most of the time, it's worthless...theres a reason why real professionals...doctors, lawyers, hookers, and such...charge a fee...because they know what they're talking about...[insert game is to be sold, not told cliche here]...anyone who offers guidance on anything...without being asked...is a huge egomaniac...and probably a fool...
in my continued quest of...vaulting assholery....i offer...maybe not so much advice...but clues as to where to find good information...in this case...on how to grow up to become an excellent lover...
what to do...well, you've probably already read dan savages advice to 15 year old boys...if not...do it now...click it...i'll be here when you get back...done...good...
in addition...there's...the joy of sex...xaviera hollander...and just for giggles...penthouse letters...why penthouse letters...because sex...good sex...requires...imagination...and very few things spark the imagination better than reading...
there's not much more i can add...except to reiterate what many other...wiser...people have said...your brain is the biggest...most important...sexual organ...the arts of seduction, sex, and love...straight pimpin...are all centered around that...just don't over think it...at a certain point...let your body take over...and follow wherever it takes you...
finally...what not to do...
first...stop reading crap like maxim...stop it right now...lad magazines...would have you think that women are nothign more than fun fleshbags...or conniving castrators...the stuff is poisonous...
instead...take a peek at what women's magazines are telling their readers...about men...and what we desire...and defy every conventional idea presented...refuse to accept anybody who wants to stuff you into one of those pigeonholes...
hey, that's what works for me...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
May 31, 2005
May 30, 2005
May 27, 2005
May 24, 2005
36 hour mourning marathon...
1:00 am mdt- takeoff...
6:30 edt- touchdown in jfk...my first ride on the airtrain...a quick tour with mrs scribe around jamaica station...a touchstone from my childhood...
8:00- lirr to suburbia...have i mentioned how much i love trains...
12:30- after breakfast, a quick tour, a little shoe shopping, and some research...i explain the schnuzz to my wife...it is a made up word...i'll cover what it means some other time...the point is...she didn't get it...why use a made up word...ah well, there's plenty of time for that...
1:30- mrs scribe meets the family in all it's madness...and then off to the wake...
2:00- against his wishes, my father is on display in an open casket...rather than being cremated...this is what grandmother wants...and no one questions the matriarchy...a family full of men...run by three women...anyway...we are supposed to be sitting in mourning...for three hours...this is just not possible...we are too active...too alive...
3:30- mrs scribe and i escape...to generic strip mall restaurant...the place that deep fries an onion and calls it food...mostly, i just need a drink...and to catch a second wind...a couple of beers...and a mets victory...set my mind right...
5:30- dinner...southern/caribbean diner style food...selected by mom...and stories about dad all around the table...only the highly polished good stuff...of course...my request for a jamesons and soda gets me...a glass full of whisky and three ice cubes...o happy day...
7:00- the service...as run by my sister...moves well...until i am asked to speak...this is unexpected...tired and lubricated...i stand and speak...i acknowledge my outsider status...i think i say something about god...and get an amen...i express gratitude for being able to make peace with him before he died...i ramble another sentence or two...and then sit back down...i must have said something right...because mrs scribe...and my sister...both told me i did a good job...
8:30- leaving the funeral home...i come across a framed poem fragment...the cheesy presentation doesn't overwhelm the agreeable sentiment...
"Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is like a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly."
Langston Hughes
11:00- business meeting for potential lucrative venture...
1:00- sleep...
5:30- wakey wakey...
7:30- and homeward we fly...and sleep...
10:00 am mdt- home...time to start planning the honeymoon...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
May 20, 2005
vs...
a freshly minted wad of cash...and the news of my foster fathers death...has me thinking...what my would my response be...if i were still single...vs...my response now that i'm married...
