Everyday Orgasms

mouthsIn our neo-Victorian, button-down society, the orgasm has been relegated to a worrisome burden, the subject of bone-dry talk shows and diligent documentaries.  Half the population is searching through the sexual Himalayas, trying desperately to even glimpse this mythical beast, while the other half is pleading with God that they don’t find it too soon.  If we ever want to enjoy sex again without a bunch of know-it-all phobia-ists looking over our shoulder, we need to release the orgasm from its sexual handcuffs.  We can do it!  There is an inner Meg Ryan in all of us, just straining to get out.  Check out the list of situations below and honestly ask yourself if you haven’t, in fact, already experienced an Everyday Orgasm.

Cold feet — warm socks.

Somebody else made that fresh pot of coffee.

You discover Netflix has put up Season 4!

After two hours of foreplay, the computer magically does as it’s told.

Your tongue finally gets that raspberry seed out of your teeth.

Finding the perfect parking spot and there’s money left on the meter!

Grandma brought cake.

The first fart after a long and formal evening.

The person who’s scratching your back is in exactly the right spot.

And finally, after years of extensive research among the majority of my friends, the #1 best everyday orgasm:

Kicking off your heels and unhooking your bra after the mother of all crappy days at work.

I’m sure I’ve miss a few.  Use the comments to complete the list.

Two Kinds of Stupid

stupidOne of the many things they never tell you in high school is that there’s a big difference between knowing stuff and being smart.  If you know stuff, you get to amuse your friends and win impromptu arguments, but unless you get on Jeopardy, it’s not really a paying proposition.  However, if you’re smart, you can write your own ticket.  Here’s a simple example.  Given a map, I can generally find most of the countries in the world.  I get a little confused with all the new “stans” that showed up in Asia in the 1990s, and I don’t think even John Kerry knows what’s going on in the Balkans, but I get by.  For the most part, this is useless information, since, in all my years, no one has ever come up to me and said, “By the way, where’s Singapore?”  My point is that just knowing something is useless — unless you know what to do with the information.  Knowledge for its own sake may be a philosopher’s wet dream, but in practical terms, it doesn’t pay the rent.

However, let’s not get carried away with the educated idiot analogy because the other thing they never explain in high school, even while they’re teaching it, is that in order to be smart, you have to know stuff.  Information is fundamental to problem-solving, and you need to learn as many facts as possible because, without them, even the smartest person in the world is a dolt.  Again, let me explain.  Because I do know where Singapore is, I’m way ahead of the curve.  I understand a lot more about my world than the person who doesn’t have a clue about the Lion City.  For example, I know why it’s King Midas rich, how it got that way, and why it’s probably going remain in the Daddy Warbucks’ Top Ten.  Take a look.  Singapore is on the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula, on the fastest trade wind from the industrial East to the All-Consuming West.  That means it’s a natural stopping point for literally millions of megatonnes of shipping.  When that kind of dinero is going in and out of your front door every day, some of it is bound to sit down and stay awhile.  This analysis is a no-brainer — as long as you know where Singapore sits in the world.  However, without this tidy little tidbit, even Google can’t tell you why an insignificant city state the size of Philadelphia can cough in Asia and people in Rotterdam, Antwerp and Hamburg get a cold.

Here’s the deal.  In this world, there are two kind of stupid people, and even though they might look like there light yearsstupid3 apart in education, income, social status or what have you, they are essentially the same person.  First, there are the folks who believe that because they know who wrote Candide, they’re qualified to spout philosophy.  Then there are the other folks who’ve never heard of Francois-Marie Arouet but spout philosophy anyway.  Group A thinks that learning inherently makes them smart and Group B thinks they’re innately smart and don’t need to learn anything.  However, talk to anyone in either group and the conversation is the same.

Basically, it works like this: whereas you can know stuff without being smart, you can`t be smart without knowing stuff.

And if they’d just teach that in high school we’d all be better off come election time and at dinner parties.

Fashion: Listening to Your Inner Child

slope3There’s a slippery slope that happens in this life, and it doesn’t end unless you find yourself chasing the garbage man down the alley in nothing but your Buzz Lightyear boxers and a beltless bathrobe.  You might do this ‘cause it’s important; that trash is going to smell like dead hobbits the day after tomorrow.  And you may even rationalize it by saying, “That trash is going to smell like dead hobbits the day after tomorrow.”  But, you still know you’ve just stepped through the looking glass.  What was once an intimate detail, known only to your mother and a few significant others, is now available to the general viewing public.  More importantly, you hope none of your neighbours caught your Batman imitation on their cell phones.

We don’t all end up on Pinterest as “Meanwhile at WalMart” memes — but we could.  There’s a charming little voice in everybody’s inner adult that whispers “What the hell?  It’s only the Drive-thru.  This shirt’s good enough.”  So we grab the keys instead of listening to our inner child, who would scold us into, at the very least, changing our underwear.  (I was nearly 10 before I realized clean underwear didn’t actually prevent traffic accidents.)  It’s that same voice that urges us to wear pink with plaid and refuses to part with the UCLA T-shirt that was printed when Zorro was a boy.  We all have it.  Our parents warned us about it, but all of us still listen.  Bad mistake!

Back in the day, mostly mom (and sometimes dad) taught us that going out in public was a sacred trust.  People were looking at us, and we needed to show some respect.  Neat was important, but clean was essential.  As we got older, that sage bit of advice translated into sex, straight up and down.  You need to look your best because nobody is going to sleep with a slob.  Unfortunately, adulthood and cohabitation dulls the echoes of our parents, and more and more we end up relying on our own resources.

At first, it’s okay.  We dress for work, go out with our friends, flirt with the cashiers at the grocery store and leave our private face at home where it belongs.  However, eventually, those sweatpants are just too damn comfy not to get trotted out to mow the lawn.  But that’s okay too: we’re in our own yard, they’re clean, and they still kinda fit in the crotch.  Besides, they cover up that extra 10 lbs that’s been hanging around all summer.  Oops!  This is where it gets problematical.

As we get older, we tend to spread in all directions.  Clothes just aren’t as friendly as they were back when we were slopetwenty.  And this is when our inner adult comes calling.  “Hey, buddy!  You’re a grown man.  You pay taxes.  You have a mortgage and a Mercedes.  You haven’t eaten liver or lima beans in 12 years!  If you want to wear socks with sandals, screw the hippie who says you can’t!”  And we listen.  But the socks with sandals (or your personal equivalent) are just the thin edge of the wedge.  Pretty soon, it’s only work, weddings and funerals that get a tie.  Family functions are all informal, and those sweatpants that kinda fit – question mark — have migrated from the back yard to the shopping mall.  It’s unavoidable.

The thing to remember, if you don’t want to end up dressing like Robin Williams in The Fisher King, is that your inner adult is a spoiled brat.  He thinks that whatever he says goes, and he pouts if he doesn’t get his own way.  You’re far better off to listen to your common-sense child, who’s very aware of what not to wear.  The parents explained it to him.

My point is that, as we get older, we all dress for comfort, not for speed, but you don’t get any points for running amok.  Therefore, it’s best to cool your jets or you’ll end up as the Flying Dutchman of the Internet, repinned and reposted as The Old Man in the Leopard-skin Leotard.