Salsa Picante, Part Dos

More Latin leanings

Cancun w parents

Lockout timeshare right on beach, pounding surf...best trip we've managed to take together, I think my parents had a [calming/mitigating] effect although my wife gets nervous to see several aspects of their relationship

Marriage going as well as ever

Argument - M

Playa del Carmen - walked, not to be titilated, just because it was there (overcast, no dice - saved me)

Mambo cafe
Preps - forro
Shaved, etc.

One rubia/yanqui w friend (cross between girlfriend during mission, Flo Henderson, and former chief legal counsel at my work), was going to tell her latinos would be intimidated and since I couldn't dance the stuff, tough luck

Roses anonymously

Locked eyes with a few

Sat there in almost "quiet desperation" - unable to dance, wondering if I'd ever get back, wondering if at that point my hair will have thinned past the point of dismissal, wondering why the hell I was wondering all of this

Relieved when I got out of there

Glad to be home w kids

Great birthday card from my wife

Thanksgiving

Today in the kitchen, while I was mashing my signature potatoes and she was working on a fruit salad, but otherwise unrelated to the holiday at hand, my wife turned to me and said that she was thinking last night that she's probably happier now to be married to me than she's ever been. That I'm a "good man" with a "very good heart." That she would be "so sad" if something were to happen to me or if we weren't together, and "devastated beyond description" if the kids were for whatever reason not to have me as their dad.

Tonight, still under the influence of turkey, stuffing, pie and the aforementioned potatoes, I lay in bed next to #3 as he dozed off. At one point, he bonked me upside the head with his elbow while repositioning his teddy bear. I thought he was asleep, but he turned and whispered, "I sorry. Tat was accident."

A day for thanks.

Golden & Groucho

I heard this one today on an Improving Your Marriage audio book I'm listening to on my commute:

"There isn't one man in a thousand that knows how to treat a woman. And there isn't one woman in a thousand that knows when she's well treated." - J. Golden Kimball

And I found this one just now while Googling the exact JGK quote:

"Only one man in a thousand is a leader of men -- the other 999 follow women." - Groucho Marx

The First Time Ever

I was awakened predawn today by my wife, in effect forcing herself upon me. And what followed for the next hour or so was exquisite. To the best of my recollection, this has never happened, although I know I've wished for it thousands of times.

Thanks for indulging me on this momentous occasion, with the nod to Robert Flack...and everyone else who's subsequently taken on the demanding Ewan MacColl classic, some more tastefully and successfully than others.

Zagat Calls It

I was in New York this week on business. I wrote my wife the following after I arrived:

Saw a Zagat ad in the subway:

Call a great dinner what it really is. Foreplay.

Laughed, thought about the topic I brought up w [our friends] a year or two ago: Is it OK for an endowed (temple, not cup size) woman to replace garments with some form of lingerie as part of her tedious nuptial obligation? If yes, at what point can the build-up to the bedroom be considered foreplay? If that line is a gradual continuum (as opposed to "as soon as the bedroom door is locked, the curtains drawn, and the lights turned off"), then would it be utter heresy to suggest that it's OK for her to wear lingerie on the date itself, without forfeiting her calling & election?

In choosing to be on Manhattan, virtually any heterosexual man with a pulse who does not confine himself to the dark rat-infested, nethermost nooks of the subway for the duration of his stay, is knowingly subjecting himself to a barrage of beauties whose variety is perhaps unrivaled on this planet. The place is home to not only a mix of ethnicity unlike any other, but also a mix of those mixes. And for a man who likes a little brain with the blossom, New York is the place. Before an early morning meeting, I ate breakfast with my colleagues at a little Midtown deli, and the window -- analysits India

Ermelegdo Zegna hipass

Nevertheless and notwithstanding,

Ascensor @ Waldorff

On the flight home, for the first time in my life (if you don't count my wife) I sat next to a bona fide hottie. Sure beats a 350lb sweaty guy. Even beat the in-flight movie options, for that matter. When she sat down--yes, I was watching while she sat down--her sweater pulled up well above her waist, which was an unexpected "revelation," given how painted-on-tight her tights were...everywhere...if you catch my drift. She seemed to have caught onto this eventually and made what subtle adjustments and demure hand-placings she could, and I stealthed this shot to memorialize the arrangement.

Me vs. All The Joneses?!

Yesterday my wife learned from our agent that the sale of the house we were trying to buy closed with another party. (It's a long story involving a very messy short sale and some extremely questionable but evidently legally permissible behavior by the G-Sporting, house-adorned-with-all-the-de-rigueur-accoutrements-of-Mormonism sellers. That their teenage daughter had a baby last year and they filed bankruptcy earlier this year might have made me more sympathetic to their downturn of Lady Fortune's Wheel, had they not proven in the end to be such shysters, the slimy SOBs.) Last night she told me, in more or less these exact words, that she was "angry" at me a) for not earning more money, and b) for not having the courage to ask my boss for a raise. The ensuing discussion, as you might imagine (so I'll spare you the play-by-play), was delightful and thoroughly productive.

This morning, when she continued it as I was getting ready to head out the door, she cited as Exhibit M the fact that I, too, have felt and expressed to her occasional discouragement that I'm the most highly educated (by a wide margin), second-longest tenured, and lowest paid person at my level of the organization. I said, "That's right. But you looking at your profile in the mirror and saying, 'Dang, when is this baby belly finally going to disappear?' and me grabbing a hunk of your gut between my thumb and index finger and asking, 'How long you gonna tote this around, Jabba?' are two radically different approaches to the same topic, don't you think?" She looked at me, perturbed, and responded, "What on earth does that have to do with anything?!"

Oy.

So today from work, I tried a different tact with the following e-mail:

It's hard for me not to take personally (and/or wonder whether the "problem" is really mine) claims about my shortcomings as a provider, when in my mind, I'm thinking "Compared to the general population of this country --THIS country, not Nepal or Bangladesh or Ghana or Ecuador-- we have a very high standard of living, we have a lot of our 'wants,' our family's never gone cold or hungry (thanks of course to two months of Bishop's Storehouse Bounties 10 years ago [i.e., when, in the wake of the dot-com meltdown, the gap between my previous and current jobs dragged on a little long, and my business partner and I were busy naively getting screwed while doing some startup consulting for a con]) or without access to good medical care, and [my wife] has never been forced to work outside of the home in order for us to make ends meet -- a luxury, really, that is becoming increasingly rare."

If this is a hard concept for you to get your arms round, or you think that it's extreme or unreasonable, consider, for example, how hard it is for you not to take personally (and/or wonder whether the "problem" is really yours) my occasional expressions of frustration regarding lack of variety/interest/exploration of different possibilities, etc. in our physical relationship. Because in your mind, you're thinking, "Hold on -- By most standards, I'm an attractive woman, I'm not frigid, and this guy has never gone for very long without sex of some kind with me. Maybe he doesn't 'get' everything he wants, but he's getting enough."

Does that make sense? I'm not asking whether you agree with the comparison -- just whether it makes any sense at all, as a starting point. If it doesn't make any sense, I'm not sure how to approach this.

That was 14 hours ago. No response yet, and she was asleep when I got home tonight. (I'd been off magnifying with Ginger and friends.) We've been sleeping in separate rooms for a week or so -- started because I've been sick, but I think we're growing accustomed to it. Today, my boss told me how much, after 30 years of marriage, he loves now more than ever to get home to his wife and give her a big hug, that she is a living angel to him, and that he can't fathom being without her. I can't fathom how that must feel.

