Today at lunch, my friend said, "The way I see it, physical and mental fidelity is the rent you pay to stay with your family."
Tonight I sold the tickets I'd purchased for the show Brian Regan (our favorite comic -- rather, the only comic both my wife and I know and like, which makes him our favorite) is doing tomorrow at Abravanel Hall. I got them several weeks ago as a "just us" prelude to our anniversary that's coming up later this month, but despite various creative ideas, we couldn't come up with a solution for our nursing baby. I chuckled in resignation to my wife, "Man, we can't even buy some levity in this family." Several of my work colleagues are going. I'm sure they'll let me know on Monday how it went.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Happy pills, here we come!
Today I fasted... I'm not sure why, exactly, I fasted, but it had something to do with my wife's announcement yesterday that she's scheduled to see a psychiatrist next week with the hopes of going on Prozac, and idea that thrills me not a great deal.
Clearly this 'fast' is not only too little, too late, but is almost laughably tied to the symptom (the "All Is REALLY Well In Zion" cliche of SSRIs) rather than the cause (me).
What's more, is that I wasn't two hours into my day and half an hour into my calling, when my focus turned to a ravishing redhead (mid-twenties, about 5'9", slender, bright green eyes, cheekbones through the roof and an incendiary, Ginger Grant-like mane...in fact, she's not dissimilar to Tina Louise in her uncharted desert island prime) who was seated nearby, continually bending her head backwards as if she had a sore neck. I wondered, "Rough night?"
Everyone with whom I associate in my calling has a temple recommend (now, whether they're fully-worthy True Believers or whether they're like me or worse, I can't tell you, but they're card-carriers, long story, just trust me on it), so I then wondered, "Do good Mormon girls have amazing sex? And I don't mean, 'Darling, thank you, that was so edifying,' sex. I mean, 'Wowwwww, I thought my brains were going to explode! Let's do that again! Now!!!' sex, and if so, do they do it without feeling dirty, or is there invariably a compromise of some kind?" And then I remembered hearing recently about a republished report by two B.Y.U. sociologists, in which nearly 60% of L.D.S. women claimed to have had premarital sex:
Fifty-eight percent of Mormon women admit to having sexual intercourse before marriage. Mormons have been slowly accommodating their behavior to the norms of the surrounding culture, yet these changes have scarcely been recognized by the LDS leadership, who still require premarital chastity. "No doubt, dramatic changes in sexual norms have . . . created a generation gap between leaders and the youth," said Tim Heaton, one of the sociologists who analyzed the sexual behavior and marital trends among Mormon women. "These trends coupled with some reluctance to discuss sexual issues openly could lead to an increasing discrepancy between official codes of conduct and actual behavior."
Noting that the report was from 1991, I wondered how much those numbers had changed (surely upwards) subsequently. I wondered--not for the first time--whether it was "worth it" for me to have made it to marriage sans coitus, if ~2/3 of the YW & RS-ers around me were knockin' boots at the time. I wondered what it would entail for a gal like that to hook up with a guy like me, and whether both of us would let the imminent shattering of homes and lives restrain us at the critical moment.
She gave her husband a playful peck on the cheek after we had dismissed. They seemed genuinely happy, or at least chipper enough, and I wondered about cause and effect, chicken and egg.
I was angry for most of the rest of the day. I seethed through my remaining meetings. I told my wife tonight that I hated being at church today, and that the most frustrating part was that I wasn't exactly sure why. (Which was true, at the time.) I wasn't repulsed by the doctrine. I like most of the people, some of them a great deal. But I was churning inside. Boiling. "Did you maybe start the day off wrong somehow and it just went downhill from there?" Bingo. Ginger. I didn't answer her.
So anyway, I put nothing of value into my 'fast' and, not surprisingly, got nothing of value in return, other than extra appreciation for some sensational chicken parmigiano my wife pulled out of the oven this afternoon. This evening, I asked her, "Do whatever you want with your body and your brain. I'm not going to try to intervene there. But please don't do it while you're nursing. I'm sure everything and everyone will say it's safe, that there's no transfer, no risk. If you choose to take that stuff, great, do it, but please, please stop nursing first or take it when you've weaned him."
