There were birds in the sky
But I never saw them winging
No, I never saw them at all
Till there was you
Then there was music and wonderful roses
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows
Of dawn and dew
There was love all around
But I never heard it singing
No, I never heard it at all
Till there was you
Well, here it comes again. That delightful day of the year when our thoughts turn inexorably to flowers and keepsake jewelry, to little heart shaped candies, to romance. Yes, it’s a wonderful thing but in the interest of full disclosure, let’s be real. When we think of romance we’re really thinking about sex aren’t we? Of course we’re really thinking of sex and there’s no shame, not one bit. After all, what would romance be without sex? It would be like Christmas or National Chicken Boy Day, just another Madison Avenue ad campaign intended to get you to buy stuff.
Ahhh, romance and sex. Though they are not the same thing, they are inextricably bound together in our cultural consciousness like sub-atomic particles. But with Valentines Day lurking around a darkened corner like some scary inner-city thug, I feel today the need to focus for a moment exclusively on roman
ce.
For busy Americans such as you and me, the most important thing to remember about romance is this: romance takes time. It takes vast amounts of that most precious of all commodities, time.
The prospect of impending romance is often best met with a tall glass of bourbon and one can do a lot of things while relieving oneself of the burden of sobriety but it’s virtually impossible to multi-task while engaging in romance. When a woman makes it clear to you that she is ready for love, fellas you have to pick up that remote and hit the off button. You don’t ask if she can wait because the game is in the fourth quarter. Well of course if it’s the division playoffs I guess it worth a try but believe me you’re taking a huge risk.
Yes, I do envy those who can simply get up in the morning, go to a job, leave at five o’clock and have time for life’s little pleasures like romance but as you may know, I march to the beat of a different drummer. I’m on a sacred mission to save America and it’s a lonely road that I travel. There’s only twenty-four hours in a day and you can make of that what you will, but you can’t make time.
If, as I have, you have heeded a noble calling then sacrifices simply must be made. I have hardly a single free minute in my day so something has to go but what? How do people do it? If I let go of something that’s important to me then I feel bad about it. I’ll feel like life is getting past me, like I’m a loser. Then I’ll be pensive and moody and uncommunicative. Women hate that stuff. Women must believe that while they are talking, men are listening.
The most important thing to remember when talking to a woman is this: always be truthful. When my ex-wife once asked, “Honey, would you love me more if I were thinner?” I said to her, “Darling what a silly question, of course I would”.
But as the demands of life bear upon you with ever increasing pressure, you begin to withdraw, unable to give voice to your emotions, your inner feelings. A tiny crack appears in the foundation of your castle of love and then another and another. A woman will try desperately to seal those cracks. She will try in her womanly way to Bondo those fissures but her efforts will be in vain and soon her heart is broken and it’s all your fault. Yes, the wretched, evil fiend that is you (me) has broken yet another heart. And then comes the guilt, the guilt, the guilt…. ahhhh, the guilt.
Another heart is broken and you’re to blame. And then the depression.That infernal, all-consuming, soul-sucking vortex from which I have for my entire life struggled to remain free. That relentless, remorseless, merciless gravitational force drawing me down, down, down… I can’t have that shit. So I’m flying solo, I’m going it alone. Yeah that’s right, I’m a loner. A lone wolf.
I sleep alone. I drive in my car alone. I used to go to the movies alone. Then I went to the video store alone. Now I just go with Netflix (they were getting some bad press but seem to now be on the rebound).
When I engage in deep philosophical musings or ponder my role in the fate of all of humankind, I do it alone. I eat and drink alone. Well, I eat alone. When I drink, its usually with my good Buddy-weiser or perhaps with my old friend Johnny Walker and his brothers Blackie and Red (they make an amusing trio).
I digress, the subject is romance but I don’t want to talk about romance anymore, so let’s talk about its alter ego, sex. Yes sex, sex, sex. Good ol’ sex. Although there is currently no time in my life for romance there’s always time for sex but these days any discussion of sex is complicated by the high degree of confusion over the question of what sex really is.
What is sex and how do we know when we’re having it?
There’s all kinds of activities that people call sex. There’s hetero sex, there’s gay cowboy sex, there’s MTV sex, there’s Victoria’s Secret sex involving all manner of lingerie and paraphernalia, ointments and scented candles, hoists and pulleys. Personally, I don’t care for all that stuff. When it comes to sex, I’m pretty much a meat and potatoes kind of guy.
Let’s not forget NYC performance art sex and maybe that’s not really even sex at all.
To illustrate the complexity of the issue lets confabulate with my personal assistant, a former NYC performance artist and two-time winner of the coveted Dillystretch Award, Miss Sunshine Obalofsky, whom I will now contact via my brand new Android meat-powered smart-phone.
HAROLD
Good morning Sunshine.
SUNSHINE
Good morning Harold.
HAROLD
Here’s my question: If I were to run fishhooks
through my ears, put on yellow rubber gloves,
set myself on fire and lick your armpits,
would we be having sex?
SUNSHINE
Why yes Harold, we’d be having really hot sex.
HAROLD
Well, you see, there you go. I disagree.
SUNSHINE
Awwwww…
HAROLD
Thank you, darling.
SUNSHINE
Bye, Harold.
Whatever your definition includes, it’s just a simple fact that a satisfying love life requires energy. Lots and lots of energy makes for a more refulgent experience but alas when a man reaches a certain age he finds that energy to be increasingly elusive. Knowing this, I recently set out upon a quest to resolve this timeless dilemma once and for all. And so I traveled afar to unlock the mysteries of the Orient and rediscover the wisdom of the ancients. I’m happy to say that today I will share their secret with you, my fellow men and here it is
The secret is hamster juice.
It’s made in Taiwan and comes in handy little 6 oz cans that you can carry around in your pocket. Now you animal rights psychopaths needn’t worry, it’s not made from crushed rodents. It’s actually a rare blend of exotic herbal stimulants and secret proprietary ingredients that was developed specifically for hamsters but I’ve discovered that it works great for guys as well. So hey fellas, forget those pills that your television tells you to buy. This year let’s make that little lady a friend of the hamster, shall we?
Happy Valentines Day.