst, as my senior prom approached. I wasn't terribly interested in going to my prom, but there was a bit of pressure from my friends to attend, since it was a de-facto rite of passage that goes with graduating from high school. As it turned out, there was a gal that I liked a lot, and while she was very friendly, she made it quite clear that I was not "prom material".
Unbeknownst to me, my gal friend and my mother had discussed with each other that I should go, and my gal friend decided to assist in surreptitiously finding me a date.
As an aside, there were some things that I was quite good at in high school, but courting women (girls, really) was not one of them. I would have refused her assistance, had I realized it was going on, but she was spectacularly adept at it, in retrospect.
On a Friday evening, my gal friend deftly maneuvered a gaggle of our peers through the evening, until me and my soon-to-be-prom-date sat alone in my car in a grocery store parking lot, where the only logical course of action was to ask her to the prom.
When you're seventeen, and you've just asked a gal to the prom, there seems to be little option but to start dating... which we did. We took to it like ducks to water, and we spent a lot of time together in the days leading up to the prom.
I was rather industrious as a , and I was working about 20 to 25 hours a week, and so as prom night approached, I found myself in the difficult situation where the prom was Friday night, and I had to be to work on Saturday morning at 9 AM... So any ambitious amorous plans would just not work; the tradition among my friends was to leave late after the prom and drive to the beach in Maryland to watch the sunrise. Instead, my date and I decided to make plans to take the following weekend and go camping for the weekend at Assateague Island.
The prom was fun, but comparatively uneventful... and a week later, my prom date and I, and my gal friend conspirator headed to the beach. We took two tents; one for me and my date, and another for the gal friend. We arrived at the beach, set up our camp, splashed in the cold ocean, started a fire and made some dinner, and when it got dark, my prom date and I realized that we had neglected to purchase contraceptives. So in the early evening, the two of us hopped in my car and drove off to Ocean City, leaving my gal friend conspirator to hang out at the campsite with a couple of new friends from an adjacent campsite.
My prom date-now-girlfriend and I set out on our trek to Ocean City in search of a late-night pharmacy. We found one, and procured the necessary items, and then headed back to Assateague. While I would not usually divulge this piece of information in this blog, it is relevant to the story: I am a ham radio operator, as is my father, and I had my radio with me on this trip... and as we were driving back to the beach, my girlfriend cuddled against me, and with a bag of condoms and spermicide in the car, my father called me on the radio. It isn't really that notable that he called me... but there was something strangely adult about having this private thing going on with my girlfriend, while talking to my father. It was clear to me that evening that there was something transformative happening in how I saw myself, and apparently, in how others saw me (I was still under 18, and my parents had never allowed me to take an overnight roadtrip alone before).
We got back to the campsite, and visited around the campfire for a bit, before retiring to our tent. It is interesting what you remember about that first experience: I remember being able to see the moon through the fabric of the tent. I remember hearing the wind and the waves. A lot of the specific details have melded together into a single impression of the passion of two teenagers giving each other their virginity... I remember putting on the condom... and I remember as if it just happened a moment ago, climbing between her legs, and the look in her eyes, as she spread her legs for me, and I entered her for the first time. I remember being totally overwhelmed at the feeling of her body as it wrapped itself around me. It was beautiful, it was tender, it was sensual, and it was tremendously special.
We made love several more times that weekend; when we woke up in the morning, and again in the sand dunes. We swam in the ocean and groped around a bit, but it was a bit too public for her tastes. We made love again the second night.
I would say that for "first times", this one was pretty good... though I guess you can't ever really know for sure, can you?
That was in 1979... and almost thirty years later, I still keep in touch with my "first".
So, tell me (and tell BigGirlzRSweet) about your first time?
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To link to this blog (49AK) use [blog 49AK] in your messages.
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