dating – Page 2 – Hopeful Romantics

The Civil Rights Lesson from a Randy Chinese Swinger

When you think of China, you don’t think of it as a particularly sexy place. Probably the Chinese don’t even think of China as a particularly sexy place as they tend to take their lead in sexual conduct from the West. Nevertheless, with nearly 1.5 billion people, China is the most populated country in the world. All those babies have to be coming from somewhere.

In truth, the citizens of China have practiced pre-marital sex for quite sometime now. They may not have the long legacy of erotica found in the West, initiated since time began and fortified by the art and literature,and ruminations of the Victorian Era, leading up through the pornographic “French Decks” of playing cards to the grand institution or erotica we extol today. The Chinese may not even share the Japanese legacy, the artful and colorful paintings of lovers in bold colored silk robes contorted in every imaginable position, most of which having their visage in defiance of logical perspective.

Beauty shops and massage parlors permeate most Chinese cities, with each being the code word for a brothel. While technically against the law, Chinese authorities tend to look the other way when it comes to the long stand presence of “beauty parlors,” kind of like what California does with its medical marijuana shops. And like the medical marijuana shops, unless there is political pressure from a self-righteous group of do gooders with too much time on their hands, or the owner of the “beauty parlor” manages to upset someone in the bureaucracy, business goes on with little fanfare.

There is a preponderance of “adult health stores”. These health stores are not to be confused with American health food stores where you can buy your granola in bulk. Chinese Adult Health store is the given name for purveyors of every imaginable type of adult sex toy. To say these stores are easy to find, is to equate their proximity with the nail salons of American. If there isn’t one on every corner, then the sex toy shops are ubiquitous enough to assure no one will be waiting in line. As for pornography on the Chinese Internet system, that is also forbidden. But needless to say, thanks to the wonders of modern technology and with necessity being the not only the mother of invention but a matter of getting off, the Chinese can acquire software that can circumvent the government blocks.

As with most countries on an economic upswing, social regulatory efforts, if not necessarily the actual letter of the law, tend to liberalize in practice as well as theory. When people are starving and struggling to survive, they have little time for sexual diddling. Or if they do have time, it is because it is there only diversion from a dreary life, and those impromptu episodes usually result in the begetting or more children, which puts even more pressure on the family and its struggles, and makes for far less time in the exotic pursuits. A win-lose situation, for sure. But when the good times are rolling, leisure and vice become a heady pursuit.

So what’s the big deal over the Chinese college professor, Ma Yahohai, who was sentenced to three and a half years in prison for having the temerity to engage in sex orgies and practice sexual partner swapping.? Ma and his girlfriend were members of a group of 22 persons that had some 35 swinger sessions over a two year period. Frisky devils. Ma participated in about half of these sessions. Most of these sessions took place in Ma’s two bedroom apartment. Ma shared the apartment with his girlfriend and mother. What the adventuresome couple did with Momma during these libidinous occasions is anyone’s guess. Maybe she took video. Or like a good caring mother, washed off the sex toys to eliminate disease. One can only imagine.

But the fact is that out of the twenty two arrested and charged with Criminal Law 301, Sexual Law 301, Crowd Licentiousness, eighteen of these randy souls were sentenced to prison. While the defiant Ma was sentenced to his three and a half years, others were sentenced up to two and a half years. No slap on the wrist, and no mention whatsoever about community service or making an anti-sex film. The Chinese prison system has never been known much for luxury living. So a couple of years in jail can give you a lot of time to ponder wistfully the sex orgies you will be missing. As for the three defendants who got off without a jail sentence, I have no idea how they got so lucky. Maybe they were only there to watch or serve hor dourves.

It could be worse for Ma and his swinging associates I suppose. Back in the good old days of Chairman Mao and his successors, various types of sexual congress, including group sex, could be construed as “hooliganism.” “Hooliganism” was catch all charge for crimes that made you realize you were in big trouble. Big trouble meant a lengthy jail sentence at a slave labor facility not of your choice. You were looking at possible execution. So by those draconian standards, I suppose, a couple years in jail is a slap on the wrist.

Today, yohimbe extract is a common ingredient added for the preparation of weight Check Out Your website viagra tablets in india loss products. However, scientists and speviagra in india ts have been unable to find an appropriate treatment for ED. In such difficult situations, people generally opt to use alcohol that keeps you away from the sexual issues. purchase levitra online wouroud.com Therefore, a high creatinine level in the blood can be an overseas multi-level promoting firm acquiring areas in cheapest price for levitra addition to offers weight loss, eating routine, in addition to natural skin care items internationally. According to reports, there are 100, 000 alleged swingers in China out of the 1.3 billion population. In terms of Chinese population this is but a measly few. The measly few engage in group sex and brag about it by posting on the Internet. Many more beyond the 100,000 read it as it provides if nothing else some vicarious thrills in a country that has yet to develop the 900 sex number. But still, we are talking a small group of enthusiasts. Not particularly threatening. I would consider the group grope of twenty odd people in a two bedroom apartment more of a threat to the integrity of the carpet than to the burgeoning Chinese economy.

