Koffee With Kennedy : July 2016

Friday, July 29, 2016

Summer Vacation

Well, it's time for my summer vacation. While I'm away, da'Shade will be taking over for a month.

Yes, I know he can be a little edgy at times, and he's a little opinionated, but he always has something interesting to say.

Thursday, July 28, 2016

the blue room ...

he sits in the blue room
waiting
his hands are
smudged with metaphors
that have dripped
from his fingertips
onto pages and pages
of poetry
lines of love
and passion
and sex
but none
that he remembers
now that he has
grown so much older
and still he waits
for that one
impossible
image
for that one
remarkable
insight
that only you could offer
if only you
would rip the clothes
off your body
throw your arms around him
and smush your breasts
into his face
and say something
anything
provocative
instead of
simply offering him
a cup of Earl Grey tea
and a day-old biscuit

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Shower Power

Ooooohhh ... I just got out of the shower.

I've come to believe that a shower is one of the most therapeutic things you can do.

On a cold winter morning, you can climb into a warm shower and it melts all those frosty aches and pains away.

On a warm summer's night, you can have a cool shower, and suddenly, the world doesn't feel quite so sticky and closed in around you.

This morning, I was fighting the remnants of a "too-much-night-before," and I simply let the hot steamy water crash down over my head and back. Oh my, all those tight muscles just eased right up. It felt divine.

I don't have a fancy shower. I am thinking of buying one of those shower heads that pulsate. I might like the kaboom-kaboom-kaboom of the water beating me into oblivion.

Some people have shower heads that mimic rainfall. You stand under them, and the water trickles down like rain. I don't think I'd like that so much. I like a little zip to the spray.

Some people have a shower head on a flexible tube. You can move it around your body. You can flush out those cracks and crevices. Or, you can hold it in a certain sensitive area until you feel a certain sense of relief. I do not have one of those remote shower heads. I would have to be somewhat more than acrobatic to get my shower head into a crack or crevice.

Some people pee in the shower. I am not one of those folks. However, I am not judgemental with regards to people who pee in the shower. Just remember, you're standing in urine for at least half a minute or so.

Some people sing in the shower. I used to sing Frank Sinatra songs when I showered, but I don't anymore. Someone told me that I was a "little" off-key. That was enough to make me self-conscious for life.

Some people wash their hair in the shower. I do. Why wouldn't you? I use shampoo that smells like coconut.

Some people wear shower caps to keep their hair dry when they shower. Those kind of people are stuck in the 1950's.

Some people loofah in the shower. I have no loofahs. I read once that they were breeding grounds for bacteria, and when you use them, you are just grinding that bacteria into your skin and sensitive areas. So no loofahs for me. I do have a back scrubbing brush. I'm not sure that I trust it to be completely germ-free.

Some people use a pumice stone on their feet in the shower. All I can say to those folks is that it's a shower, not a woodworking shop.

Some people brush their teeth in the shower. I brush my teeth over the sink.

Some people shave in the shower, and some women shave in unmentionable places. To me, that's just gross. All those hairs ... do they all make it all the way down the drain? I don't think so. Yuk!

Some people use moisturizer in the shower. I used to use baby oil when I showered, but it leaves a slick residue all over the shower stall, and you're likely to go for a flip if you make one wrong step. Nobody wants to fall in the shower. There are far too many things to hit on your way down.

Some people tie lavender, eucalyptus, or lemongrass around the shower head. Presumably, the hot steam releases a kind of aroma therapy. I am not an aroma therapy kind of guy. The only aroma I ever get is if I fart in the shower. I can't say that is a pleasant experience.

Some people have sex in the shower. Well, that gives new meaning to the term, "wet willy."

Some people masturbate in the shower. That gives new meaning to the term, "wet dream."

Some people have a baby shower. Very little water is involved.

Some people get murdered in the shower, like what you see in the opening scene of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. I only add this last fact as a precaution. Lock the bathroom door before you step into the shower. You never know.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Downside Up

Don't know why, don't know why ... just feel sometimes like I'm a-gonna cry ...

We all feel that way sometimes. Sometimes, the blues just seems to creep into our lives, even when we have no idea why we're feeling down.

I've always believed that life is about balance. I think it's important to try to balance everything — from your bank book to your inventory of feelings. I try to keep everything in its rightful place, keep everything in perspective. This matters. That not so much. Oh, and THIS really matters. That ... oh right, THAT ... well I haven't thought about THAT in quite some time. I'm not even sure THAT matters at all any more.

What matters?

Family, friends, money, health, your dog or cat, the love of your life, a daily bowel movement?

What matters?

