Shere Hite Obit

 RIP Shere Hite.

I read The Hite Report soon after it came out, and it changed my life.  At twenty-one, I was just approaching adulthood in terms of sexuality.  I wanted to learn everything I could about intimacy, pleasure, and sharing; this book could not have come at a better time.

Much of what is contained in the Hite Report is now so obvious, it hardly bears mentioning.  But at the time, it was revolutionary - and the author paid a steep price for the change it initiated.  But for a kid my age, it was the golden key.  As much as anything, the message for men was to listen to our partners - to let them be a partner, rather than merely an object; to be open to trying new things, so that the experience could be as satisfying for them as for us.

Nobody wants to be told that they've been 'doing it wrong', or not doing enough.  The backlash among the (generally male) powers-that-be was overwhelming.  Despite our self-delusions, we are still in many ways a very puritanical society, and many people wanted no talk about women’s sexual pleasure.   Ultimately, this liberation hero chose permanent exile from our country, rather than to continue immersion in our backward society.  

Thank you, Shere Hite!

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/09/11/books/shere-hite-dead.html

Catheter Funnies

#1

That Instant of Panic ... when you feel the tug in your groin that tells you you're reached the end of your catheter leash ... just as you realize that you have shifted your balance, and committed to that next step further from 'base camp.  

#2

So, they sent me home with a catheter sticking up inside my penis, and a list of post-surgical instructions. 

My favorite instruction says that I can 'resume sexual activity' by now ...

but they didn't provide any 'adaptive' instructions regarding how to make that work with the dick leash.  

Recognizing Essential Workers

I’d like to suggest something; a very simple absolutely free thing we can give another, which will make them feel recognized, and improve both their day and yours.  

Next time you’re at the store, or McDonalds, a pub, or a similar place - thank the worker across the counter, or wherever … not some rote comment, said with no real feeling; look them in the eye, and say, “Thank you for putting your life on the line, so I can buy...” and finish by pointing at the groceries, lunch, drink, whatever.  

I have begun doing this, and have been repaid with the most overwhelming gratitude.  These people deserve better than to be treated like furniture, even under normal circumstances.  In our current crisis, they truly are putting their lives on the line, and people still just look right through them.  Please don’t be one of them … take this small step to demonstrate that you are a decent human being. 

Surgeon, I submit Me

Dear surgeon, I submit me to thy knife;
to replumb my wayward entrails, 
which have given me such strife.

Co-lo-rect this misdirection, 
and segregate the flow; 
that the vapor trail less taken
might be taken nevermo. 

And when the cuttin's done, will that be all?
Will I be clean, or will you find microflora
The future is not ours to see, you see
It is all ... viscera sera

Brandon & Anna's Wedding Comments

I guess I go back with Brandon about as far as anybody here other than his parents.  I was asked to serve at his baptism, after having served at his parent’s wedding.  Because his birthday is within a couple weeks of my daughter Madeleine's, we enjoyed celebrating these touchpoints together.  He has always called me ‘Uncle’ Michael, an honor I take very seriously.  Needless to say, it is a delight to be here for this occasion.  

It has been a privilege to watch Brandon grow into the man we know today, within the environment of unconditional love Gary and Marilyn provided him.  Though Brandon has enjoyed great success in a variety of pursuits, this love and esteem were never conditional on that success.  His parents are lucky to have him – and he, them.  

I have known Anna for a much shorter time – but I see in her much of that same confidence and self-assurance, as well as the kindness and empathy that are the result of a warm, nurturing upbringing. 

I am delighted beyond description that Brandon and Anna have found one another - and am not surprised that each has chosen a healing vocation.  It’s almost hard to imagine them in any other role.  It is gratifying to know that, at the end of a challenging day helping mend the psyches of people who look to them for help—sharing generously from their resources of mind and heart—Brandon and Anna will have one another waiting at home to help them replenish and recharge for the next day. 

Some people marry because they hope to find, in marriage, a partner who has the pieces they feel are missing in themselves.  

