Getting Twisted (But Only Briefly)

We've come a long way from fig leaves and loincloths--and those of us who live in cold climates really appreciate that! But consider for a (pun intended) brief moment, how much undergarments have "evolved" over the years--maybe we've come a long way only to go TOO FAR lol. Once upon a time it was actually considered uncouth to wear anything beneath one's outerwear, especially by women. After all, they already had on plenty, with their crinolines and petticoats. And what "gentleman", in the throes of lust, could abide yet another obstacle interfering with his pursuit of pleasure? But nowadays there are any number of potential obstacles we fellahs might encounter! Everything from bloomers, thongs, tangas, full-cut briefs, french knickers, tap pants, hipsters and boycut shorts, rhumba panties, lowrise and bikini briefs, stockings, hose, garters, chastity belts--and these are all worn BELOW the waist! Imagine what the rest of her might be hiding? There are camisoles, chemises, basques, bustiers, brassieres, slips, half-slips, corsets, girdles, chainmail...Well, you get the idea lol! Before the advent of pinup calendars, Frederick's of Hollywood catalogs and Sunday supplements, most people had to rely on peepholes, whorehouses, store displays and wedding nights to discover some of the world's most amazing wonders. Now we simply have to turn on a TV set or flip through the pages of a magazine. The biggest question I have, though, is why is it mostly images of women? I don't particularly WANT to see men in jockstraps, but I'm sure a few of the women in my life would like a bit more equality on the male side of the scantily clad equation! But what's to see? Hmm, there are boxers, Y-fronts and, um, um....novelty briefs (think elephant, think trunk) lol. Not so many choices for gals to ogle as for guys. Which makes me wonder if it might be time for fig leaves and loincloths to make a comeback lol! But seriously, what gives? Even a Speedo isn't exactly sexy (at least to MY way of reckoning, you ladies might think differently lol). When was it decided that men, who supposedly rule the world, would be limited in their choice of underpants? I suppose if one has to strap on full plate armor, the question of how to relieve one's bladder conveniently is bound to arise, sooner or later. And a western chap in his chaps might find it awkward to have his testicles crammed into something not much larger than a rubberband (now really, ladies, what's with THAT!?), but is there no happy medium here? Is there no sartorial way to satisfy a man's anatomy and a woman's desires? If a cowboy can get away with wearing something so "practical" as a 10-gallon hat, why can't there be a practical, yet arousing "10-gallon sling"? One can hear Mae West asking: "Is that a pistol between your thighs are you just happy to see me?" Wait, I think I've got it: starting tomorrow I'll be testing out my new "Joey Pouch" down under! But, where else would I test it out?