Windy City

I've noted in a previous post how thoughts tend to wander more frequently and unfaithfully than usual when I travel for work, and that this tendency evidently isn't unique to me. This tends to be the norm, not the exception, and the extent of the wandering is usually influenced by the state of affairs back home when I left on the trip.

I spent a few days in Chicago this week. Not all the dust had settled on some money disagreements we'd had the week before, but I'd noted that it was perhaps the first time (at least in a long time) that we'd scuffled over a major point and divorce hadn't automatically appeared on my menu of possible resolutions. So I'd felt encouraged that we were in pretty good shape. But on the eve of my departure, in response to my wife's question as to why I was a little grumpy with her, I made the mistake of replying honestly:

Me: It has nothing to do with the parking ticket you got yesterday. (A $75 citation for having parked in a handicap spot, her defense being, "But I was only there for 10 or 15 minutes!") I'm a little annoyed by this article, and a little annoyed at myself because I've let it annoy me.

I then handed her the magazine in which the article appeared. Here's an excerpt:

Americans have undergone a second sexual revolution over the past two decades, embracing a much wider variety of activities in the bedroom, a new survey has found. The National Survey of Sexual Health and Behavior, conducted by researchers at Indiana University, interviewed nearly 6,000 people. The responses revealed that, while vaginal intercourse is still the main event, “the sexual repertoire of Americans has sort of expanded,” Michael Reece, lead author and the director of Indiana University’s Center for Sexual Health Promotion, tells the Los Angeles Times. Acts that society once frowned on, such as oral sex and masturbation, are now practiced by large majorities. Indeed, close to 90 percent of men and women under 30 report having given and received oral sex. “It’s nice to have this validation of just how much the sexual repertoire is changing," said Reece. “Many people struggle with the conceptualization of what a normal sex life looks like."

Unfortunately, the article also discussed rates of non-heterosexual experimentation among men and women as well as other activities that go beyond the "basics" described above, which became the initial focus of her response and served to obscure the big-picture.

Her: (disbelievingly, more irritated than disgusted) So what, am I supposed to be heterosexual?

Me: Heterosexual?

Her: I mean homosexual.

Me: That's not really the point of the study or what I'm talking about. I'm talking about our physical relationship being really...really...

Her: Boring?

Me: I don't want to say 'boring' so much as...vanilla-y. With the exception of our little tryst in the car up the canyon this summer, which came out of nowhere [she initiated it] and ended up being really remarkable, it's all slight variations on the exact same theme, and with the exception of an occasional encounter in the shower, it's

Her: I like it to happen in a place where I feel comfortable and closed off from the rest, where it won't get messy. I don't want to do it on the kitchen table [we never have] or in a plane [we never have] or on the roof [we never have] or under a tree in a park [once, early in our marriage] or in an old cathedral in Italy [once, early in our marriage -- long story, but important to note that it was a medieval building that had previously served as a church, but had long-since been decanonized or whatever that undoing-of-holiness process is called]. Especially when we have kids in the house and rarely get away together.

Me: I'm not talking just about locations. I'm talking about variety and interest in general.

Her: Because you've got weird ideas about sex.

Me: I'm probably not the best one to judge whether they're weird, but I can assure you that the vast majority of men, including men whom you know and admire, would say that they'd like more variety in their sex lives with their wives, not less.

And so on.

This is perhaps the best opportunity to advise new L.D.S. husbands: I know that many of you arrive at the honeymoon suite with two to three decades of pent-up sexual curiosity percolating in your loins. DO NOT attempt to indulge it too aggressively, creatively and/or quickly with your bride, or you will forever be discredited and future attempts at forays in those general vicinities will stir up deeply-seated memories in her of having felt during those early days/months/years like a blow-up doll in your shop of iniquity.

Anyway, this was my send-off to Chicago. After a long day meeting with bankers and lawyers, my boss and I checked into our hotel. When I travel for business, I stay in places I generally couldn't afford (or at least wouldn't choose to stay in, for the price) if on personal travel...although a few more such getaways might help to address some of the issues here -- but is that in effect bribing sex from my wife? At any rate, they're always very nice places and never lacking in the finer finishing touches, but this place was particularly luxurious, with a huge, marble-lined bathtub under a wall-length mirror, crisp, high-threadcount sheets, a great view of the city at night, etc., all of which makes me, because I'm an unholy man, think about having sex -- sometimes with my wife, sometimes with the attractive woman I saw at the convention or the cafe around the corner or on the lobby. On this occasion, it was the woman who had ridden up in the elevator with us and gotten off on our same floor. As my boss headed to his room, I had lingered at the intersection of the halls and watched until she went around the last corner. My thoughts flowed along these lines: That last hallway spur just has four rooms in it -- what if I were to knock doors? Is occupancy low enough that she may be the only one in a room down there? What would I say? What would she think of my suit? Should I smile more? Is she away from home and inclined toward some play (let's call it a NCO or non-committal orgasm, in the spirit of trusty ol' NicMO) like that woman in the George Clooney movie? Is there some law against that type of solicitation? Would it create a ruckus and my boss find out? Would that be the final collapse? Is it worth it? Would I use my real name? Would I hide my wallet? What if she accepted and came to my room? Would I dim the lights or would we want to see everything? Is she disease-free? How would I ask that anyway? If she asks the same of me, and as proof I tell her I've only had intercourse with my wife, would that guilt her into changing her mind, or would it arouse her further? Would we wear a condom? Do they have those at the concierge? Would we bathe together afterward? Would she stay for an hour or all night? Would she know what my garments are as we took them off? Would I shake and cry or perform? At what point would I tell my wife?

But I just fell asleep in the big throne of a tub watching Portland beat the Clippers on opening night.

My first night in town, I stayed with my eldest sister. I was struck by what a tough life that is, to be raising those kids on her own, and wondered: Under what circumstances I'd want to condemn/doom my children to that? How bad would it have to get?

Quarterback Sneak

Last night, my wife told me that my eldest sister called, saying that she was really struggling emotionally in the wake of the end of a relatively long relationship/affair, has a week off, and wants to come back to Utah for a few days to be close to home and take a break. Then she said that she usually doesn't "cut it this close," but just made a major purchase for her younger daughter, and asked whether we would make her a loan, including her airfare for this proposed visit. I told my wife no, I don't want to do that, I don't like the context (some color below), and I don't want to form a pattern.

We now pause for...

A little background on my sister: Her income --"her" income, she's divorced-- puts her in the top 12-15% of U.S. households. (I only know her income because I helped her to obtain a loan for something several years ago, and she's long-tenured union, so the likelihood of that income having dropped significantly in the interim is low. But in light of the recession, let's say she's at least in the top 20%.) But her profession puts her in circles where she socializes above her tax bracket, which creates certain expenditure pressures: living in the right neighborhood, wearing the right clothes, collecting the right art/antiques, traveling to the right places, etc. And the fact that her husband is a miserable deadbeat (they have 4 kids) doesn't help. She has always been kind to me, and generous in many ways. No major financial bequests, but some CDs here, a coat there, a box of Belgian truffles, bags of her used dress shoes for my daughter's dress-up games, letting me spend a night in her upscale business hotel room when our paths have crossed abroad on a couple of occasions, etc.

