March 27th, 2008
It begins, of course, with a kiss, with the faintest press of my lips between her eyes, and then another, just below the line of her hair. My hand splays across the small of her back, and I hold her there, hold her closer, wanting the moment to last forever. She’s intoxicating, warm and comforting, and her scent fills my lungs, her soap and shampoo, her skin and her hair, a drug wound up tight around that primitive, pleasurable part of my brain.
The scent is called Jacqueline, and I have missed it for far too long.
March 23rd, 2008
Like most American boys, I had my first taste of alcohol while I was still in high school. My dad gave me a half-glass of wine with dinner. It wasn’t particularly good (I later learned that I just don’t like his taste in wine, but I get ahead of myself), so I shrugged it off and went back to my room. I looked at my bed for a moment, fell over into it, and woke up fourteen hours later.
So… yeah. I’m pretty sensitive to alcohol. I didn’t touch it again for another three and a half years.
Again, like many American boys, I had my second drink (and the first one I actually enjoyed) with my girlfriend. Her name was Jacqueline, my tiny little half-French girl. One way or another she had a little flask of her father’s cognac, some French white wine distilled into its purest essence and aged, longer than both of us put together, until the barrels stained it dark, rich amber. We were sitting in a park when she offered it to me, in one of those shady, private clearings, sealed away from the world, just the two of us watching the light dapple against our skin and clothes, talking about nothing in particular. It was stronger than wine by a long shot, and I felt it at the first swallow, felt myself relax, felt myself go mellow, placid and vulnerable, but it felt right in a way that my father’s wine did not. It was warm and spicy, smooth and sweetly addictive, a small, refined pleasure that slipped inside before I could notice, melting down my throat and coiling its vapors up into the root of my brain, leaving fingerprints across my soul.
Something – well, it didn’t quite click; it really just slid gently and effortlessly into place…
March 14th, 2008
Oklahoma State Legislator Sally Kern’s priorities may be just a little bit misaligned.
I could be wrong, of course. She could be right. 1000Gears encourages a very pronounced “love however you wish” sort of philosophy. That last category is unfortunately empty right now, but I’m working on it. It’s a difficult subject for me, as you may imagine. Mrs. Kern presumably comes from a less-libertine background and sees the world through a different lens.
From my side of the argument, given that Americans consume more resources per capita than just about anyone in the world, it might be good for the world if more of us elected to get our collective rocks off in non-reproductive ways. There are several good alternatives for straight-oriented people, too, if you’ll excuse my empty tag again (I have no good excuse for its absence).
From her side of the argument, she believes something about “God’s word” and a fear of indoctrination. I respect that, in my own way. Religion has a tremendous influence on the way we view the world; our interpretations of God’s word shape our priorities and it’s unreasonable to expect us to neglect that. If she feels that Leviticus 20:13 is God’s highest command to her, then I respect this as her personal decision, even if I disagree with the decision itself. For my part, I confess to a weakness for pork, rare steaks, and the occasional shellfish, so I lean more towards Matthew 25:40 myself.
Her opinion, though, remains her opinion, and I respect her right to share it. Personally, given our ham-handed foreign relations, ballooning national waistline, worsening fuel crisis, abysmal trade deficit, and impending credit collapse, it’s a little hard for me to see how a little more safe, sane, and consensual love-and-let-love could be bad for the country. I guess that’s just a matter of priorities.
March 5th, 2008
When I take long road trips, I bring a gas can with me.
Gas is expensive in big cities, but it’s even more expensive out in the middle of nowhere. A reasonably efficient car can take you a very long way on three or five gallons of gas, and it’s nice not to be held hostage to gas stations on the side of the road. So part of this habit is just good economics.
From time to time you find stranded drivers, out of gas on unfamiliar roads. I’ve coasted from station to station, raiding the dregs left in the hoses, and pulled into an all-night gas stations with the needle scraping bottom, so I know how it can feel. It’s a very uncomfortable, helpless kind of feeling. With a gas can, I can pull over and offer a little assistance. Even if I’m low myself, splitting the can will usually take someone to safety (unless he drives an H2 - then it’s his own fault). I never take money for the fuel, just a promise to buy a gas can and make the roads just a little bit safer, just a little bit friendlier.
Pay it forward.
