Smartie-pants...es

There seems to be a difference between uneducated and willfully stupid.  One is correctable and forgivable while the other is a conscious choice on the part of someone unwilling to think.  The former are often characterized in Disney films as the hapless sidekick while the latter runs for office waving a party banner depicting a pachyderm.

So too does there seem to be a difference between smart people.  There are those who can recite the best fishing lures to use in certain lakes and what it will take to repair your expensive foreign hybrid and THEN there are those who can clearly explain why Obamacare will not work no matter what amendments Congress attaches to it (p.s. I'm willfully hopeful it will work despite the evidence).  Yet the people who can bring together seemingly separate ideas into a practical and understandable whole often cannot so much as tie their shoes without being awkward about it.

Then there are others who hide their smarts.  I have no idea why anyone would possibly want to hide their intelligence as it is really the only attribute about a person I have any respect for.  Pretty is given by heredity and athleticism is over-rated (and damn near useless), but intelligence - real intelligence, the kind that is able to skillfully extrapolate and find new approaches to traditional problems or see connections between disparate concepts; that is praiseworthy.

There is a woman on Blogger who writes Down the Rabbit Hole and is capable of finding these connections.  Some of those connections are found with confirmation bias, but connections all the same.

So why is this skill (and I do mean skill as it takes effort to listen, think, and be as aware of everything as much as possible) so rare?  One explanation came from a summary of a pop-psychology book I skimmed through using an app for my tablet.  Thinking is tiring.  It's easier to let the "unconscious" mind make decisions rather than ponder out logical conclusions and consequences to actions.  (Note I take issue with the concept of the unconscious mind also.)

This line of questioning leads me back again to personal accountability and the basics of human development and leads me my next post - a question posed by a police dispatcher.

The Fifth Estate

Just finished watching this movie staring Benedict Cumberbatch.  His goal of absolute transparency initiated by those who feel a moral obligation to reveal something being kept secret allowing the greater public and history to decide the absolute morality of such secrets is lofty in the extreme, perhaps even a noble one.

However, all we need to do is look at the latest sensational infotainment headlines of the day to realize absolute transparency is irrelevant as a person's attention span can be counted in days on two hands.  Even if WikiLeaks has achieved its goal in revolutionizing journalism for the public good (as it has taken such a first step) people in general will only care for a short period of time about any individual secret that has been revealed.

A post on social media broke down the terrifying headlines over the last twenty years, the most laughable of which was Y2K.  The amount of insanity given to the event that promised to crash planes and send us all back into an economic stone age materialized in exorbitant salaries to programmers with the archaic knowledge of FORTRAN.  The post ended with a question as to what we'll all die of in 2015.

The point I took from the post was two-fold: the public loves to feel urgency about some imminent threat and we forget almost as intensely.

How long before we forget there are people still dying of Ebola infections?  How long before we return to judging minimum wage earners harshly for their laziness?  How long before the Ukraine has always been a part of Russia and university campus rapes are again just boys sowing their wild oats?

It's not that people don't care, it's that there's too much to care about and hearth and home come first. So before the next person launches a protest about some grave injustice of the powers-that-be upon the righteous downtrodden, think about how long you plan to care about them.  If it's just filling a weekend then just sit down and worry about your own behavior.  Are you another Julian Assange pointing out the flaws in others just to deflect from revealing your own secrets?

Dating in My America

A gay man of my generation didn't date much in high school. For four years, my only real option was to date a girl or hang out with my boy friends. However, an official date was almost an impossible proposition. Mildly surprising to me were the children who defied that convention almost immediately after my graduation. I was, one again, born just a few years out of date.

Then came the university and the freedom that overwhelmed me. Being too young to truly appreciate the opportunity offered by the experience, I squandered the single year I was allowed to attend. My typical American male confusion between sexual ecstasy and love lead me awry more than once and caused potential romances to flounder in the shallows of a one-night-stand and the backwash of codependency.

This recklessness, among other failings, contributed to my prison term. Surely I don't need to describe here the lack of dating and romantic opportunity within the correctional system. I am not railing against the rules forbidding sexual expression on the inside, it's a safer environment because of them, but the reality created tends to be frustrating. I did, in fact, fall desperately in love with one man during my years incarcerated. My inability to express anything other than a fraternal affection proved nearly enough to cause psychosis. Many men find ways to get laid, and I almost resorted to such measures, but that would have been hollow and disingenuous to how I felt. So all I could do was tell him as much as words would prove useful and hope we would still see each other after our terms ended... a futile hope.

