To Be or Not To Be...

My Type of Place

Photo by SB

... that is the question.

Not long ago I quoted part of Hamlet’s famous “To be, or not to be” bit from Hamlet 3/1 written by William Shakespeare in a comment in Joe and Dr. L’s blog. Joe was writing about dreams and it made me think about the line.

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub

I know Hamlet was contemplating the benefits of suicide at the moment, but I was not making a comment about suicide on the post. It was just a line I thought of for that moment. Since then I've read these famous lines over a dozen times. Each time I get something new from them.

I suffer from sleep walking and night terror dreams. Every night I sleep: perchance to dream. Many nights my dreams and sleep are peaceful, frivolous and sometimes fun. Other nights, not so great: ay, there’s the rub for me. Which will it be tonight?

It has been 23 years since I really looked at this famous speech, soliloquy, or whatever its literary term is. I was a junior in high school and had lived through a close friend’s suicide (you can read about Laura’s death here). I read this play in my humanities class. Back then, I didn’t see Laura’s death relating to these famous lines. Now that I’ve added some life experience to my mix, I still don’t know if these thoughts went through her head before she jumped off the cliff.

Occasionally, I contemplate suicide. I don’t think I suffer from depression, but sometimes I wonder if my existence needs to exist. As I read through Hamlet’s contemplation over the issue, I deeply understand his questions for I ask them of myself.

... To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. I wonder if my friend Laura felt this overwhelming need to end those thousand natural shocks.

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

I don’t usually feel weary, but I feel life can be dreary and empty of fire and passion. When I feel this, I wonder if there is any worth or meaning in my efforts to accomplish anything. I question if my accomplishments even have meaning beyond my existence.

But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

There is the ultimate question of faith. We fear that undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns. This bit is the most powerful part of the whole soliloquy for me. Of course it applies to my fear of death and the unknown beyond it. Is there some spiritual afterlife or when my spark of life goes out, is it gone from the universe?

While that question of faith and the great beyond is there, I also see the last part of it as a test to my ambitions to try anything new while living.

And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Damn, that is a powerful sentiment. I am looking at one of those moments in my life. I am forty. I am doing well financially (not rich, but comfortable and protected). From the outside I have it all. Yet my heart yearns for things that “ ...makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.”

I want to dedicate myself to becoming an artist. The creation of art is a deep part of my soul. I don’t want to create it to admired or loved (although the praise is embarrassingly pleasing). I want to create something that shows my soul and how I see beauty. This is my “undiscovered country.” Why was it so much easier at 18 to go to college and start that life change than to do it at 40?

I look at my friends, family, and coworkers and see how this fear of the unknown paralyzes us. So many times I hear them (and me) say, “I wish I could (insert dream or passion of choice here).” We are afraid of that big step into the next part of life.

Some of my role models are Dr. L, Z, Stephen Haynes, Jim, and Joe. They all have made(or in the process of starting) huge life choices that followed closer to their heart’s desires. They took that plunge into the “undiscovered country.” I hope to join them soon because I am already looking back at my life and wonder why I haven’t done it yet.

Here are Hamlet’s famous lines.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

Photo note. I love the empty decay of this room. One solitary bright chair in a dead place. I plan to try to get in there and work with a model in that simple setting.

And here is Kenneth Branagh’s take on it.

Waking up

Dream Inspired By A Bee Flying Around A Pomegranate A Second Before Waking Up

Salvador Dali

I slowly sense the
light of early morn
through my eyelids shut softly

My body and mind
warm and fuzzed and my breathing
not sensed, just slow

My outward windows
slowly open... not focusing,
just absorbing all

I stare blankly to
the alarm clock on the nightstand...
and beyond it

I smile slyly as
my eyes sharpen to see the
two empty Trojan wrappers

SB

Thanks Stephen Haynes...

http://www.modelmayhem.com/sidebphotography
Me and the book
Note - I am trying to redact (cover up) her tush with my hand, hoping this photo does not fall under 2257)

Look what came in the mail last night. I finally got Stephen's book and started reading it on the bus to and from work. I will get my early review of it out of the way first. I have read about half of it and here are some of my thoughts.