$100 drinking binge/bar tab...vs...a comforting hug from my wife...edge...single life...the possibility of an anonnymous, random, sloppy, sympathy fuck...vs...sympathy sex from my loving wife...edge...married life...waking up hung over and alone in a pool of my own vomit...vs...rolling over to my wife's kisses...edge...married life...being able to travel at the drop of a hat without worrying about the financial consequences...vs...having to think about the impact going to ny will have on my wallet...edge...single life...riding my emotional fences, keeping my guard up, and protecting myself from vulnerability...vs...knowing that the people around me can be trusted...edge...married life...
all-in-all...i'll take married life...what i know of it anyways...all six days of it...anyways...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
$100 drinking binge/bar tab...vs...a comforting hug from my wife...edge...single life...the possibility of an anonnymous, random, sloppy, sympathy fuck...vs...sympathy sex from my loving wife...edge...married life...waking up hung over and alone in a pool of my own vomit...vs...rolling over to my wife's kisses...edge...married life...being able to travel at the drop of a hat without worrying about the financial consequences...vs...having to think about the impact going to ny will have on my wallet...edge...single life...riding my emotional fences, keeping my guard up, and protecting myself from vulnerability...vs...knowing that the people around me can be trusted...edge...married life...
all-in-all...i'll take married life...what i know of it anyways...all six days of it...anyways...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
May 19, 2005
May 16, 2005
May 10, 2005
t-minus...
111 hours, 14 minutes and 11 seconds...sleepless...organizing thoughts...and wondering why no one else is awake...nincompoop...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
Johnny Cash Loves You!
May 9, 2005
trimming fat...
this is a rough draft of an excised short from the burnsizzlebleed book...
How often are you the only black man in the room?
I'm sitting in my chair at the end of the bar and the conversation I'm having with the school teacher just got interesting. This is the first time another black person asks me a direct question about one of the major drawbacks to living in Denver. By the looks of her, dredlocks, athletic build, intelligent eyes, I want to take this question seriously. We're no longer a man and a woman flirting in a bar, we just became two human beings.
I tell her how I grew up in an all black suburban neighborhood. I tell her that everyone on my block was living the Cosby dream. This is not entirely true. There were whites, asians and hispanics in the the neighborhood too, and while there were some upper middle class families on our block, it was mostly working class.
The actual facts aren't important right now. I'm trying to paint her a picture, a picture where each word is a small stroke on the canvas. Each word is meant to evoke a certain emotion and color her thoughts with memories of a shared culture. There is no room for truth in the art of conversation.
Besides, I'm trying to make a point. As i make my point, I notice Cassie's blonde head weaving in my direction through the crowd. Shit.
Hello Joe, waddya know?
And she's drunk.
I made the appropriate introductions and ordered Cassie a drink. She wasn't any more successful at getting the teacher to talk about herself and when the conversation lulled, Cassie dropped the bomb.
Let's go to a strip club.
I had no idea what Cassie was thinking, and didn't even know she was interested in such things. I was settled for a long slow drunken evening culminating with me passing out on my couch while some movie looped endlessly in the DVD player. There was no question that I was up for this little adventure, and neither of the women bothered looking to me for a response. This seemed to be between the two of them. The school teacher reacted with disbelief, not so much that this is the kind of thing that happens around me, but that she would be included in it. Once Cassie convinced her that it would be her first time as well, the school teacher seemed to actually consider the proposition.
I offered to pay for the whole evening, covering the costs of lap dances if necessary, and the school teacher bowed out. She didn't mind getting a little twisted, but couldn't stomach the idea that it would be on someone else's dime. It didn't matter to me, the simple suggestion was enough, I was ready to go with or without either of them. Cassie and I left after saying our goodbyes, and the school teacher made me promise to call her.
A quick stop at an ATM secured our funds and we were on our way.
In the car I asked Cassie what made her think of going to see strippers, and she told me she couldn't imagine seeing strippers without me. Once again, confirmation that women see me as depraved but safe. I have no clue how that happens.
We entered the place and it was like walking into a nightclub. There were nearly as many women watching the dancers as there were men. I bought us two beers and we made our way to a side stage.
The dancer was finishing her set and the stage was littered with singles. She was pretty, smooth skinned, with breasts that could be described as pert, and a small white scarf tied around her neck. I wasn't surprised at the first thing Cassie said to me.
Her tits are too small, aren't they?
Cassie was obviously missing the point, because the dancer had a deliciously ripe looking ass.
You don't have to have implants to be a stripper.
She looked around to make sure.
The voice of the dj boomed over the club.
All riiight...give the ladies a hand...on stage one lovely Heather gets things hot, on stage two, Britt will break your heart...Jenny and Athena are steaming up the shower in the VIP room...and on the main stage, we have Diamond...