Other groups are considered far more threatening. There are all sorts of radicals and terrorists groups who actually blow up things and don’t just brag about some sexual exploits on the Internet. There are people trafficking in illegal everything, from counterfeit prescription drugs to counterfeit invoices. There are myriad labor strikes and worker unrest, including violent demonstrations. The citizens of the more rural provinces are restless and prtoesting the state appropriation of their lands. This has resulted in massive riots. In one riot recently, hundreds were killed in Sichuan Province.

There is airline corruption and all sorts of financial swindling. Chinese law enforcement has been very busy as the nation pays the price of progress. Even the questionable menace of the Chinese Uighur population would present more of a problem than a couple bunches of swingers. There are many millions of Chinese Uighurs, a Muslim group that is viewed by the Chinese Government as a radical faction and periodically subjects them to surveillance and harassment. In Xinjiang Province alone, nearly half the population of 23 million are Chinese Uighurs. I would venture very few Chinese Uighurs are swingers, but that is another story. The fact is the swingers of China make up but a small but determined faction that you could probably fit into the Beijing Subway. A chance at getting off at every station.

To be sure, I am not promoting swinging. I am not promoting it in China or anywhere else. In fact, mere photos of the swinging Internet set threatens to drive me to the monastery for contemplations of semi-theistic metaphysics and far less carnal pursuits. Watching the few happy partner swapping examples on the Jerry Springer Show made me seriously consider celibacy for the next millennium,. Fortunately, reason took control of my senses. I only took a shower, instead. Here in America, swingers can live large and lounge about in communal congress inside the often tacky but spacious environs of a split-level sub-tract with enough garage and driveway space for all those Toyota Camrys. Meanwhile their kindred Chinese swingers must dangle their dongs in a measly two bedroom apartment. Here you get to be on Jerry Springer or at least have your fat, naked ass plastered all over the Internet. But in China you get a couple, few years in jail.

To loosely paraphrase Voltaire, I may not like swinging and partner swapping, but will defend to the death your right to engage in it, no matter how nauseating it may appear. Alright, maybe I won’t defend it to the death, as I have better things to do than defend the randy rambling of a bunch of refugees from Wal-Mart looking for distraction in a down economy. But at the very least, I will give it lip service, even when I grimace and fumble with the shower faucets. Why?

Because everybody should have the right to get laid. It is a right, after all, and not a privilege. Okay, so maybe sometimes it is less of a right and more of a privilege, a treat even, a pathetically rare one, depending on the disposition and predilections of your spouse or lover. I realize that sometimes your significant other does not find either you or your entreaties as significant or otherwise as you might either hope for or come to expect. So I guess like other debates over rights and privleges, there is at least a little wiggling room. But once you do work it out with your lover or significant other you have the freedom to fire away, anytime, day or night. Even if twenty two people are involved.

But as in China, there are some here and in parts of the world who don’t really see it that way. They allude to some intelligent design and a divine plan where you must only do it with restrictions. They ascribe the damning words immoral and degenerate to a variety of sex practices that were apparently never detailed in the master plan. Otherwise, I suppose, the master plan would have been just plain old porn and not some divine edict from the heavens explaining explicitly where Daddy and Mommy or Daddy and Daddy or Mommy and Mommy may put their thingies and Woo Woo’s. In some cases they want to rearrange your thinking; they want to straighten you out.

Oppression always begins somewhere. Usually in the stupid places, the places that make us wince. But then they graduate to places where we are concerned where transgressions are made against our privacy and thought process. We suddenly find our rights intruded upon and threatened by a group of ideologues who truly believe in this world of infinite choices they are so graced with absolute answers. We find ourselves being subjected to embarrassment and thrown in jail for acting out on our natural impulses. Oppression begins in the dumbest of places, and it ends somewhere else. And we don’t know how we go there.

Chinese Professor Ma Yaohai has resigned from his teaching post. He now lives off his savings and his mother’s pension. He is appealing his sentence of three and a half years for “group licentiousness,” which translates into getting his rocks off with a couple dozen people. As we have seen recently in this country, some of our own social issues that we thought were long put to rest, sexuality, racism, the right to live and breathe as you so choose, have resurfaced and been challenged by perhaps a well intentioned but vehement minority. Given that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, we should never take the good professor’s condition all that lightly. No matter who you are or where you sleep, something may be lurking beneath the sheets. Something besides your partner’s cold feet.