I work in a highly-regulated industry (big pharma) and have read my fair share of the Code of Federal Regulations (CFRs). They are dry, boring, dense, confusing, and too often vague. Stephen's book helps make the CFRs concerning nude photography (2257 and other numbers) understandable. His interpretations are down-to-earth and well thought out. As a small time photographer of nudes (very different than a nude photographer... I doubt too many models would like to see a nude guy behind the camera) I need this book and highly recommend it.

Here are my first impressions of 2257. Stephen, as well as a friend of mine who is in the UC Berkeley school of law summarized one aspect of 2257 well. It is a "chiller." It will chill the enthusiasm of the photographer since the burden of documentation is so high. Most will abandon the daunting project of CYA in terms of this law.

So, how compliant am I with 2257? After reading a bit of the book, I would say I am ok, but not bullet proof. The problem is that saying I am sort of protected is like saying I am sort of pregnant. I definitely need to get some things better organized and controlled. I am comforted to know that I have the basic model information documented and saved.



My big question to everyone is, "how do you fight it?" I can tell my progressive friends about it and they will agree that it is censorship and join the cause. The hard part is to make a logical, factual, and convincing argument to the fence-sitters and even the proponents of this piece of crap regulation.

How do you answer the statement and question, "This protects kids from being exploited into making child pornography. Are you for lessening their protection?" How do you logically (and succinctly since the fundamentalist mentals who support this love sound bytes) rebut this and go on the offensive?

Seriously, does anyone have suggestions for talking points when presenting this topic? I can always talk about my experiences, but I want to go beyond that and have a strong argument against this censorship law.

Boycott My State, Or At Least Parts of It

County Vote Tallies - LA Times

As you probably heard, the California Supreme Court upheld the constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriages (PROP 8) that passed in the 2008 general election. They also ruled the ~18,000 gay marriages performed last year are valid.

I heard a lot of commentary on the decision. In ways the court was right because Prop 8 was passed and did not conflict, in its process, with the state's constitution. While the actual action of it is discriminatory, the way it was proposed and voted on was legal.

In the past few months, I wrote about my personal boycott of Utah because of the Mormon Church's heavy-handed influence on the PROP 8 issue. While I am still boycotting Utah, especially the Salt Lake City area, I must look inward to my own state.

I am going to boycott spending money (as much as possible) in any county that had a majority of "yes" votes for PROP 8. Here is how I plan to boycott it.

I will not do the following in these counties:

• Shop in stores or buy online from
  
• Buy gas
• Eat in restaurants
• Stay in hotels ( I will camp in them because the money goes to the state or the federal forest service. I will bring my own food.)

Since most of the food I eat comes from the central valley, I will have to buy eats from the "Yes" counties. My goal though will be to go to farmer's markets and buy from the farmers that produce in the "No" counties as much as possible.

In addition to my actions, I am going to write the appropriate chambers of commerce to tell them of my decisions. I doubt my few thousand dollars per year will mean much to them, but at least I can make sure my money is going into communities that did not support hate.

Here is a link from The LA Times that shows vote tallies for each county. If you support gay marriage and social liberty, please join me in my boycott. I would support your avoiding the "Yes" counties, or even avoiding the state. If you do participate in the boycott, please write to the appropriate chambers of commerce to tell them why.

I am thankful most of the great wine producing counties voted "NO."

World Hurt

Daisy
Photo by Dries Knapen

I've been behind in reading my friends' blogs. So many are feeling overwhelmed by life. Some are feeling marginalized, others are reflecting on their dreams. Some are looking for new opportunities. All feel some anguish and pain.

The first time I read The Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving, one German word from the whole book stood out to me; Weltschmerz. Here is a quote from the book.

Lilly's Weltschmerz, as Frank would come to call it. "The rest of us have anguish," Frank would say. "The rest of us merely suffer. But Lilly, "Frank would say, "Lilly has true Weltschmerz. It shouldn't be translated as 'world-weariness,'" Frank would lecture us, "that's much too mild for what Lilly's got. Lilly's Weltschmerz is like 'world-hurt,'" Frank would say "Literally 'world' - that the Welt part - and 'hurt,' because that's what the Schmerz part really is: pain, real ache. Lilly's got a case of world-hurt," Frank concluded proudly.

