I would like to say that both of these dates were singularly impressive enough to deserve their own entry, sadly they do not, because they were likewise sadly, also not.

Both lovely girls, in their own right, attractive, intelligent, well-traveled and of the right disposition for me to suggest and be willing to pay for drinks and dinner*, they were never the less in a one word description: desperate.

The gonging of biological alarm clocks was audible in not only their actions, but especially their words and choices in conversations. And while I could sympathise (a little) with them, it really isn't an attractive quality to bring on a first date...though it may have been unfair judgment by me in the case of the first teacher, since she also had the "luck" of being my first online dating meet, and I had no intention of stopping at number 1...I had a plan and an agenda, and it involved meeting as many as possible and making a very judged and informed decision. ~grin~

Arriving late for a date is not the most impressive of ways to begin the process, yet both were...not overly late, about half a schooner drunk at a slow pace, so 15-20 mins if you are of the type that needs numbers. Admittedly I had arrived early, but this was more out of habit and a desire to be able to ensure a table (I had not reserved) in which I could watch the door and be able to see their arrival. And since in both cases they had ny number a quick SMS would not have been hard...so with ticks in the negative column, very ordinary dates began and passed.

I have little or no recollection of topics discussed, and confess many of these "grey dates" have blurred into one, I know I saw the first girl again (twice actually) and know she was eager for further contact...but the clanging bell of her internal clock just didn't sit well with me, so after cooking her dinner one night (I wanted to keep in practice ~grin~) I let the opportunity for more pass, given that her declared "wanting to broaden her social circle" had proven to be crap , I couldn't hear myself think for the ticking, and quite possibly the simple fact that I had, openly and honestly, been communicating with others and already had dates of a more intriguing and interesting nature lined up.

---

Lessons Learned: Just because she says she is looking for, and interested in finding friends does not mean she is telling the truth, her biological clock is ticking and she is online with a plan that includes, if she likes you, the two of you doing more than friendship boundaries will allow. This is more true for expat girls who feel the pressure of competing with the local talent, and have their own timelines forced by contracted employment and age related earlier career decisions.

* In all my Online dating meetings I paid, I am a little old fashioned in that I believe the guy should pay for the first date, though I would probably consider myself modern enough to accept the idea that whoever does the asking picks up the tab. Maybe.

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Under A Palm Tree

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Women, Online Dating, Be on Time

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 10 comment(s)

Yes, she had a PLA*, the demin played over it in that stretched just right kind of way, the off the shoulder black top hinted and teased with enough smooth and unblemished skin on display to be what one might call flirtatious...and the date was ending with a quick kiss and the confirmation of an already 4 hour old decleration of a mutual desire to see each other again...

Sadly, if you are prone to such emotion, not all of my online dating experiences have passed so easily in the vanish of an eight hour blink of laughs and bubbles...some were trials of conversation, awkward pauses and those silences that threaten loss of lunch and appetitie with their length and un-ending depth.

I had taken myself online, in an effort to widen my social circle, meet people I would otherwise have no hope of meeting and if I was honest increase my odds of getting laid. So online I went, on a medium unlike this, one that was very much public and without the veil of anonymity, I had signed up, paid my money and like a lamb to the slaughter I waited for the contacts to roll in, the sparks of interest to be faned into flames of mutual desire and my social calendar to be filled with a whirlwind of available women...

LOL

Let's just say the truth was slightly more eye opening, a little humbling, but also quite reassurring, a few teachers, a fashion designer, a marketing/PR exec., and let's not forget the brain surgeon...

Yes, I had more than a few dates, some passing as easy as the one above, others passing in a numbingly slow root canal surgery kind of way...some women are eager to get from online to real life asap, while others like the slow interplay of electronic contact before alcohol and proximity are introduced or even suggested, and throughout it all there emerged only one real constant, you have to have a photo, and if you don't learn to read between her profile lines you really are in for a date that will be filed somewhere between "painful" and "waste of time", but the truth is it doesn't really matter what you write, it's all about the photo.

Or is this really just a major insight into the shallow visual nature of me, and the the high quality methods I used to evaluate the women I may have been interested in? I had thought so, until one such date during an enquiry as to how she found the process, simply stated her philosophy: "no photo, no interest", which kind of made me wonder, are we all that shallow?

* Pert Little Ass, copyright E@L, Used without permission, but he is a pretty nice guy so hopefully he won't sue me for an obscene amount that I don't really have anyway. ~grin~

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Quietly Observing

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Dating, Online Dating

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 6 comment(s)

"Baby, that shirt makes you look...mmm" (followed by one of those kisses that lingers, teases and hints at a rising level of lust, and then repeats with more intensity, the hint of promise, the suggestion of need, and the small throaty moan that links aural passage to a much lower region ~grin~)

Most guys I know do not really have style. Sure they can follow rules, they can learn patterns of fashion that "go together" to create a "look" but in truth most guys fashion sense is built from the influence of the women in their life...and if like me you came from a family of boys its rather a Pavlovian response to the sexually charged suggestions of women who for reasons still unknown and unfathomed have let me get close to them.

Thus, my wardrobe really isn't my own.