>link to Scott

> link to Leonidas

>http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Income-curve-$10k.png

A little background on some recent financial points relating to my sister: Earlier this year, she was in town, found herself "in a jam," and borrowed well into four figures for us for some type of medical procedure. I don't know exactly what it was, but I'm pretty sure it was cosmetic of some kind. It took her three or four times the agreed-upon time to repay us -- reason had something to do with it being the IRS having messed up with her tax return. That was the first time she's asked for or received financial support from us. Early last month, I called her to wish her a happy birthday, but got her voicemail, later to learn that she was on Sicily on a solo birthday trip she'd given herself. No problem, none of my business. Two weeks ago, I learned that her daughter and son-in-law had flown back to her home for visit. As the two are struggling undergrads at a local university, with one waitressing job between them, I assume that they didn't pay for the flight. No problem, none of my business. "Ring ring, hi, can I have a plane ticket and loan?" Problem, now it's my business.

...and back to our regularly-scheduled program.

My wife thought I was being selfish and immature last night. I asked her whether she was motivated by guilt at having taken a several-thousand-dollar commission from the bank several years ago while, as a mortgage broker, helping my sister to refinance her house, a commission that she used to enroll in a financial management/investment strategy course in an effort to curry favor with its get-rich-quick instructor. Our discussion went nowhere, topped off with my wife saying, "Besides, I feel a surprising empathy for her situation. We have many parallel struggles, like her financ...never mind, you never do well on subjects like these." "No, this is interesting. Please try me." "No. Forget it." I don't know the entire extent of that list of perceived parallel struggles, but I can virtually guarantee that it its Top 5 includes deep disappointment in a husband who has failed to meet nearly every expectation, a panicked sense of perpetual financial limitations, and unforeseen and formidable difficulty in being a mother. We went to bed seperately and angrily.

By late morning today, I'd softened my position a bit and e-mailed my sister that I my wife had passed along the message but not all the details, and that I wanted to know what exactly my sister had in mind (i.e., amount, timeframe, etc.). I sent this to open the dialogue, to hear what she had to say, and to talk frankly through my reservations (enumerated above, plus a correction of her possible misperception that we're flush with cash), open to the idea of giving her the loan, depending where the conversation led and what my gut said at the end of it. I never heard from her.

Then tonight on the way home from work, I called my wife to give her my ETA, and asked if, in preparation for a trip to the Caribbean we have coming up soon, she'd like --once the kids were in bed-- to go to a salsa lesson or go read some travel books at Barnes & Noble. She said she had other plans with the kids and her parents, who are in town for an extended visit. No biggie. Then, in an effort to offer an olive branch of sorts, I told her that I'd emailed my sister, what my intentions were behind the email, and that I was awaiting her response. She said it was now moot, because my sister had called her this morning after I left for work, my wife had purchased her the plane ticket and agreed to a loan.

I got home as my wife, her parents, and our two eldest children were heading out to their event. I told my wife she had to talk. She said that I "totally mismanaged the situation last night," and that my brother-in-law would have said, "I'm sorry she put you in that awkward situation, honey. Let me handle it." To which I responded, "That's why he's a senior executive in a Fortune 500 company, and I'm [derogatory description of my profession]!" She said there was nothing to discuss. I said there was. She tried to leave. I stood in front of the door and said, "We're not going to resolve this now, but I need you to please put everything else aside for a moment and focus on one sequence of events: The conversation last night in which I said I didn't want to make this loan to my sister, and the decision you made this morning without even trying to contact me." She said that she wasn't "completely subject" to my "hang-ups about money" and that I was being "incredibly immature," laughed, turned away, and left the house through a side door.


>>Link to RJB

I'm upset at three people:
1) My sister, for having asked, and for having asked my wife instead of me, when she knows perfectly well how to contact me.
2) Myself, for lacking unconditional charity.
3) My wife, for having (I'm going to use a word that sounds painfully, gaspingly, eyerollingly patriarchal) defied so blatantly on this.

And I'm concentrating (some might say "projecting") the anger on my wife right now to such a degree that something between canceling the credit cards / putting everything in my name / direct depositing my paycheck to a private account, and divorce, is the only range of options I'm able to see at this moment. This is compounded by the fact that she told me just this weekend that the $100 agreement we made a couple of years ago (i.e., that we would discuss and reach an agreement before making any out-of-the-ordinary purchases over $100) was an obsolete joke, and she didn't plan to "participate in it" anymore. Which is odd, because the only time in the last six months that it's even arisen was when she told me she was purchasing a new chair that she'd had her eye on for a while, "$350 on sale from $1,800," to which I responded simply, "Sounds nice, I'm sure it'll look great in the house." So why she's feeling strangled by the tyrannical $100 scheme is a mystery to me.

That said, the looming financial backdrop to all of this is that we were outbid (a longer story than that, but "outbid" is the easiest explanation) by $75,000 on a house we wanted, and so I know she's feeling tethered by my income. (Which, incidentally, is in the top 12% in the nation.)

Bienvenidos a Miami

A short while after the Sun afternoon session, got on a redeye

Never been
Commitment re. no "Titty bar" (quote text to BH)
Colleague's (AP on mission, approaching 10 yrs in 2nd marraige after rough divorce cheating spouse, now inactive but not antagonistic) report of south beach from day before my arrival
Told him, soft spot in heart for Latinas - don't know whether it's because I came to love
Clevelanders - Sol, probably 8-10 years my junior - reminiscing>modesty, colleague: "Mom was going to spank her for dressing naughty"
Lincoln Road - Astoria Couture - Ukraine
Morning of our departure, took a walk from Lincoln to South, because concierge had told him that's where they congregate
Fortunately, 62 degrees, overcast, and gale-force winds.
What was purpose -- to pretend to not see them, or point out to each other in feigned disbelief, disgust?
Came home angry at my wife. Sad because we'd been doing really well in the month or two leading up to conference. Still doing OK but I'm generally agitated, impatient, aging.

"A cruise missle was cut out without hands..."

"...and no unhallowed imam can stop the work from progressing."

Today in Sac Mtg learned that the invasion of Iraq was a divinely-ordained effort to lay the foundation for the spreading of the gospel in mideast (isn't that what King X said as well?)

Reminded me of one of my favorite conference moments ever: Hinckley closed the April, 2003 conference by carefully and diplomatically articulating the Church's (supposed) position of political neutrality. The address provided a variety of important bullets for Church PR, among them:

And perhaps it helped to remind U.S. --and especially Wasatch Front-- Mormons that "We, The Saints" no longer means we who are white, middle-and-above-class Republicans whose zip codes begin with 84. And then when the MoTab Choir began the closing number, I laughed so hard I nearly fell from the couch. My wife didn't get it; maybe you will:
Watching over Israel

Speaking of conference:

Uchtdorf, Holland

No camera, denied oppty, plenty of leg, no lack among the granddaughters of GAs filing out in front

Cars in parking lot (what would jesus drive?)

Pop-psych remedy?

Yesterday evening after work, while awaiting a cut on the couch of my stylist's (if they're women, we can't call them 'barbers' anymore -- hairdresser's?) salon, I was thumbing through a Women's Health article on infidelity, and one of the inserts suggested that a way to combat the urge is to acknowledge that you're going to be attracted to other people and willingly allow yourself to be attracted to other people, so that when it happens, the taboo exciters don't start firing off, thereby compounding the desire all the more.

Hmmmm.... Sounds like a Natural Man excuse to me. I fund perpetual guilt much more productive!

The B-Word

Today being The Fifth Sunday, RS & Priesthood were combined for the third hour. The topic was budgeting, and at the core of the message was not the tired issue of wants and needs, but the principle of distinguishing between what we want NOW and what we REALLY want. Near the beginning, the speaker --a woman for whom my wife has a great deal of respect but whose life/lifestyle she's not terribly interested in emulating-- said, "I spoke about budgeting several months ago with a woman who recoiled in horror at the thought, exclaiming, 'A budget is like handcuffs. It keeps me from doing and getting what I want.'" A few minutes later, my wife said, "I don't like this very much." A few minutes after that, she left.

