Thursday, July 16, 2015

My First Love Connects After Many Years

My first love sent a Facebook invitation this week after many years incommunicado. Then, she sent me a letter. I had just left home at 17 when I encountered her in the lobby of my university. Her raven black hair, sparkling blue eyes, and gently swelling cardigan would distract almost any idiotic boy from noticing the enormous compassionate heart that lay underneath the sweater. Yet, boy did this boy ever notice.

I was in love within weeks and passionately wanted to marry her. However, I had a problem. My family was financing my education toward a master's degree and my family honor code dictated that the cash flow must end when I took on the adult status of marriage. Still, my honor had its limits. Thus, I began wondering in my mind how many semesters I could sustain a secret engagement without losing the spark of love or woman of my dreams.

She had contrasting struggles. My princess was a girl from Appalachia whose cousins apparently passed her over for marraige. She felt an irrational psychological pressure. A good hillbilly girl doesn't give up the milk till the cow is sold, but may feel some urgency to confirm a buyer before a rather early and arbitrary "best-consumed-by" milk expiration date. (Yes, we humans are kinda silly, but God loves us anyway.)

On my 18th birthday, a friend told me I was summoned to a particular empty building. There I found my sweet angel reclining in white satin attire on a black velvet blanket with a lit candle and a chocolate cake. Brothers and sisters, I have been to her mountaintops and I have seen her promised land, but it wasn't just a dream. I wouldn't trade that night for 100 more years of life. Yet shortly thereafter, our relationship began to unravel.

I was too prideful to tell her that I doubted my ability to provide for her plus a lengthy education to even better provide for her without my family's help. Big mistake. She was too insecure to tell me that her delicate heart couldn't sustain faith in me forever without more expressions or symbols of my committment. My mind pondered while her heart wandered. One day she gave up hope, as a sleazy con artist who was a companion of mine offered fast promises and claimed to be dying of cancer for a sympathy pitch. I had failed my vulnerable princess and lost her forever.

(If Jeff McClain of Council Bluffs, Iowa is still alive [because no 5-year-old girl or wheel-chair-bound senior has taken time to kick his slimy ass], I advise him never to visit Mexico. It's a very dangerous country ... at least for him. And while I would never threaten homicide [since that is illegal], I plainly state with God as my witness: if he and I ever meet while floating around on rafts in international waters, he is a deadman!)

Now, where was I before that rude interruption? Oh yes, I recall. The hottest piece of ... uh ... pecan pie East of the Mississippi sent me a lovely letter yesterday. She was quite nervous. My former girlfriend figured I had numbed the pain of her rejection by becoming bitter and angry at her. She figured wrong. Though I hadn't enjoyed the humiliation of standing in the snow beneath her dormitory window begging for another chance, I had chosen to accept responsibility.

I had put her in a sacred corner of my heart reserved exclusively for my first love, who I adored from day one and will adore till my last breath. (Geeky English teachers can feel free to replace who with whom while I emote on like the drunken half-Irishman I am.) Sure it hurts that she rejected me for men with smaller penises, but I strongly disagree with Buddha about renouncing all attachments to avoid pain. Amor es dolor (love is pain)! Yet, only love makes life worth living. I never contacted her over the years, because I wanted to respect her feelings, but I'm so happy she contacted me. God bless you, Kelly, for inspiring my dull boyish heart (and nearly every other anatomical part). You forever rock, baby. This old song, which my born-on-a-farm dad used to play with his harmonica when I was a child, is for you:

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Hillary Clinton Reveals America's Moral I.Q.

My parents voted for John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon but wouldn't have done so had they known jack or dick about Jack's and Dick's character. My parents weren't perfect, but they did have some scruples. People who read and can handle the truth now know that Nixon was a negative paranoid liar and Kennedy plied underage girls with booze, manhandled and screwed them without sentiment, then discarded them without remorse. Good people don't relish association with such types.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Mahatma Gandhi Was Not A Pacifist

People who think violence is inherently evil and avoiding it in all situations makes you a better person often tout Gandhi as a patron saint. This is not accurate. Gandhi was not a pacifist, and those who respect his conviction that life is a quest for truth should be interested in the reality of his views on violence. I will briefly summarize the facts here.