As beautiful and poignant as this often is, what I see here are two complete, self-actualizing individuals, who have chosen to come together, not because something was missing, but because they simply love one another – and have found a union that is greater than its component members.  They are strong enough to be gentle; confident enough to freely lend validation to one another; firm enough in their foundations to not need support, but stronger in the combination.  

The world is a richer, kinder place because Brandon and Anna each exist – even more so because they have one another.  

Fathers Day - Revisited

Since Mom’s birthday is in May, and Dad’s is in June—aligning with Mothers and Fathers Day, respectively—my thoughts always turn to them in those months.  With both of them gone now, it is a way in which I keep their memories alive.  

My father was what you might call ‘old school’.  He could be pretty strict, and held the family to the same high standards he kept for himself.  His beliefs and attitudes reflected his growing up in the rough and tumble world of Hoquiam, a logging town on the Washington coast.  He was tough; he knew how to use his fists, having been a varsity boxer in high school, and later in the Navy.  

But ‘old school’ also meant much more to Dad than toughness and standards.  He wasn’t one to easily spout niceties like ‘I love you’, but he knew how to show it when the chips were down.  

One weekend, my buddy and I hitchhiked to the coast, to camp on the sand dunes at Honeyman State Park, near Florence Oregon.  We had a great time, but got a late start coming home, and got stuck just east of town in the little unincorporated community of Cushman (more a wide spot in the road than a community).  Traffic on the highway was down to just about nothing, and around 11:30 in the evening, it started raining.  The prospects of a ride in the middle of the night for two soaking wet teenage boys and their soaking wet backpacks were less than bleak.  

We kept trying until almost 1 a.m., taking shelter in a phone booth during the long breaks between oncoming cars.  In retrospect, it’s bizarre that there was a phone booth there, in the middle of nowhere, but there was.  Finally, we decided to swallow our pride and call my Dad.  Once he was clear on exactly where we were, he told us to just stay right there – he was on his way.  

It was about an hour later when he showed up.  He pulled over on the gravel shoulder next to us, got out, opened the trunk, put our backpacks in the trunk, and let us in.  On the drive home, he asked us how the weekend had been, and generally made small talk with us.  There were no recriminations, or any expressions that we had inconvenienced him by getting him up in the middle of the night for a two-hour drive to bring us home.  He knew that we knew we had fucked up … there was no need for him to reinforce the lesson.  What was unspoken was his relief to know that we were safe, and his clear sense that it was his duty to keep us that way.  

I may be letting myself off the hook to say this, but I think he actually was glad to be right where he was, and was maybe a little bit proud to know that I knew I could count on him.  

It was years later, when I became a father myself, that I discovered another dimension to this.  Fatherhood came late to me, and I am grateful for every minute of it – so grateful that some things that might seem unpleasant, or off-putting in a different context, just triggered gratitude.  On a number of occasions when Madeleine was in her tweens, and early teens, she would get so angry with me that she would start crying, and yelling that she hated me, and that I was the ‘worst father in the world’.  Sometimes I knew that I had done or said something to trigger this; other times it was just a mystery.  I don’t dispute that conclusion – I am no judge of my ranking among the fathers of the world.  But beneath her words, I heard a plea, ‘I am totally overwhelmed by life, my surroundings, the changes happening in my body, and to my friendships, and I just need to scream!  I know that however I take it out on you, you will respond with respect, and will keep loving me.’  I remember, even in the moment, how glad I was to be there – to be a point of stability for this incredible young woman, at a time when everything else in her life was in disarray; showing her that wherever she flies off to as she copes with life – I will do my best to remain moored, and be there when she is ready.  

I don’t think anybody would accuse me of being ‘old school’, but when I remember the intensity, then the hugs we shared a little later, when the  moment had passed … I think I know my father just a little better.  

Why I shouldn't Smoke Pot

After the bonfire, I came in, thinking I might have some sort of meaningful, pithy remark for my friends to embellish with their brilliance.  

I really don't even remember the context of this phrase, but I started wondering how I might weave in the term 'multivariate stochastic' into a sentence or paragraph about trying to figure out where we are as a society, and where we might be heading.  

Yeah, I might have to either consult the thesaurus before I post, or just skip the edibles.