To be fair, she said she had to go relieve her sister who was at home with our baby. And I believe that this was a big reason for her departure.

Too bad she missed my comment in response to the speaker's invitation that we all think of what would need to be eliminated from our lives, under severe financial distress, for our family to subsist:

"Maybe the right approach isn't through subtraction, but through addition, starting with literally no material possessions. I suggest this, because as I started into the mental exercise, I soon realized that all of my 'subsistence' images --eating rice, putting on worn-out clothes from D.I., taking cold showers-- were all taking place inside of our current home. And even once I'd managed to picture us in a tent in the backyard, even the most blighted circumstances that I was able to conjure up still had us enjoying a standard of living surpassing that of probably 95% of the people who have ever lived on Earth. It would be hard to overemphasize the effects success and entitlement have had on our society, for which the 'goal posts' are forever bounding ahead, endlessly turning yesterday's wants into today's needs. As an interesting anecdote, I share what a member of our ward, a bankruptcy attorney, whose wife is here today, reported to me recently: During the process of declaring bankruptcy, a couple was vehemently defending its 'need' to keep its satellite TV subscription, which cost over $100 per month. Their case lay in their claim that it actually saved them money: 'If we didn't have satellite, think of how much we'd be spending on movies!' they protested. This may seem ridiculous, but we all have our own version of this couple's 'need' for satellite TV. So what, again, is subsistence? If our definition of subsistence is the definition of unfathomable luxury to literally billions of people, we may need to keep tinkering with that definition."

Fortunately for everyone, the meeting ended before I could actually make the comment.

Blessing Number 4

T-Rec interview, blessing,
BH on Fri: Pioneer trek ("manufactured moments"), 1 foot in door 1 out

On the Road, afterword

Tonight I magnified my calling as enthusiastically -- as joyously as I think I ever have. And yet I was continually distracted by Ginger Grant. Damn.

A parting thought from Jack Kerouac, who understands senseless and relentless Sehnsucht:

The prettiest, shyest one hid far back in the field to watch and she had good reasons because she was absolutely and finally the most beautiful girl Neal and I ever saw in all our lives. She was about sixteen, and had a plains complexion like wild roses, and the bluest eyes, and most lovely hair, and the modesty and quickness of a wild antelope. Every look from us and she flinched. She stood there with the immense winds that blew clear down from Saskatchewan knocking her hair about her lovely head like shrouds, living curls of them. She blushed and blushed. We finished our business with the farmer, took one look at the prairie angel, and drove off, slower now, till dark came and Dean said Ed Wall's ranch was dead ahead. "Oh, a girl like that scares me," I said. "I'd give up everything and throw myself on her mercy and if she didn't want me I'd just as simply go and throw myself off the edge of the world."

On The Road Again

[misc]

This evening considered my wife sexually for the first time in a long time, which is good.

On The Road

I'm making another attempt at using books on tape to make my commute more worthwhile. I've listened to foreign language tapes, and the last book I listened to was The Book of Mormon, in late 2005 when then-President Hinckley asked Church members to read it before the end of the year. For some reason, it seemed substantially less believable as the spoken--as opposed to written--word.

Anyway, since most of the books on my "To Read" list are contemporary nonfiction, of which the local library doesn't have an abundance, I perused the fiction section and picked out the first thing that caught my eye, which was On The Road. I've never read any Kerouac, so I was curious, and have enjoyed it thus far.

In the face of centuries (millennia, rather) of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I somehow maintain this notion that recreational sex didn't really start until the '60s or so. For example, when I read that Alfred Hitchcock ironically called my pristine glamour goddess Grace Kelly "The Ice Queen" because "she slept with almost everybody while filming Dial M for Murder," or that her High Noon co-star Gary Cooper said, "She looked like she was a cold dish with a man until you got her pants down, then she’d explode,” it still strikes me as incongruous with the pre-hippie era. So to observe the relentless emphasis that the men of On The Road place on casually and serially "making" girls, is still an odd revelation. Almost like I'm being let in on some dirty little secret about Father Knows Best. And I was washed in a wave of nostalgia when the plot's itinerary turned to Central City, Colorado, an old mining town in the mountains above Denver, where I spent an adventurous and invigorating summer. A summer, yes, that involved several women. Not all of them physically. But a summer I'll remember, and probably wistfully, for a long, long time.

But of all of the book's attractions and encounters, this one has resonated most profoundly:

I had bought my ticket and was waiting for the L.A. bus when all of a sudden I saw the cutest little Mexican girl in slacks come cutting across my sight. She was in one of the buses that had just pulled in. Her breasts stuck out straight and true; her little flanks looked delicious; her hair was long and black; and her eyes were great big blue things with a soul in it. I wished I was on the same bus with her. A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world of ours. The announcer called the L.A. bus. I picked up my bag and got on it; and who should be sitting alone in it, but the Mexican girl. I sat right opposite her and began scheming right off. I was so lonely, so sad, so tired, so quivering, so broken, so beat---all of it had been too much for me---that I got up my courage, the courage necessary to approach a strange girl, and acted. Even then I spent five minutes beating my things in the dark as the bus rolled. "You gotta, you gotta or you'll die! Damn fool talk to her! What's wrong with you? Aren't you tired of yourself by now?"

I know, and have lived, almost verbatim, every conflicted impulse he's describing. I recognize that it is not, despite what Kerouac's autobiographic protagonist calls it, "love." But rather, it's the lust-informed twitterpation of hope, of possibility, of knowing the unknown...and I, well, love it. Or at least feel vivified by it like I do by almost nothing else. Will I ever feel it again for my wife? Will I ever feel it again, period?

Speaking of autobiographies, during lunch today I was perusing the posthumous biography of prominent Utahan Larry H. Miller, among whose favorite quotes, attributed to Ezra Benson, was, “When obedience ceases to be an irritant and becomes our quest, in that moment God will endow us with power.” To hear obedience described as an "irritant" came almost as a relief: So I'm not the only one who's thought that! And the idea of an endowment of divine power couldn't seem more distant and foreign.

Speaking of quotes, on the drive home this evening, I heard on the radio someone quoted as saying something to the effect of, "The world will only be righted when men fall at women's feet and beg forgiveness."

PPI in the Sky

This morning, my boss walked into my office, said, "Maybe you've seen this before," and dropped on my desk a sheet of paper bearing the following statement, allegedly made in June 1965 by David O. McKay to a group of employees of the Church's Physical Facilities Department, then walked out:

"Let me assure you, Brethren, that some day you will have a personal priesthood interview with the Savior himself. If you are interested, I will tell you the order in which he will ask you to account for your earthly responsibilities.

"First, he will request an accountability report about your relationship with your wife. Have you actively been engaged in making her happy and ensuring that her needs have been met as an individual?

"Second, he will want an accountability report about each of your children individually. He will not attempt to have this for simply a family stewardship but will request information about your relationship to each and every child.

"Third, he will want to know what you personally have done with the talents you were given in the preexistence.

"Fourth, he will want a summary of your activity in your Church assignments. He will not be necessarily interested in what assignments you have had, for in his eyes the home teacher and a mission president are probably equals, but he will request a summary of how you have been of service to your fellow man in your Church assignments.

"Fifth, he will have no interest in how you earned your living but if you were honest in all your dealings.

"Sixth, he will ask for an accountability on what you have done to contribute in a positive manner to your community, state, country, and the world."

