Just love this with me

Safe porn?

I got this video, enticingly titled Naughty Night Nurses. I hit play, and it seems promising. A luscious latino babe, a hot blonde, and the guy in the bed thankfully does not look like he just walked in from starring in an episode of House. A little girl-on-girl action ensues. Nice. And then suddenly the scene flips, without even an attempt at a segue, or even a Star Wars style fade. No, suddenly the dude is out of bed mounting a spirited attack from the rear on the blonde, who is bent over the bed administering to the needs of the brunette. Interesting choice by the director, but I guess nobody is watching it for the plot or character development.

The surprise having worn off, my brain finally processes the detail that has been clamoring for attention. The guy is wearing a rubber. WTF? I am 100% behind the idea of safe sex, but not in my pornography! I want risque thrills and erotic fantasy, not this… this homage to the mundane.

So I grew jaded and switched it off, but now my curiosity is piqued as I wonder about the climax (pun well and truly intended). How did they handle the money shot? Or did they just unfulfillingly cut straight into another scene? As hard as I try, I cannot boycott this travesty. I have to know…

Ocean Day

Today, Japan celebrates Ocean Day. Yes, you read that right. Ocean Day.

How do they go about this, I wonder? Free whale steaks?

Bastards.

Genesis 1.0

For the elucidation of those who may have begun reading this blog without knowing me (I am so altruistic, it is not at all an attempt to reconcile the past with myself) I have decided to tell the story of my son’s adoption. To protect the identity of the innocent, he will be referred to affectionately as Sprog.

It was the year 2000. We had been living in Boston about two years at that time, and I was just starting to discover that the dream job I thought I had really wasn’t. I was working in the technology sector, one of those lucky people who spent 8 years at the same desk but worked for 3 different companies in that time. The project I was originally hired to work on was innovative, creative, inventive – all the things I have come to the conclusion I need to be happy in my chosen career. But it was apparently not commercially viable (ie, it was innovative, creative and inventive, not a cheap piece of crap with just enough features that people would buy it in droves) so the project was being wound down and I was becoming vaguely disillusioned.

I was in the throes of deciding it was time to move on when I discovered that my girlfriend was pregnant. Moving on suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I was going to be a daddy, and that was going to take money and stability. Two years out of college, first real job, and a baby on the way. So, unhappy though I was with the state of my working life, I chose to stick with it.

I went to the prenatal appointments with her. We discussed names, we talked about trading in the car for one that would fit a baby seat – and then she dropped the bomb shell. My girlfriend wanted to place our baby for adoption.

Why? I was 28. She was 25. We were not too young to be parents. But she did not think we were “together” enough. She was still in college, and wanted to finish that and have a career of her own. We partied an awful lot, and partied hard. Were we willing to give up our hedonistic lifestyle in favor of being cooped up at home with no money, half an education, and a baby? The money we had been saving towards owning our own home would likely fizzle away in a pile of dirty diapers. Maybe she was right and we really were not ready.

We went to the 20 week ultrasound knowing that Sprog was not coming home with us. I saw the first pictures of my son, unconvinced though I was that they actually bore any resemblance to a human being. Blobs, black blobs. I joked hollowly with the ultrasound technician. I was numb, almost as if my entire consciousness had detached from my body. I have no memory of leaving the doctor’s office or driving home. It was all on autopilot. I was to have many days like that in my future.

I do remember that night. I emancipated a bottle of tequila and took it to the cemetary, and I drank it with some pills I had gotten from a friend some time before. And I told myself I was doing the right thing.

Every day

Every day
Is another step away from holding you
Every day
Is another step away from the love I knew

Every day
I think about the things that I’ve done wrong
Every day
I feel you slip away, it’s been so long

When I see your face, your golden smile, your eyes of blue
It takes my breath away and my soul is torn in two

Every day
Is another chance lost to make things right
Every day
The sun seems to shine a little less bright

My inner peace is disturbed by random thoughts of you
Disintegrating heart as my soul is torn in two

Take me now and crush me into dust
It’s all I deserve for betraying your trust
I’m on my knees and I submit
There is nothing here that is worth a shit

When the day dawns that you ask why
The answer is simply “I was high”.

BJG, July 16, 2006

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Orange grin!

Clean and serene for 30 days.

Huzzah!

Not entirely sure on serene, but I am willing to run with it.

How’s my plumage?

“I’m a white male, age 18 to 49. Everyone listens to me, no matter how dumb my suggestions are.”

- Homer Simpson

But not in the adoption world. It is an incredibly matriarchal society. As a birth father, I find myself enormously marginilized, and I was maybe a little pissed about it. Then I thought about it some more, and I realized that it is not wholly and solely the adoption world that is that way. The entire realm of procreation is at the whim of women, and adoption is just a branch of that tree. Fathers just seem to lurk at the edges of family building.

I wonder if this is a recent development. Is this a symptom of our society promoting a woman’s choice as paramount? Or is it a basic primal instinct, woman as the nurturer, man as the provider? Maybe that is why I am OK with women calling the shots when it comes to family building, but not when it comes to destruction of the family unit. I am OK with being called on to provide for my family. But Cave Man Brad does not like his ability to provide being called into question by his life mate calling on another man to take on those duties. Cave Man Brad’s fire might not burn as bright as the other man’s, but he still has a fire, and a rock and a stick.

What leads a man to agree to relinquishing his child against his cave man instincts, against his better judgement even? My, my, my Delilah. We are given a choice. Woman, or baby. The woman we love, or this unborn piece of intangibility. Well, duh.

And I still do not think I would do anything different, given the choice again.

PS I am not a misogynist.