The Grand and Gruesome Tradition of Spousal Murder

Anybody married has at one time or another pondered however briefly the idea of doing away with his or her spouse or long term lover. It’s natural. You can lie about it and claim self-righteous indignity, but I seriously doubt if your spouses demise wasn’t at least cause for a flash of speculation. Except maybe if you are Mother Theresa. But then, she wasn’t married.

Let’s face it, killing one’s spouse is an historic tradition. It has peppered history. It has moved fortunes, and it has realigned nations. It has also disrupted families and left us to ponder the illogical. But prevalent. As it is difficult to pick up a paper and not discover the periodic and often sensationalized story of one significant other reaching the dramatic conclusion that the other significant other is not so significant, after all.

Spouse killings are big news. Scott Peterson, a pathetic nebish of a man with a lust for other women, a deep seated hatred for his wife, and a bad murder plan, made headlines for months on end, after he killed his eight months pregnant wife, Laci, and tossed her body into the San Francisco Bay. His turgid story practically made careers. Talking heads babbled on and on as if this idiot had killed the Archduke Ferdinand and set off the First World War. But interest in that little catastrophe in distant Europe pales in the face of spousal murder.

I remember as a kid hearing my parents discuss Ethel Kravitz who awakened her husband one morning with five shots into his sleeping body. She was early in the game and didn’t get the headlines, the book and movie deal she would have today as she explained to all who would listen of her mental torture at the hands of what’s his face. And then not long ago there was the woman in Texas who as taped by security cameras running her Mercedes over her cheating husband’s body. Like fifteen times. Surely her way of declaring the marriage was over.

But then Texas has always been intriguing with its spousal murders. I remember living there some decades ago when the “crimes of passion” ruling was still hanging around. Come weekends you would get the murder scores like the ball scores. The first being how many drunken rednecks not yet accustomed to urbanization shot up the bar and killed some other barfly in a heated dispute over the superiority of the Ford or Chevy truck. I remember one incident where one shot another for taking his hat. Not quite like taking his horse or his truck, but it got him shot just the same.

But that was nothing when compared to the time honored Texas tradition where spouses who shot the wife, husband, lovers, whatever, claimed they did it in the heat of passion. The heat of passion laws were still on the books back then, and more than a few judges paid homage to custom and gave the heat of passion plea notable credibility. The loving couple may have not spoken to each other for months, not had sex for decades, but suddenly that old passion blazed inside and blammo, there was blood on the Karastan carpet. I remember one husband shooting his wife’s lover because he thought he was a burglar. A burglar standing naked over his straying wife. And these, mind you, were hardly the trailer trash whose collective insignificance meant their tales of murder and betrayal was a mere footnote to the upscale crimes of passion. It wasn’t like today where any half-assed ne’er do well could make big headlines by only killing his or her spouse. If you were of the lower classes you had to at least kill a whole bunch of people and not just your spouse before any self-respecting journalist would waste news space or air time on your sordid and pathetic story. But then, that was before there was a 24-hour news monster that had to be fed.

Yes, more than a few of the wealthy and successful have traveled the rickety path from the appearance of reputable citizenship to homicidal celebrity. There are any number of physicians who choose to do in their wives to avoid the inconvenience of divvying up community property. Sometimes there is a lover involved, and sometimes it is just a stand alone venal gesture. Such was the recent case where according to the Los Angeles Times, a man was charged with arranging for his wife’s murder back in 2003. Only now, are they bringing charges, which speaks well of the tenaciousness of the Los Angeles Police on this murder case. The murdered spouse was one of their own, after all, and had been a secretary in the Internal Affairs Division. Police considered among other leads the killing was job related. But ultimately the motive enveloped the estranged wife discovered assets her husband didn’t declare in what had initially been an amicable divorce. It came to light that it was a hired gang member who murdered her with a shotgun, outside a Mexican Restaurant. At the alleged behest of her husband. Her husband had taken there because a friend had told him the guacamole was something special.

But speaking of killings, there are the celebrity murders that seemed wrapped around restaurants. Something about eating a decent meal that makes one want to kill their beloved. There is the Robert Blake who was brought up on murder charges for allegedly killing his wife in North Hollywood, outside their favorite Italian restaurant. He wasn’t convicted. O.J. Simpson, was also found not guilty, wink-wink, was charged with killing his wife after she, too, returned from a then trendy Italian restaurant in Brentwood. But Phil Spector was found guilty. Took two trials to make it happen, as the evidence of his having blood all over himself, powder burns, and claiming to his driver “I just killed someone,” made it a tough call for the jury. Alright, technically she wasn’t Spector’s wife, but some woman he had picked up in a restaurant. Nevertheless, Spector deserves some honorable mention here, if for no other reason than his past exploits with former wives and girlfriends. All those years of trying shouldn’t go unnoted.

