Caveat Emptor

Kelli read my blog entry about pornstar Jenna Jameson’s reality television show difficulties (with my predicable and, frankly quite silly, double entendres) with shock and dismay.

“I told MY MOM to read your blog! What were you thinking? She’s really quite conservative.”

I suggested that, while Kelli was undergoing surgery, her mother and I had a good natured discussion about the positive aspects of pornography and our similar likes and dislikes.

Kelli did not even nibble at this poisoned apple. “You are lying, my mother would never carry on such a discussion.”

She, of course, is quite correct. While Dianne shared a particularly amusing story about a creepy therapist (which I would, of course, love to tell but am reluctant to do so without permission), she and I did not discuss sex or sexual media for even a moment.

I grew up firmly believing the doctrine of Frank Zappa (and I am paraphrasing): One may indulge in vulgar language and explicit sexual written imagery without fear of spending eternity next to a man with horns and a pitchfork. There is a place for reasoned, carefully worded, formal argument; and there is a place for including a light-hearted reference to sex with poodles as lyrics accompanying the most happy-go-lucky melody.

To quote another great thinker, George Carlin, “dirty words are fun!”

If Dianne, whom I have the highest regard and respect for, reads one of my blog entries and is made uncomfortable by its imagery or irreverence then she can skip to the next entry.

I stand by what I write. It’s what I'm thinking about at that precise moment. Some of what I ponder has been kicking around for years and has been polished and honed to make a sharp point. Other stuff is just crap that managed to sneak past the filters in my head and come out of my fingers onto the page – all lumpy and ill smelling and completely ‘without redeeming social value’ (to quote an infamous figure from my youth, Senator Jesse Helms).

There are lots of other things I am thinking about this week.

My grandmother is lingering somewhere in the realm between mostly ill and quite ill.

My mother was very nearly killed by a man who ran a red light this Saturday. While her injuries were relatively minor, the event reminded me how random events can change a carefully planned life.

Kelli is still in the recovery and reprogramming mode after her surgery. Every day she is at least a little sick and uncomfortable and there’s nothing I can do to alleviate her discomfort. Watching the person I love suffer, even a little bit, is frustrating.

Worst of all, I am doing just fine throughout all of this. I say ‘worst of all’ because I have a certain sense of guilt – survivor’s guilt maybe – about being approximately the same while pieces of my family are in turmoil.

It’s not severe turmoil and to suggest otherwise is being dramatic. All of my people are in a state of flux around me and I have the honor, duty, pleasure, responsibility of being a rock right now. At least it gives me something to do. Watching all of this or hear about it from afar then it would be more frustrating. Active participation is much more satisfying (to be selfish about it).

Writing blog entries is my form of escape, of catharsis, and of focusing my thoughts.

This little piece was not intended as an apology to Kelli or as a warning to Dianne. Neither needs that anyway. This is just what the title bar advertises: what’s rattling around in my brain right now. It’s generally a pretty light place (a little breezy at times) but there are some shadows in there too.

Life’s not all about porn and television after all. Well okay, maybe in California it is.