The Killing Game

If you listen to the radio long enough, you can hear just about anything. Due to the nature of the medium and the existence of radio shows devoted to nothing but talking, odds are sooner or later you’ll hear something that stops you dead in your tracks. From HG Wells duping the nation to shaved hamster stories on Love Lines, and everything in between, the public airwaves have always been abuzz with scintillating tales and titillating stories.

This morning on my way to the gym I was listening to sports talk radio (1430 KCBL) and had the pleasure of hearing Jim Rome interviewing Lennox Lewis. Now normally I don’t like Jim Rome, but his interview with Mr. Lewis had three pleasant surprises. The first was that Lennox Lewis was remarkably articulate for a former world heavy weight champion. Bill Clinton he was not, but he was fairly pellucid and managed to stay coherent and engaging through the entire interview. I was impressed, and Lord knows he's doing better than I would be after 40-some-odd heavy weight fights. The second was that because Jim was talking to a huge death machine of a man, much of his customary smarminess had magically evaporated. It was like listening to a 6^th grade girl interview Tom Brady; Rome was all giggles and breathlessness and profuse, “Thank-you, Mr. Lennox”es. Priceless. Better than either of these two combined, however, was Lewis introducing Chess Boxing, the sport which has finally combined the game of Chess with the sport of Boxing. I won’t try to take away from it by explaining the whole process, but check out the wiki site and the WCBO site. Pure genius and about damn time.

Spunges Among Us!

One of the unexpected fringe benefits of getting married has been the legitimate utilization of the mesh sponge. (Side bar: I always heard of these things referred to as luffas. This seems to be a misnomer, since the luffa gourd is the source of authentic luffa sponges.) I was never raised in a frou-frou environment, and for most of my life bathing consisted of some hot water, bar of Irish Spring soap and some elbow grease; at the most there may have been some 40 grit sandpaper or steel wool for those really stubborn oil and grease stains. In my single days, there was no conceivable situation that would precipitate me marching myself into any retail establishment and purchasing a mesh sponge. I was infinately more likely to shoplift it. A more likely purchase would have been (and this was my favourite store run as Town Driver for Calvin Crest) a package of adult diapers, tampons and six litres of rootbeer. Now I have body wash and a mesh sponge, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like it.

Marriage has taught me to realize that sometimes being right can be utterly wrong, how to apologize and mean it, how to truly appreciate being alone and how to truly appreciate being together. And it has taught me to love the luffa.

A Reprise

I spent some more time thinking over my previous post about sexuality, and realized that I had made a terrible mistake. Public forum isn't the best place to discuss something as intimate, personal and often wounded as personal sexuality. I appologize, and I'm actually glad that nobody posted much because in retrospect it probably wouldn't have been appropriate.

Whether you post or not, though, I still really believe that it is important to continue examining our sexuality and what it means. In that vein, I ask another question on sexuality: How did the man Jesus Christ, Son of God, express His sexuality? If we really do espouse the doctrine of a fully human Christ (as well as fully divine), it would seem to me that Christ's life would have included sexuality. Did He chase girls on the playground? Suffer through the awkward stages of puberty? Did Joseph ever sit Him down and have 'the talk?' I haven't formulated many of my own thoughts on the subject yet, but I'm interested in what yall think about this . . .

It Bears Repeating

Gregg Easterbrook once again managed to insert some sage observations into his weekly sports column.

Americans Now Hear the Word "Pleasure" 100 Times for Every Actual Experience of Pleasure: TMQ is being driven crazy by the modern affectation of saying "my pleasure" in formal settings that have nothing to do with pleasure. When you call a Hyatt hotel and ask to be transferred to a guest room or the front desk, the Hyatt operator says, "My pleasure." Lots of corporate-run chains are instructing workers to say "my pleasure" in situations far removed from what the word means. It's even catching on with intellectuals; recently David Remnick, editor of the New Yorker, signed off from an NPR interview by invoking this phrase. (NPR: "Thanks, David." Remnick: "My pleasure.") "My pleasure" is a ridiculously overloaded surrogate for "sure" or "happy to do it" or "you're welcome." More, its adaptation as a hollow chestnut of mundane interaction seems part of the overall cheapening of the meaning of words. Pleasure is one of the greatest and highest experiences of life; in our short stay on this Earth, we know far too little. And pleasure is almost always intimate in nature. Using the word "pleasure" in contexts that have nothing to do with intimacy or delight seems a cruel little joke in a world of too much work and too little enjoyment.

My momments of pleasure have been randomly interspersed throughout my life, but when they come they are unmistakable. A glance across the breakfast table at my wife, a ski across an undisturbed meadow, or driving through the desert have all had a way of bringing me up short by the emotional unswelling of pleasure they evoke. They hit me like a back massage all at once, and my senses open up to take in the most subtle of details; time crawls by while I watch in ammusement. When was the last time you experienced true pleasure in an activity or interaction?

The Fig Leaf

The spring semester has started, and brought with it the promise of rejuvenation and excitement. At the end of last semester, I was bushed. Bedraggled. Beat up, beat down, tapped out. After a relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable trans-continental holiday, I'm facing this semester with a sense of optimism and (dare I say?) excitement. I have a lot to look forward to coming into this semester. I get to begin working with actual people, interview for internship positions and . . . I get a whole class on human sexuality.

While I knew that this class is essential in training to become a psychologist, I was apprehensive coming into it. Would it be awkward? Shameful? Informative? Growth-inspiring? Would I be able to talk about it with people outside of the class, or do I leave that one off the list when people ask me what I'm taking this semester? So far the class has been remarkably un-awkward and refreshing. We are able to talk about people's sexuality in a way that isn't predicated on selling or exploiting anything. We have explored the dualistic philosophical roots much of the Victorian sexual mores have been based on. We have attempted to let Biblical texts inform the readings we have in some remarkably secular texts. It's also helped me to start actually thinking about sexuality instead of blindly reacting to it or away from it.

The class has only gone through two sessions to date, but one of the most interesting questions yet broached is: What does sexuality look like for celibate people? (either permanently or temporarily celibate). Coming to mind are passages like Eph. 5 and the entire book of Song of Solomon, but what do yall think? How do celibate people still incorporate and metabolize a visceral part of who we have all been created to be as human beings?