Which is it say that it is, since I own it, and most of it I paid for, but rather my "lucky" clothes are ones either suggested, purchased or ripped off in a moment of lust, by women. Of course this also means I have sections of my wardrobe that lay unworn as the influenece behind their purchase has left my place, and my style returns to a form not made up of their memory but rather my more comfortable past...and while I concur that apart from some gay-guys I know, women generally have a much better sense of style than us guys...and yet like many things women can't seem to agree what is...erm...hot.

Which is kind of funny, since it means contemplation of "date clothing" is a conflict debate between self style and that deemed "sexy" by the ghosts of girlfriends past.

The more I think about this I do wonder how much the same works in reverse, how many women dress because they know a certain look appeals to the opposite sex or more importantly their partner...or how many are just too busy being "comfortable"?

And I still wonder who people really dress for?

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Ushabti Figurines

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Clothing, Dressing Yourself, Dating

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 10:12 10 comment(s)

It's always quite amusing to see the searches that have led someone to your blog. Sometimes you can see the link, the relevance of the post that some mathematical algorithm has led them too, other times you think WTF were they thinking searching for that? And it confirms that there are some sick fucks out there...

...but every so often someone is led to my blog while seeking the answer to what I can only imagine is a genuine question and given the premise that it is,

"Better to ask a question then remain ignorant"
- Some old Proverb

...yet until such time as an answer is provided for such questions ignorance of course remains...so in a magnanimous gesture ~grin~ I will be answering some of the important "asks" that have lead here...

Why some women start moaning the moment you touch their clitoris?
[ google results here | enquiry led here ]

There are within any given moment approx three possibilities as to the answer to this question, each varies according to the situation, the skill of that ministering the touching and the general arousal of the woman and her real disposition towards the person touching.

1. She is bored shitless, you are an artless fuck and the more she moans the quicker you will get your rocks off and get your grubby little paws away from her most sensitive part.
Note: She may also be a hooker in which case you should assume she is doing it merely to bring you off faster and so liberate you of your money in the quickest manner possible, so she may go back to earning more.

2. You are trying too hard, and are scratching at her clit like you are trying to pick at a scab, her moans are nothing to do with pleasure, she is in pain...slow down, wash your hands, and be gentle...nope, more gentle than that...she will let you know when you can get harder and faster.

3. You are a sex god. (not THE God, but a god) you have mastered the art of foreplay, her clit is throbbing in anticipation and she is begging for both your touch and sweet release. Her moans are real, her nipples are so hard they could cut glass, and you have managed to soak her panties with her desire for you. Congratulations you are living in a porn movie ~grin~ or you have stolen my life, now piss off, I want it back. ~bigger grin~

NOTE: I really like the number one hit on the google results: How to avoid upsetting our clitoris? Since after all, we all like a happy clit. ~grin~

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Ghosts in the Silence

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Wisdom, Questions & Answers

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 18 comment(s)

Firstly let me start off with this when it comes to coordination, I have three left feet.

Secondly, I am, or rather if honest...was, shy.

Thirdly, I went through a very gawky stage at school, and I admit to being the one of the boys standing around at the school dance rather then in throng with the ladies.

And yet nothing I have ever learnt about women, and I mean nothing, no skill or trick or inside knowledge into increasing your appeal in their eyes has gotten me such a great response as "learning how to dance".

Salsa, Merengue, Waltz, Nightclub Two-Step, East-Coast Swing (6 count), a bit of Polka, fake a pretty good Tango...but it all started with an older Canadian colleague from Calgary and a return to the music I was brought up on, it all started with Two Stepping.

So while I baulked at her offer of lessons, using that old fallback of classical times:

"No sane man will dance"
- Marcus Tullius Cicero

I did have to reconcile that Cicero was probably of the same persuasion as the Sacred Band and so never had to worry about impressing the ladies...plus with slaves it sort of made it a whole lot easier I would imagine. ~grin~ I had grown up in a household where my father played BOTH types of music, and after my larval stage my adult "growing" had happened in an equally inspired place on the edge of the outback and only a few hours west of Tamworth.* And so I accepted...

"Quick, Quick, Slooooowwww, Sloooowwww", the counted tempo, making up for my lack of coordination, sitting at my desk at work, my feet making the sliding movements, while the music played through my computer. At first, songs with a strong beat, easy to recognise, easy to feel...later more subtle numbers with changes in pace, nuances that allowed you to stretch on the dance floor or stay close and in the slot. The repetition of two songs ingrained a movement, and even today I can't hear either "Little Red Rodeo" or 'Sittin on Go" without getting the urge to step.

But of course once you get the "skills' how do you overcome the shyness and actually ask a girl to dance...well...erm...I would do something like this... ~grin~

My mate (we'll call him D), is married to S. Now D cannot dance to save himself in fact he is even less coordinated than me, but S is very light on her feet, rather attractive and enjoys a twirl around the floor...we often go out in a group.
Now the ploy is simple...while it is obvious that D & S are together I simply wait for a song that, for whatever the reason, keeps the dancefloor a little less crowded, and ask S to dance. Since she is more than happy to be my wingwoman, we dance, she laughs, we joke, smiles are shared, and we are moving together, and we are moving well...and at the end of the song I thank her, kiss her on the cheek and return her to her husband.
Now the great thing is I no longer have to be shy, women in the room now want to dance with me, they will actually ask me to dance, and unless they are very shy, no woman will say no when you approach them...why? Because the number one way to impress a girl is "ask her to dance" and her soon to be ex-boyfriend is standing at the bar drinking with this lads.

