The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for August 2008

Sex And Blogging- My ‘R’ Rated Post Woohoo

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This is a recycled post from here, but it is still applicable

You know I really shouldn’t be surprised at the number of blog entries throughout this vast blogosphere that are about sex. There are literally thousands upon thousands in which people describe their conquests, fantasies, fears and illusions.

Now maybe I am becoming a cranky old man, I do aspire to be the neighborhood curmudgeon, but I have a couple of random questions/statements to make.

In my travels throughout cyberspace I have stumbled across a number of blogs in which the authors are not just talking about sex, but bragging about their skills. I find that kind of funny for a number of reasons.

  1. Back in the day when I was a wee lad you never heard women speak about sex, at least not in my neighborhood. It wasn’t until college that I heard women speak about what they really wanted and it was real eye opener for me.
  2. I laugh at the number of female bloggers who brag about their oral sex ability. The posts that I have seen always include a hearty promotion of their ability at giving it as if no one else was capable of being so skillful.
  3. Many of the men write about being such amazing lovers that they were literally beating the women off with sticks.

In short, I have rarely seen posts that strike me as being real life experiences in which people admit to having bad experiences where the sex was fair or terrible and or including their participation as being the reason it was bad.
Because the reality is that even though people are sexual beings there are all sorts of factors that go into good sex and what feels good to one person may not translate to another.
If we are going to share this kind of intimate detail about ourselves it might actually be more interesting and more fun to read about the bad experiences than the good ones.

Filed Under: Sex

Name A Song That Makes You Cry

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It is the return of Name a Song That Makes You Cry. One year later I am curious to see if you have new songs to add to the list. Here is what we came up with last year.

One more thing, I haven’t totally vetted the videos, I really just tried to make sure that the song was being played in it.

More to come:

Everybody Hurts by REM
Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt
Visions of Paradise– Mick Jagger
Shostakovich’s 5th Symphony
Stars and Stripes Forever
Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning-Alan Jackson
This One’s For You-Barry Manilow
The Partisan -Leonard Cohen
The Circle Game– Joni Mitchell
Skin– Rascal Flatts
Schindler’s List Theme-John Williams
Ordinary Miracles – Amy Sky
Dante’s Prayer-Loreena McKennitt
Same Old Lang Syne-Dan Fogelberg
Father of Mine– Everclear
Hatikva
Cool, Cool River -Paul Simon
Cat’s In The Cradle -Harry Chapin
My Little Town -Paul Simon
At Seventeen– Janice Ian
Roll Me Away-Bob Seger
Carmina Burana-Carl Orff
Heroes– David Bowie
Malibu– Hole
Say Yes– Elliott Smith
Whiskey Lullaby– Braid Paisley and Allison Kraus
The Living Years– Mike and The Mechanics
Brokedown Palace-The Grateful Dead
Where’ve You Been– Kathy Mattea
Alone again naturally – Gilbert O’Sullivan
The lady of Shalott -Loreena McKennitt
Mansions of the Lord– West Point Glee Club
Madame Butterfly “Tu, Tu, Piccolo Iddio!- Maria Callas
My Yiddishe Mama-Yosef Rosenblatt
Father of Girls– Perry Como
For Good- Wicked
Even Now– Barry Manilow
Vanishing– Mariah Carey
Lullaby-Billy Joel
When a Man Loves a Woman– Percy Sledge
Good Riddance (Time of your Life)– Green Day
Boulevard of Broken Dreams– Green Day
What hurts the most – Rascal Flatts
Love without End Amen– George Strait
Hold me now– Johnny Logan
We’ve got tonight– Bob Seger

Dad Did It Better

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This past weekend I went to a barbecue and hung out with a bunch of old friends. It was nice to catch up with everyone. We had a good time telling old stories for the 1,209,092 time and spent a lot of time laughing at the silly things we used to do.

