He’s BACK?

I’m furiously importing about 3,000 photos from my recent three-week vacation because I want to try my hand at a traditional travel blog entry or two.

Here’s a sample, click for bigger:

Dating in Iceland
Dating in Iceland
One of My Rooms
One of My Rooms


But before I can get to that I’ve been thinking about this blog’s reason to be.

So, as may be apparent to my three (actually one-and-a-half) readers, I’ve yet to come up with a solid theme/direction that I can embrace and run with.  I don’t even really have a consistent character/voice for the author.  I’d love to link to some thoughts on the characters we invent when writing non-fiction, but a quick google search didn’t yield me any results, so I’m skipping it.  Instead here’s a song:

Dick in her Mouth All Day?

Listen to the song.  There’s a freedom of expression in hip hop that a timid scrawny white guy like me envies.  It’s especially tough living on the east coast, which seems to be much more eager to equate certain words and topics with misogyny regardless of cultural context or intent; basically branding the speaker of sentences like “I put that dick in her mouth all day” as BAD.  No discussion.  Which is goddamn BORING to someone like me who delights in frank/crass conversation about sex.

But keep listening to the song and you get to Gangsta Boo’s section.  Her chorus is “I put that clit in his mouth all day,” and various takes on that theme.  I fucking love that shit.  Why? Well not exactly because it’s turning the tables on patriarchy or flipping the power dynamic or using role reversal to expose some hypocrisy, or any of the academic shit.  Just plain that she gets to talk about enjoying oral sex and objectify her man.  That’s hot, no?

Plus I will fully admit that having a woman talk like this makes it feel fractionally more ok for me to.  Get alarmed by that if you must, but sex happens, people love it and relish imagining it in the extremes.  It’s fun.  It’s fun when a potential partner is free to express this kind of shit.  Past girlfriends of mine who’ve been “SEX POSITIVE,” let’s say, would take this stuff way past what even I felt comfortable talking about in polite company.  And I’m a fucking loud-mouth lech.

For example, my best female friend from high school to this day, at dinner parties with her husband, lists boys whose dicks she sucked in the locker room, because they all live in the same town still and it’s hilarious to her. Oh, Texas.  It’s not about the outlandishness of the experience, it’s about less taboos in conversation feels better.

One More And then We Move On:

This one is just hilarious.  I saw Awkwafina play at Le Poisson Rouge.  The best thing about the show was the beats she’s programmed, but this track makes me giggle every time.

I Had a Point

My point has more to do with who I’d like the narrator of this blog to be.  Raunchy womanizer?  Misunderstood loner? Thoughtful adult discussing interesting, if safe, topics?  What exactly IS an interesting and safe topic? What do I want people to think?

The fact is, I don’t fucking know.  I honestly don’t have enough people in my life (nor have I ever, I suspect) who genuinely accept me—weirdness, warts, and all—to really have a solid foundation of feeling ok with myself.  So I muddle through and get upset when I make people upset, which I then use to question whether I’m cut out to even have opinions about shit at all.

But it’s fun to get raunchy.  AND I think I’d like to stretch some different muscles as well.  SO, I’m going to do a post about my trip to Iceland, and probably a post about what it’s like to sleep with girls in their early 20s (when you’re upper 30s).  And they’ll be boring, and either offensive or intensely bland, and far too candid for anyone’s comfort, and that’ll be fine.

Because it’s good to fail, right?