Then came probation, because I was mean more than once, and my inability to navigate the awkward theesome that was approved romances under those rules. Luck delivered my next love to my door, literally, and his apathy toward the state's participation in our romance developed into a happy several years. Well, happy-ish. It is a romance I will never forget and one I would not trade for anything, but it did end in tears.

Probation has now ended and the state's participation in my love life had abated to minimal levels - I will never again be free of scrutiny - and my social life has grown exponentially since. Within months I've grown my circle of friends and expanded my zone of recreation to become an interstate enterprise. Within my limited experience in this life, this is common. It seems most people have relationships over large areas. I know no one in California, but I can claim friendships spanning several states.

The true crux of this entry - the predicate, as my best friend would quote from some TV show - isn't so much one of bemoaning my romantic status or complaining about the difficulties I've endured in the arenas of love, it's one of celebrating the greys of relationships.

I learned, both formally and through experience, that no two relationships are alike. I have more than one friend and each relationship has taboo topics and areas of common interest that are not duplicated in any other relationship I've ever had. I've fallen in love a total of three times and each not only had unique aspects to the very nature of the romance, but each FELT different from the previous. No wonder poets cannot describe the feeling accurately.

I now have friendships with sexual aspects. I have friendships that appear sexual, but are not. I have friendships that can go several months without contact and survive as if no time has passed. Then I have friendships that are based on vacation fantasy and currently exist as nostalgic vehicles. I love all these men as much as I ever loved any romantic partner... which may explain why I'm single.

I counsel my best friend against labels as a step toward non-judgment. (Judgment is wasted energy since acting on most of our judgment is harmful.) I'm finding this good advice for myself as well. Each of the relationships I am a part of is unique. Each will develop on its own coarse and in its own time. Defining what a friendship is as opposed to a romance or an acquaintance seems to place artificial limits on where the relationship is allowed to go... and I've always argued with my counselor about his statement, "you don't fuck your friends." I did, I do, and I will. Then I will still call them friends.

I have come to agree with my counselor - and every one before him - that communication is key to the success of any relationship. By explaining my flexibility to the people in my social life - and listening to their version of the same - the expectations of the relationship are made known and all is laid bare. Surprises and miscommunication are kept to a minimum and the early practice encourages continued "transparency" allowing the relationship to move about freely. I'm even making an attempt to retain a man as a friend after we discovered ourselves sexually incompatible, supposedly moving "backward."

The shades of grey are the fascinating part of relationships, they seem to be what makes most of them fun to be a part of.

Random

So I was crawling around on the floor of my bedroom this morning looking for the third condom and discovered a VCR under my bed.  I have to ask myself, "When did I ever own a VCR?"

End of an Era

Labor Day tends to mark the end of summer in America.  Of the three summer holidays, it is the last of those long weekends away from the cities and daily life.  Many people use these summer weekends to "get away," go "camping," or head to whatever beach is available to them for a final topping of their tan or dip in some body of water.  After this, after all, it's all downhill.

I too celebrated the end of the summer; the end of my first true summer in many, many years, with a trip to Minneapolis - as I'm known to do.  Because I don't explain the true reasoning for my trips, co-workers and family find me daft for spending nearly ten hours in a car for a five hour pool party.  I wasn't about to skip the final party of the year due to a lack of acceptable explanation or something as trivial as financing.  Man invented credit and privacy for a reason and America thrives on debt and liberty, right?

This trip (two months ago, actually) ended my reign as the newest nudist.  My BFF doesn't really count since he just wants to go to the pool parties and could care less about whether he's nude or not.  The group in Minneapolis held their annual membership drive at the Twin Cities Pride event and got inundated with requests to join.  The last time I was there, a hundred people crammed into a two-bedroom house that just happened to have a heated in-ground pool... surely that wasn't the real draw for the crowd at all.  This weekend I was able to spend some time with the newest members of the group and got to know them a little bit.  As we all know, a man is far more than the clothes he wears and when he's not wearing any it takes a bit more time to decipher all his quirks of personality.  One man wore only a simple silver chain and the other chest hair.  Not much information in those fashion choices.

One man preferred to stay very quiet and smile at the antics of my cohorts.  He fussed with his thumbs in what appeared to be a nervous venting, and revealed nothing about himself.  He did claim to talk more while drinking but refused the giant bottle of Captain I stole from a nearby table.  Turns out, he's not all that new to social nudity at all, just the size of the event was new.