There was the celebrity chef, Juan Cruz, who was arrested for arranging his wife’s murder. And now Mexican authorities have issued an arrest warrant for Bruce Beresford-Redman, former producer of “Survivor,” some irony there, in connection with the killing of his wife. Beresford-Redman has denied any involvement with his wife’s death. Saturday Night Live featured player, Phil Hartman, was shot by his drug addled wife. Years go, women were best known for poisoning their victims. But now they have modernized and have exchanged poison for bullets. And you get to know the outcome of your actions much sooner than poison would allow. You’ve come a long way, baby.

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Age doesn’t seem to be a factor when it comes to killing your spouse. Spousal murder is fun for all ages. The young do it, think of Ryan Jenkins, former reality show contestant, who killed his ex-wife, Jasmine Fiore, a former swimsuit model. Brain child that he was, Jenkins pulled out her teeth and cut off her fingers to keep the police from identifying the body. He forgot about the serial numbers in the boob job. Oh well. At least Jenkins had the decency to hang himself in a Canadian motel and save the state some desperately needed bucks.

And then there is my former neighbor and strange but brilliant fellow, Ira Einhorn. Combining actual research with actual bullshit, Einhorn was a charismatic soul despite the fact he appeared to wash every new moon and gave Mr. Dirt a serious run for his money. Nevertheless, he captivated the new agers, academicians, and corporate folk alike with his mighty spiel about the expanded mind and the future of everything. Even when convicted, many still backed him, in fact supported him with money and other assistance as he eluded authorities for close to twenty years. In fairness, Ira didn’t kill his spouse but the young woman who loved him and then found him overbearing and controlling once she grew up and out of her infatuation stage. Ira didn’t like that, couldn’t stand the fact that she had left him, and forever sealed their bond by beating her to death with a hammer and then keeping her desiccated body in a trunk inside his funky apartment. He had convinced the more gullible it was all a set up. That despite the smell coming from his apartment, he was working in mind manipulation and telekinetic communication. But the less gullible, like the jury for instance, wasn’t buying it, and convicted poor Ira in something like two hours. They probably took so long because one juror had lingered in the bathroom.

Okay, enough of the gruesome facts. There are certainly enough to get the picture, and the list or spousal and lover murders is far too long for any reasonable person to want to absorb. Beside, I will live that up to Nancy Grace and the Crime Network. But spousal murder still remains its own kind of killing. Jealousy and avarice may be the top two ingredients to set someone off to killing their spouse, that’s true. But, still, we are referring to a pretty dramatic and reprehensible act here, all to save a few bucks or justify a lover on the side. Or to nullify that lover on the side. Whatever. It is some recourse for what appears an intractable condition.

While we have for the more religious the Biblical depiction of fratricide, there is little I can think of that explains in any detail the killing of one spouse or another. You can find it in blues songs and in country music, but not in the Bible. But then I have never been much of a Bible reader, so I might have missed something in class. And then if I had missed the spousal homicide bit, pop culture would have reared the parable in whatever dumbed down lyric form so I would at least be aware of it. No going there. But then not everything in the Bible. I am Western and think in Western thoughts. There are special creeds where the ultra religious somehow still feel justified, in killing their wives. But say no more as they tend to get upset when you remind them of it.

Was spousal homicide just inconceivable back in Biblical times? Doubtful Or was it that women were considered property or chattel and their sudden demise at the hands of their self-righteous husbands was nothing to write verses about? I don’t know. But then there is no real Biblical listing of wives killing husbands, either. And they might have been more justified, given the oppression of the times.

And what prompts one spouse to kill another? Rich and intelligent people commit to spousal murder the face of all probability they will be caught, convicted and sentenced to a place far removed from the golf course? It is amazing that to avoid giving up material possessions one would stoop to the unthinkable. Or because they want to leave their spouse for another lover. Or the spouse doesn’t want them leaving for another lover. It”s a stone, cold fact yet still amazing that greed and jealousy leads to the kind of thought that leads to murder.

I can understand the true crime of passion when in a jealous rage one spouse or the other snaps out and stands there with the smoking gun or dripping knife. Dumb but understandable. But most often jealous rage is not the the case. Most often spousal murders are premeditated and calculated. Most of the time there is a trail. There are motives and documents, telephone records and complicit email. There is often the actual killer, the guy who did it, arrested on a different charge and now willing to tell all for a lighter sentence. Or for an appearance on Larry King. Few get away with it. But still the beat goes on.