And yes, they do say if you can dance you can move in other ways as well ~grin~ So my advice to my future as of yet unborn and unrealised son is simple: get a little insane and learn to dance.

* Tamworth, home of Australian Country Music...think Nashville with more cattle and sheep.

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Another useless Canopic Jar

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Women, Dancing, Impress the Girl

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 15 comment(s)

You know your friendship with a girl has reached a new and quite possibly unexpected level when she asks...

"Is it normal for a guy to only last 2 minutes?"

"what???", my stammered reply buying time while the cogs in my brain meshed and I wondered where this new level of questioning had come from.

"Well, up until that point it's pretty good, but then he lasts like two minutes...sometimes less"

"LESS!!!???...What do you have like a magic pussy that milks guys or some super secret technique?"

~smiling~ "Maybe...but seriously, is it normal?"

"It's called premature, and it's not normal, though I understand it's more common than people want to admit. But fuck, only two minutes...or less"

"And he does this twirling, twisty thing with his tongue when we kiss"

"So he lasts two minutes...or less and he can't kiss, why exactly are you fucking this guy again?"

I have known N for a time far shorter than I have known many of my friends, we met online dating (and yes, there is a post or two from those adventures in the works), and while I am not sure if she has proven the exception to my men and women being "just" friends theory*, thus far she has proven to be a friend and a great sounding board into women and it appears as of our drinks together a few nights ago I am now her crystal-ball into the world of men (poor girl, relying on me for advice ~grin~)

But as I got home that night I couldn't help but ask myself two questions...

If I am wrong (and the jury is still out), and men and women can be "just friends" then is it really the nature of such friendships to act as "insights" into how the other side thinks?

And, just how would I react if N just laid one on me?

* I mean lets keep it real, she is about 5'3" 110Ibs, long blonde hair and blue eyes...and basically very, very cute...actually that's lie...she is hot! ~grin~

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Two Perfect Lines

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Women, Wisdom, Just Friends

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 13 comment(s)

A few years ago, in a mythical place known as The Outback...

Indiana: Why are you smiling, its 4 AM, what is there to smile at this godforsaken hour?
J: I'm smiling because any day you wake up with an erection is a day that has at least one reason to smile.

And so while this forms a part of the background to my thoughts this morning, and I smiled at the memory dragged up by recent events, I am still more than happy to smile the smile of a relieved man who a few weeks ago woke up with an erection...erm...maybe that needs a better explanation.

Imagine if you will, or even can...

A fast break, a dodge, a weave, a neat little side step, followed by the sweetest sounding right foot shot you can dream of...

...well positioned keeper, hand up, dropping into position, hands spread closing in on a ball...

...driven with power, but off skew accuracy straight into the keeper's hands…

...and through them...

...crushing all in their path.

Writhing pain, black spots, gasping for breath, and lancing, stabbing, throbs of agony shooting from groin into abdomen, and stomach heaving as the desire to puke overwhelms, and is only just controlled. White hot, throbbing, breathless pain, a hot spot on your body, tender flesh that makes walking a chore and the rub of clothing a stomach doubling affair…

But thankfully the tackle still works. ~grin~

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Heading Home

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Sore Balls, Painful+Willy

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 6 comment(s)

A few years ago I found myself having dinner with a friends parents, it was a small affair, the type where only family and those made closest through the ties of friendship were present, I found my self nodding along to the advice of her dad (Chris Hill, U.S. Asst. Secretary of State*) as he talked about his rise through the ranks of the State Department and his progress as a professional diplomat rather than those of political appointee. What struck me the most was the similar chord I felt when he said that any position he had taken to get "ahead" had been boring, largely pointless and in the end a waste of his time, what he suggested was that one should take on roles that are challenging, sound fun, and no matter what they are find a way to learn from them and to grow from them, he went on to say that career decisions that he made holding that in mind had been some of the most rewarding positions he had ever held...

...and I found myself nodding, since I really didn't need an Asst. Secretary of State to give me such sage advice, though it was nice to have my own belief ratified and echoed in his words.

So a week, or so ago, when Van asked (here):

"how DO you ever decide which region in the world to live in? Why'd you pick s'pore? Sometimes i find it so hard to decide. Are you happy you made this choice?"

I couldn't help but wonder about the how of making the "where to live" decisions I was reminded of that dinner, and found myself thinking of the "how" I made the decisions that found me here...

Some history...

When the wanderlust finally took over about 10 years ago and I could no longer deny my urge to travel abroad, I decided, as I often do, within the somewhat pragmatic decision making processes I usually employ that it would be far more logical, far more cost effective and far more immersive to actually live abroad and become an expat.

And so I moved to Korea and lived on an English speaking compound...yes, I do recognise the irony ~grin~

Now while I wouldn't say Korea is the worst country to live in, and I certainly made friends and liked it enough to stay 6 years, it was really all about the career, and the people. The work was changing, dynamic and each year offered new challenges, not just in dealing with local vendors, but also within the small confines of the industry and the company...so I kept growing, and the more I the longer I stayed. The people I met, the friends I made are such that even now after we have all left Korea and scattered ourselves around the globe we continue to interact and reconnect at least once a year.