The other man admitted to feeling awed by the newness of it all.  It is fairly rare to find gay men being both absolutely gay and absolutely male so publicly.  Of course, he also admitted to having little practice at either as honest living is a recent addition to his personality.  It takes a bit of courage to attend an event with nearly one hundred strangers, much less one with members who already know each other and are used to behaving in a manner not normally seen in the community at large.  (This doesn't mean we behave so differently that a casual observer would believe we are aliens - but that's another entry.)

I felt a bit like an old hand at this party.  Not only were these men younger than myself, and more handsome by any standard, they were displaying the outward signs of the anxiety I have written about previously.  Looking them in the eye I was tempted to simply hug them and prattle on about how it would all be OK.  A silly impulse as they are grown men and more fully committed to joining the group than I was.  It may also have been the vodka talking... my cups tend to be deep.

So goes the passing as all things.  I am no longer the wide-eyed innocent; no longer the voice of the naive; no longer a mere witness to the new.  I now am an official member of the group, a shaper of things.  I may even wield influence from time to time.  So ends my time as a nudbie and begins my next season as mentor.  I may even be called upon to dispense wisdom too, though where I'll find any is anyone's guess.  So as seasons change and karma continues to unfold I, myself, continue to change and experience the next moment.

I was once surprised by many aspects of social nudism.  I was once intensely moved by the openness of these gay men.  I was once, but no longer.  An era has ended, a new begun, and surely karma will continue to unfold and I'll be surprised and moved by the next aspect of life I've yet to notice - since that is part of the reason many of us participate in these events.  The envelope needs to be stretched and a life examined else what is the reason of it all?

Public Service Announcement - Kissing Is A Skill

So, when did kissing become something men are terrible at?  Equally, when did I start typing with dangling participles?

While the label of "slut" comes to mind as I begin this, I must say I've kissed many many men in the last several months and am appalled at the lack of skill that appears to be commonplace among us masculine individuals.  I would think a man would be better at kissing than a blow-job considering the extra years of practice one would expect an individual would have doing one as to the other.  I mean think about it - when was your first kiss and when did you first blow a guy.  I'm guessing there's about a decade between the dates.  Wouldn't I be correct in assuming you should know how to do one better than the other, yet I'd be wrong many many times over.  This is not to say we are experts at fellatio either, but that may be a topic for another time.

My ex and I spent a lot of time being intimate.  I'm quite proud of that since we also were quite boringly domestic.  Together - well, I hope he learned something too - I had the opportunity to closely examine what worked and what didn't.  Without making any claims to being kings of kink-dom, we did try and experiment more than I was ever able to before being in my romance with him.  I'd like to think I came to have some knowledge on the mechanics and techniques of being intimate.  Perhaps I know as much of nothing as the next guy, but I implore you, gentle reader, to please consider your abilities when it comes to kissing the next recipient.

Firstly, kissing is about the lips - NOT the tongue.  The tongue licks, the lips caress.  Kissing is about muscle control and massage, not lying limp while you prove you can remove your partner's tonsils without anesthetic.  The tongue can enter the entertainment, briefly, but only to tantalize your partner with what you may be able to do with it when set to other purpose.  It should not be the main attraction in this show, but rather more like Iago encouraging greater mischief.

Secondly, kissing takes two people.  Each person must not only lead the other on to different style, intensity, and technique, but also be able to follow the other as well.  It's an interesting balancing act at which men are apparently horrible in nearly every other area of their lives, so I shouldn't be surprised when men are equally terrible at listening to body language as subtle as is used in kissing.  Sex in general is about the other partner (not getting off), but that may be a topic for another time.  Kissing is more so.  If a man is a good kisser, he will be able to adapt his technique to what his partner enjoys while slowly introducing him to several other variations that he may not have encountered before.  Please, gentlemen, do not kiss anyone for selfish reasons.  Do not kiss so only you can enjoy it. Pay attention!

Lastly, kissing doesn't mean only the lips touch and all else is called something else.  Everything a man can do with lips, tongue, teeth, breath, and nose (yes, I said nose) to any part of their partner's body is all an extension of what can be done when my lips touch yours.  Taking the same massaging rhythm, upping the intensity just a bit, and applying it to the ear lobe or the nipple can really take your partner to places he didn't intend to go.

I hope you have enjoyed today's PSA.  Just Say NO, Always use a condom, Don't forget your towel, and kissing is a skill - not a distraction while unbuttoning my shirt.