Cafe Rio

My father-in-law arrived in town this evening. My wife met us with all the kids at a home we're interested in, after which we went to Cafe Rio. While I was working my way through a steak salad, I caught in my peripheral vision something that I was sure wasn't really happening. So I turned my focus that way, and the entire women's volleyball team from one of the local colleges had queued up behind our table. One of them was a singular beauty among beauties, and as I watched her work her way through the line then sit and eat with her friends, my mind played through the logistics of asking her to name her price for one hour alone together: Is she LDS? Does that matter? Would she take me seriously? Could I proposition her on a note with an alias e-mail address, and how easily could the police hack out my identity if she went to them? Would I end up in the Johns section of the paper? Would I care? Would she turn and walk over to my wife and report my solicitation? Would I care? Would I show up for a rendezvous only to get thumped by her linebacker boyfriend and his buddies? Ah, too much hassle.

Tonight in the paper I read about a website (previously unknown to me) that had been refused naming rights on the NY Jets' stadium: AshleyMadison.com, whose tagline is, "Life is short. Have an affair." I wonder what my catchy nom de screen would be.

Very Distracting Banner Ads, Vol. I

Given the resurgence of nuptial gloom, combined with my slip off the wagon a bit this weekend, I figure I'll touch the unclean thing by posting these Very Distracting Banner Ads I've collected over the past while. Special thanks to the marketing crew at ideeli, for creating the campaign in the first place and then relentlessly mis-targeting (or not!) my email account with it. And that Brooks Brothers ad was on Bloomberg -- as if Wall Street needs more distractions these days...

Sniped

Wesley Snipes
Sean Connery

Blessing Max in a few wks

Run over

Yesterday - thanks for providing

Last night - I guess I expect too much; I know where you're coming from

This morning - #3's Razor scooter

Two dreams

Last night, I dreamt that I was sitting at the table in my parents' kitchen, sitting in the same spot in which I sat during the first date with my wife --during which I cooked coconut lime chicken for her-- observing a conversation between my wife and a man five or ten years our senior and who reminded me of a slightly heftier Ed Begley Jr. during his glory years, who I understood to be a physician of some sort. I couldn't tell whether they knew that I was there, but from their conversation, it seemed like they didn't. Or if they did, they didn't care. Or at least she didn't care.

It quickly became very clear that he was very interested in her, and that she was not offering much verbal resistance. So I said, or thought so intensely that it might have been audible, "Just f*** her. Go ahead and f*** her. She'll like it. She'll feel guilty, maybe, briefly, like she's let some vague someone somewhere down for some reason, but after the dust settles and the mess is mopped, she'll like it and it'll do her some good. Just f*** her now. On the floor, on the table, wherever. You both want it, so just do it."

And that was it.

I know to which conscious thoughts I can attribute much of this dream, but the matter of whether I'd actually like my wife (for whatever reason: fascination? justification? liberation?) to have a tryst of some kind is an interesting one. Ironically, of the two of us, she's the one who's come closest --emotionally and physically...I only have the edge mentally-- to having an actual affair. Not sure whether I've written about that one yet. A subject for another day, perhaps.

The night before last, I had another dream that disturbed me. But enough dream details for one post.

Time to revisit the "Separate Vacations" idea

SkyMiles and hotel vouchers and available vacation and strong dollar - when would we have this oppty again? I wanted to make the most of it, a Whitman's Sampler box of europe for the kids, plant some seeds, pique some interest. So it was a brisk pace. Complicated, whirlwind itinerary that I planned pricisely (had asked for input), came off with very few glitches, except for those caused by generally starting our days after 10AM. No, didn't go to EuroDisney or Asterix Land, but we only went to a handful of churches of any consequence (didn't even go to Notre Dame, despite obvious Hunchback allure) and only one art museum...the Alte Pinakotek in Munich (Abraham and Isaac).

This time, unlike prvs times, wasn't about money (i.e., invariably her wanting to spend more than I did), but was about the pace and the content.

She didn't have to come, had worked it out for her to stay behind in fact, at her election, then she got sad imagining us over there and her here nursing

Uncurious. Bus, morning of Rome: Rome doesn't interest me

Held hands 4 times. I don't remember going more than three consecutive waking hours without some element of tension. #2 (age 6) at one point observed, "You and mom don't seem to be getting along." Even argued about in-flight headphones as we began final descent into SLC. Very hard for her to imagine turned-tables scenarios -- if I were addressing her the way she addresses me.

Lots of sun dresses - winced every time one went by because I knew she knew. By second week, I was having quickie thoughts again (link Tree Room).

Munich - Sunday afternoon - kitchen, only place I feel safe

German in-flight movie about growing old. I don't want to grow old; definitely not with her.

For first time, horrifically calming thought that the best outcome would be to ensure that the kids wind up not in my hands or hers, but in someone else's, namely sis and bro in law.

Radio west in car: author of The Male Brain - "Men have a constant backdrop of mating selection going on. Like the wall of screens behind the new anchor. The focus may be on something else, but it's always there. Doesn't mean they're going to drop everything and go chase each fertile, hourglass figure that walks by - although that can happen of course - it just means that they're being men. We should rejoice in their men-ness..."

http://www.publicbroadcasting.net/kuer/news.newsmain/article/0/184/1666400/RadioWest/62310.The.Male.Brain
http://www.amazon.com/Male-Brain-Louann-Brizendine-M-D/dp/0767927532

Reprieve

I was very close this month to resigning from my calling. It's a very cool calling that I, perhaps, haven't fully appreciated. When my wife and I told the kids at FHE a couple of weeks ago that the plan was for me to resign, our daughter began to weep openly, and then I with her, and we continued more or less to console each other until after I'd tucked her into bed.

As I'd approached what seemed to be an foregone decision, I began to feel as if I'd squandered the opportunity to grow through the calling, to open myself up to whatever might be sent my way, whether truth, light, joy, assurance, or what-not, because I was so often casual about the calling at best, and, too often, allowed myself to be lustfully distracted while I was --supposedly-- actively "serving." There was something soberingly familiar in today's Gospel Doctrine lesson from 1 Samuel, which tells of Eli's sons who, while serving as priests, "lay with the women that assembled at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation." While I certainly haven't lain with any of these women --at least not in real life-- it's not for lack of contemplation on my part.

Then, through some quick and supportive action from the extended family (details aren't necessary), we decided that I wouldn't quit, at least not for now. With this decision, a leaden weight has been pulled out of my gut, and I've sensed an almost immediate change in my attitude --maybe even resolve?-- with respect to the calling. I'm hopeful. We'll see.

Also, the following are excerpts from a note I found on the counter after arriving home late at night one evening:

We all miss you when you have these long nights, especially [#2]... You are a hard worker for us. I try to reinforce this frequently and from different angles with the children. We love you and are grateful to you. I recognize you have a lot on your shoulders right now. Let me know how I can help and I'll do my best. I love you. Thanks for rising to so many occasions.

New Daddy

This afternoon [wife tearfully venting frustration over home, quagmire of life, etc.] with two of the kids in the room.

Afterwards, #2 (six years old) said quietly, while looking away and toward the door after she'd walked out, said "I think mommy..." Pause. "I think..." Pause.

Took him in my lap, told him he could say anything he wanted, whatever he was feeling, and I wouldn't get angry and it'd be OK, finally coaxed out of him: "I think mommy wants a new daddy. I think she wants a new family."

Pillow talk

Last night was the first time in several weeks that I'd been on our bed with my wife, at the same time.

Not all ski days are great ski days

Bra tree - life immitating art; didn't even care that my wife saw it on cam with our shots when I got home.