The girl on the stage scooped up her money and costume, and went off to the dressing room. A garter and fishnet fitted waitress bent down between us and took our drink order. I was busy looking down at the waitress' tits while Cassie was chatting with her when our new dancer, Britt, stomped her clear plexiglas high heel on the stage announcing, no, demanding, that our attention was now needed.
Mr James Todd's instructions on how to move something blasted from the club's speakers and the dancers dutifully obeyed. Britt was a petite brunette, and she moved with the same kind of knowing confidence as a ballplayer stepping into the batter's box. Her hair was straight and short, showing off her delicate neck. Her outfit was the school girl themed. The obligatory white oxford shirt was tied off just above the deep cleft of her belly button, and the tartan skirt was appropriately two sizes too small in order flash her round athletic ass with the slightest twirl.
I laid out three folded dollar bills in front Cassie and Britt made her way over. She stepped to the edge of the stage and jutted her hips out over us. She lifted the skirt and gave us a peek. She bent at the waist, placed her hands on Cassie's shoulders, and slowly dropped to her knees.
it devolves from here...culminating not with sex...but a conversation...
Joe, let's go back to the strip club.
You really enjoyed that lap dance, huh?
I'm all hot and bothered.
You know what you're paying for when you go to these places right?
What?
It's not about sex Cassie, it's about attention.
so...why have i cut it...besides the confusing shift in tenses...ive been reading a lot of recent cultural critique lately...books, theatre, movies, music...and the crux of a lot of it seems to hinge on...style vs substance...personally i don't see the dichotomy...i think it's false...its possible to have style...and...substance...
a writer shouldn't have to chose between the two...and that's the hard part...and that's whty this bit got cut...dear reader...too much style in service to such simple minded substance...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
How often are you the only black man in the room?
I'm sitting in my chair at the end of the bar and the conversation I'm having with the school teacher just got interesting. This is the first time another black person asks me a direct question about one of the major drawbacks to living in Denver. By the looks of her, dredlocks, athletic build, intelligent eyes, I want to take this question seriously. We're no longer a man and a woman flirting in a bar, we just became two human beings.
I tell her how I grew up in an all black suburban neighborhood. I tell her that everyone on my block was living the Cosby dream. This is not entirely true. There were whites, asians and hispanics in the the neighborhood too, and while there were some upper middle class families on our block, it was mostly working class.
The actual facts aren't important right now. I'm trying to paint her a picture, a picture where each word is a small stroke on the canvas. Each word is meant to evoke a certain emotion and color her thoughts with memories of a shared culture. There is no room for truth in the art of conversation.
Besides, I'm trying to make a point. As i make my point, I notice Cassie's blonde head weaving in my direction through the crowd. Shit.
Hello Joe, waddya know?
And she's drunk.
I made the appropriate introductions and ordered Cassie a drink. She wasn't any more successful at getting the teacher to talk about herself and when the conversation lulled, Cassie dropped the bomb.
Let's go to a strip club.
I had no idea what Cassie was thinking, and didn't even know she was interested in such things. I was settled for a long slow drunken evening culminating with me passing out on my couch while some movie looped endlessly in the DVD player. There was no question that I was up for this little adventure, and neither of the women bothered looking to me for a response. This seemed to be between the two of them. The school teacher reacted with disbelief, not so much that this is the kind of thing that happens around me, but that she would be included in it. Once Cassie convinced her that it would be her first time as well, the school teacher seemed to actually consider the proposition.
I offered to pay for the whole evening, covering the costs of lap dances if necessary, and the school teacher bowed out. She didn't mind getting a little twisted, but couldn't stomach the idea that it would be on someone else's dime. It didn't matter to me, the simple suggestion was enough, I was ready to go with or without either of them. Cassie and I left after saying our goodbyes, and the school teacher made me promise to call her.
A quick stop at an ATM secured our funds and we were on our way.
In the car I asked Cassie what made her think of going to see strippers, and she told me she couldn't imagine seeing strippers without me. Once again, confirmation that women see me as depraved but safe. I have no clue how that happens.
We entered the place and it was like walking into a nightclub. There were nearly as many women watching the dancers as there were men. I bought us two beers and we made our way to a side stage.