Clearly this 'fast' is not only too little, too late, but is almost laughably tied to the symptom (the "All Is REALLY Well In Zion" cliche of SSRIs) rather than the cause (me).
What's more, is that I wasn't two hours into my day and half an hour into my calling, when my focus turned to a ravishing redhead (mid-twenties, about 5'9", slender, bright green eyes, cheekbones through the roof and an incendiary, Ginger Grant-like mane...in fact, she's not dissimilar to Tina Louise in her uncharted desert island prime) who was seated nearby, continually bending her head backwards as if she had a sore neck. I wondered, "Rough night?"
Everyone with whom I associate in my calling has a temple recommend (now, whether they're fully-worthy True Believers or whether they're like me or worse, I can't tell you, but they're card-carriers, long story, just trust me on it), so I then wondered, "Do good Mormon girls have amazing sex? And I don't mean, 'Darling, thank you, that was so edifying,' sex. I mean, 'Wowwwww, I thought my brains were going to explode! Let's do that again! Now!!!' sex, and if so, do they do it without feeling dirty, or is there invariably a compromise of some kind?" And then I remembered hearing recently about a republished report by two B.Y.U. sociologists, in which nearly 60% of L.D.S. women claimed to have had premarital sex:
Fifty-eight percent of Mormon women admit to having sexual intercourse before marriage. Mormons have been slowly accommodating their behavior to the norms of the surrounding culture, yet these changes have scarcely been recognized by the LDS leadership, who still require premarital chastity. "No doubt, dramatic changes in sexual norms have . . . created a generation gap between leaders and the youth," said Tim Heaton, one of the sociologists who analyzed the sexual behavior and marital trends among Mormon women. "These trends coupled with some reluctance to discuss sexual issues openly could lead to an increasing discrepancy between official codes of conduct and actual behavior."
Noting that the report was from 1991, I wondered how much those numbers had changed (surely upwards) subsequently. I wondered--not for the first time--whether it was "worth it" for me to have made it to marriage sans coitus, if ~2/3 of the YW & RS-ers around me were knockin' boots at the time. I wondered what it would entail for a gal like that to hook up with a guy like me, and whether both of us would let the imminent shattering of homes and lives restrain us at the critical moment.
She gave her husband a playful peck on the cheek after we had dismissed. They seemed genuinely happy, or at least chipper enough, and I wondered about cause and effect, chicken and egg.
I was angry for most of the rest of the day. I seethed through my remaining meetings. I told my wife tonight that I hated being at church today, and that the most frustrating part was that I wasn't exactly sure why. (Which was true, at the time.) I wasn't repulsed by the doctrine. I like most of the people, some of them a great deal. But I was churning inside. Boiling. "Did you maybe start the day off wrong somehow and it just went downhill from there?" Bingo. Ginger. I didn't answer her.So anyway, I put nothing of value into my 'fast' and, not surprisingly, got nothing of value in return, other than extra appreciation for some sensational chicken parmigiano my wife pulled out of the oven this afternoon. This evening, I asked her, "Do whatever you want with your body and your brain. I'm not going to try to intervene there. But please don't do it while you're nursing. I'm sure everything and everyone will say it's safe, that there's no transfer, no risk. If you choose to take that stuff, great, do it, but please, please stop nursing first or take it when you've weaned him."
Friday, March 5, 2010
Followed, because I'm an ass, by a long pause then a different subject
Tonight at dinner, after what was obviously a rough day with the kids, my wife said, "It really hit me today, how miserable I must be to be married to. I'm not interesting, I have nothing to offer to anyone other than my kids. I get it. I get it."
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Teach your children well
When my friend and next door neighbor was made our bishop, he said that one of his biggest shocks was how common sexting was among the kids in what is, according to a recent visiting G.A., one of the highest tithe-paying stakes (meaning, percent of members who are full-tithe payers, not in total tithes paid) in the Church.