I would love to attribute it to our social programming and blame the media for egging us on. I would love to cite loose morals, the ever growing need for self-aggrandizement. I could opt that we read enough headlines, see enough movies, and read enough books to perhaps make some of the more demented start to think spouse killing is an easy fix to a bad marriage. But it is not the media. The media may fan the flames, but there is something inside us that leads the charge. There is that chemical impulse that leads to premeditation, that causes some to cross the line between rational thought and plotting and scheming their spouse’s murder. Yes, it is in our chemistry. Damn it.

So I guess we should take into consideration the old Dupont slogan, “Better Living Through Chemistry.” Or not. Perhaps it is better said that we are just dumb enough to be human.

The Life and Times of the Counterfeit Erection

The head of the Intellectual Property Investigation Bureau for the Hong Kong Customs Office, recently reported that eighty percent of the counterfeit drugs seized are used to treat impotence. This means that despite all the diseases out there that require treatment, from heart disease to restless leg syndrome, the main concern is penis performance. The heart arteries could be blocked, and the diabetes count could be four hundred and change; lungs could be like toasted marshmallows from years of cigarette smoke, and the brain riddled with mad cow disease, but if the penis works, then all is well with the world.

Stiffening the penis is big money wherever you look. Between the lap dances and the porn sites, the sex junkets to Thailand, even the somewhat tame Victoria’s Secret Catalog, much of the international marketing thrust is designed for Chubby. There are colognes promising sex attraction through Pheromones and monkey sweat. There are any number of herbs and foods considered to be aphrodisiacs. Where the penis is concerned, the world is its oyster. We are not talking a few bucks here We are talking mega-billions.

In fact the manufacture and sale of imitation Viagra and other such drugs used to treat erectile dysfunction generates more profits than any other drug sold in China. Much of it is also exported. But there is for the world wide boner effort, plenty of pills to go around. Viagra and Cialis are the two most pervasive counterfeit drugs confiscated by customs officials. Needless to say, these drugs are not regulated, so they either consist of harmful adulterants that can give the user damaging side effects, or they are merely placebos that have little affect whatsoever. In all, it is a gamble that most customers are willing to take. The hope of a hard on is more promising than the fear of, say, a liver disease.

I find this remarkable on at least one level. The fact that consumers will take health risks for elusive or ephemeral benefits is really unremarkable. In fact, it is commonplace. People will use Botox in spite of some of the possible nerve damage it can cause. They will smoke, drink, take drugs to excess. They will have themselves peeled and snipped and will disregard any possible dangers. Hell, they will overlook all the warning signs of transmittable disease and come closing time go home with a disaster just waiting to happen. So, I suppose, why not at least have a pharmacological erection to accommodate that ill fated night you may long remember?

No, nothing remarkable about this. What is remarkable is the fact that after hundreds and even thousands of years of the Chinese pursuit of the heavenly hard on, they are resorting to Western medicine to achieve their desired erections. All those centuries of eating everything from deer antler, tiger penis, bear bladder, and even gall stones has not compared to the majestic little blue pill. Or the yellow one. So has all the years of imbibing Shark’s Fin Soup, Bull Dick and Testicle Soup, Ginseng, Rhino’s Horn, Sea Cucumber and Bird’s Nest Soup not produced the results that we were led to believe? One has to wonder if the desire for Western treatment for erectile dysfunction is because all that other crap doesn’t work, or it is largely the notion that downing Tiger Penis is a much tougher project than swallowing one small pill. Even with hot sauce, it is hard to imagine what culinary delights the Tiger Penis has to offer. Common sense would dictate it’s a lot easier to take the Viagra or Cialis and leave room in your stomach for some veggie fried rice or a nice, juicy steak. But then the exotic lure of Tiger Penis is something that has escaped me, to date, so maybe there is in the end an acquired taste.

Chinese medicine has been venerated for a fair number of years. Skeptics of Western medical practices, and there should be, believe me, have often extolled the virtue of Chinese Medicine. We are not just talking acupuncture here, but the herbs and foods that offer curative power. Chinese medicine is regarded highly in holistic circles as both reputable and in certain ways advanced in its understanding of the human body and the way certain diseases should be treated. I have used Chinese Medicine. So why, when there are nine million herbs, body parts, food sources and whatever that are over the centuries devoted to raising a woody, have the Chinese decided to eschew all that and switch over to the pill?

Perhaps it is the nifty commercials where a boomer band sits around singing “Viva Viagra,” at the top of its bar band lungs as if a group grope at closing time is their collective reward for playing bad cover songs. Or the kinder and gentler Cialis commercials where “when the moment is right for you.” Yeah, like painting a room might suddenly inspire the two of you to put down the rollers and climb down off of that ladder. I have wondered if the suggestion behind double bathtub commercial is that once the Cialis takes hold of Johnny Wonder it will drill through one tub into the other. Better than Popeye’s spinach.