Love Letter

You don't believe you are special and you scoff at the very notion.  I've told you any man lucky enough to claim you as a partner in romance would never be good enough, and you found that idea unfathomable.  I remind you of why this is so:

You seem to give all of yourself.  Not just attention and kindness to those you love, but your very heart.  You give yourself without shame nor doubt.  That level of confidence alone is admirable and enviable, yet you seem to not even notice what you share.  Like everyone else, you only see the flaws - the bits of yourself that cause you shame.  Yet when asked, you are more open and innocent of the effect you have on people than anyone I've ever known.  You are present for those you love, you truly love them - individually, unequivocally, and shamelessly.

Some of us have only felt that level of trust and compassion a few rare times in our lives, yet you give it as if it were proper and reasonable.  For some of us, this becomes difficult to understand because you then give the same level of care to the next person you know and love... and there are several.

This is not admonishment, rather an explanation from those who greet the day slightly happier because we know you.  It is not a curse or failing of your personality, but a skill to be celebrated.  More should be as unconditional as you.  More should love those in our lives without shame and doubt.  More of us should be as willing to give of our hearts as freely because when you do, you gain more people in your life who love you with equal intensity and will move the very heavens to see to your happiness.

If we all strove as much as you to compassion, the world would know no fear or hatred because we would all be supported by the knowledge that we are cared for.  All pain would be temporary and none would be alone.

For this you are better than all of us; for this you are unique; and for this, we are not worthy of the love you share, yet you share it still.

Hurry

Ever since I saw the character Fraiser quote a poem in one of the episodes, I have changed how I approach romance.  Essentially. the poem was about how love finds you, not the other way around, and to look for love is futile.

This has proven true for me three times over.  I was not expecting to meet the men I fell for, nor was I ready for the emotional reality when it happened - embarrassing behavior mostly forgiven.  All I can do is be as ready to see the opportunity for a romance when it happens and be as delicate with people in general as I can as I temper and navigate the emotional changes that inevitably occur.

To equip myself for the next adventure, I have been told I need to be complete unto myself.  Many counselors and fashion magazines espouse the idea that being satisfied with life is the most attractive quality a man can have.  I would agree that neediness is probably the most unattractive, I've never really gotten past an amazing chest to see if they like their life.  Perhaps I'm just shallow.

Following this advice, I have been able to be abnormally social for my historical self since April.  I have held conversations with perfect strangers in bars, flirted with unattractive people, hinted to friends that I have no problem with a romance with any of them, and basically made it known I am single and available.

I expanded my social circle with the special interest of social nudism to include an interstate element to my life.  My friends in Minneapolis are wonderful men.  I recently took a week's vacation to Maryland and met as many of the 350 registrants as I could.  I believe I've even befriended a couple of them.

Upon returning from a week I will never forget, I felt emboldened enough to place myself on the dating web-sites.  I've even been on a couple of hook-ups to satisfy my desire to live outside my comfort zone.  Seeing friends collect dates like pennies, I try to convince myself I could also let loose my restraint and judgment and self-doubt.

Four and a half months of this attempt to view the world differently, because it is different, and still I'm sleeping alone tonight. #sadface

Day 8 to reality

It's been several days since wrote. This is not because I had nothing to report, rather the opposite. Incorporating myself into a new group always takes me a while. However, once I do I tend to keep my social calendar as full as possible.

As this was vacation, my grasp on reality began to slip - the finally let go altogether. Days began to blur,  mesh, and warp into a sun soaked, alcohol stimulated, sexual adventure that required less and less pragmatism. My attention began to focus on the  immediate. If it wasn't for the serving schedule of the buffet table,  I would have become a true hedonist.

I lounged by the pool until my skin began to crisp. Only the did I begin to look for another, activity. I ate when food was available. I imbibed when drink was served. And I slept when my body demanded, but never before nor as entertainment.

The nights grew longer as the week went on and last night was no exception. Waking at 7am - for no explainable reason - has left me now at the airport in Philadelphia awaiting my flight with a strong urge to nap. My earliest opportunity will be in another two hours once I'm aboard the plane, though I doubt I will.

As with most events in my life, simple enjoyment without consequence has become impossible. I look for what I've gained or learned during my vacation. Many lessons are obvious and perhaps more will become apparent as time goes by.

The most obvious is that I'm not 20 anymore. My body reacts more now to changes in my diet, sleep, and alcohol intake. My body doesn't like me much right now. It has been protesting my lifestyle choices since Wednesday and will most likely punish me for days to come.

Similarly, there are certain skills one loses when one is single. I beg forgiveness from those men who had the bad fortune of meeting me too late to benefit from the practice to which I diligently adhered when I was but half of one.

Again I open this post for another edit and realize it has been another four days. My diligence lacks immediacy. My apologies.