I've mentioned that my boss was recently made a bishop, and that we've shared our thoughts on wondering how today's kids will survive today, both of us freely admitting that things would likely have been very different for us if we hadn't actually had to have connections to track down a tattered Playboy back-issue or bribe a friend's big brother to go rent an R movie with a few, fleeting frames of flesh. I've assumed the self-appointed role of his Eyes On The Street, providing him with intel that he can use to understand what the kids are up against. Maybe because it makes me feel like something good might come from my encounters with the gutter. Or because the pretense of the greater good gives me another excuse to linger around the gutter.
The other day, I sent him a batch of three items that I'd seen over the last little while.
The first was the cover story of a recent Weekly Standard, a report of the trenches of the singles scene:
Thanks to late marriage, easy divorce, and the well-paying jobs that the feminist revolution has wrought for women, the bars, clubs, sidewalks, and subway straps of nearly every urban center in America overflow every weekend with females, young and not so young, bronzed, blonded, teeth-whitened, and dressed in the maximal cleavage and minimal skirt lengths that used to be associated with streetwalkers but nowadays is standard garb for lawyers and portfolio managers on a girls’ night out.
(As an amusing side note: My mother-in-law gave us the Standard subscription as a gift, in part to ensure--she said basically as much--that I was being exposed to "balanced and objective" reporting. While she was staying with us to help after the birth of our baby, she expressed concern that our daughter had mentioned having read an article in a news magazine to which I subscribe about, among other things, platonic-yet-weird "sleepovers" Elvis had with teenage girls in Memphis during the early years of his career. I agreed that I wasn't thrilled that our daughter had read this, but disagreed with my wife and her mom that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. Literally within a week of that discussion, the Standard issue arrived, with cover art that would undoubtedly pique the curiosity of a ten year old and content that would leave little to her imagination. I solemnly expressed my concern that our daughter may read articles of this nature in this magazine and that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. I couldn't resist. Cruel. Hilarious.)
The next was an article about hooking up:
What is hooking up? If you don’t know, then you’re probably at least 40. Hooking up can involve anything from kissing and heavy petting to oral sex and intercourse, but what all hookups have in common is that the physical involvement precedes an emotional relationship—if the latter develops at all. “In the dating era, students would go on a date, which might lead to something sexual,” says Kathleen Bogle, a sociologist at Philadelphia’s La Salle University. “In the hookup era, students hook up, which might lead to dating.”
Finally, I sent him a link to a Frontline series called "The Merchants of Cool," about the relentless and astonishingly innovative efforts of corporations to own the hearts, minds and wallets of teens. I'd first been made aware of it several years ago, when I spent most of my working day doing advertising. As a marketing professional, I was fascinated. As the father of a too-soon-to-be-teenage girl, I was petrified. Evolving technology has already rendered some of its elements a tad outdated, but it should still be mandatory viewing for anyone who has any stewardship over any teen. In fact, at one point I was going to give a fireside to parents of our YM/YW using core elements of this documentary as the feature exhibit and discussion catalyst, but found that I was having to edit so much of the content (for fear of someone being offended by the tree and missing the message of the forest) that the effect was utterly neutralized, and I ended up canceling the fireside.
As I hit Send on this message that would help my boss to help other peoples' children, I was reminded that I need to prepare my kids for this, and that it will become increasingly difficult to improvise my way through their adolescence. That night, I read an article in the current Ensign about being an influential father:
In addition to teaching gospel principles, there are a number of things fathers can do that will influence their children for good, no matter what stage of life they are in. These include living a gospel-centered life, showing appropriate affection, disciplining with love, listening effectively, spending one-on-one time together, and seeking creative ways to participate in a child’s life.
21. And the dad said, Most of these (the primary exception being the "gospel-centered life," as it is most likely defined by this author -- a life that demonstrates Christian behavior and is, on the surface, generally obedient to the strictures of the Mormon faith, yes; but one that is immersed body and soul in the Gospel as interpreted and promulgated by the LDS Church? Can't say that I am.) have I kept from my youth up.
22. Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: abandon thy lust, and cleave only unto thy wife, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.
23. And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he did love him some killer kalves and wondered, "How can I be that person, that 'influential father,' in full sincerity and with any degree of effectiveness, when a big part of me is pulled forcefully toward the things I'd admonish against? When for every 'That's evil and contrary to The Plan' thought, I have two 'Why wasn't I in on that scene when I was single? And why can't I be a part of it now?' thoughts?"