You would think with all the Viagra buying, the Chinese would have a lot of sex on their minds. The idea of buying counterfeit Viagra, or Cialis, or Levitra, for that matter, I would think is to keep the cost down. If you are messing around just here and there, what’s few bucks more for the real thing. Okay, one reason for buying counterfeit may be the confidentiality. In China, where losing face, or whatever, is a big issue, the Chinese man may want to keep it on the low down that his thingie ain’t working. It’s not like here where we are not only singing about it, but bragging to our friends.
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Perhaps it is a quantitative thing and Chinese men have become a bunch of horny souls who thanks to the national surge in their economy are looking for love in all the wrong places. It could be they went from the bitterness of short money and a lot of starvation to feeling flush everywhere but down below. Deer Antler letting you down? Try Cialis. So there in the need for quantity comes forth the need for economy. Viagra and such is expensive. Counterfeit pills have to be a lot cheaper. But then it is more than a tad ironic that a nation trying to retain population control is defying the odds of pregnancy that is strongly propagated by an insistent erection.

But the Chinese have for at least the modern age been largely a prudish nation. Movies are often censored. National policy forbids pornography. Yet when it comes to illegal brothels the government looks the other way. Usually, the illegal brothels are fronted by a hair salon. What a rude awakening for the unsuspecting soul ventures there for a cut and perm. And since the “hair salons” proliferate Chinese cities, perhaps a pocketful of Viagra is necessary to just to work your way down the block.

In fairness, every nation has had its aphrodisiacs. There are oysters, chili, dog meat, yes, dog meat, more oysters,ginkgo, turtle eggs, and the skink. After awhile, it seems just about everything but liquor and ice cream will help men get it up. Of course, Western culture being what it is, nothing makes more sense than a single pill you pop an hour before your are ready to roll of the sofa and turn off the TV. Can’t argue with that.

Although there are certain Westerners who are taking issue with the Viagra culture. As the Daily Beast has dubbed them The Viagra Brigade, here are the women who at a certain age have had their sex drives diminished to levels of a more sedentary convenience. Now here they are, content to pursue other interests, coping with a horny husband. Some of these men make increased demands on these women, depending on the size of the prescription. And some go astray, complicating long term relationships by jumping the reservation and heading for the younger women world for that one last time around.

Geezers with an attitude. And then there are the younger women who married the wealthier older man for security, companionship, and a lot of nice things his money could buy her. Sex wasn’t really part of the package. but now she suddenly has to perform. Talk about an inconvenient truth.

Maybe had a way of telling us to slow down. Maybe, in the original master plan, with aging we were not about to reproduce so there was not much need for erections. Maybe, after a certain point, the penis may be working with a little help from its friends, but the rest of us is not quite up to snuff. There are aches and pains. The aging body hurts just when you get up in the morning, yet alone when you are having sex. So maybe we are in defiance of nature and the master plan.

But then again, maybe not. Maybe the crap we put into our systems that we call food creates diabetes and assorted ailments that are well known to cause erectile dysfunction. It’s possible being obese or a least a couple dozen pounds overweight may have something to do with the way the blood travels through the body. Maybe the sedentary life and our self-absorptions, preoccupations and worries, real and imagined, impair the sexual reflect. One could justify that screwing in the face of age and adversity is a grand act of defiance and of telling impending mortality to kiss our collective ass. Maybe after the BMW and the decorator everything sex and its resultant pleasure is one of the only things that really matters. After all, we have how many sexual thoughts per hour? I have long lost track.

So for the horny Chinese and the horny rest of us around the world, if you can’t take the heat, stay in the kitchen. Viva Viagra. If nothing else, it is one of the few things in this world that actually works.

Los Angeles is the Hollywood Sign

Los Angeles has always been a city of contradictions. For one thing, most of its citizens share a love hate relationship with the city. It is a Western City, populated at first by New Yorkers and Mid-Westerners, and now with people from every part of the globe. It is an American city with an Hispanic past. Its major products are agrarian, technology, and dreams.

It has been ridiculed of its tackiness and referred to as Tinsel Town. Yet with the suburbanization of most cities in America, with their endless grids of unremarkable houses in predictable tracts all punctuated by a series of shopping malls and big box stores, the City of Los Angeles, has become incredibly unique to itself. On one hand when you live in Los Angeles you are aware that this may be the vanguard of American living. If only the rest of America didn’t despise us so much. You live here at the far end of America. When you visit anywhere else you feel more like you have been living on the moon.