A Dose of Strong Medicine

If there's anything I know, it's this: Continuing my blog will mean continuing to laugh at myself even more than I laugh at what I see around me! And why not? Do any of us know why we find certain things more amusing than others? And, of the other things I profess to "know", another is that I couldn't remotely begin to explain my sense of humor, not even to myself. I mean, I seem to have no standards beyond a gut feeling that something I say or do will get a laugh. Cleverness only takes anyone so far because it's not so much WHAT we say or do so much as HOW we say or do it! Comedians like Jack Benny and Phyllis Diller couldn't be more different, but both of them are icons of comedy. And, sure, The Three Stooges have their detractors, but their goofball physical gags paved the way not only for Laverne and Shirley, but also for roller derby and professional wrestling! Violence is prevalent because of its visceral appeal and the need to provide "conflict". So it goes with sex. But humor is a necessary part of who we are because it manages to transcend race, creed, skin color, national origin, gender and religiosity. It does this largely by poking fun at people who are in some way different from us, or in some way set apart from the rest of us! Big surprise, right? Liberal stand up comedians crack jokes about conservatives. Women crack jokes about men. Protestants crack jokes about Catholics. Germans crack jokes about Poles. And pretty much everyone cracks jokes about me. But seriously, folks...think about it. We laugh when others cry. We laugh when we feel superior. We laugh when we think we're sharing an insight that others are oblivious to. Come to think of it, we aren't particularly concerned about offending anyone, even in this post-politically correct age! There are "blonde" jokes, knock-knock jokes, "sick" jokes, parodies and satires, jokes about everything from aardvarks to zygotes (OK, I've never actually heard a joke about either of these, but I bet they exist lol) and most of them are quite likely to be considered offensive by a great many people. Even the most innocuous seeming off-the-cuff remark has ended many a promising relationship--except in talking pictures, which have undoubtedly contributed to the mass distribution of sarcasm, despite the efforts of playwrights ancient and modern to serve up many helpings of snappy put-downs and witty repartee. It's pretty much a foregone conclusion that two protagonists--one male, one female--will ultimately find themselves engaged and locking lips if the bulk of their shared story has them almost constantly bickering and sniping at each other. And to think, such things are called "romantic comedies", ha ha. It's impossible to imagine a world without humor. And, in the face of the tragedies that surround us on a daily basis, who doesn't want to escape, however briefly, into a fit of mirth? For every accident that just "happens", for every incredible turn of events that affirms Murphy's Law, and for every so-called "act of God" (act of Satan, more like) that wipes out a trailer park or a major metropolitan area, isn't it comforting to know that where there's laughter, there's hope? [And where there's Hope, can Crosby and Lamour be far behind on the road to Utopia?] If there's anything I know, it's this: whatever each of us loves or hates, we're willing to joke about it. This is why there's such a fine line between comedy and tragedy. When we're born we're slapped on the backside and shed a few tears. Where's the fun in THAT? Especially when we find out that the punchline may not leave us laughing! So, the importance of being human isn't to weep as babes, it's to mitigate suffering as we mature. We do this, in large measure, by taking the sting out of life through love and laughter. We do what we do because some things are simply too horrible to bear in the absence of levity. Indeed, if there's anything else I think I know, it's this: If there's any way to exit laughing, I will! But, if not, I'm damn sure heading offstage to some seriously ass-kicking applause!

For Laura

Hello, my sweet CC. I swear to you you don't have to be anything but yourself around me. Truly. It can't possibly matter how "cluttered" your home is, it's part of you and I'll accept what I discover. It pales in comparison to the news from Haiti, and it pales in comparison to my last 10 years of being so alone. Love is blind. Or at least it sees what it sees, without being negative or judgmental. We must not fear things because our present expectations make us anxious about future contingencies. Tomorrow is always another day, and then another. The dead will be found, labeled, mourned, and many will be forgotten. But life will arise from the rubble, the ashes and the despair. So shall it be with Haiti, so shall it be with us. I don't think I know how to be myself any more without a sense of life's profound sadnesses and dizzying joys. You mean you aren't perfect? Sweetheart, neither am I! I love to make people laugh, but I sometimes make them cry. So it is with the news from Haiti, so it shall be with us. I love you!


--With all my heart, my hugs, my kisses and caresses, Dale

The Blogger's Prayer

Our Blogger, who blogs in cyberspace,
Hallowed be thy pixels.
Thy message come.
Thy will be gratified--
In a true-type font as it is in hypertext.
Give us this day our daily blog,
And forgive us our excesses
As we forgive those who overindulge against us.
For we are easily led into temptation
And are like to speak evils.
But yours is the nobler effort
And the better reasoned
For effortlessness and effortlessness,
Amen!

The bad, the drab and the dreary!

When was it decided that certain work spaces, rest areas, waiting rooms, break rooms and other places should be so incredibly bland and largely unappealing, or, conversely, so gruesomely colorful? Government buildings are especially notorious for their uniform ugliness and lack of psychological warmth! Everything blends into a general grayness even where faux wood and plastic plants are incorporated into the interior's design. The choice of decor doesn't always reflect an obvious effort to cut costs (through bulk purchases of carpeting, chairs, tables, art works and other fixtures), but this does seem to be a major factor in contributing to the decline of civilized comfort zones worldwide. Even hotels are cutting corners these days, though they aren't so consistently dingy and depressing as most other public accommodations.


