So sorry for the repeat… wordpress was having formatting issues (or I was) earlier today…
I have been invited to participate in a special cougar and cub speed date event! There are more cubs than cougars, and since I’m a preferred customer, they want me to attend for free!
Could it mean that young men have a harder time getting laid than grown women?
That’s just not possible.
I wonder if I should rsvp.
thank you for your very generous invitation, but unfortunately, I cannot make it to your special cougars and cub speed date event. I have what looks like a wart on one of my fingers and simply must clean my bathtub. Thank you so much for thinking of me.
As most of New York dutifully devours 50 Shades of Grey and I swim slowly through my formerly valuable vintage edition of Mantrap, the New York summer rages through the city streets and no ceiling fan or open window is powerful enough to stop it.
This is what global warming looks like, says the CEO of Exxon. Get used to it. It’s your problem, not mine. Or something like that. I suspect he doesn’t like people. As far as he’s concerned, the fewer of us out there, the better. Without us, he could drink fossil fuel for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He could fill his pools and bathtubs with the stuff, luxuriate in the sight of his marble fountains spewing black gold instead of water through the mouths of the naked cherubs. He’d never have to wear clothes again, only a thick, warm layer of rotted dead rodent slime and dinosaur bones.
If he has to take out some polar bears along the way, so be it. They can repopulate with zoo animals, if they need to.
Michele and I wander through Good Vibrations, a little, brightly lit lesbian-run sex shop in the East Village. A short stack of 50 Shades of Grey is prominently displayed on a table next a pair of fur-lined hand-cuffs and some curious device I didn’t understand.
I nod towards the book.
“Do you know what this is about?” I ask.
She sighs. “I guess S & M has gone mainstream,” she answers sadly.
We wander to the next display. She picks up a set of glow-in-the-dark vibrating ben-wa balls.
“What the -” she starts.
And I shrug.
There’s so much I don’t know.
An intimate electronic epistolary conversation.
Stratocaster71: I bet you will not handle me? Email sexting first so you don’t think I’m a wierdo or something…
Bluegreenplanet: Wow. Are you for real?
Stratocaster71: Yeah. You?
Bluegreenplanet: Oh. No. I thought you were joking. So sorry.
Stratocaster71: What, you don’t like sex?
Bluegreenplanet: I do like sex. I just have a hard time believing that your pick up line is an effective way to get sex. But, to each his own. Best of luck.
Stratocaster71: I have a hard time with lines. Can you give me one? You help me, I will help you.
Bluegreenplanet: I don’t think so. You’re on your own journey.
Stratocaster71: Don’t be like that. Be like that and I’ll give you a little lick.
Bluegreenplanet: You’re not very good at this.
In the meantime, our older cousins, the bonobos, are making love, not war and shake their heads at their hairless, angry, language-ridden brethren, humankind.
A one-armed cowboy in Texas whispers secrets into the trunk of a tree hundreds of years older than he is.
And a young dog in New York suffers through a brutal summer day as her person lays quietly beside her, watching her breathe.
I did some research on this book, 50 Shades of Grey.
I read a review.
And then I read the first page.
I don’t need to read any more.
In this book, the good girls are the ones who don’t know how to love.
In Mantrap, the good girls are the ones who do know how to love.
I’ll take vintage pulp over poorly written girl porn any day.