The City of the Angels one of the most populous urban areas in the nation. Yet it’s odd and endless grids are offset by a large array of year round foliage, replete with any number of exotic plants, desert vegetation, oaks, maples, Bougainvillea, Jacaranda, and the occasional Willow. The houses themselves are a flurry and mix and match of architectural types, with Tudors standing next door to Spanish Mission, next to mid century modern, next to the sleek, contemporary pronouncements of the twenty first century. All encapsulated by an endless ribbon of freeways, highways, boulevards, and narrow, winding canyon roads. A city with extreme wealth and extreme poverty, luxury landscapes and urban blight, all embraced by the Pacific Ocean to the West and Santa Monica and San Gabriel Mountain ranges to its north and east.

LA has probably the worst urban gridlock. It is a once flat city going high rise. Yet in some parts of the city urban sprawl is being witnessed by decidedly non-urban creatures like deer and coyote. This is in addition to the opossums, snakes and wildcats, vying for space with major street gangs and gangs of paparazzi. It is some mix, and confused chroniclers of the city have labored for years to analyze the contradictions.

In my twenties, I remember when the richest part of Beverly Hills, the rich flats resplendent then with celebrities and wealthy replicants of the post-Ozzie and Harriet era, living just across the street from the Wonder Bread Factory. Here were houses envied by much of a nation, to say nothing of the Beverly Hills City Hall and Police Station, all enduring the smell of sugar and yeast from what was then the biggest bread maker in the country.

Los Angeles has long been denigrated for its lack of culture and abundance of nut jobs. But meanwhile, it has long been the political sanctuary for creative refugees, be it the Mexican artists, fleeing the Mexican Revolution, or the Europeans fleeing Hitler’s scourge. Despite the long standing and tired joke that the main culture here is in yogurt, the art scene flourishes as one of the most dynamic in the world. There are many literary luminaries living here, and a media and entertainment center it is second to none. As for the nut jobs, there are many, but the city’s financial and legal centers impact greatly the economics of Asia Pacific and global economics in general.

LA is the world-wide capital for self absorption. It is a powerful city, where many adults still dress like children. Yet it is for the most part a bastion of liberal politics, and more ethnically diverse than just about any other city. LA is a city where people don’t care much about your background, the color of your skin and to which religion you cast your prayers. They care instead about what you do and what you drive. They care about how you look and what you wear, and whether you are smart enough to seize on opportunity when it air kisses your front door.

So it is small wonder, that at least part of the consciousness of Los Angeles would be symbolized by the Hollywood Sign. Why is this a contradiction? At least for a city that likes to knock things down and build things new things in their place, thus reinventing itself and nullifying history, the temporarily constructed Hollywood sign remains a part of our permanent history. But maybe not for long.

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In 1949 the City Council in its great wisdom ordered the “land” part of the sign to be removed so it could become the enduring symbol of the center of the earth, as least as far as the motion picture industry was concerned. But structures made of wood and sheet metal were not meant to endure, and the sign fell in and out of disrepair. Its durability wasn’t helped any when people crashed their cars into it, vandalized it, and even jumped from it; as in one case where a failed and forlorn Hollywood actress jumped from the letter “H.”

Like many actors of a certain age, the sign may have looked good from a distance, but up close it was looking aged and worn, and perhaps only worth advertising that the once glamorous Hollywood proper was now populated by hookers and junkies, and tourists still gaping at the concrete feet of celebrities outside of Grauman’s Chinese Theater.

In 1978, the sign was in such disrepair that the city launched a fund raising drive to replace the letters. In steel. At the time, the cost of replacement was $250,000 or so. Alice Cooper donated a new letter “O” along with his manager at the time, Shep Gordon. To garner donations, pieces of the old sign were embedded in Lucite and sold or given away. A friend gave me one of those, and to this day it still adorns one of my bookshelves. Despite the passing of years, I still find it oddly reassuring, a relic of accidental permanence in an impermanent environment.

More work was done on the sign in 2005 and 2006. Like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard, it needs maintenance.

So where is the big contradiction? Okay, if it is not a contradiction, then its is surely ironic. The Hollywood Sign started out as an advertisement for a housing development. And now, Fox River Financial Resources, Inc, wants to disrupt its solitary presence by putting up a housing development on the 138 acres of surrounding land. The real estate development will either jeopardize the Hollywood Sign or make it awfully damned ugly to look at with a bunch of houses in its perimeter.

The City of Los Angeles and its Trust for Public Land has but three more days to raise an additional $2.8 million of the $12 Million in total needed to buy the land from Fox River, which bought it from the Hughes estate in 2002 for $1.7 Million. A nice profit. For what Los Angeles considers one of its historical treasures.