I happen to work for a state agency and I happen to while away my time in a holding pen of indisputable utilitarianess. It has some cloth covered dividers that serve as "walls", but they merely serve to delineate the workspace they surround, and they aren't tall enough to make the space within completely unseen. It's a sort of "plug and play" modular tubing with notches on its posts for adjusting shelf and tabletop heights. It's serviceable, yes, but it's oh so homogeneous! Naturally any kind of customization is taboo, because that would be "unprofessional"! But not even faux wood or a plastic rainforest would really make it any easier on the eyes. I often sit in my horrible black chair and imagine how the whole atmosphere could be enlivened. I picture Rubik's cubicles of geometric splendor, with brass handles on the drawers and gold tassels on the venetian blinds. I picture carpeting that somehow adds both light AND color while, at the same time, also managing to hide stains and prevent static buildup. I picture pictures (it had to be said) and other objets d'art. I picture cupholders and iPod docking stations (hey, it's a vision, I can picture any damn thing I want). I have a dream. Maybe not so grand as the dream imagined by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but a dream nonetheless. Would it really be so awful to allow people to express themselves openly and freely at work, like they do at home? Wouldn't we all get more accomplished at work if we could, like Hugh Hefner, show up in our pajamas? I know I'm not the first person to make such a modest proposal, but that only confirms what I've long suspected--I'm not alone here! It's the 21st century and there's still a dress code! OK, so neckties aren't so common around men's necks any more, and fewer women bother to wear dresses, but aren't bluejeans just another uniform? Aren't they merely a sop to create an illusion of informality in the office? Besides, has it ever really mattered? Think about this: What will offices of the future look like, once the teens with the piercings and tattoos are in charge? Do you honestly see a future of indistinguishable microcosms of monastic asceticism? Surely there will come a day when a veritable Salvador Dali will revolutionize the way our personal spaces and shared environments can be synchronized. Or not. Because, like it or not, it's the fact that some environments are shared that makes them impersonal! Ipso facto, voila, and eureka! I've written another blog that has added absolutely nothing to the sum total of human knowledge nor done anything but contradict itself. I'm so proud!

If at first you don't succeed, blog, blog again!

Writer's block is a lot like standing at a urinal and being unable to relax enough to pee. And it's all well and good for people to advise one to "go with the flow", but what about when the flow won't "go"? I mean, really! Are there no self-help books to get people's pens upright and functioning again? Of course there are! But who uses those old things these days? What about us technology junkies who have to stare at a blank screen? In my first blog I may have indicated a certain disdain for bloggers because of how easy it is to talk trash or simply vent. But for some of us, whose imaginations are vivid and whose aesthetic sense isn't easily satisfied, writing anything more than a terse e-mail is something of an onerous chore! One can hardly fathom that Mark Twain is the first author ever to have submitted a typed manuscript, but it seems to be "true". But the way that sports commentators and other pundits carry on about steroid-abusing ballplayers, I'm surprised they haven't concluded that lots of people have used any number of methods and methodologies to reach whatever lofty heights to which they aspire! Would Edgar Allan Poe have been such a mystical writer if he hadn't been a substance abuser? Would Tennesee Williams have been able to write A Streetcar Named Desire if he hadn't experienced certain intoxications? Would Caligula have been such a mighty emperor--uh.... Don't get me completely wrong, I certainly don't condone performance enhancing drugs (with the possible exceptions of Levitra, Cialis or Viagra that help E.D. sufferers score), it's just that I find it strange how accepting people are of the eccentricities of authors, movie stars, rap singers and former Presidents! Yet, if a baseball player is in a slump and looking to get a leg up, a corked bat or some cockamamie chemical concoction is frowned upon and considered to be "cheating". (My second blog, that mentioned Bernard Suits' excellent book, The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia, didn't bring up the topic of cheating, but if you look back at the quote that defines a "game", you can imagine that cheating defeats the purpose of the rules, because the rules exist to make the playing of a game as inefficient as possible, whereas cheating, because it circumvents the rules, makes the ultimate aim of a game more easily attainable.) So, if it's cheating for an athlete to bulk up or use some kind of super-equipment, why is it acceptable for authors, painters, and other non-sports-related entertainers and luminaries to dope themselves silly, get drunk, whore around, and generally debauch themselves? Why is it acceptable to use a calculator to calculate pi to the umpteenth decimal, but wrong for an accounting firm to have two sets of books? Come to think of it, here's a question that many of us would like an answer to: Why the heck is it acceptable for consenting adults to copulate without a license (I'm thinking unwanted pregnancies, STDs), but in order to own a dog or ride a motorcycle, a number of obstacles are put in one's way before the ultimate goal is realized? Anyway, if a baseball bat is a tool, what's an aspirin tablet? If word-processing software is a tool, what's a glass of scotch? And if a condom is a tool, what are collars and leashes? Don't feel bad, the logic of all this escapes me, too, but hasn't it been fun? And I bet I'm not the only one who likes to let loose with a steady, steaming stream. I'm just not quite so embarrassed about letting mine loose in public!

