On Journeys, Roads and Walking Through the Door at the End of the Path

There once was a young man who embarked on a long and mysterious journey. He knew not where he was going. He knew not when he would get there. He only knew that the desire to be on the road burned brightly within him.

A born storyteller, the young man spent each night recounting stories from his journey for anyone who would listen. He told of his loves and losses. He told of joy and pain. He shared amusing tales of those he met on his path and mulled over new ideas and thoughts that he encountered along the way.

As you may well imagine, the young man met many people on his journey. Some of those people became the subject of his nightly tales. Others became his friends and confidants. They gathered to hear of his latest adventures and offered advice and comfort when needed. After a time, the young man realized that his journey was as much about them as it was about himself. It was true that he was not traveling for them, but the camaraderie he found propelled him forward when the road was rocky or steep or simply hidden.

And the road was indeed rocky and steep and simply hidden at times. There were nights when his tales did not flow from him with the ease with which they once had. On these occasions, the young man would ponder the possibility of ending his journey. Since he did not know where he was going, he had no way to know if he had gotten there. Perhaps, he would muse, the end of the journey was meant to come when he felt it was time. Perhaps the destination was within himself.

The young man kept going on his journey, however. Sometimes the answer from within himself was to go on. Sometimes his friends urged him forward. And after each rough patch, the road tended to smooth out for a stretch. But as the journey grew longer, the rough patches grew rougher and the smooth patches grew shorter.

One day the young man followed a bend in the road and came to an abrupt stop. The road ended. Standing where the road should have been was a door. Sitting on the ground near the door was the young man.

“I’ve been waiting,” said the seated young man without moving his mouth.

“For me?” the standing young man asked within his head.

The young man did not answer himself. He merely smiled.

“Is this the end of my journey?” he asked himself.

“That is a decision only you can make.”

“But how can I go on?”

The young man on the ground laughed. “You simply have to open the door.”

His eyes trained on the door, the young man asked his other self what was on the other side. Only silence followed his question.

The young man turned, looking for his friends. For as far as his eye could see was a long road littered with stories and thoughts and histories. If he looked hard enough, he could see the very spot from where his journey had begun. All of those who had joined him were gone, however. He was alone.

“You are alone,” the him behind him said. “No one can tell you whether or not you should open the door. No one can tell you what lies beyond. It’s all up to you.”

The young man turned back to the door and saw that he was indeed alone. Even his other self had disappeared.

He stood in front of the door for many hours, pondering all that lie behind him and all that could potentially lie ahead. He thought about what he had seen and what he had heard and what he had shared. He wondered if he could leave all of that behind for the mystery beyond the door. He wondered if going through the door meant leaving anything behind at all.

He reached for the door. He had set out on a journey and the journey had led him here. He owed it to himself to follow the path through the door and into the unknown.

With the whispers of his invisible friends echoing in his head, he opened the door, walked through and closed it behind him.

On Crashes, Losses and Rescinding My Offer for Nude Photos

I somehow seem to have blown my computer up. The other night a scary blue screen came up and urgently told me to shut the thing down. So I shut the thing down. And now I can’t get the damn thing back up and running. It will turn on and go through some of the initial start-up screens, but when it gets to the Windows screen it just stays frozen.

I think the little guy is dead.

And so now I am totally cut off from the world when I am at home. I can’t check my email. I can’t check tomorrow’s weather. I can’t find out what time Ugly Betty is on. And I can’t find a date for this weekend.

I’m totally screwed.

Besides that, all of the music I had on there is now gone. Luckily, I’m utterly old-fashioned and still buy compact discs. So all is not completely lost.

In the photo department, that may not be the case. I had a lot of pictures on my computer and now many of them are gone for good. Sure, a lot are stored on MySpace and Flickr so I can get them back. But anyone who was hoping for some of my naughty photos will just have to go without.

Sorry, Will. And Daniel. And Eric. And Catty Bitch.

And Patti.

I’ve gotten some advice on how to retrieve information from the hard drive or how to get the machine back to life, but it all sounds ridiculously complicated and time consuming. And it costs money. I figure if I have to shell out money, I may as well cut my few minor losses and get a new computer.

I can always take new nude photos of myself.

In the meantime, I’m going to pretend I’m living in the dark ages of the 1980’s and early 1990’s and not have a working computer at home for a while. And that is going to make this blogging thing really difficult. I can’t very well spend every lunch break blogging, can I?

Perhaps the death of my computer is just one more sign that the death of the blog is indeed coming.

On Retirement, Finality and Ending the Blog on Friday

“I think I’m going to quit my blog.”

He told me this last night, and for the first time I think it might actually be true. My friend may actually quit is blog. He’s hinted at this before, but this time it feels right. It feels like the time has actually come.

I met him through his blog when we both lived in places other than Chicago. And now we are both here and I’m regularly surprised that blogging could have brought such a great friendship into my life. It just goes to show you can meet your new best friend anywhere.

But now he may be quitting his blog. It won’t be such a devastating occasion for me since I have his phone number and see him at least every weekend. I don’t really need his blog in order to keep up with his thoughts and life. It will be a little sad to see him go, however.

And he won’t be the first to go either. It seems like a lot of blogs I have read for years are falling off the cyber landscape. Just the other day one of my greatest supporters and dearest blogger friends announced he was leaving the blogging game. I have to admit that I miss him.