But I never really made the decision to live in Korea...Korea, or rather the company offered me a job, the package was attractive and so I made the choice to get out from under "down under" and see the world. Ironically apart from a Caribbean sojourn a few years ago I am yet to leave SEA, holidays and travel aside.

But Van wanted to know why Singapore?

It was either here or Hong Kong, and given the air quality in HK is much too similar to that of Seoul, I decided my lungs could do with a chance to heal, also there was a job, the package is good, and the chance for professional growth seemed likely. Unfortunately that growth is actually more limited than I was lead to believe, but the QoL here is much higher where I was...so arriving at the "here" in which to make the decision about moving was quite easy, and one I don't regret given that from Singapore I can easily travel anywhere, ($120 return to Bali, $90 return to Phuket) travel within the a region that has so much to offer is so easy and for me it was a chance to live in a country, not home, in which a stroll through a supermarket was not an exercise in package recognition but one in which choice and products known were readily available.

How did I decide?

I recalled the advice of one of my first expat bosses when she me a pearl of wisdom when it came to selecting a place to live, and I offer it here...

"A job anywhere in the world, even home, will give you a possibility of three things:

1. Lifestyle and Location
2. A chance to travel.
3. A chance to save some money for a rainy day.

All jobs will give you at least one of these, the better will give two, and the very rare jobs will give you all three. Since most jobs will only give you two out of three, you will have to decide which two are the most important to you when the time comes to sign a contract. It is the factors away from the job that make the place, because at the end of the day, the job is just a job."

So am I happy here? As a man of simple pleasures ~grin~ anywhere I can buy vegemite in a supermarket is a good place to live.

* Blatant attempt to increase hits through Name Dropping. ~grin~

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Going Down Under

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Singapore, Wisdom

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 15 comment(s)

I was going to post something meaningful, but last night was spent at a Microsoft function at a local nightclub...so many new toys, so many "things", so many geeks, free flow vodka, and did I mention the FHM girls...erm...can we say...erm...yum. And I really didn't know skirts came that small, can we say bandage? ~grin~

So instead I offer up my answer to the question, I think, that Chicky wanted me to answer in her 600th post.

I know I will get this wrong, so seeing how I am seventh on the list of names I will just address the seventh question:

I have just become a student in your class of life studies. What would be the first lesson?

It would be easy to just say listen to "the sunscreen song", and take its message to heart. But rather I think my first lesson would be this…

Don't work too hard.

As each year passes, you will get caught up in a rat-race of "things", the inescapable bombardment that these "things" will make you happy, and to get these things you have to work hard, put in long hours, get a huge paycheck, and spend all your time acquiring the "things' you'll never have any free-time from work to enjoy.

And that after a lifetime of "things" you are going to come to the end and wish you had spent more time on friendships and relationships, more times making love to your partner not fighting over the most childish things, more time doing the things you most wanted to do, and didn't because you were working for "things".

Find that balance between a comfortable living and hedonistic pleasure, that place where we all really long to live.

And the first step to getting there, is don't work too hard. And remember…

"Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time."
- Bertrand Russell.

And,

"Life moves pretty quick. If you don't stop and look around once in a while you may miss it."
- Ferris Bueller.

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: What is a "Date"?

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Don't Work Too Hard, Wisdom

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 17 comment(s)

When I go out with artists
They talk about language and the cubists and the dadaist
And I try to catch their meanings...
- When I Go Out With Artists
Crash Test Dummies

While I understand that most art is designed to be the artists expression and take on either a subject, issue or even a scene, a personal emotional response to stimuli that possibly in turn evokes an emotive response in an audience, yet I do have to admit that I look upon most Contemporary Art with a very skeptical eye...and even the typing of that is somewhat ironic since I myself do own some examples of art termed contemporary and have been known to wander through galleries labelled such with a grin, or maybe its more of an amused look on my dial, ocassionally I even see something I like, or feel I understand what the artist is saying.

What I hate is the need for essay length descriptions to convey what the art does not do by itself, isn't that sort-of self defeating?

So I can agree with Izzy when she writes, that it often comes from people with "very silly ideas about life", I'm not sure if I agree with her statement that they have no talent, but I would suggest they lay a little off the dope and experience something other than drug induced depression and altered states of reality and instead be content to produce art that reflects the conscience them rather then them in an altered state.

From the Redbook*, this Northern Summer gone...

The self indulgent bombastic "treen" in which the artist, and I use that term loosely, attempts not to lead the viewer to an emotional response, unless that is disguist, but rather has to explain the piece with a legthy description...is it a narrative or is it art? Or are they both the same? The piece is not so much made to stand by itself, but rather is suppossed to reflect the tortured process of the artist, tarnished and moulded by a careless and hurtful consumer society...

Shit...anyone can create a palette of bricks**...

...what I can't believe is that people will accept it as art...and look derisively down their pretentious noses at people who fail to acknowledge its genius...

So while it may be within the confines of a broad description of art...it [handwriting illegible] has to be admired...