The dancer was finishing her set and the stage was littered with singles. She was pretty, smooth skinned, with breasts that could be described as pert, and a small white scarf tied around her neck. I wasn't surprised at the first thing Cassie said to me.
Her tits are too small, aren't they?
Cassie was obviously missing the point, because the dancer had a deliciously ripe looking ass.
You don't have to have implants to be a stripper.
She looked around to make sure.
The voice of the dj boomed over the club.
All riiight...give the ladies a hand...on stage one lovely Heather gets things hot, on stage two, Britt will break your heart...Jenny and Athena are steaming up the shower in the VIP room...and on the main stage, we have Diamond...
The girl on the stage scooped up her money and costume, and went off to the dressing room. A garter and fishnet fitted waitress bent down between us and took our drink order. I was busy looking down at the waitress' tits while Cassie was chatting with her when our new dancer, Britt, stomped her clear plexiglas high heel on the stage announcing, no, demanding, that our attention was now needed.
Mr James Todd's instructions on how to move something blasted from the club's speakers and the dancers dutifully obeyed. Britt was a petite brunette, and she moved with the same kind of knowing confidence as a ballplayer stepping into the batter's box. Her hair was straight and short, showing off her delicate neck. Her outfit was the school girl themed. The obligatory white oxford shirt was tied off just above the deep cleft of her belly button, and the tartan skirt was appropriately two sizes too small in order flash her round athletic ass with the slightest twirl.
I laid out three folded dollar bills in front Cassie and Britt made her way over. She stepped to the edge of the stage and jutted her hips out over us. She lifted the skirt and gave us a peek. She bent at the waist, placed her hands on Cassie's shoulders, and slowly dropped to her knees.
it devolves from here...culminating not with sex...but a conversation...
Joe, let's go back to the strip club.
You really enjoyed that lap dance, huh?
I'm all hot and bothered.
You know what you're paying for when you go to these places right?
What?
It's not about sex Cassie, it's about attention.
so...why have i cut it...besides the confusing shift in tenses...ive been reading a lot of recent cultural critique lately...books, theatre, movies, music...and the crux of a lot of it seems to hinge on...style vs substance...personally i don't see the dichotomy...i think it's false...its possible to have style...and...substance...
a writer shouldn't have to chose between the two...and that's the hard part...and that's whty this bit got cut...dear reader...too much style in service to such simple minded substance...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
my name is giacomo...
in italian...funny coincidence...i guess the horse is what racing fans call...a grinder...he lets his competition run themselves out and then...finishes strong...i like that...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
Johnny Cash Loves You!
May 5, 2005
t-minus...
218 hours, 16 minutes and 13 seconds...till matrimony...band...check...rings...check...friends...check...blushing bride...ummm...okay...maybe not blushing...check...good times...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
Johnny Cash Loves You!
May 3, 2005
reset...
this blog was originally intended as a writing journal...let's get to it...
the word of the week in james' life:
discipline: VERB, to push beyond the paths of least resistance...the well worn paths...and stay off...to focus on what's important...and ignore the instant...and the temporary...to refuse to quit...in the face of obstacles...and self destructive thinking...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
the word of the week in james' life:
discipline: VERB, to push beyond the paths of least resistance...the well worn paths...and stay off...to focus on what's important...and ignore the instant...and the temporary...to refuse to quit...in the face of obstacles...and self destructive thinking...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
in my headphones this week...
in case some of you folks haven't figured it out...the lyric links will open itunes in your computer...if you have it...if not...it will take you to the apple site to download it...for free...sometimes...i'll sneak something in...that's not itunes rleated...just for fun...
these thoughts are picking my brain...
if i could hold you...
...the cutest little gal in the 48 states
i only love you cause...
feel what i feel when i feel what i feel when i'm feelin'...
freedom...freakout...and free for all...
hear what i say...
Bonus:
sometimes...it makes me smile
sometimes...it makes me want to cry
but this always helps me enjoy breathing the air...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
these thoughts are picking my brain...
if i could hold you...
...the cutest little gal in the 48 states
i only love you cause...
feel what i feel when i feel what i feel when i'm feelin'...
freedom...freakout...and free for all...
hear what i say...
Bonus:
sometimes...it makes me smile
sometimes...it makes me want to cry
but this always helps me enjoy breathing the air...
Johnny Cash Loves You!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)