The weltschmerz my friends are living saddens me. Some feel it through the discrimination they are living, as they grow older than what culture deems as appropriate for their interests. Others are wondering if their lives are as fulfilled as they could have made it.

I think many are feeling the weltschmerz. The global economy is in the toilet as is the environment. We are barely getting by a pandemic by luck. American health care costs are growing faster than we can match with our decreasing salaries. Fundamentalism is growing both outside the US as well as next door.

There is a growing cultural divide that could tear our country apart. Civility is almost dead, replaced by fear, ignorance, and oppression. This entire calamity makes me wonder if the religious zealots are right with their predictions that we are approaching the end times… the apocalypse.

My parents were born during the depression. My mom was born and raised in Baltimore. Her mom went blind when my mom turned seven. Her dad left them soon after. Imagine being a blind, single mom trying to raise two children, seven and two.

My dad grew up in rural Pennsylvania, not far from Washington’s crossing. Like my mom, he has only one sibling. My grandfather was an artist. During the depression he took up woodworking and scratched out a living making cabinets and teaching art.

Neither of my parents talk much about the poor times or the war. They said though that it was a gradual day-to-day improvement over many years. Neither family became wealthy, but they recovered.

During those hard times, the government sponsored many important public works. These works included infrastructure construction, arts, music, education, and many other pursuits that are still helping us during our current rough times. I am hoping President Obama, and our nations public, private, academic, scientific, artistic, and theological leaders can help us do this again.

I may be an optimist, but I feel we are on the edge of a global renaissance. We are slowly learning how humanity has sullied the earth. How our greed has blinded us to core values of importance. How we have forgotten to help each other, even though we may be different. How beautiful the simple elegance of our creativity can open up our hearts, develop sciences that we never dreamed, and create art that will communicate both the pain and suffering and the beauty of our existence.

I may be a naïve idealist, but I must believe this or I will go mad. My hope and beliefs in the goodness of humanity are one of the few things I still have faith in. The thought of my faith being for naught makes me feel true weltschmerz.

We are going to continue to have suffering, hunger, war, poverty, censorship, environmental destruction, and other human-made disasters. This bright future will not happen tomorrow, next year, or maybe in the remainder of my days, but as my parents witnessed, through gradual, purposeful growth toward a new reality.

Cranky Mood

Strada at 7:48am on May 24, 2009.
Photo by SB

I hate it when little things make me cranky. I got up at 6am to take my wife to a liberal church in Berkeley. After dropping her off I drove a few blocks further to a little coffee shop that has free wifi, got a coffee and a bran muffin. Once I got situated I checked on others' blogs, read a movie review, edited photos, read, and enjoyed my Sunday morning ritual. The coffee shop is quiet at 7:30. They play classical music and the place is serene. I sit at the back, facing out toward the windows, looking at the backs of all the other quiet, private patrons. In a few hours, this place will fill with college students.

As I sit down, there is a loud southern gentlemen sitting across the aisle from me, talking on his cell phone to his mom about the UC Berkeley graduation of his partner's daughter. The graduate got her PhD in chemistry and her boyfriend is concerned that she drinks too much. She was just having a good time. The southern gents feel his mother should take better care of herself and get help taking care of her husband (not his dad). I also learned about what he ate for dinner last night with the graduate, her friends and family. Who knew could get scallops at a Thai restaurant? I really do not need to know all this stuff.

Why do people think they need to talk on a phone in a restaurant? Actually that is not what bothers me. What I hate is when people unconciously, or conciously, talk louder on their cell phones in a public place. This guy went on talking for 30 minutes.

My frustration continued to grow until he said, "Mother, I am sitting in a classical recital in this beautiful coffee shop. They play the most beautiful music." I looked over at him and almost said "I wish I could hear the music." I bit back my comment, got out my sound deadening headphones and am listening to Pandora.