Jet + Silicon = lewd

Mirage of Guapo, softening silhouette to a smile - dream sequence-ish; I imagine that's the image that will flash through my head as I die

Blockage and the Scarlet Letter

Orchestra - girls, sitting

Reminded of keychain @ regional conference, latina, red letter A on keychain

And I Ran, I Ran So Far Away

Tonight at Barnes & Noble, after picking up some C.S. Lewis for a friend but then stopping to thumb through some piece of random garbage with an alluring cover at the sale rack near the register, I found myself migrating toward the magazine racks, to check out Maxim and its PG-13 peers. Before picking one up, Jeff Holland's recent "Run!" admonition flashed through my head and I hightailed it out of there.

At home, I stumbled across and was sobered by an old quote from Boyd Packer: "They have therefore missed doing what they might have done, and they have missed being what they might have become."

Two Roads Diverged in a Mood

On the way home from work last night, I was elevated by the beauty of spectacular clouds, a radiant sunset, and fresh April snow along the fronts of the mountains.

I arrived here wanting to have a burst of high-energy fun with the kids. I thought that a quick bike ride would be just the thing. My wife wisely said we shouldn't because it would end the kids up in bed way too late on a school night. I insisted that it wouldn't. She shook her head in ominious resignation. I called for the two eldest kids (henceforth, I'll refer to the kids by number, so #1 and #2 in this case) and we headed out the door.

As we pulled the bikes out, my daughter suggested that we play basketball instead, which we could start immediately rather than biking to our destination before the "official fun" would begin. #2 wanted to bike. I made a deal with them that if they promised to brush their teeth and get their PJs on with lightning speed, we'd do both.

Long story short, the night ended with me (angry at them, yes, but angrier at myself for naively disregarding my wife's hard-earned maternal wisdom) yelling at both of them after they took 40 minutes from the time we go to get into bed, and my daughter crying herself to sleep.

I fell asleep not caring that I'd yelled at my kids, tired of all of them, and wondering which would have the maximum collective utility, our divorce or my suicide. I contemplated no third option.

This morning as I was finishing up in the bathroom, #3 ambush-hugged my leg and smiled up at me with his big eyes. Tonight, #1 practiced with me a Spanish poem that she's reciting tomorrow at a language competition.

Tonight, at least, I'll fall asleep not ready to leave these precious kids, legally or lethally.

Crossing the Rubicon

Setting: This morning, in the pantry. In-laws are visiting, kids are noisy, noon approaching with precious little accomplished for the day.

Me: I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said.

My wife: Never mind, it doesn't matter.

Me: Can you just repeat it?

My wife: No, you won't understand anyway.

Me: Try me.

My wife: I have tried you, for twelve years. Our communication is...is a joke. It's like I'm talking here (gestures with left arm extended out from body in one direction) and you're here (reflects gesture with right arm), and it'll never, ever, EVER be here (brings hands together in front of torso, fingers interlocked).

Me: (quietly) Well, what do you want to do about it?

Wife: (pausing, then sarcastically, while rolling eyes) Oh, DEFINITELY get a divorce!

Me: (in a measured and deliberate monotone, looking her directly in the eyes) OK.

Wife: (eyes open with a mild startle as the exchange sinks in, then she walks past me back into the kitchen)

Curtain

I believe this was the first instance during those twelve years in which the person uttering the "D" word wasn't met by some kind of resistance (hopeful, desperate, or otherwise) by the other.

It followed a conversation late the night before, a conversation that I'd hoped would be a chance to share some of my feelings and reflections that came out of Conference, but which quickly--and due primarily to her input--ended up being about sex and her body.

Family Harm Evening

Last night during FHE, I chose to focus on Conference, letting the kids choose an opening song from among those we'd heard over the weekend, and for the lesson we discussed thoughts and impressions about Conference. My daughter described feeling "The Holy Spirit" during President Monson's closing talk and the closing prayer. My eldest son talked about "feeling good in [his] heart" when people spoke about Jesus. I talked about Eyring's prayer story and shared my own version with the kids, the closest I've come in a long time to really "testifying" to them of anything drawn from my own experience.

My wife didn't really participate, and I grew frustrated that she wasn't--for some inexplicable reason--suddenly radiating at the early indications of a nascent Attitude Adjustment. So I was upset, and after she'd left to put the baby to bed, I was struggling to corral the remaining three into a kneeling prayer, and suddenly lost it, cuffing my daughter and eldest son on the forehead. It seems that I hit my daughter with my wedding ring, and it really hurt her.

Somehow or other, I need to get out of these kids' lives before I really damage them.

Small, semiannual success

Sat AM
ballard daughters, eyring prayer, close affirmation of rezrtxn‏


Sun AM/PM

Christ
Monson: A hopeless Dawn in Tate, pain

Hales - how far blessing

Darkness of world (sun PM)

Testimony - Alex - through spirit can command you to change, recognize, believe; Pix - ted b - possess - what ejm ikke geben

Holland - lujuria; my moral equivocation - "it's not porn so it's OK"

Goodie box

We saw another house today, and this time the wife's accoutrements were in a tidy little pile of related items, in an open box on her side of the walk-in. I don't think my wife noticed me noticing, but I'm sure that when she saw it, she knew that I would notice, the effect of which was probably the same as had she actually noticed me noticing. But the bitterness now is not that I'm noticing another woman's intimates or wishing that my wife were so inclined, but that my interest in her is at an all-time low that not even a red lace push-up bra would raise.

Tonight I took my daughter to the Priesthood session. Afterwards, I took her for an impromptu oreo shake and greasy fries. It together time well-spent. When we got home late, my wife, who had some rice and green beans on the stove, asked my daughter if we'd gone out to eat. Upon hearing the affirmative response, she laid into her, at which I came into the room and told my wife not to take her anger out on our daughter, but instead on me, since it wasn't our daughter's choice or fault. "I'll take it out on whoever I please!!!" she shouted before bursting into tears and disappearing for the rest of the night.

Memory block

This evening, as my wife and I were looking over some numbers to assess the unaffordability of the house we're considering, the screensaver slideshow on our PC ran in the background.

After a while, my wife started reaching over to the keyboard and clicking past pictures from our (brief) dating days, our wedding, and the first couple of years of our marriage.

When she reached to click past a more recent photo, I protested, "Wait - by then we already knew what we were into. No reason to feel hoodwinked by that one. Just let it play."

All the while, I'm wondering whether we should be working with lawyers instead of Realtors.

Crying over your spilled crops

Lacking direction and anticipating some possible decisions on the horizon, I spent a couple of hours on the phone tonight getting career advice from my amazing brother in law, whom I admire a great deal and have mentioned in at least one previous post.

As you may have observed already, I'm a bit skeptical, if not cynical, about praying, in effect, for money, especially if one's basic needs are already met. So my radar is by default up on the topic. Except with him. Because I know his background, priorities and desires. Which makes my almost-blanket "Guilty Until Proven Innocent" prejudicial condemnation of wealthy L.D.S. all the more problematic.

He emphasized to me several times that "Help!" in this regard is a worthy thing to pray for, and said that every major change in his career (and they've all been advancements) has come as a direct answer to specific prayer. Not that they prayed for a specific thing and were "given that thing" in the way they may have envisioned it, but that as subsequent events unfolded, they were able to tie them back clearly to their prayers.

Nobody's fault but my own, but I hardly remember what it's like to: a) pray with sincerity of conviction; b) feel that I was being heard; and, c) sense that there was some semblance of an "answer." And the idea of doing this together, as a couple united in will, heart and vision, seems so foreign to my own experience as to border on the bizarre.