I've mentioned that my boss was recently made a bishop, and that we've shared our thoughts on wondering how today's kids will survive today, both of us freely admitting that things would likely have been very different for us if we hadn't actually had to have connections to track down a tattered Playboy back-issue or bribe a friend's big brother to go rent an R movie with a few, fleeting frames of flesh. I've assumed the self-appointed role of his Eyes On The Street, providing him with intel that he can use to understand what the kids are up against. Maybe because it makes me feel like something good might come from my encounters with the gutter. Or because the pretense of the greater good gives me another excuse to linger around the gutter.
The other day, I sent him a batch of three items that I'd seen over the last little while.
The first was the cover story of a recent Weekly Standard, a report of the trenches of the singles scene:
Thanks to late marriage, easy divorce, and the well-paying jobs that the feminist revolution has wrought for women, the bars, clubs, sidewalks, and subway straps of nearly every urban center in America overflow every weekend with females, young and not so young, bronzed, blonded, teeth-whitened, and dressed in the maximal cleavage and minimal skirt lengths that used to be associated with streetwalkers but nowadays is standard garb for lawyers and portfolio managers on a girls’ night out.
(As an amusing side note: My mother-in-law gave us the Standard subscription as a gift, in part to ensure--she said basically as much--that I was being exposed to "balanced and objective" reporting. While she was staying with us to help after the birth of our baby, she expressed concern that our daughter had mentioned having read an article in a news magazine to which I subscribe about, among other things, platonic-yet-weird "sleepovers" Elvis had with teenage girls in Memphis during the early years of his career. I agreed that I wasn't thrilled that our daughter had read this, but disagreed with my wife and her mom that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. Literally within a week of that discussion, the Standard issue arrived, with cover art that would undoubtedly pique the curiosity of a ten year old and content that would leave little to her imagination. I solemnly expressed my concern that our daughter may read articles of this nature in this magazine and that the only solution was to cancel the subscription and not allow that kind of stuff into our home in the first place. I couldn't resist. Cruel. Hilarious.)The next was an article about hooking up:
What is hooking up? If you don’t know, then you’re probably at least 40. Hooking up can involve anything from kissing and heavy petting to oral sex and intercourse, but what all hookups have in common is that the physical involvement precedes an emotional relationship—if the latter develops at all. “In the dating era, students would go on a date, which might lead to something sexual,” says Kathleen Bogle, a sociologist at Philadelphia’s La Salle University. “In the hookup era, students hook up, which might lead to dating.”
Finally, I sent him a link to a Frontline series called "The Merchants of Cool," about the relentless and astonishingly innovative efforts of corporations to own the hearts, minds and wallets of teens. I'd first been made aware of it several years ago, when I spent most of my working day doing advertising. As a marketing professional, I was fascinated. As the father of a too-soon-to-be-teenage girl, I was petrified. Evolving technology has already rendered some of its elements a tad outdated, but it should still be mandatory viewing for anyone who has any stewardship over any teen. In fact, at one point I was going to give a fireside to parents of our YM/YW using core elements of this documentary as the feature exhibit and discussion catalyst, but found that I was having to edit so much of the content (for fear of someone being offended by the tree and missing the message of the forest) that the effect was utterly neutralized, and I ended up canceling the fireside.
As I hit Send on this message that would help my boss to help other peoples' children, I was reminded that I need to prepare my kids for this, and that it will become increasingly difficult to improvise my way through their adolescence. That night, I read an article in the current Ensign about being an influential father:
In addition to teaching gospel principles, there are a number of things fathers can do that will influence their children for good, no matter what stage of life they are in. These include living a gospel-centered life, showing appropriate affection, disciplining with love, listening effectively, spending one-on-one time together, and seeking creative ways to participate in a child’s life.
21. And the dad said, Most of these (the primary exception being the "gospel-centered life," as it is most likely defined by this author -- a life that demonstrates Christian behavior and is, on the surface, generally obedient to the strictures of the Mormon faith, yes; but one that is immersed body and soul in the Gospel as interpreted and promulgated by the LDS Church? Can't say that I am.) have I kept from my youth up.
22. Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: abandon thy lust, and cleave only unto thy wife, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.
23. And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he did love him some killer kalves and wondered, "How can I be that person, that 'influential father,' in full sincerity and with any degree of effectiveness, when a big part of me is pulled forcefully toward the things I'd admonish against? When for every 'That's evil and contrary to The Plan' thought, I have two 'Why wasn't I in on that scene when I was single? And why can't I be a part of it now?' thoughts?"
Saturday, February 27, 2010
[skiing]
proud of daughter, 10, teaching 2 yr old
angry afterwards, at self
- watching daughter ski with my bad habits
- that I gave up on her (gold medals in small races against older skiers, deer valley course times, etc.) but when she was 7, park city - 80 skiers from all the resorts' teams, she was youngest on the mountain (last month of 3-yr eligibility window), finished in the middle; my feelings shen she crossed finish line pumping fist...an element of shame, embarrassment, "don't do that! You didn't win! Clearly no concept of how far behind the leader..."
- Told friends, family that it was getting expensive, commitment every Sat morning, what's the long-range plan here at the end of this investment? All of which is true, but I would be kidding myself not to acknowledge the possibility that it was about not winning.
- professionally I'm struggling with a career that doesn't come easily to me, that... etc.
Drove home, not wanting to raise these kids or be in the marriage
Shower - Made the connection, perhaps not too much of a stretch, is that the allure of Lindsey Vonn (may have noted that Leno chose guests well for his first week back)--contrary to a theory I mentioned in a previous post--that she represents my own deficiencies, but that she represents success where I have failed with my daughter. Same sport, my daughter will be tall, blonde, more likely attractive than not. Dedication, determination, etc.
Cried as I told my daugher (room was dark, cried silently, I don't think she could tell) that she didn't deserve my anger, that it wasn't anything she did, sorry, forgive me? yes; and that she's a wonderful girl any parents would be proud of.
angry afterwards, at self
- watching daughter ski with my bad habits
- that I gave up on her (gold medals in small races against older skiers, deer valley course times, etc.) but when she was 7, park city - 80 skiers from all the resorts' teams, she was youngest on the mountain (last month of 3-yr eligibility window), finished in the middle; my feelings shen she crossed finish line pumping fist...an element of shame, embarrassment, "don't do that! You didn't win! Clearly no concept of how far behind the leader..."
- Told friends, family that it was getting expensive, commitment every Sat morning, what's the long-range plan here at the end of this investment? All of which is true, but I would be kidding myself not to acknowledge the possibility that it was about not winning.
- professionally I'm struggling with a career that doesn't come easily to me, that... etc.
Drove home, not wanting to raise these kids or be in the marriage
Shower - Made the connection, perhaps not too much of a stretch, is that the allure of Lindsey Vonn (may have noted that Leno chose guests well for his first week back)--contrary to a theory I mentioned in a previous post--that she represents my own deficiencies, but that she represents success where I have failed with my daughter. Same sport, my daughter will be tall, blonde, more likely attractive than not. Dedication, determination, etc.Cried as I told my daugher (room was dark, cried silently, I don't think she could tell) that she didn't deserve my anger, that it wasn't anything she did, sorry, forgive me? yes; and that she's a wonderful girl any parents would be proud of.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Staying warm in the winter wilderness
For several years, around this time of year and with fair regularity, a I've gone snowshoeing with a group of buddies in the Uintas. This year, a top-brass meeting at my company's headquarters kept me a couple of hours behind the guys, so I drove up on my own. I bought my permit at the Kamas ranger station from a woman in her early 30s -- tallish, average or even below-average looks, but a big smile and, I noticed when she turned from the front desk to return to her office, outstanding lines along the back, apparent even through her tightish, U.S Forest Service-issue ranger pants. I've commented previously that I imagine (and it may well be strictly my imagination, with no footing in reality) myself to be more interesting to women when I'm in my full, professional peacock regalia and, given that I was still dressed for the big meeting I'd had that morning, I thought I noticed a little twinkle in her eye, her little wedding ring notwithstanding. I needed to change out of the work duds and into my snow gear, and she said I could do so in the restroom there. As I changed, I wondered? hoped? imagined? her coming in while I was changing, and something (as I've said before) quick and anonymous happening against the counter.