What bothers me is this guy is educated (he has PhD in Zoology, the last major of the alphabet, as I learned from his conversation). He seems loving and nice. He said many gracious and kind things to his mom and about the people in Berkeley. Why doesn't he realize the noise he is making is rude? I would not be shocked if he would be the first to complain about other "loud" people in a public setting.

I've mentioned before that I am private person. I enjoy solitude, peace, and quiet. In a prior post I also listed many "Manly things" I love, most of which are noisy. I enjoy concerts, airshows, noisy engines (revved up in places where it is appropriate) and other noisy venues. I expect the noise at those times. I don't mind this coffee shop when it is filled with a gaggle of UC students talking about... all the same stuff I talked with my friends during my undergrad years.

If I ever open another art gallery, I am going to post three rules at the entrance.
1. Have an open mind for the art.
2. Don't touch the art, unless it is supposed to be touched.
3. Silence your cell phones and if you must talk on it, leave the gallery to complete the call.

On the great, but short lived, sci-fi show Firefly, the priest on the ship warns the captain about a special hell reserved for,"... child molestors and people who talk at the theaters." I can believe and support that type of hell.

Shepard Book was my favorite character of that show. Here is a little compilation of his scenes, including the "special hell" one.

Road Weary...

View from the Rims

... or should I say, travel/family weary. I just got back from a weekend in Billings with my family. I really enjoyed seeing my niece graduate. She is in that awkward phase between adolescent and young adult. She is ready for college and really needs it. College will teach her the academics as well as important adult life lessons. She has a great soul and is smart.

The weariness came from spending lots of time with my parents. I plan to write more about them in the near future. You ever see an accident or catastrophe coming and you can't look away, swerve away, or do anything to avert? I feel that way as I watch my parents age and grow apart.

With any trip to the Big Sky State, you have to eat beef and other meats that are grilled, smoked, and/or flamed in any other way. I really like and miss that part of living there, but my heart and body are appreciating the healthier diet I can live in California. The temptation of good food is so similar to sexual temptation. They are strong yearnings for something filling, tasty, of good quality, and the brief moments of euphoria and satisfaction both bring. It would be hard for me to choose between the two (food is great, but does not look as good as a person naked).

Each time I go to Billings, I am shocked at how my perceptions of it have changed. It is the biggest city in Montana with a bit over 100,000 citizens. Growing up, I thought it was the big city. I went to college in a liberal Montana city (Missoula) with about 80,000 people and thought it was the cultural mecca of the state. In 1997 I moved to a "small" city of 140,000 inhabitants near San Francisco. Billings is so damn small. The traffic is laughable. The conservative bend is not.
Maybe I am spoiled by being accustomed to seeing two out three cars with Obama stickers on them. In Billings, I saw a only a couple. I heard so many Christian music stations there. I saw so many anti-liberal propaganda that I doubt I could ever live there ever again. Pretty place to visit, but that is about it.

Enough rambling. I will write something of substance soon. I hope you had a great weekend.
SB

What The Fuck, part 2???

Unbearable Lightness by RyanL

Over the past few days my friend, Dr. L., informed us of some scary legislation in Massachusetts. I am not going to go into details beyond the fact that part of it wants to make photographing nude models over 60 illegal. Please read all of her posts, especially the one where she gets a response from the crazy legislator's aide.

First
Second
Third


I am pissed at this lawmaker's complete failure in her job. She lets local district attorneys write legislation for her and then does not practice enough due diligence to proof read it. What a lazy incompetent piece of ... law maker. She is letting the branch of the government that enforces the law write the law for her. I understand seeking consultation while crafting these things, but to hand over the job completely to someone who has a discriminatory agenda sickens me. That is lazy and may be classified as "mentally incompetent." Isn't there a law forbidding mentally incompetent people from holding public office???? Obviously not.

I hope Dr. L does not mind me doing this (please contact me if you do and I will remove the photos). I am going to post some of the many beautiful images of her in this post. If publishing beautiful art of a nude model over 60 is criminal, come get me.

"Blue Eyes" by Cherrystone

Red by Joe Crachiola

Transitions and Transmissions

As if turning 40 was not enough of a life event this year, I just faced another one and confront a third this weekend. None of them are bad on their own, but putting them all together in a few months gives me a metaphorical gut punch.