Upon returning to work,  I found my co-workers decided to leave some of the work for my first days back. Going from absolute laziness to being busy in my occupation is an unforgivable offense. Grounds for divorce. Reason to run away from home.

My adjustment back to reality,  from the fantasy of being friends with complete strangers to maintaining social boundaries with co-workers - for instance, has been akin to a migraine. My routine at camp was to rise from bed at my leisure , fumble for a cigarette, then step nude into the morning sunshine - which warmed my skin while the crisp air wicked away the sweat from the down blanket. My first morning after vacation nearly had indecent exposure in my long list of public shames.

While at camp I spent many hours in the sun, lounging about and perfecting a tan as best a Polish man can, then diving into a chlorinated pool to rinse away the sweat. Later I would shower with soap and hot water to negate the constant use of deodorant. For eight days the only cloth to touch my skin was an oversized hoodie when the temperature dipped below comfortable. Then I spent many hours fully clothed, unshowered, and limed with perspiration with no real opportunity to get clean. Also, my body was producing extra oils to compensate for my repeated washings. Believe me,  it only took a few hours for rebellion to show itself.

Happily,  I have gotten emails from two men from camp. Perhaps the fantasy can live on.

Day 4

A common practice with nudists is always have a towel. Should one want to sit on another's property - a sofa, for instance - one uses the towel to protect the fabric from whatever might transfer from one's ass. It's all very civilized.

Here, at NakedFest, there is another politeness practice of wearing shoes, sandals, or flip-flops. The customs reasoning became clear to me after I walked through the dewy grass then over the band of sand to reach the asphalt road then into the cabin. This is a camp, a bit luxurious for roughing the great outdoors, but still on the rustic side. Dirt is everywhere and my feet would track it into areas used by everyone else. This is rude.

So, I wear my sandals and regret that I am not truly naked. When I leave the cabin for the pool or in the afternoon for a walk, I'll sometimes leave my shoes behind and then notice their absence. Again I am aware of my nudity. This also happened after sex. A little play time reminds me that I had done nothing to hide my leisure from my camp mates.

This, I find interesting when I can go to "social hour" and sip wine with 200 nude gay men, make comments on their jewelry, pass judgment in my best Garbo impression, and not feel naked. It is only when I don't have my sandals or my towel that I'm aware of what's missing. And it's only being seen after play that I feel noticed for my nudity.

Day 3

Apparently, the ideal of posting at the end of my day is too much to commit to. It is again breakfast time before I made the time to update this little diary of the events of the previous day. I was far to busy PLAYING at the end of  day 2 to bother with electronic gadgetry. As I have done other than show,  smoke,  and eat, surely I can still say I have yet to begin my day.

I have slept nude for several decades now. What I haven't ever done was step outside to smoke my morning cigarette nude, wander into the patch of sun beyond the shade trees, stretch my limbs,  and greet the day. I wandered down the lane (as every campground I've ever seen has snaking around the grounds in a lazy curve) past other cabins fronted by nude men on the porches. I can compose no word beyond the cliché to describe how quietly fun that was.

Yesterday, the weather was far too cloudy and cool for all that business. This morning,  I found warming sunshine even at 9am. This probably means the mad dash for a deck chair is already under way. I will most likely be too late for comfortable worship of the sun.

Day 2

200-ish naked gay men and campgrounds staff that is neither. Get an urge to cover myself each time I see one of them coming. I imagine the things they're thinking about us is not charitable. Maybe they just don't want to be at work on a Sunday.

Day 2

Took me a while to find the promised WiFi...  or a 4G signal for that matter. For a man who has never known 3G and the last I was on-line was in the era of 256k dial-up, I almost can't live without the near instantaneous services of 4G. 

Therefore I'll have to recap day 1 a few hours later then I intended.

The flight was mildly harrowing. Having never flown before I had to take control of all the irrational fears that popped up; sitting so close to a complete stranger, especially one who is too large to be contained by so little plastic; giving up control and allowing someone else to drive the plane; and accepting the aircraft will, in fact, complete its accent to and decent from 31,000 feet. When I could see through the cloud deck, the houses and cars are awfully little.

Being a relatively educated man, I knew most accidents happen at take-off and landing and that the cabin is pressurized, and that a bumpy ride is to be expected due to regularly occurring densities of air. What I didn't know was that the window - beyond the bit of plastic I could touch, the one assisting in keeping the cabin pressurized and the air outside flowing over the expertly designed wings use nothing but air pressure to hold myself and the 100 others in the air - has a hole in it! It was small and may not have been an actual hole  (it looked like two cones of missing glass where a machine might have secured it while in motion at a factory) but it was still disconcerting when my ears began to feel the cabin pressure rise on final approach.