While promoting the civil rights of Indian residents of South Africa, Gandhi urged his fellow "coolies" to peacefully disobey British laws giving them a second-class status. He endured personal attacks without aggression. He believed peaceful resistance to injustice without retaliation or even self-defense would eventually win British respect. This was successful. However, when British South Africans fought Dutch South Africans in the Boer War, Gandhi maintained that Indians fighting with their British masters to defend their neighbors would also win respect and accomplish good. Not the Deepak Chopra mindset.

Friday, June 5, 2015

A Guided Tour of Lyn's Paradise

This beach is four blocks from my house. Would you believe it was totally deserted last Friday night, when I had a candlelit dinner on the sand with a charming and captivating woman? There was no sound but the waves. The boulevard from Chahue beach to my residence is dotted with palm trees in the middle plus cumbia and bachata dance clubs along the side. There's a supermarket next to my home. Here you find the freshest and most delicious Mexican cuisine beside a global selection of cold beer. Damn near paradise!

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Meditate On Author Raji Lukkoor's Butt

That's right people: you can meditate on Raji Lukkoor's butt. I don't mean focus your inner eye above her inner thigh. I mean borrow her butt for a climactic metaphysical experience. No wait, that's not right. I mean benefit from the ten days she spent with her tush on a hard floor without moving yours off a soft couch.

Why sit on your white or black ass doing Buddhist meditation till you cramp, when you can have Raji Lukkoor sit on her fine brown authentically-Indian ass then write a book about her meditation retreat for you to experience vicariously? Inner Pilgrimage is the cramp-free intro to meditation we've all been waiting for.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Pacquiao Loses Match / Mayweather Loses Honor

The rules of boxing allow a fighter to avoid engagement with his opponent by clinging or running, but returning some fire simply looks better. Last Saturday, Floyd Mayweather's fight or flight instinct appeared to have completely evolved into a hug or flight instinct. Manny Pacquiao dominated this contest in the eyes of most boxing-uninformed but manliness-conscious viewers by engaging his opponent relentlessly and confidently. Despite Barney the Dinosaur levels of cheeriness, a Filipino clearly came to fight, while an American came to cash a check and protect a title.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Primate Professor Returns to the Jungle

After a year of wilderness homesteading on my Mexican desert ranch and a month of wild pollenating on my Mexican desert flower, I have planted my white gringo ass on the jungle beaches of Huatulco, Oaxaca. Another chapter in my life. The rainforest-encircled Universidad del Mar has invited this primitive American ape to thump his chest and swing on a tire in a professor's office. I must now write more books too.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

50 Shades of Gringo Sexual Dysfunction

My dangerously sexy Mexican woman and I performed our Valentine's Day duty by attempting to sit thru the "romantic movie" deemed "must see" by the global culture arbitrators of New York. What a joke! About half way thru the S & M feel good hit of the season 50 Shades of Grey, we looked at each other and laughingly exclaimed, "Pobre gringos!" Our pity for white folks stemmed from the naked fact that the allegedly hot sex in this chic flic is about as smoldering as the sex she and I have when she's sick and I'm tired.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Bad-ass Moses and his Kick-ass God

Just saw the Ridley Scott and Christian Bale Moses epic that will be spreading around the globe this week. Worth seeing for thrills and for ideas. While Hollywood has distaste for Mel Gibson's ethnic bitterness, they still dig his crowd-pleasing formulas. This film often recalls the Celtic swordplay of Braveheart, the slavery shock of Apocalypto, and the grim mysticism of Passion of the Christ. Melodramatic but way more fun than church - even if they were to allow popcorn and partial nudity at church. (Yes, I've suggested it, but nooooo!)