Forget Me Not

Greetings, blogfans! Today I'd like to explore a topic that's near and dear to all our hearts: Will we leave some kind of lasting legacy? Will anyone remember us? Or, will we be lost among the dead? Let's face "it", together, for a moment--not only our mortality, reality, or "the music", let's face the possibility that nothing exists as a soul or spirit and that, once departed from this place, we're truly gone forever. After all (pun intended), do we know who built the pyramids, or do we only have a vague idea whom they were built for? Do we know who built the roads, bridges, canals, railroads and monumental structures that span most of this world's continents, or do we only have a few names to "append" to a few of them, mostly as footnotes? [Allow me, now, please, a brief digression: In his Gettysburg address, Abraham Lincoln said, "The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here." Which, sadly, has pretty much held true. Most of us couldn't name a single soldier who died in battle there, nor much of anything else, but the memory of the lives lost--and the horror of it all--have certainly lingered!] OK, back to the business at hand: Despite the plaques, tombstones, mausoleums, inscriptions, and other aides-memoire and memento mori, it's entirely too easy to forget the innumerable lives that have preceded our own. Even the ubiquitous "Kilroy", whomever he or she actually was, hasn't exactly been immortalized, because the person or persons who created the phrase has yet to be verified! (Yes, legends abound, but facts are something else altogether.) A better example of a legacy is the so-called ciphers faked by Thomas Beale. Not only have they never led anyone to vast riches, they never will, because they're very clever frauds! Yet Thomas Beale's name lives on in the hearts and minds of treasure hunters everywhere, despite overwhelming evidence of the ciphers' fraudulence.


Every day--if we can accept as true the lyrics of the 1976 song, Don't Fear The Reaper, by Blue Oyster Cult--another 40,000 more of us lose our respective battle with life and abandon those of us who survive them. (No doubt that number is significantly higher for 2010.) Since knowing is half the battle, this is supposed to give us all a head's up, at least in terms of coming to terms with the terms and conditions of the human condition. But most of us aren't Pharaohs who can enslave tens of thousands to spend their miserable lives building things in remembrance of us. Most of us have to rely on friends and family to erect some kind of marker at the spot beneath which lie our earthly remains. Most of us have to trust that someone will scratch some kind of inscription somewhere, that will somehow manage to weather this world's storms while our decaying bodies or dusty ashes are forever beyond caring.


So, what's to be done about this whole "it's entirely too easy to be forgotten" thing? Some people commit criminal acts to "make History". Some people write blogs (now that's a criminal act lol), journals, diaries and even post-it notes. But I suspect the vast majority of us put our faith in offspring, and in other family members, to carry on after us--and even, or so we want to hope, to think back upon us fondly. As for me, I know that one or two of my sonnets are good enough to rank with Shakespeare's (I'm modest, too, lol), but I think I'm doing a pretty good job of becoming a cipher to the rest of you, in order to remain a mystery that stays fresh long after this tired, skinny body has been encrypted!

So many games, so little time!

After yesterday's initial entry it's not only ironic, but probably counterproductive, to carry on blogging. But the rest of you never seem to mind how pointless it all is, so here goes:


One of my all-time favorite books is a work that purports to explain games, but is, in my view, essentially a wonderfully funny look at life, the universe, and everything, a la the late, great Douglas Adams. The book is by Bernard Suits, who is either Canadian or at least teaches there (University of Waterloo, Ontario) at the time this is being written. His excellent little book is entitled, The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia. Let me offer up a quote that establishes Suits'  overall premise (and I'm indebted to whomever typed it so I could borrow it for cutting and pasting it here):


"To play a game is to engage in activity directed towards bringing about a specific state of affairs, using only means permitted by rules, where the rules prohibit more efficient in favor of less efficient means, and where such rules are accepted just because they make possible such activity…playing a game is the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles."