After over four hours without a cigarette, I was glad to exit the plane. Asking several staff in quick succession the way to the nearest smoking area, I learned it would be easier to hop the airport shuttle to the terminal I was to meet my bus several hours hence. As my fear of missing one connection or another or others mucking up simple travel plans arranged by understanding and patient people was greater than my addiction withdrawals, I again postponed my habit. I could have walked through the airport in about as much time as the shuttle drove. Live and learn.

Nicotine levels raised to acceptable levels and a short search for munchies allowed me to look up and see Philadelphia for the first time. Well,  the airport anyway. Lovely airport,  but still an airport. I have one in my town too. Seen one, I guess.

The bus,  once found and boarded, took me and a dozen other men, mostly older than me, on an hour drive to the camp near a Maryland state park. I watched my cell service slowly disappear, to my dismay.

Arriving here was much the same as arriving to any party in Minneapolis as I saw men, only men,  in various States of dress. Some were walking to the welcoming station fully clothed and planned to leave their jeans and t-shirts in the cabins.  Others drove in personal or rented cars and we're disrobing into the trunks.

I won't bore you with more details than you care to read and only say that everyone I see has a thicker dick than me. Most are longer too.

I've read about this subject a lot over the years. I'm talking when we are in a flaccid state. It doesn't seem I have a medical condition or anything, just that I've not been blessed with anything impressive. So being able to blatantly witness such men is both a source of shame and entertainment. It is enjoyable to see what a man's body should look like.

Interestingly, I've been told more than once my shame is unfounded. So polite.

The first day ended torn between attending a screening of Headwig and joining the men in the dance hall or going to sleep. I was more horney than I knew in recent memory. The idea I could find a companion for an hour or the night was as possible and appealing as the idea of sleeping after being up since 3am. Patience and fatigue wine out and I finished the day texting my friend with that very conundrum only to receive understanding and encouragement for whatever decision I made. Big help.

Day 1

Patience has never been one of my virtues. Neither has politeness under stress. Amazing I have yet to be arrested by airport security.

Today began at 3am. I awoke to Getty Lee's voice, guaranteeing a swift response to the abused alarm. The local rock station and the baby-boomers who tune in, love Rush.

Still, even a man singing(?) falsetto couldn't possible deter this first day of vacation from being absolutely awesome! For starters, I didn't wake alone. That always helps my mood. Also, even though the reality still - as I type - hasn't set in, I'm going to NakedFest for vacation. Simply telling people I'm taking a vacation has been fun. I can't imagine how much better actually going to the festival will be.

The drive to Milwaukee was uneventful, though I must admit I wasn't awake enough to be driving safely. Arriving at the city limits I began scanning for signs to direct me to the mini-highway built to act as the airport's driveway. I found none until I relented to technology and asked my car-sitter (the lovely man who agreed to save my car from long-term parking prison) to Google our route. Once the 4G network responded, the Wisconsin DOT believed me close enough to my destination to warrant guidance.

A self-satisfied Cadillac refused to pull as forward as was possible to allow two cars to reach the terminal entrance in front of the airline assisting my travels. As this airline occupied the entrance at the far end of the line, I was forced to either double Park or circle around the grounds and attempt a spot earlier in the que. I chose the latter and felt it necessary to explain, as gently as I was able, that my companion kindly stop talking as I needed to concentrate on the unruly and mildly unpredictable traffic. An over reaction,  to be sure, but I refused to be delayed after driving at moderately illegal speeds to make up for our 5-minute-late start and my foolish pointing the car toward an inefficient path.

The twenty, or so, people in the line to collect boarding passes caused me a fearful pause until it became clear the process was automated, simple, and assisted by several ladies. Of course, I failed to actually READ the screen come my turn and had to retype my name as I entered it in its entirety rather than parsed as directed. Already a tourist and I've yet to get anywhere.

To those intrepid readers who have not yet jabbed at the screen in disgust at such minutia, I promise less detail of commonalities in the coming days. If I were spend this much time documenting the next eight days I would have nothing to document save the documentation. Surely tedious,  indeed.

No,  my flight has been delayed and another aircraft is apparently enroute to collect those of us hoping to get to Philadelphia. Between the overzealous air-conditioning and the AMA's recommendations to Congress about the perils of second-hand smoke, I must admit an urge to simply walk to Maryland rather than wait the extra hour-and-a-half.