Last month I went to a friend's wedding. He and his wife are twenty-five. They are the only twenty-somethings friends I have left. The next weekend I went to a cousin's wedding, her second. She is thirty-six, divorced, and has two kids. I really like her new husband, a real mensch. While I was sitting at the second wedding, I realized that the twenty-somethings' wedding the prior week was the last one I will go to that is a first marriage and a young marriage. Recently, all the weddings I've been to are friends' or relatives' second or third trips into matrimony. In a few years, I will be going to weddings for nieces' or my friends' kids. Ugh. Weddings are transitions for the participants, as are the types of weddings I go to.

This weekend I fly to my quasi-hometown, Billings, MT. My youngest niece is graduating from high school. I remember holding her when she was two weeks old. Now she is a beautiful young woman heading to college to study music (which is giving my depression-era parents heartburn). I chatted with her a few nights ago and she is excited, yet sort of melancholic that this part of her life is ending. Yet, more transitions. Her transition into adulthood and my transition into realizing that I could have kids the same age, and wont. I am not regretting the lack of offspring. I am just reflecting on the fact that a whole new generation is entering adulthood since I was their age.

While I was growing up and hitting milestones (confirmation, communion, drivers license, graduation, voting, getting married...) my dad would tell me, now you are a man. I did not really think much of his sentiments, nor do I think much of them now. Being a man is not having achieved or lived through those events that would have happened anyway. Being a man is my attitudes and beliefs that guide me through my life.

As I pass through these transitions, I think they are like the automatic transmission in my car. As I accelerate toward my final destination since my birth, life has been shifting through the gears. First gear does not have much range, but it sure has a lot of torque to get you going. Each gear after that loses some torque, but has greater range. I am not sure which gear I am in now, but I know with each shift I keep going faster toward the end. Being an automatic, I feel the shift, but am not in full control of it. I can not control the transitions in my life. These shifts happen.

Maybe my goal in life is not to try to down shift from fourth to first and recapture my youth. Mult-gear downshifts at high speeds can ruin transmissions and blow up engines. If I try to down shift to my late teens, I doubt my engine or knees could take it. I am trying to be content where I am and know that I can look in the rear view mirror to see where I've been, but I can't really turn around.

I guess a good point of going down the road of life at high speeds is that sex in that fast moving car is far more exciting because it takes an expert driver to do it. Ok, enough of all the fucking car metaphors.

Summer Movie Season, Another Manly Thing

A while back I posted a list of my guilty, and not so guilty, manly pleasures. Since then I've found another.

I like summer movies. After the deep and fantastic winter movies and those that come out of the independent studios, I need to see some stuff blown up. I also need to see some pointless and gratuitous sex and nudity.

Last night I went to Star Trek. I grew up on The Original Series (called TOS by trekkies) and loved it for its edginess for its time, its optimism, and its corny special effects and over-the-top acting. With each new Star Trek series that came out, I grew less interested. The same thing with the movies. The only two movies that hold anything for me were Star Treks 2 and 4, Wrath of Khan, and The Voyage Home. Both movies came out in my teens and were fun escapes from the summer heat and the challenges of puberty.

The new Star Trek movie is great, but not perfect. I will not go into story or discuss the mythology and the importance of this in the Star Trek legend. I liked it because it was a fun buddy movie with great special effects, sexy actors (the young Uhura is as beautiful as the original played by Nichelle Nichols). It was the perfect escape for a warm Sunday evening.

Uhura - Nichelle Nichols

Uhura - Zoe Saldana

The summer movies have always attracted me ever since Star Wars came out when I was eight. I still get nostalgic going to a summer movie and thinking of my younger years. My brother or my friends and I would go to the matinees to escape the oppressive mid-day heat. We would get a coke and popcorn, enter the theater and find the perfect seats. I swear they kept the air conditioning set to "Arctic," which was perfect for me. For about two hours we would escape into the visual and auditory world of James Bond, Luke Skywalker, Captain Kirk, Indiana Jones, Marty McFly, and many other summer heroes. That evening we would go out and play with our friends reenacting the scenes.