- Written on the steps of the Museum of Contempary Art, Chicago.
(my thoughts sort of trailed off as I was distracted by a cute blonde, who after a quick chat agreed to join me for coffee. I knew an accent would work ~grin~)

So while M, will probably be able to offer a very correct definition of what makes something art, isn't art, like beauty simply in the eye of the beer-holder? ~grin~

* My dead-tree blog, used usually while travelling.
** The irony here is best supported by the words of someone else,

"It is a rare mind indeed that can render the hitherto non-existent blindingly obvious. The cry 'I could have thought of that' is a very popular and misleading one, for the fact is that they didn't, and a very significant and revealing fact it is too."
- Douglas Adams

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Beach is Burning

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Contemporary Art, Dead-Tree Blog, The Redbook

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 8 comment(s)

I think Gerrie Lim said it best in his book In Lust We Trust, when he suggested that it is impossible to write properly about porn and therefore about sex without drawing on your own experiences, his exact words for those of you who like a preciseness in such things was, or rather is "To be able to write about a genre like porn without metaphysically importing your own sexual past could only result in empty prose", the more I read this the more I think it is true of all writing, to be able to write about something in which you have no connect results in mere empty words, simple scratching upon a modern Phaestos Disc, the markings obvious to the eye, but the meaning is both lost and without purpose.

And yet some days are like this, the simply mechanical movement of fingers over the keyboard and bending words to fill a need rather than elevating them to reflect an idea and emotion. Some days are such that you just seem to "go through the motions", so recently when I was asked what happened to the raw, and open emotion with which my earlier posts were penned, the truth was I didn't really have an answer until I realised later that maybe that was the nature of this medium as a writer finds what may be termed "their expression level" or their "voice".

It is always easier to open oneself in the rawness of pain, angst flows easily from the mind to the fingers while joy is spent doing rather than brooding. And I look at many of the blogs I read and have to accept that as life and joy intrudes on their owners the posts are less frequent, less forthcoming...simply less. I can see it in the writings of Chicky and Admin, as obvious off-blog partners occupy thoughts and much valued time. Likewise Jill promises a return to more meaningful posts when time allows, I myself have had the demands of time intrude on my writing and have thus far avoided the usual fluff and inane scribing that often follows such intrusions...

Maybe blogs follow cycles, like the seasons they reflect the emotion of that who is behind it, and with job and warm weather assured maybe the cold and raw posts of winter are something that just doesn't exist now for me. Is it in the chill of loneliness, in the searching that most people find a voice? Is it simply easier to write from the dark moments of experience and imagination?

Maybe there is a "shelf-life" to a blog in which means that without a change of style or even content that the blog will just naturally say all the writer wishes to say and then either evolve or simply stagnant.*

Maybe I do not want to open myself as I once did, maybe the slow footsteps into the room of blogging are measured and cautious and I am writing my own metaphysical experiences and examining my own life through ideas and theory, but I am doing it slowly and struggling with a journalistic approach. Maybe, like many, I am just letting what I want into the light.

Maybe, quite simply I am not as anonymous as I once was and that realisation limits posts and forces a tactfulness that I am still coming to terms with as I play with time, characters and even geography in an attempt to write as truthfully as I can without recourse to hurt those I have come to care about, or heap further scorn on people I do not.

Or maybe it's for that very perfect of reasons, "I feel like it"

And maybe, like all of us there is a time for everything, and sometimes there is a time for online and a time for offline, or as Gerrie said at a dinner a few weeks ago when asked if he ever thought of having a blog, "If I did that I wouldn't be able to find the time write", and I think for many people it is all about time...even the best of intentions, mixed with a heady amount of inclination will come to naught if you lack the time to see fingers dance across the keyboard.

And yet to be truly open, to really write from what is inside and to offer discourse on a topic requires that you do "import yourself", and to do that is easy, to do it well is, unfortunately not, and it requires time.

And for me lately there just doesn't seem like there is enough.**

* No, I am not feeling Blog Commitment Issues (BCI)
** Ok, if I am going to be honest I blame my lack of time on trying to keep the wolves from the door and provide food and shelter for self...but if I was going to be completely honest, I would admit that it takes a while to conquer Oblivion.

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Falling Out

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Writing, Time

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 17 comment(s)

Sitting in Starbucks, my Grande Mocha just begging me to taste, I was lost in conversation with three lovely companions, two of whom were French (well actually half-French, which means one minute they were American and almost normal the next they were French and therefore...erm...not) the third was Belgian, and I watched in abject fascination as she, produced a baguette and some chocolate...but not just any chocolate, Belgian Chocolate, and proceeded to make a chocolate sandwich.

Initially the thought sort of seemed...wrong...but she assured me it tasted great, was a staple at her breakfast table, and laughed at my obvious distaste for the idea of it. And when a cute girl throws a laughing challenge at you, well you’d not be a man if you didn’t rise to the task.

So I did.

I unwrapped the individually packaged chocolate portion and gently sandwiched it between the folded baguette slice and bit into it. And it was good. Now I’m not saying it was good enough to replace my Sunday breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns and all the rest of the artery clogging mountain I climb over when ever I can be bothered to cook it, but it was good enough that when a cute Belgian throws the breakfast challenge at me, I can now fake the good fake and enjoy this unique flavour, and succeed at that most important of tasks...

Impress the girl.

Because at the end of the day, if she is cute, isn't that what it's all about? ~grin~

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Another Useless Canopic Jar

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, New Experiences, Chocolate, Impress the Girl

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 16 comment(s)

From a conversation with the "Blokes at the Pub"...