As he thinketh in his heart

So today as I drove home from a morning in which far too many glances and thoughts went Tina Louise-ward, I listened to part of a devotional given in 1983 at B.Y.U. by then-member of the Twelve Ezra Taft Benson, titled "Think on Christ." The most timely and relevant section of his talk follows below.

###

To introduce my theme today, I want to tell you, in his own words, of a life-changing experience that happened to President George Albert Smith when he was a boy. His own words are as follows:

As a child, thirteen years of age, I went to school at the Brigham Young Academy. . . . I cannot remember much of what was said during the year that I was there, but there is one thing that I will probably never forget. . . . Dr. [Karl G.] Maeser one day stood up and said:

"Not only will you be held accountable for the things you do, but you will be held responsible for the very thoughts you think." Being a boy, not in the habit of controlling my thoughts very much, it was quite a puzzle to me what I was to do, and it worried me. In fact, it stuck to me just like a burr. About a week or ten days after that it suddenly came to me what he meant. I could see the philosophy of it then. All at once there came to me this interpretation of what he had said: Why of course you will be held accountable for your thoughts, because when your life is completed in mortality, it will be the sum of your thoughts. That one suggestion has been a great blessing to me all my life, and it has enabled me upon many occasions to avoid thinking improperly, because I realize that I will be, when my life's labor is complete, the product of my thoughts. [Sharing the Gospel with Others (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1948), pp. 62–63]

Thoughts lead to acts, acts lead to habits, habits lead to character--and our character will determine our eternal destiny.

King Benjamin understood this. In the next-to-last verse of his great discourse recorded in the Book of Mormon, he states:

And finally, I cannot tell you all the things whereby ye may commit sin; for there are diverse ways and means, even so many that I cannot number them. [Mosiah 4:29]

Then in the last verse he counsels that we must watch ourselves and our thoughts (see Mosiah 4:30)

When Christ appeared in America following His resurrection, He stated:

Behold, it is written by them of old time, that thou shalt not commit adultery;

But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman, to lust after her, hath committed adultery already in his heart.

Behold, I give unto you a commandment, that ye suffer none of these things to enter into your heart. [3 Nephi 12:27–29]

"Enter into your heart"--why, of course, for, as the scripture states: "As he thinketh in his heart, so is he" (Proverbs 23:7).

So critical is it that we understand the necessity of controlling our thoughts that President Spencer W. Kimball devoted a whole chapter to it in his book The Miracle of Forgiveness. The chapter caption "As a Man Thinketh" is the title of a book by James Allen, which President Kimball recommended. He quoted from this book three times. One quotation stated:

A man does not come to the almshouse or the jail by the tyranny of fate or circumstance, but by the pathway of groveling thoughts and base desires. Nor does a pure-minded man fall suddenly into crime by stress of mere external force; the criminal thought had long been secretly fostered in the heart, and the hour of opportunity revealed its gathered power. Circumstance does not make the man; it reveals him to himself. [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1969, p. 105]

President Kimball also quotes President David O. McKay, who said:

The thought in your mind at this moment is contributing, however infinitesimally, almost imperceptibly to the shaping of your soul, even to the lineaments of your countenance. . . . even passing and idle thoughts leave their impression. [Ibid.]

The mind has been likened to a stage on which only one act at a time can be performed. From one side of the wings the Lord, who loves you, is trying to put on the stage of your mind that which will bless you. From the other side of the wings the devil, who hates you, is trying to put on the stage of your mind that which will curse you.

You are the stage manager--you are the one who decides which thought will occupy the stage. Remember, the Lord wants you to have a fullness of joy like His. The devil wants all men to be miserable like unto himself. You are the one who must decide whose thoughts you will entertain. You are free to choose--but you are not free to alter the consequences of those choices. You will be what you think about--what you consistently allow to occupy the stage of your mind.

Sometimes you may have difficulty driving off the stage of your mind a certain evil thought. To drive it off, Elder Boyd K. Packer suggests that you sing an inspirational song of Zion, or just think on its words. Elder Bruce R. McConkie recommends that, after the opening song, you might preach a sermon to yourself. In fact, he says the finest sermons he has ever preached have been preached to himself.

We should not invite the devil to give us a stage presentation. Usually with our hardly realizing, he slips into our thoughts. Our accountability begins with how we handle the evil thought immediately after it is presented. Like Jesus, we should positively and promptly terminate the temptation. We should not allow the devil to elaborate with all his insidious reasoning.

It is our privilege to store our memories with good and great thoughts and bring them out on the stage of our minds at will. When the Lord faced His three great temptations in the wilderness, He immediately rebutted the devil with appropriate scripture which He had stored in His memory.

###

Shortly thereafter, I saw this article in today's Tribune about sexting being on the rise (in Davis County, in this instance) primarily among "teenage girls" who "are being charged with having or sending pornographic images on their cell phones...Teenage boys are requesting it and the girls are sending it as a way to get attention." The head-on pileup of conflicting questions that followed included:

"How will these kids survive?"

"Where were all these camphones back when I was in high school, when we had to sneak out of photography class and use our zoom lenses on the college girls sunbathing in the park, if we wanted to memorialize anything soft and supple that wasn't purveyed by Hugh, Bob or, on the rarest of occasions (as in, maybe once), Larry?"

"Are these guys that much more desirable and persuasive, or are the girls that much less confident, more desperate, more Paris/Jenna/Britney/Traci/GaGa-ized (both directly and by virtue of the boys' involvement and resulting perceptions and expectations), and therefore more willing?"

And, most chillingly, "Holy crap, this is going to be my daughter's world in a few, short years. What am I doing to help her be ready to navigate the minefield without massive casualties?"

Lifted

While night skiing this evening, my 2.5 year old and I became separated from his older brother and sister, and ended up on the lift alone together. We sang songs, alternating between who got to choose, making up our own words to classics like "Head, shoulders, skis and toes," and he'd giggle with delight every time we touched his skis. Then I asked him what he wanted to sing next, and he started into "I Am a Child of God." As he sang it all by himself, something about his sweet little scratchy voice breaking the silence of the night, the cool air and the moonlight's glow on the mountain snow made me really, really hope that he'll believe it, and feel otherworldly love when he needs it most, when worldly love is found lacking or altogether absent.

Back in reality and on the drive home, I responded to an insolent comment from my daughter by knuckling her on the skull - not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her attention and flag the infraction. A moment later, Little Guy chimed in from the back seat, "Daddy, did you hit her?" Which I ignored. Silence...silence...silence. "Daddy, did you hit her on the head?" I was caught. "Yes, I did, because she was being naughty." Pause. "You shouldn't hit her. You need to be kind to her. You shouldn't hit her."

Self-fulfilling negativity

It occurred to me that the vast majority of my posts here are negative. In fact, it's hard to find anything resolutely affirming my marriage, my wife, and my life.

Is it because my life in general and marriage specifically are overwhelmingly negative?

Is it a product of the inherent human tendency to complain actively but praise passively?

Is it because if it bleeds it leads, and I so I report what I think will be of greatest interest to anyone who happens to stumble across this?

Regardless, does it exaggerate the issues, as I speculated here in "possibly-significant thing" #2?

For example, at this particular moment, I my feelings toward her are generally kind -- feelings of gratitude, and of sympathy for my role in her sadness. But she's in bed, and I'm here in my rantblog..

As seen on TV

I don't think I'm flattering myself when I assume it to be a combination of post-pregnancy malaise and the sense of self-body-loathing that I've fostered in her through the years (I can't remember when she last left the lights on when getting changing anything more than a sweater), but in the last several weeks--featuring innumerable multi-hour stints nursing on the couch in front of the TV--my wife has ordered both a contraption called 3-Minute-Legs, and a miracle midriff restoration gizmo called the Contour Electronic Muscle Stimulator, "created by Swiss medical professionals" to apparently chisel your abs to match those of the ladies in the infomercial, while you eat Twinkies on the couch.