Once I graduated from high school, my summer movie outings dwindled. During my twenties and thirties, I went to one or two movies a year at most. I lost touch with that total sensory experience of escaping and being in somebody else's story.

Last night I felt like a 13 year old again. We shared a popcorn and a coke. It was a perfect night. I really want to see another movie soon, but sadly I saw the ads for upcoming features and none really looked good. Who knows though, maybe the total experience is more important the quality of the movie seen.

"I'm Too Sexy"

Hands Moving
Photo and alterations by SB

Gatochy wrote an amazing blog about male sexuality and how it can be both oppressing and oppressed. Please read it before reading this.

I want to quote one special part:
The only reason I'm even mentioning this is because it backs up my theory that men (my lawyer just whispered into my ear I should say "some" men, but we don't do disclaimers at Gatochy's Blog. We also never preface anything with a "full disclosure". I don't owe anyone full disclosure about anything.) men have a genuine problem with regarding themselves as a sexy.

This is a very true statement. It is hard for most straight men ( I will not speak for gay men because I feel they don't have as much of this problem as straight or bisexual men) to view themselves as sexy. I think it is the fear that if I say to myself, "Damn, I have sexy arms.", I may subconsciously be saying that I find men's arms sexy... which means I am gay. I know that sounds silly, but most of the stuff that floats through everyone s' heads at the subconscious level is silly.

When I turned 36 I decided I needed to take better care of myself. I dropped 40 lbs, worked out, got some sun (but not too much since my scandanavian skin burns in three seconds) and got into decent shape. I did this because my marriage was almost dead, sex was gone, and I felt I needed to feel good about myself inside and out.

As I lost the weight and increased my fitness, I noticed subtle psychological changes. I stopped stooping (tall guys stoop a lot) and stood at my 6'4" height with pride. I noticed that when I saw myself in the mirror as I dried off that the sagging fat had turned into muscles with some definition. This made me feel proud. This gave me confidence that I can be sexy. One big observation of these changes came when an attractive woman gave me the full eye scan from head to toe as I left a local coffee shop and held the door for her. It was the first time in years that I realized... she checked me out. I felt sexy.

Now feeling sexy is more than having a nice body or a great smile. It is also the attitude about sex. I love sex. I love all things about it. I love how it brings the individual sexiness of two people together into a unique blend that could not exist without each other. Sex can be sweet, deep, touching. It can be rough and raw and filled with animal passions. Being sexy and sexual also allows me to enjoy the three gifts it offers.

First, it is sexy to give pleasure. It is also an ego boost when you make your lover melt sexually, but that boost is not too important to me. There is a deep sense of intimacy seeing my lover enjoy and release to passion and pleasure through my efforts. It is also sexy to share new things with a lover and to both teach and learn from them. The deep warmth of giving some one special all your focus on their pleasure and bringing them to a very deep release, then holding them and caring for them as they come down from it is a gift for both to enjoy.

Second, it is sexy to be open to receiving pleasures. When I first became sexually active, I struggled letting go of control and just sitting back and letting her focus on my pleasure. I finally learned my lesson when one time she awoke before me. She noticed my arousal and gently woke me up and took me to the beautiful end without me needing to engage at all. I just layed back, looked down to her and enjoyed the pure beauty of the moment.

Third, and maybe the best gift of being sexual, sexy and loving sex is when both of us are working together to make the moment more than just the two of us. We are focusing on each other's pleasures, our own pleasures, and the combined pleasure of the building arousal and release. I still flush when I think of a special time in Spain where all three or these gifts culminated together into a life-changing moment for me.

Being sexy for both men and women is more than physical appearance. It is also the belief that he or she is sexy. I am not talking about cockiness, just confidence. Everyone has something sexy about them. It could be his smile, her laugh, his kiss, her hands. It is ok to feel sexy about yourself. Sex involves trust. You not only have to trust the person you are with, but you have to trust that you have something to bring to event.