"...so you're in bed...she is doing her best, you're a bit tired, maybe a little bit tipsy...and you don't want her to be discouraged...and faking it is out of the question, she's going to not only see, but taste that ~grin~ So the mind begins to wander, you remember that time she and you were in the changeroom at Vicky S and she was on her knees, in a fetching number you were begging her to buy, meanwhile she was doing her best to convince you to buy it for her...then ~bang~ back to the real world, the tingle begins deep in your balls and you feel the unstoppable rush making it's way for a groaning release..."

So is it wrong to have thoughts about another time, another place, but with the same woman?
Is it ok to allow the mind to drift to fantasy to help the current situation?
What if it were about another person? Is this "actually" cheating?
Or is it worse than faking it, to attempt to appease anothers ego and reward effort?

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: For Whom Do You Blog & High Heels

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Sex, Blowjob, Wandering Thoughts, Blokes at the Pub

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 35 comment(s)

The anonymous Rowan & Petunia (see here) have leveled an accusation at me of academic plagiarism of Tony Gill’s “The Jellybean Revolution” Theory, to which I feel the need to respond.

Firstly, until Rowan pointed me to Mr. Gill’s website I was not aware of his theory or his book, obviously now I am...I have still not had more than the most cursory of glances at his website, and yet with both Rowan's & Petunia's accusation I will assume ~grin~ that Mr. Gill's theory is thoroughly peer reviewed, carefully cited and readily available in all good bookstores, with it's publication details easily accessible through the ISBN catalog. That said, I do not plan to purchase his book, nor do I plan to delve into his theory, though I am sure it is a good one and offers up his take on how marriage longevity and happiness can be achieved, and perhaps more importantly maintained.

From his website, Mr. Gill clearly articulates his theory as:

“If you put a jellybean into a jar every time you have sex with your partner before you’re married, you will spend all of your marriage trying to take them out again”

So if I surmise this correctly Mr. Gill supports the theory that the more sex you have with your partner (before marriage) the happier your marriage will be… I think (and without reading his book I do not know this) that he probably says somewhere that more sex makes a marriage happier, in fact the idea that “Smart Couples Have More Sex” is repeated consistently on his site.

I agree. 100%. In that he is totally correct. What’s more he is not the first to say it and…shhhh…neither am I.

What I don’t agree with is that his theory and mine are the same.

My theory started as a comment left (here) on MercerMachine's Blog in response to an off-blog conversation I had with E@L while we were drinking on one of the many occasions we have had to do so. My theory was one to explain the “tipping point” in a sexual relationship in which casual-sex becomes anything but casual, that point where what start’s as casual rumbles under the sheets becomes an attachment with affection, longing and maybe even love.

My theory is that for everyone you have sex with you create a bucket, the size of which is based on your sexual desire for them, their desirability as a partner, both immediately sexual (as a fulfillment of lust) and long term. Thus for some sexual partners the bucket may be quite small and thus you see them as more desirable, and for others it may be quite large and thus quite simply you don’t desire them as much. I tried to explain how society, acceptability and several other factors could affect the size of the bucket you created for another.

As you have sexual contact (this includes affection, touch, simple kissing) the bucket fills. I did say that it took sex to start filling a bucket, and that a bucket would never be filled without sex, no matter how much affection, desire, and love was part of the equation, yet such contact does contribute its level to a bucket, BUT that it alone will never fill it…I believed, and I do still now, that it is only with sexual contact that a couple can “fill the bucket”, and it is only once the bucket is overflowing that a person is in love.

But everyone creates different sized buckets for our partners, thus more often than not one person falls for the other first. It explains why in casual sexual relationships, even situations termed “fuck buddies” one party will eventually “fall for the other”.

The “hole in the bucket” was a part of my theory that explained that it took regular sexual contact to get to the point where the bucket was overflowing and one person wanted the “next level” in a relationship. So while I did try to answer some questions in my redux post as to how the theory may apply to relationships, the theory was a simple explanation of why casual fucking with the same partner would not remain casual if it occurred with too much regularity. ie: Why casual sex was anything but?

My theory is not concerned with marriage, or even generally relationships, though I did explore such in the two posts to see if my theory could be applied to such, and I think it could. However that was not the intent of my theory, nor is it now.

If I am guilty of copying Mr. Gills theory it is in the belief that without a satisfying sex life a relationship will never last, never grow, and never even begin…but we are hardly the first people to suggest that idea, so I don’t feel I copied him in that premise.

Printed Influences

Now I confess that no man is an island and so as a voracious reader obviously some of the printed material that has passed my vision has influenced my thinking, to that I would point to the work of Chapman and his “love tank” theory as found in The Five Love Languages, a fantastic book about how we both express and receive love, but apart from the psychological idea of a “space” that needs filling inside us (my bucket) his theories and mine have little in common.

In fact, from the glance I took at Mr. Gill's theory it would appear he was much influenced by the "physical touch" side of Mr. Chapman's "Love Tank" and my detractors would better spend their time examing the academic integrity of their friend, rather than a theory that examines a different aspect of dating and sexual contact.

The Jelly Bean Theory

So I decided to test the idea that I may indeed be living under a bucket, ~grin~ rather than filling them, and did a quick Google of ‘Jelly Bean Theory’, this is some of the amusing links I found:

Jelly Bean Theory on Life (I quite like this one)

Jelly Bean Theory as explained as the “bullshit” in creationist argument

There’s even a Jelly Bean Theory as it relates to toilet training a child

Ditsy has her own Jelly Bean Theory on sexual partner selection.