Me: If I had anything to do with these purchases, return them. I've tried to get myself to the point that I don't care, and I'm pretty much there.

Her: Don't worry, I didn't buy these 'for you.' They're for me.

Me: Great. So my next question is, if these are 'for you,' why don't you use something we already have? Like the sidewalk -- go for a walk. Or the $400 jogging stroller we had to get -- have you ever jogged with it?

Her: Yes! I resent that question. You know that's a good stroller, we've used it a lot, and I have jogged with it.

Me: When?

Her: I don't remember, but I have.

Me: We got rid of the old stroller because you didn't like it. Its wheels weren't big enough for running and it squeaked. Fine. We could have replaced it with a perfectly decent stroller for half that much, but we had to get this one, because it's the only one you could jog with. If you've jogged with it twice, I'd be surprised. Or the bike...

Her: I use the bike.

Me: You've used the bike, what, a dozen times for a total of eight miles in the year and a half since we bought it? We've got over $2,000 into that thing now, which we bought since it was the only bike on the planet that you were comfortable riding. It's exactly what you wanted. I'd already bought you the Pashley, which is what you'd wanted except that I couldn't find a woman's frame, so I found the man's version and had it shipped from Maryland as a surprise for your birthday--remember?--but it absolutely would not work because you refused to ride a man's bike. Fine. So I sold it and we got this one. There's only one place on this continent that sells them, and we bought it at full retail, right off the showroom floor, and now I ride it with [our third child] much more than you do -- in fact, it's not even close. I put hundreds of miles on my own bike each month during the spring and summer, and it's worth a fraction of what yours cost, and yours is collecting dust and cobwebs.

Her: I've been pregnant...

Me: ...for half of the time since we bought it. What about the other half, before that?

Truth be told, the preceding dialogue is a composite of several exchanges we've had on the topic. But it's representative of the sentiment. We're so pathetic that we're not even tragic anymore. But the precious, incredible kids, those bright, curious and loving little souls, they are tragic. Or at least their fates are, stemming from ours as they do and will. They'll pay the price for our selfishness and our sins, most of which are mine, although it's not a strict monopoly.

Pool drool

I took my oldest boy to the Jazz game last night. It was his first basketball game. We were on the 8th row, he scored lots of swag, got to see the Bear up close, posed in a shot with the Jazz Dancers that would be the envy of men the world over, witnessed some pretty remarkable ball, and collected celebratory streamers off of the court afterwards. He soaked it all in, and it made for a memorable night.

Tonight was my daughter's turn. Salsa class was cancelled, so our daddy-daughter date was a few rounds of billiards. It was great fun, and I loved seeing her excitement as her skills improved over the course of the evening.

But even as I stood there with my amazing, beaming daughter, my attention was continually drawn to the firm ass and toned arms of a brunette, maybe 20 years old, who was playing with a friend at the table next to us.

Later, as I drove my daughter across town to my parent's home (where she's been exiled for a few days by my wife who "needs a break" from her), she said, "I remember when I was little, mommy told me she wanted me to go live with another family. So I packed my little mermaid suitcase with toys, [stuffed horse] Chestnut and my jammies, and walked over to [my aunt's] house. Mommy came over later and apologized, said she wasn't serious, but I remember I told her I wanted to stay there with [my aunt]."

Lullabye-bye

Today's our anniversary

We'd failed to do something for it (not for lack of trying; and Fri night she wanted to go to bed), didn't even mention it to each other until about 3 this afternoon. "BTW, Happy A," I leaned over to giver her a kiss, she backed away and looked at me quissically. She was right.

To celebrate, yesterday I selbstbefried'd first ime in X?

EQ - fall of Adam, talkking about upcoming P conf @ Little Am, Satan temps when not with spouse or Companion;

Came home, sang "lullabye" (Not as beaut as BJoel's -- check for prvs reference) to new kid, my own words were that he would most likely have the fewest memories of me of all the kids, that my involvement in his life would largely be child support, and unlikely I were around when he started kindergarten. Not sentimental; factual. Like my drive the other night, the mere utterance of these words seems to compound the power of the sentiments behind them.

walked with wife this eve, mostly to talk about whether we should buy house, I think topic should have been whether we should be married. RElayed "companion" message - can't remember last time I felt we were companions. Roomates? Biz partners? Joint tenants? Adversaries? Yes' companions? no.

Suggestions? Chemically castrate me so not intrested in physical relationship with you or any othe rwoman for that matter, would make things a lot easier.

Park - tennis player right past our eldest son.

What Would Jesus Drive?

I'm not holding my breath until the day we hear in Priesthood Session, "...for example, brethren, it is inappropriate for anyone in a Church leadership position to drive a Mercedes-Benz. And if you need me to explain why, then the problem is more serious than I'd imagined."

As my kids and I walked home from church today, we passed a stake center near our home (not uncommon here in Utah to live closer to a stake center than the stake center where your own ward meets) and I noticed --as I often do, at LDS meetinghouses around the U.S.-- the obligatory row of luxury imports occupying the de facto Stake Presidency And Friends parking stalls. Today it was three near-identical Lexuses of the RX300/330/400 variety and a brand new 3-series in opal blue.

I was amused to see, under the driver's side wiper blade of all four of them, small, torn pieces of a nursery-issued, Gospel-themed Crayon colorings, on the unused side of which was scratched in red scripture pencil, "What Would Jesus Drive?"

OK, truth be told, I, feeling somewhat miscievous, wrote and left the notes.

More truth be told, my amazing commutermobile is getting long in the tooth (as in, 280k miles long and I was severly tempted several months ago by a forest green 330xi -- buttery tan leather, heated seats, nice Harmon-Kardon stereo, mmmm... And it was truly a monumental struggle for me to decide not to get the car, in large part because it would have undermined my ability to beholdest the mote in my brothers' eyes.

Anyway, strolling along Glam Row this afternoon reminded me of one of my favorite LDS-themed cartoons, in which The Faithful prays bedside, beneath a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and with his spiffy wheels visible through the window, to "...continue to be worthy of the privilege of consuming a disproportionate share of the world's resources..." LOL!

House hunting

Went to look at house.

Irritated because of a conversation we'd had earlier, and the fact that my eyes had been wandering late in the day. night before I'd had dream - 17th century France, in secret passageway behind fireplace between two rooms 3 maids of a baroness in silk rubbing, then baroness came in - not attractive but wealthy and powerful, started to undress then we heard a noise and I woke up.

Was to meet her. On way was thinking, "this is done." then began to talk to myself, playing out the script, "this is done. we have amazing kids who will suffer because of this. but they'll suffer more if we model this type of marriage for them.

Late night, realtor gave key code (2332, incidentally), renters on vacation.

Pics around house, cute; walk-in closet - lots of heeled shoes, boots, etc.

Afterwards pulled out, she went around 2 corners, turned around, came up with story as to why I was going to arrive later than she was, pulled into drive, paused a minute, fear or something, left. 2 blocks later, I passed her heading back.

Wasn't first time - lace slip in Bluffdale stream house


Wal-Mart: Hot asian (would have told her, except door greeter was still giving the extended-dance-mix of how to get to automotive); long check out line - Cosmo G-spot article

Entered driveway, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=preNo9TzOGs was on - never really listened to lyrics. Sat in car, heavy stomach.