It appears my wait is about to conclude as the pleasant-voiced woman is back to use her microphone again to inform us of things in as drab a tone as she can muster and still continue to collect a paycheck.

Now to see if the airport WiFi will allow me to post this without paying ANOTHER fee. Surely the ventilation in the bathroom will allow a couple of puffs.

Vacation Begins

8  minutes to go

Countdown T Minus...

Less than 48 hours one can find me on the East Coast and vacationing.

I got an e-mail from one of my Minnesota friends, though I don't know him, but you know what I mean. Anyway, this guy simply said he was also heading to the festival. In an attempt to not do this travelling completely alone and end up loving like the tourist I'll be, I asked of his travel plans. I had hoped we could meet at the airport to chat a bit. Then there'd only be about 199 strangers.

No luck,  he said he planned to fly in then drive rather than take the party bus available. Guess I'll meet him with all the rest...  or maybe I'll just hide in the pool hoping someone talks to me.

Vacation Planning

Two days of work left before my long-awaited vacation.

I tend to have friends who are a lot better at being social than I am. These men are able to at least pretend never to be intimidated in a social setting. They never assume, as I do, that they are unwelcome or that other people would simply continue life without them. They seem to almost - almost - believe their presence is a good thing for everybody. I tend to assume the opposite.

This tendency will make for one very boring vacation where the whole point,  in my mind,  is to meet, and befriend, as many of the 200 - or so - men that are expected to go to this thing. I envy my friends their constant distracting relationships, text messages, and phone calls. Some never actually get caught up with everyone before they have to start over with the next round of incoming news.

So,  I've been considering going against type this coming week and being as obnoxiously gregarious as I can muster. Would it help if I attempted to introduce myself to everyone I could corner? If I introduced myself and asked to take a pic of us for my post-vacation slide show, would people just find me odd and a nuisance? Or could I embody a spirit of exuberant sociability that would help everyone have more fun?

Biggest question, of course...  could I maintain such an attitude without succumbing to the voice in my head that KNOWS I'm not really wanted?

Shikantaza Sans Stripes

A single blade of grass is a clear glass of water is common imagery used in Buddhist meditation. I promise not to get too deeply into the symbolism nor the liturgical practices of Buddhism itself,  but rather it's relation to naturism in my limited world-view.

Tonight I prepared a simple meal for a friend. Spaghetti marinara, especially jarred sauce by Ragu, strains the culinary skills of only this friend which justified the effort during my otherwise lazy Saturday. Preparing the already prepared meal brought to mind another lesson from my teachers; that of eating food without adding spices. Oatmeal was the dish of the lesson and the very act of adding milk,  sugar, and other flavors to an already perfectly edible and flavorful meal should pause any practitioner with such intent.

The whole point of Buddhist liturgy is aimed to make the practitioner more aware of the world around them as it is rather than how they would like it to be. The very act of desire causes disappointment and accepting the world for what it is allows one to appreciate the joys already present, yet often overlooked in a mad rush to specific goals that may not be achievable.

The concept of the interconnectedness of all things is another tenant of the practice. One famous teacher goes so far as to teach all things, all activities,  are an expression of the very practice followers desire... that helps eliminate the idea of a goal if I have already achieved it. 

Every major religion, and a few not so major,  I have studied over the last twenty years seems to stress simplicity, humility, and an appreciation of the world around us as guides of how life is to be lived as happily as possible. They also go on to point out that if one can maintain a consistent practice one can achieve the happiness promised in the texts - in other words, if one internalizes the teachings and lives the life described as ideal then one is perfection incarnate and lives a life of naked truth.

I'm finding the tenants of naturism to be similar, whether a practitioner follows other religious activities or not.  One expresses humility in Western culture by shedding the clothing ment to cover shame... never a concept I've bought into; reduces the complexity of the need to match socks and shirt; and forces a practitioner to view the world in an unaccustomed manner by removing nonverbal signals of fashion... hopefully encouraging one to see things as they are rather than how one wants them to be.

Following this,  it shouldn't surprise anyone when some naturists bring an association with the natural world into their practice. If I begin to view the ordinary differently and can no longer rely on my preconceived notions of what "nature" looks like (ie. vertical stripes are slimming) then I might just start to notice other things long overlooked. The breeze has always blown across my body, the sunshine has always warmed my skin, and the water has always flowed over my buttocks when I swim.  Yet I feel it more when I'm nude. I'm more aware of all that contact with my skin.