I spent that night in the Ritz Carlton of snow caves. I'd built a few front-yard, Webelo Scout-variety snow caves in my time, but this one was in a class by itself, structurally solid and large enough for four or five people but just two of us used it while the others used other, more permanent accommodations. It took about 15 minutes to reach a comfortable temperature, and as I quickly dozed off, I thought (as any still-hormonal male probably would) of how amazing it would be to showshoe up there with my wife, and spend a fully-nuptial night with her there, in pitch darkness at over 8,000 feet, and miles from anyone. And then I laughed at myself for having wasted seven neuron firings on the notion that my wife would ever consider such a thing.
Last night I dreamed that my wife turned over to me in my sleep and, with neither warning nor warmup, proceeded to hastily deploy (how shall I put it?) the primary, powerful pleasuring technique available to a woman who has just given birth -- a technique she'd banished (this is fact, not dream) from her already-limited sexual repertoire several years ago. (As a side note: For some inconsistent reason, she has not placed the same prohibition on the reciprocal, claiming to be uncomfortable with both idea and act but almost invariably allowing the act to be acted out, when I pursue it.) It was so sudden, and so shocking, that the whole thing lasted about five seconds from start to finish -- not a speed record a man will generally brag about, but I share it simply to emphasize the bizarreness of it. It was just the second time (the first time was in the snow cave a few nights before) in close to probably two months that I've even had a sexual thought about her, and, on a positive note, the first explicitly sexual dream that I've had about her in literally as long as I can remember.
At times like this, when I consider this lackluster-at-best/dysfunctional-at-worst element of my marriage--an element that prior to marriage I'd looked forward to as being a central unifier, but now it's a source of alternatively meh or ugh--it seems almost unbelievable to me (miraculous, if you will) that I've neither had an affair nor reverted to porn. I honestly don't know what to attribute either of these feats. It's not fealty to the Covenant or a longing for eternal rewards. It's certainly not an emotional commitment to my wife that I manifest the best way (physically, or in this case through the avoidance of the "wrong" kind of physicality) a caveman knows how. Maybe it's the kids, plain and simple -- that I don't want them to have that kind of dad. I don't know.
I spent that night in the Ritz Carlton of snow caves. I'd built a few front-yard, Webelo Scout-variety snow caves in my time, but this one was in a class by itself, structurally solid and large enough for four or five people but just two of us used it while the others used other, more permanent accommodations. It took about 15 minutes to reach a comfortable temperature, and as I quickly dozed off, I thought (as any still-hormonal male probably would) of how amazing it would be to showshoe up there with my wife, and spend a fully-nuptial night with her there, in pitch darkness at over 8,000 feet, and miles from anyone. And then I laughed at myself for having wasted seven neuron firings on the notion that my wife would ever consider such a thing.
Last night I dreamed that my wife turned over to me in my sleep and, with neither warning nor warmup, proceeded to hastily deploy (how shall I put it?) the primary, powerful pleasuring technique available to a woman who has just given birth -- a technique she'd banished (this is fact, not dream) from her already-limited sexual repertoire several years ago. (As a side note: For some inconsistent reason, she has not placed the same prohibition on the reciprocal, claiming to be uncomfortable with both idea and act but almost invariably allowing the act to be acted out, when I pursue it.) It was so sudden, and so shocking, that the whole thing lasted about five seconds from start to finish -- not a speed record a man will generally brag about, but I share it simply to emphasize the bizarreness of it. It was just the second time (the first time was in the snow cave a few nights before) in close to probably two months that I've even had a sexual thought about her, and, on a positive note, the first explicitly sexual dream that I've had about her in literally as long as I can remember.