For the most part we did a good job of avoiding the dreaded adult talk but in the end it came about. The conversation covered our jobs/businesses, investments, houses, insurance of all types, politics, The Olympics and a smattering of plain old sports. Not to mention the children, boy did we talk about the kids.

Midway through the afternoon one of the guys pulled me aside to ask me for some advice about his son. He is all of three and is quite the precocious child. I listened to my friend relate his concerns about whether his child was normal and how he had picked me because I have been married and a father much longer than he has.

I laughed when he said that. I am at 12.5 years of marriage and almost 8 years of playing dad. When I laughed he looked hurt and asked why I was laughing. I told him that I wasn’t laughing about his child, just kind of chuckling about a conversation we once had many years ago.

You see the last time he asked me for advice it was in reference to an old girlfriend. She wasn’t taking care of his “oral needs” and so he asked me for some help. One of these days I’ll have to blog about that, but today isn’t the day.

Anyhoo, in the midst of this discussion he asked “do you ever feel like your parents were better at this than you are?”

I smiled and said “everyday.”

Intellectually I know that my parents felt a tremendous amount of stress and pressure. I have heard stories and exchanged a few tales with my father about this. But, when I think about it I remember very few moments where I knew that they were worried about “major” things.

The image I have in my head is of parents who were rocks, you couldn’t shake ’em up. They handled whatever life threw at them, just chewed it up and spit it out.

It seems quite different from my own experience. It is not that I spend all day worrying about life, or concerned that I am a bad father. I don’t. I do alright, but compared to my parents I think that I fall short.

Now maybe that is just the star crossed eyes of their son speaking, but it is hard not to view them as being better at the parenting thing than I am.

Apparently this is more common than I thought because my friend smiled and told me that he had the same feelings.

We spent a few more minutes talking about it all and came to an agreement that successful parenting requires acting skills. How many times do you find yourself fighting to maintain a poker face or struggling to deliver the perfect line. Except in this business there are no Oscars.

There is no adoring public, papparazzi or personal assistant to help give you an inflated view of yourself. There is just your family, which really isn’t such a bad thing.

In the end you do the best you can not to screw up your kids too badly and hope that one day they’ll tell a friend that “dad did it better.”

I Dance Alone

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I dance alone in the dark, accompanied by the memories of what once was and the hope that it may be again.

Alone in the dark I walk in silence and sorrow. The cold night air serves notice that the flame that once warmed my heart has grown cold.

Anger, frustration, sorrow and disappointment are my companions. Not quite the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, but not the sort of friends one brings home to meet your parents.

I dance alone in the dark with reckless abandon and lose myself in the soundless beat of the dark. The night hides the tears that roll down my cheeks because I dare not face it during the daylight. Daylight is for wearing masks, night is for honesty.

The wind whispers sweet sounds of something that was and may yet still be. Alone in the dark I steel my soul for the coming battle and prepare the broken heart to receive the punishment that lays waiting for me.

Alone in the dark I try not to scream, but I am unsuccessful. The cries go unanswered. The silent prayer for help is repeated over and over, but to no avail.

Suddenly the ground gives way and I am sliding down a hill. Tumbling down I fight to stop my descent and scramble to find something to hold onto. The fall feels like it will never end, but finally it does.

Alone in the dark I lie battered, broken and bruised. The physical pain is substantial, but compared to the mental anguish it is insignificant.

I lie prone on the ground and consider the merits of trying to stand up versus waiting for a bear to come eat me. It is kind of a painful way to die, but death sounds rather attractive right now.

On the other hand I worry that some other animal will find me and I’ll be gnawed to death. That is a far more ignominious way to die than being killed by a bear, so maybe I will stand up.

Alone in the dark the dance begins again.

Reader Forum

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Ok readers, every so often I stop and ask if you have any requests/preferences for content here. This is your shot to try and direct/influence what happens here.

So have at it, what would you like to see more or less of? Inquiring minds want to know.