With all of these bloggers going into retirement, it leaves me wondering where I stand. I’ve been doing this thing since January 2005, and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s time to hang up my keyboard.

My posts feel stale.

My creativity is all dried up.

My hits are down.

The whole thing just seems to be dying a slow death.

So do I just let it die a slow death or do I take a gun to its head while it still has a little life left in it? I think the old girl would want to go out with a bang. She’d want to die with a little dignity. So maybe it’s time to pull the trigger.

There is nothing to worry about immediately, however. I won’t kill the blog just yet. I’m a sucker for structure. I am nothing if not regimented.

If I’m going to kill the damn thing, I’ll do it on Friday.

On Faith, Religion and Questioning the Divinity of a Man

What would you do if you had undisputable proof that Jesus was just a man? There was no birth by virgin. There was no walking on water and raising of the dead. And most importantly, there was no resurrection. Jesus was just a mere mortal like the rest of us. He was not the son of God. What would you do if you could prove all of that beyond the shadow of a doubt?

That is the question at the core of The Last Templar, a novel I wrapped up last night. It’s a fast-paced thriller that follows an FBI agent, an archeologist, a priest and a madman as they try to track down that which could topple the Catholic Church forever. Sure, it’s fictional fluff at its best, but at the same time it does raise an interesting question.

What would you do if you had undisputable proof that Jesus was just a man?

My first thought was that I would use this proof to blow the Church and all its fanatical followers out of the water. A good theological bitch slap has been coming their way for a long time. I’d love nothing more than to debunk the Bible and cause panic to all of those who use it to justify hatred and discrimination. I’d revel in watching the archaic ways of the narrow-minded wither and die.

Then I thought about my father. When I was growing up, he went to Mass every Sunday. He was not someone you would peg as a devout Catholic, but from where I sat it was very clear that his faith was extremely important to him. When his mother died, I saw how that faith really did help him grieve. It was not a showy kind of faith or an oppressive kind of faith to those of us on the outside. It was just a quiet faith that allowed him to make sense of something so painful.

Thinking about my father made me realize that dropping such a massive bomb would not just demolish the corrupt Catholic Church and the horrid Bible thumpers of the world. It would crush millions of good people like my father who have a quiet and inoffensive sense of faith. Do those people deserve to have their faith ripped from them? Do they deserve to know the truth? Can you really separate them from the Christian institution?

The Last Templar explores both of these arguments, using characters that fall throughout the faith spectrum. As I struggled along with them to decide what would do the most good, I decided that there is a middle ground that could prove to be beneficial to all involved.

What if there was proof that Jesus was just a mere man and thus the Catholic and Christian faiths have been based on a monumental lie? What if that revelation could actually lead the Church to make some much needed improvements? What if the bombshell caused millions of believers to strip away the Catholic fairy tale and focus on what really matters?

Imagine a world where the fantastical stories of the Bible are debunked. What would be left would be the teachings of a man who had wonderful ideas about love and human relations. Even if he was just a man, he was a man who taught the world so many amazing lessons. Sadly, a lot has gotten in the way of those lessons over the years. But if we could strip all of the nonsense away, we could be left with something truly amazing.

Unfortunately, I do not have concrete proof that Jesus did not rise from the dead. I do not have a way to divert attention from the nonsense and illuminate the messages that really matter. And so the world will remain as it is.

But even I have a little bit of faith in miracles.

On Fluids, Pressure and How a Man can Fake an Orgasm

Did I ever tell you that on more than one occasion I have faked an orgasm? Yeah, I’m pretty sneaky that way.

I know you are all thinking that it is impossible for a man to fake an orgasm since men tend to make a big unmistakable mess when they climax, but I am here to tell you that it can be done. You just have to know how to play the game.

For one thing, it helps if you are having sex in the dark. If it is the light of day and everyone at the orgy can see you spanking the monkey, it is going to be extremely hard to fake an orgasm. In fact, I’m willing to bet it is going to be impossible. Unless, for some odd medical reason, you have dry orgasms. But if that’s the case, I suppose you can go through the rest of your life faking orgasms without having to take tips from the likes of me.

Besides being in a dark room, it is imperative that you are pleasuring yourself. If someone else has his or her hand on your junk, that other person is liable to notice a lack of fluids at the moment of reckoning. But if you are the only one whose hand is near the faucet, you’re the only one who will notice that you haven’t gotten wet.

So how does it all work? Well, it’s quite simple actually. You do what you would normally do to bring about extreme sexual pleasure. Then, when the moment is right (but you are not quite ready), you simply moan and writhe and act as though the passion inside you is trying to claw its way out through your chest. Then, in a moment of seemingly pure bliss, you let out a massive growl and convulse your body so that you are not longer facing your partner. If you can manage to land on your stomach, all the better.

Once your performance is over, it helps to feign exhaustion and lie still until you can safely reveal yourself to your partner without arising suspicion. Although, assuming your partner has already climaxed, he or she probably won’t notice a thing.

So why fake the orgasm? Why not just let it fly? The reason is that sometimes it takes me quite a while to get to that point. And sometimes my partner seems impatient. And if my partner seems impatient, I feel pressured. And if I am pressured, I can choke the chicken all day long and never see a drop of baby batter. Thus, sometimes I just want to be out of that moment as soon as possible. And if that means I have to fake it, I am perfectly fine with that.

Faking orgasms is not just for the ladies any longer.