At times like this, when I consider this lackluster-at-best/dysfunctional-at-worst element of my marriage--an element that prior to marriage I'd looked forward to as being a central unifier, but now it's a source of alternatively meh or ugh--it seems almost unbelievable to me (miraculous, if you will) that I've neither had an affair nor reverted to porn. I honestly don't know what to attribute either of these feats. It's not fealty to the Covenant or a longing for eternal rewards. It's certainly not an emotional commitment to my wife that I manifest the best way (physically, or in this case through the avoidance of the "wrong" kind of physicality) a caveman knows how. Maybe it's the kids, plain and simple -- that I don't want them to have that kind of dad. I don't know.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Vonnderlust
I think 2002 was the last time I sought out the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue in order to see a specific woman, Yamila Diaz-Rahi, I believe, on that occasion.
But in the day or two following Lindsey Vonn's gold medal in the downhill, a friend and I bantered about her: "I told [my wife] that I have a crush on Lindsay Vonn, and SHE TOTALLY GOT IT." "I wonder how much she knows about polygamy, and would she like to know more? At last, a 'restitution thing' worth waiting for!" - Facebook status updates that, as you can imagine, garnered a lot of commentary. Our interests in her developed independently, but once our threads crossed (through his wife, the one who "TOTALLY GOT IT" and called our shared interest to our attention), we compared notes and were surprised to learn that for both of us, it was much more pre-pubescent schoolboyish than hormonal. That she is physically attractive is an undeniable facilitator, but the je ne sais quoi allure seemed to be in her smile, her grace and apparent sweetness, and her obvious strength and discipline, not in her T&A, almost as if this denizen of Olympus were too much of a symbol or even archetype to be the cause of heavy breathing.
So when I heard--or thought I heard--one of the NBC commentators say something like, "...to see a strong, beautiful, fully-clothed woman like Lindsay on the cover of SI in February is a refreshing break from the usual fare..." I thought I would check it out. If you've followed this blog at all, you know that I won't hesitate to call my dog in a race, so you can therefore believe me when I say that I was led by intrigue and awe, not by lust, fully expecting to be informed and further infatuated, rather than titillated. But when the first Google result to my "sports illustrated lindsey vonn" search included the words "swimsuit by...", the fact that my wife and I have for the last day or two been giving each other the semi-silent treatment in the aftermath of a strong disagreement over the appropriate price range in which we should be shopping for houses, helped turn up the heat under the lukewarm kettle of quasi-platonic curiosity, and I clicked away.
So anyway, there was Mrs. Vonn in much of her glorious glory at SI.com. I'm not sure what happened to the "fully-clothed" part, but "strong" and "beautiful" were right on the money.
But in the day or two following Lindsey Vonn's gold medal in the downhill, a friend and I bantered about her: "I told [my wife] that I have a crush on Lindsay Vonn, and SHE TOTALLY GOT IT." "I wonder how much she knows about polygamy, and would she like to know more? At last, a 'restitution thing' worth waiting for!" - Facebook status updates that, as you can imagine, garnered a lot of commentary. Our interests in her developed independently, but once our threads crossed (through his wife, the one who "TOTALLY GOT IT" and called our shared interest to our attention), we compared notes and were surprised to learn that for both of us, it was much more pre-pubescent schoolboyish than hormonal. That she is physically attractive is an undeniable facilitator, but the je ne sais quoi allure seemed to be in her smile, her grace and apparent sweetness, and her obvious strength and discipline, not in her T&A, almost as if this denizen of Olympus were too much of a symbol or even archetype to be the cause of heavy breathing.
So when I heard--or thought I heard--one of the NBC commentators say something like, "...to see a strong, beautiful, fully-clothed woman like Lindsay on the cover of SI in February is a refreshing break from the usual fare..." I thought I would check it out. If you've followed this blog at all, you know that I won't hesitate to call my dog in a race, so you can therefore believe me when I say that I was led by intrigue and awe, not by lust, fully expecting to be informed and further infatuated, rather than titillated. But when the first Google result to my "sports illustrated lindsey vonn" search included the words "swimsuit by...", the fact that my wife and I have for the last day or two been giving each other the semi-silent treatment in the aftermath of a strong disagreement over the appropriate price range in which we should be shopping for houses, helped turn up the heat under the lukewarm kettle of quasi-platonic curiosity, and I clicked away.
So anyway, there was Mrs. Vonn in much of her glorious glory at SI.com. I'm not sure what happened to the "fully-clothed" part, but "strong" and "beautiful" were right on the money.
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