There’s even a book about training dogs with Jelly Bean in the title.

But nowhere, in the first 100 hits did I find a link to Mr. Gills theory. If I added the word “sex” to the search I found one link that included a reference to “the old theory” and how it was being debunked as a “tired cliché” by sexologist Dr. Gabrielle Morrissey.

So simply, one theory about how casual sex is anything but, and one theory how about the more sex you have the happier your marriage are hardly new, just as the idea that we have a psychological “space” that needs to be filled with affection is also likewise not new.

And secondly, as a self created theory I am not obliged to offer academic credit to anyone for either inspiration or previous writing…in fact I think one would be hard pressed to actually write anything that could not be attributed to, or which claims could not be made are inspired by another’s work, and yet when I do find inspiration from others, my blog is pretty clear in its attribution to sources, and my desire to do just that.

This is also a blog, a personal journal of thoughts, feelings, half baked notions, deluded rantings and wishes, and sometimes sexual escapades, it is hardly a peer-reviewed journal…but then Mr. Gill’s book isn’t either, is it?

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: More Fragmentary Sherds

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Bucket Theory, Casual Sex, Plagiarism

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 27 comment(s)

"You played it for her, you can play it for me. Play it!"
Rick, Casablanca

Which came first the music or the mood?

Music often is just the background hiss to our daily walk, it fills the silences of the day coating the noise of life with a layer that absorbs and to a certain extent cocoons us from auditory overload. Most of the time this forms just a noise filtering sounds of life that would otherwise distract and occupy, for many, too much of our collective attention.

A ball/dance/nightclub without music would be less than it should be, just as a bar without music would possibly just be people drinking forced to converse at a level more accurately refered to as normal and without the need to shout. Watching a movie is enhanced by the soundtrack, when it is such that we actually hear it over the action, dialog and the visual flash of the screen entertainment, the music is carefully (as far as royalties and rights allow) chosen to compliment the scene and be mood enhancing...it is chosen simply for the empathetic response it will garner from most viewers. It help creates the mood. Yet there are times when the music is just "on"...TV on mute, Triple J* plays its summer hits while the silent images of the Ashes Test flash** across the screen only partially watched as one goes about doing something (very often the cleaning) that needs to be done, the music becomes nothing more than ambient noise.

Most of the time it is like this, most of the time we hear the music but don't really listen...it's when we listen that the problems can begin.

And by problems I can't help but wonder does the music perpetuate or create/inspire the mood, or does our mood dictate the type of music we really chose to listen too? Do we play happy music because we are happy, or do we play happy music to make us happy? And perhaps a worse/better thing to consider, can music prolong the mood? And if so why would we continue to listen to sad songs when we are sad, are we that in need of further depression?

Is it as Rob suggests in High Fidelity that it is music that is to blame for so much of the sadness, depression, loneliness and ill feeling? Is it as he laments that music simply has alot to answer for?

* An Australian radio station.
** A Test is a five 5 cricket event that may result in a non-result (a draw), it can be quite boring to watch, with lots of time in which nothing is really happening, and thus most Australians tend to have the telly on mute, and just watch the hourly updates, while doing something mroe productive (ie: cleaning, reading, masterbating, etc...)

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Is it Literature?

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Music, Wisdom

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 18 comment(s)

"In Vino Veritas"
Latin: In wine there is truth.

So often the "I was drunk" excuse has been rolled out to condone, defend and even excuse behaviour. But here is a truth, I have never been so drunk that I did something that I would not have wished to do sober, but may have lacked the courage, or felt compelled not too by a societal standard not my own. And a quick "Blokes at the Pub" survey verified that I am not alone...being drunk does not lead us to behaviours we would not have otherwise done, it rather simply lowers inhibitions and gives us the courage to do that which we wish to do anyway.

Using the "I was drunk" excuse is using a verbal band-aid to cover behaviour for which you will be blamed; accused or worse yet will have recriminations and repercussions. Being drunk is not the defense for something done that will have an effect on your life, rather it is the catalyst for acting the way you really are, or really wish to be.

So that drunken hook-up that you blame on the beer/whiskey/champagne/your poison of choice...I call BULLSHIT! You wanted to, you wanted it, and the only thing the sobering effect of the morning does is make you wish it was maybe with someone else, but don't deny you did it for no other reason than quite simply you wanted to. The drunken words you utter, are not the ravings (aka Mel Gibson) bubbling to the surface of an alcohol filled liver and kidneys rather it is the society held tongue let off the leash, and is more often than not the real way we feel, think and wish we could act.

On a little Asian peninsula, in what is Northern Asia, getting drunk is the societies outlet for keeping silent and saving "face", while drunk employees may speak their mind, they may act out and do anything that society will not allow them, and since they were drunk, all is forgiven. The drinking and the state of inebriation is used as an excuse to let out behaviours that are inherent and need to be let out rather than caged.

If we all look honestly at our drunken actions we would admit, if only to self, that the choices we made were exactly as we desired them, and exactly what we wanted to do, we weren't held accountable to ourselves or others by a moral or even ethical code not necessarily our own.