Without trying to paraphrase this definition, let me just say the gist of the book is that "Life" isn't so much a "game" as it is a series of gamelike situations--since most of us can't even remotely begin to agree that "Life" has any particularly purpose and, even if it does, can we possibly suggest any hard and fast "rules" for such an obviously nebulous and often contradictory chain of events? It's been a while since I actually read the book, but I definitely remember that it is filled with gloriously goofy conversations between an industrious ant and a slothful grasshopper (a la Aesop) and that it never makes the mistake of taking itself too seriously. Right, then; so much for the "preamble". Here's where I take you on a few labyrinthine detours to see if you're all human or merely pretending:


Consider, if you will, that Life is Chess, the game of kings. Have you ever heard that, after the game, the King and the Pawn go in the same box? I would have liked for Mr. Suits to have included that wonderful bit of folk wisdom in The Grasshopper, but either he's never come across it, or he didn't see that it might have added to our understanding of his theses. (Great, now my mind is conjuring up Theseus, Minotaurs and Mazes...I get what I pay for when it comes to free association!) *Clearing throat and attempting to get back on track.* Chess. The game of kings. If Life is like a game of chess, who is in charge of the white pieces and who is in charge of the black? OK then, how about Yahtzee? If Life is like rolling 5 dice up to 3 times to get them to land with the same pip(s) facing up...No, no, no, that really won't do either. How about, if Life is like a bowl of cherries...wait, that's not a game! Crap! Life must therefore be whatever we are convinced it is, no matter how much it interferes with whatever anyone else imagines it to be. Frankly, I think we're all just silly humans, for thinking that thinking and self-awareness are such amazing achievements! "I think, therefore I am." Poppycock! Surely we are no more than marionettes, being played for fools by Atropos and her sisters! With but a twitch upon our threads we are danced about until our dance is done. And even if Life's tapestry were somehow revealed to us, would the possibility of some grand pattern ever make up for everything we imagined loomed ahead of us while we were being caught up in the making of it? Hah! But some of you, who are followers of the wise Theseus, have been savvy enough to play out plenty of rope, so that, if you don't hang yourselves with it, you might not lose your way in a labyrinth of someone else's design!

Long-Time Reader, First-Time Blogger

So this is blogging, huh? It's a lot like keeping a journal, only it's launched into cyberspace and lands who knows where! And, frankly, with all the tens of millions of people who think that what they have to say is worth sharing with the rest of us, I can't really imagine that too many of you will ever come across my random rants and miscellaneous musings. However, in the pioneering spirit of our ancestors, I accept this daunting challenge and hereby declare myself open for the blogging business! Thanks a lot, Leslie, for yet another excuse to waste time online.


It's Sunday, January 10th, 2010. About 4 p.m. in the so-called Heartland. The world is its usual, restless self today and the palpable cold of this merciless midwestern winter is making life difficult for some of us, even those of us sitting indoors at our keyboards. Fortunately, composition is quite easy, as my fingers are still capable of independent thought. I mean, really, none of this ill-begotten prose is being processed by too many neurons! I daresay it's much the same story for the rest of you. Pick a topic, shut down the mind, rattle off a few keystrokes, call it a day. No wonder the world's newspapers are losing revenues. There's so much the rest of us want to spew forth there's no one left to read anything but computer screens these days! What's next, widescreen cereal boxes? Will we have graphic novels in 3D for the Kindle? Will we be hardwired like our cellphones and surrounded by strange floating texts like in Keanu Reeves movies? Will we be able to have 100% safe sex because it's totally virtual? And does the phrase "totally virtual" even make any sense? I'm picturing the decline of civilization (as we've come to think of it) mostly from the lack of any kind of face to face socialization. Everything will come to us as packets of digital information and we won't have to send our children off to school, we won't have to go to a jobsite (because machines can obviously handle all our construction projects and solid waste processing for us), and the only type of stimulus we might need besides a new playstation offering is caffeine. But, seriously--how many of us does it take to change a lightbulb? Or tie shoelaces, or tell time on a clock which only has hands? Once the magazines and newspapers disappear, will the libraries be far behind? Once the hook and loop revolution (aka Velcro) finally puts an end to snaps, buttons and zippers, would it really be so awful to look even more alike than we do already? And who needs to "tell time" anyway? We don't have that many places to get to and even if we did, somebody would probably have gotten there first....Still with me then? Can't think why. Have a nice blog, I'll catch you again in a few millennia--when all the cursors on all the flat-panel monitors in all the gin joints have finally stopped blinking!