If all things are an expression of Buddhist practice then naturism also is. Shikantaza is the fancy way of saying "just sitting".  I wonder how the old teachers would describe "just being nude"? A simplified state,  not only of attire but of world-view. Granted, personalities still shine through. I've yet to find a way to no longer wear unwanted aspects, and it would be interesting to attend some silent event to remove even more of "ourselves" to see what still remains.

Couldn't have said it better myself

Scrolling through the WordPress feed,  I came across this post.

Since cheeky sarcasm is one of my favorite passtimes and I can't decide between Mark Twain or Oscar Wilde as a bigger hero and I cannot think of any way to improve upon the language used by this author,  I'll simply post the link for you all to read. Enjoy, and remember Aristotle's comments on an unexamined life.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/nicole-mullen/2014/07/gay-men-need-to-stop-being-the-bigoted-caricature-i-have-of-them-in-my-head/

I Got Nothin'

Once again, this last weekend, I spent time with my friends in Minneapolis. Apparently my name is becoming associated with the white-space-filler the club's newsletter editor uses instead of advertising.  I suppose that means I owe my friends some lost revenue.

Some people complimented me on these episodes of lucidity, argued against its drivel-esque qualities, and even feigned excitement for the next installment. Perhaps personalizing personality portions preceded posting, pride precluded prudence.  I immediatly announced to the mailing list my plans for vacation in two weeks and promised to upload barely intelligible activity reports.

All this presented an interesting challenge... what to post next.  Well, I got nothin'.

One of my friends has a far more interesting story to tell about his weekend and the excitement he enjoyed than I've got about mine. Sadly, I was too preoccupied and exhausted from driving on so little sleep (a poorly planned combination) to be as social as I would have liked at either of the parties I attended last Saturday.  I suppose I could repeat the professional critics' poor reviews of the movie we watched together or make some clichéd commentary about the naturists' love of all weather (it rained) but none of that would be worth reading.

Perhaps what may be interesting, to some, is the apparent normalization of these events in my life to the point of actually growing bored for a few moments while being in a house with nearly 100 nude & gay men. Perhaps the real story of my weekend is the mere possibility of finding myself restless in such a idyllic situation. Only 1970's porn could convey a more perfect situation for any homosexual than to be surrounded by other homosexuals in an absolute state of undress. Of course, the porn would have depicted us all with side burns, furry chests, massive erections, and in states of melodramatic ecstasy.

I've commented before that I think the anxiety one feels in the first moments of a social nudist event is the same anxiety anyone feels during the first moments of any social event. The only difference being the amplification of those feelings due to the stigma placed on nudity as being equal to a state of shame... such as Adam and Eve covering themselves before the wrath of God.

Does it not follow then, given my amazing inability to socialize effectively with my peers, that I would eventually run out of those generous enough to initialize conversation with me and find myself, once again, among the flowers along the wall while those with enviable skill should kiss a stranger fully on the mouth before an audience of dozens?

A former lover of mine once contemplated moving to Chicago for a better life then chose against it and the irrational hope his problems would not follow. So too I now find some of my expectations - just because I'm nude and have yet another reason to dig deep into my reserves of self-confidence does not mean I can change the fundamentals of my personality. Unfortunately,  I am socially awkward. I find people, in general, frightening and difficult to predict yet I also have an external focus of validation requiring me to seek approval from others. Placing myself in the midst of social nudity is either brave or insane, depending on how this all plays out.

The first event this weekend was officially for new members, but while I failed to meet any of them prior or during, it was only at the more intimate gathering of men to see a recently released film that I took notice of people new to the group. Three men seemed obviously unnerved yet I heard only one of them give voice to his anxiety while another took more decisive action. I can think of many reasons, both noble and otherwise,  for my protective impulse when I witnessed this and wisely did I refrain from action. No one attending had any legitimate reasons for shyness or shame. All posessed the same basic forms, the same basic abilities to manuvuer, articulate their thoughts, and express their emotions within the limits of society's accepted moray.

Perhaps at upcoming events I should compile anecdotes from the men attending of their anxieties. Since an old hat, such as myself - able to be un-entertained after only three weekends - can still be uneasy during the first minutes of each event, perhaps I'll find the even older hats to have similar disquiet. Perhaps the bravado of certain internet personalities is mearly the same effort at acting as I, myself, have performed on occation. Maybe repeating those stories here would help even one person face their anxiety with more knowledge in its commonality than before. (Though surely both of my readers have heard it all before.)

I just hope my Captain Save-A-Stray cape doesn't clash with my reporter's fedora.