Personally, I want to see the sign saved. A few luxury houses on the mountain crest will hardly substitute for the sheer beauty of the mountainous area, a rare bit of space unmolested by our problematic need to build on every piece of vacant land. As these are to be four luxury houses developed on this parcel, the abusively rich can find another place to park their ass. We would miss the sign, but hardly the cretins intent on their fiefdoms. The Hollywood Sign, after all, does symbolize Los Angeles.

Puppetry of the Pearly Penile Papules

For many years now, the running commentary is that a man’s penis has a mind of its own. Or we have heard it said that the little head is in command of the big head. Maybe so. Maybe not.

But here is a case where a man’s penis should have maybe done the thinking for him. Apparently the big head was cajoled and pressured into thrusting the little head into public scrutiny, where both person and penis were met with derisive comments and otherwise embarrassing results.

According to an article the Courthouse News Service, a man has filed a complaint against CBS Television Network. The man alleges the producers of the reality show, “The Doctors” tricked him into discussing his laser surgery before a live studio audience. The laser surgery was intended to remove “pearly penile papules.” Pearly penile papules are seemingly harmless skin colored bumps or pimples that I’m sure do little to enhance one’s sex appeal.

The man contends that he contacted the doctor at the surgery center, in La Jolla, California, for an appointment to consult about this $4,500 surgery. A couple of days later, the would-be patient received a call from “The Doctors” requesting he appear on the show. The offended party contends that he was unduly pressured into appearing on the show. He wasn’t told about the live studio audience. The show was broadcast, he alleges, without his consent.

The man now claims he has suffered “relentless embarrassment and harassment.” He claims he receives less than complimentary phone calls and emails from friends and acquaintances who have commented on his television debut. We can only imagine the content of the voice mails and emails, but there is little doubt they can prove unnerving.

Honestly, I feel bad for the guy. He may have a case.; he may not. He may have been tricked or he may have imagined himself aglow in the light of celebrity. I don’t know. Television producers in need of willing and gullible subjects can be very persuasive. They can work their charms and hammer you in every way until your relinquish yourself to their programming needs.

In the mood of the times, it is flattering at first that you Joe Blow from wherever are suddenly a point of focus. It can bring some distraction to your everyday life. People will notice you. In a bad economy with jobs outsourced and not all that many prospects out there, you could make yourself famous. It’s like marathon dancing during the Great Depression. A long shot. And often painful.

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So when life is drab and your money is short, when Hollywood calls you may want to consider the possibilities. This is the age, after all, were privacy woefully lacks the currency it once had. In a bad economy, especially, you can’t make yourself rich and famous by secreting your most intimate biases, dreams, and sexual proclivities. Just walk down the street or stand on any elevator where someone is yammering away about their love life and not-so-secret desires. Do they care that you are standing around wondering what kind of imbecile makes all this known to the public? Not in the least. Either they don’t care or they want you to look at them, take notice, think of them as someone engaged in a life more exotic than its somber reality.

Integrity and decorum have long fallen by the wayside as the multitudes seek to gain the advantage over their peers by exhibiting themselves in some absurd fashion, by having more babies, uttering believed to be metaphysical by some and nonsense to the dwindling quantity of discerning minds. Couple this was the fact that most people are in fact functionally illiterate, so signing away their life on documents they are unable to read is more commonplace than ever before. They buy houses, cars, and get involved in get rich quick schemes by passing over the fine print. They claim in the aftermath that they were victimized by virtue that they were either incapable or too lazy to read the documents with which they were presented.

The quest for fame is even greater than the quest for sex. Both may be ephemeral and ultimately unsatisfying, but the quest for celebrity in this day and age is the strongest urge. The quest for celebrity emanates from conditions of alienation and anonymity. More often than not the feeling of one’s loneliness and insignificance can only be sated when not one but thousand or millions of eyes turn their eyes away from their iPhones and cast them onto you.

For that brief recognition people will subject themselves to damn near anything. They will have sex with animals or talk about their worst moments to their twenty million best friends. They will humiliate themselves at every level and willingly swap their dignity for celebrity with only the slightest bit of prompting. Where there once was a time where you had to pry out someone’s innermost secrets, in quest of celebrity you can’t shut them up.

What is remarkable is that someone who finds the cure for AIDS will have the same amount of celebrity as, say, the Octomom. There is no discrimination. Famous is famous. We may claim otherwise, but it’s not the truth. They are here and they are gone. Unless they manage in some way through some gift of accomplishment or media savvy to sustain our fickle attentions. Otherwise, they are off the show and back on their cell phones, pumping up their inflated sense of accomplishment.