Sure alcohol has a debilitating effect on motor functions, synapse functioning and both higher and lower reasoning...but once you get to that stage you are useless anyway, and it is before you do that you are in a place where the alcohol offers you a key to doing what you wish.

And most of us when given the key will open the door.

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Some Thoughts on 05 & Blog Colored Meetings

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Drinking, Wisdom, Honesty, Blokes at the Pub

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 21 comment(s)

"No one appreciates the very special genius of your conversation as the dog does."
- Christopher Morley

There is a reason why a dog is man’s best friend…would Russell Crowe have been taken half as seriously as Maximus if he’d gone into battle with a Persian Cat…I don’t think so!

At the risk of alienating adoring fans everywhere, I really dislike cats.

I mean, I dislike their smug little attitudes, their suck-up cause they want something, purring and the incessant leg rubbing with the gentle back-arch. I mean, I really dislike them not to the level of pegging them to the hills-hoist and sending them round and round only to stop them with a cricket bat level of hate…but I detest the little things…fur all over the place, shedding, stripping the furniture, stink of crap in the laundry, climbing up on everything and thinking they own the place.

There has only ever been one exception to this, a long time ago my little brother once had a cat named “Donkey”, the why’s and what for of this name aren’t important what is, is the simple fact that Donkey acted like a dog.

“Get off the lounge Donk.” And he would.
“Donk, come here.” And he would.
“Donk, sit.” And he would.

I have no idea how much training, or how much exhaled weed in the face was needed to produce this response, I wasn’t privy to the teaching method and the learning curve but the results were none the less impressive and thus was Donk’s charm assured, sure he had a slight personality quirk that led him to believe that he was a dog, but after all who’s perfect, but the important fact was he believed he was a dog….that’s right a dog, and thus by method of insanity he became acceptable.

And the ramifications of that last statement are mind boggling when I consdier that I really do know some of you reading this...and yes you are "acceptable" and yes you are also "insane". ~grin~

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: More Bloody Potsherds

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Pussy, Dog, Pets

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 18 comment(s)

Their sharing a drink they call loneliness,
But it's better than drinking alone.
- Billy Joel
The Piano Man

Reading E@L yesterday and leaving a rather long winded (for me) and question filled comment I did have to wonder at why is drinking alone looked down on, and while the inspiration for this post was really about chasing skirt of the paid variety and doing so alone, the questioning path my mind spiraled down remains, why is the solitary man in a bar drinking a beer the height of, or should that be depth, of sadness?

Here's a Joke,

Paddy (as you'd correctly guess an Irishman) migrates to the best part of the Southern Hemisphere (You have to love that I can spout Nationalistic Biased Rhetoric like that. God (if there is one) Bless Australia.)

Back to the joke...

And on Friday after work walks into a Pub, and orders two pints of the liquid heaven, that the Irish know of as Guinness. The barman pours Paddy the beers, and Paddy sits down at a table with one pint opposite him, and alternatively takes a mouthful from each while generally watching the telly and the punters in the adjoining TAB. The barman watches this in rapt fascination and after a while comes over and says to Paddy,

"You can order one pint at a time, I'll bring you the next one so they don't get warm"

To which Paddy replies, "Ey tank ye kindly, but you see right now in Ireland my brother is sitting in our local having two pints of the same nectar of the gods, so as we have done every Friday since before we were legal, we are having a drink together."

The barman thinks this is a simply brilliant idea, and soon the whole Pub knows of Paddy and his Friday drink with his brother…

…this goes on for 8 months, and one Friday Paddy comes in and orders a single pint of the Black Stuff.

The whole Pub is silent, nobody knows what to say, they whisper, they wonder, and finally the Barman plucks up the courage, goes over and in a somber tone says,

"Paddy, we are sorry for the loss of your brother"

To which Paddy's surprised reaction is, "why has sumthin happened to him? The little bugger was always doin the silly stuff, if he has gone and got 'imself killed, I will murder him!"

The Barman is shocked, he stammers, and stutters, "Sorry Paddy, when you ordered one Pint we all assumed something had happened to your Brother"

To which Paddy smiles, "Nope, I have just given up drinking."

And though this is light hearted levity (or at least an attempt at such), I do wonder, when did the solitary man, enjoying the liquid fruit of his labor become something that we look on…erm…suspiciously?

Why does the man, enjoying his morning papers in the sun at the corner coffee shop, illicit less raised eyes, or less questioning looks than the man enjoying a pint while watching his favorite team fuck it up again? Is the image of one more threatening than the other, do we project stereotypes or assumptions on one and while we still do with the other, do we instead project less likable or favorable stories?

Is there sophistication in drinking coffee that is lacking in drinking beer, would the image of a solo drinker be less pitied if we were to swap the poison of choice to a Martini, or a nice Single Malt?

I do wonder what it says about me as I sit by the beach drinking a beer while traveling alone (again) in some far flung destination…is it expected that those alone should not partake of the amber fluid, or rather refrain from solo travel or are the rules of perception and assumption different when someone is on holidays or in a holiday destination. Are you only "sad" if you drink alone at your local or maybe even worse, at home?

Last year in the Temple of Doom, Indiana unearthed: Much Needed Relaxation

Technorati Tag: The Dogs Name, Men, Relationships, Wisdom, Blokes at the Pub, Bachelorhood

Lectiones Sacrae Ex Libris Indiana 06:00 22 comment(s)