So, here is my statement. I can be sexy, sexual, and recognize these things in myself. I also recognize sexiness in other men. It doesn't necessarily reflect on my sexual preferences. I am not ashamed to look at the photo of the guy laying back in Gatochy's blog and say, "Damn, that is sexy." Sexy is sexy.


I can't believe this song is 17 years old. It still makes me chuckle.

"I Ache in Places Where I Used to Play"

Bad Luck
Photo by SB

Over the past year I've tried listening to more Leonard Cohen music. I am drawn to it for his voice and how he uses it to share his poetry through the music.

I am at a point in my life where I can still do much of the stuff I did when I was younger, yet I am starting to pay a price for it the next day or two. I may go and workout and still perform well, but I can tell those days are in the decline. This is not to say I am feeble, just that at 40, my joints and muscles and other body parts have seen a lot of action and have some wear and tear. Those issues don't have a warranty though. As Cohen sings in the number, Tower of Song, "I ache in places where I used to play."

When I was 20, I remember seeing my dad at 54 completing his last marathon. He did not start running until he was 43. In those eleven years, he ran five or six marathons and one 50 mile race. After his last marathon, he knew was going to retire from both work and long distance running. He is 74 now and still trots a three miles, three times a week and still hikes 12+ mile day hikes in Glacier Park. I marvel at his fitness and hope I can do half of what he does at his age. The sad part though came a few years ago when he, my brother and I went for a 40 mile/ four day backpack trip in Glacier. It was not the first time I beat my day up a mountain, but it was the first time I did it because of his age. He doesn't have the speed and agility he used to enjoy. I do find inspiration though that he still is doing what he loves. It just takes longer for him to get there and rest up for the next adventure.

I've noticed it takes me longer to warm up. I can't jump into action instantly like I used to. Last November I played basketball with my nieces and their friends. I never had much game, but my height and jump helped a bit. I still have it, but I felt each landing after jump in a way that reminded of the difference with slamming car doors. On a new Honda, slam the door and you hear a satisfying, solid "thud." Slam the door on my 39 year old truck and you hear the window rattle, the door mechanisms shake, and the sound lasting long beyond the "thud." That is how my body felt after each jump. It still worked, but I cold tell my body parts aren't as tightly constructed as they used to be.

I've noticed sexually that some things take longer to happen. Getting warmed up takes a few more minutes at 40 than when I was at my male sexual peak of 18. The good part with that is once started, it can last as long as desired, so there is one great perk of not being 20.

Cohen's line means different things to me at different times. There is the obvious physical meaning that statement implies. I also see where I am starting to ache for the ability to play like I used to. There is a part of me that sees a beautiful 21 year old woman and desires her so deeply, yet I know those days are beyond me now. It is one of the aches.

On the other hand, as I get older, I find women with experience so much more rewarding in all areas compared to the young ladies. The sex is warm, experienced, and deep. We both know what we want, like, need and how to share it with another "mature" partner. I also need and desire the deep talks that I can share with these ladies since we have some similar and different miles behind us.

I may have mentioned my friend Ray. At age 43, he had a 22 or 23 year old live-in girlfriend. She was (and probably still is) a great lady with a rich future ahead of her. They were together for a year. He was a smoke jumper at the end of his career. Smoke jumpers are the special forces of forest fire fighting. They parachute into forest fires to put them out. She just started a job as a border patrol agent. They loved each other. During the year though, she got her first credit card and maxed it out. She bounced a check. She had to get car insurance for herself. These are all things we have done. The problem was that she was living these for the first time in her life where Ray had lived those issues 20 years prior. He did not want to live through them again. She didn't want to live with someone's impatience as she learned young adult life lessons. They broke up as friends and went on their ways.

So getting a little older is not bad, but I guess I have to learn a lesson. When I was young buck, I could use my youthful energy, strength and agility to muscle my way through things. As I get older, I need to use my experience, wisdom, and knowledge to find more efficient ways to get things done. In the end, both are done and everyone is happy, just the route to get there was different. The important part is keeping the desire to do the same things I did back then and have fun doing them.


Photo note. From a recent shoot (February) with a new model to me, Symberlin. I enjoyed the shoot.

Cohen is such the stud at the end of this video.