We all have to decide, and we do. Even when we don't really think about it, even when we don't do it as a conscious undertaking, we prioritize things. Some parts of our lives are more important than other parts of our lives. It's not a good thing, and it's not a bad thing. It's just what happens.

It's when things get scrambled up, like Sunday morning eggs, that we start to feel that we've somehow lost control.

When something that really matters doesn't seem to matter at all anymore, while another not so important part of your life begins to look like it really, really matters, then it's time for a reckoning. You'll find yourself saying, "Holy shit, what's the matter with me?"

Losing control is just about losing your self-assurance. Something, and you probably won't know what, something screws around with how you see yourself, and more importantly, how that self sees the world. If you're not "yourself," then what do you expect the world to look like? It's simply "not the world." Well, it's still the world, but it's not the world that you're used to, because you can no longer see the world that you're used to. See?

Oh, don't be smug. It gets worse.

Before long, having lost control turns into its creepiest cousin — out of control. Oh yes, when your world seems out of control, you're done, toast, wasted, kaput, finito. Nothing makes sense anymore. Welcome to the Blue Hotel for a nice long stay.

The real question, now, is how do you check out of the Depresidential Suite?

The trick is to remember that life is not always unicorns and rainbows. Life is not always a bowl of cherries. Sometimes, life is a bowlful of crap. So? What else is new?

What has happened is fairly simple. You've begun to put the things that don't matter above the things that do matter. You've turned your whole damn value system upside down. So, you have to start putting the shit stuff back in the shit hole, and bringing the good stuff back to the top of of the mountain, where you can better see the important things that make you ... you, and make your world ... your world. In other words, lose the negative attitude and show some positive gratitude.

Once you restore your values to their proper place, you'll find yourself back in balance. Hey, the world will suddenly make sense again, and even better, your place in that world be also make sense.

Monday, July 25, 2016

A Modest Proposal

“You can't go out dressed like that!”

Remember those words? I'm sure most of you heard them at least once in your life.

Our parents were the guardians of public decency. They somehow knew what was appropriate to wear and what was some kind of carnal signal to the world that we were derelicts, drug addicts, or hypersexuals.

We were instructed to learn to have some sense of modesty.

Modesty — it's an old idea that is finding new wings.

I suspect clothes came about because our caveperson ancestors felt the need to cover up certain parts of the human body. Otherwise, we'd all be running around in the nude. We don't because we learn, at an early age, to be ashamed of our bodies. We are taught by our parents, by our teachers, and by our friends that we are imperfect beings — a little too saggy here and a little too knobby there. Most of us spent the early years of our childhood learning how to hide our bodies. Clearly, our parents thought that "proper" clothing was our ticket to looking decent and being well-brought-up, to having friends and avoiding the disdain of the Joneses. They were wrong. Heck, few of us ever thought that our clothes were a representation of modesty. Clothes were our disguise.

Remember that girl in Grade 7 with the prepubescent boobs? Why do you think she always wore a bulky cable-knit sweater, even in the heat of July? She was trying to camouflage her preemptive sexuality. She didn't want to be different from her friends, and she certainly didn't want Johnny Tuckatoe gawking at her through his coke-bottle glasses.

Remember Fatty Milligan, the guy who moved into the neighbourhood sometime during 8^th grade, the kid who weighed in at about 240 pounds? At thirteen years of age, Fatty had a whole closet of loose fitting Hawaiian shirts, just to ward off the contempt of his peers. Sure he said he likened himself to Thomas Magnum, but seriously, did anyone believe that?

No wonder kids go on to learn to hide as much of themselves as possible when they become teenagers. They conceal their hopes, their fears, good grief, their entire identities because no one wants to face some kind of social disapproval by showing how imperfect all of us are.

It's was never a case of modesty. It was always a case of survival.

And then as we approached adulthood, something happened. We rebelled. We dressed in the strangest manner, because we wanted people to accept us for something deeper than our outward appearance.

Oh dear, we lost our way. We became immodest.

In fact, in the late 1960's, the so-called "sexual revolution" began, and the whole western world chucked modesty out with the dishwater. Fashion became outrageous. Hemlines crept up and up and up, until the mini-skirt became the micro-skirt, which, in turn, became the camel-toed hot pants. See-through blouses and bare breasts were in, shawls were out. Everywhere you turned, it was skin, skin, and more skin. Free the body and you free the mind.

Unfortunately, something more sinister followed these sweeping changes, especially with regards to women. As women began to strip off the layers of sackcloth purloined from their Puritan clothiers, they began to be objectified as purely sexual. The world around them never saw past the sleek bare legs promising some kind of easy access to what was barely hidden, never saw past the nipple winking out from a lace blouse. The "immodest" woman became the tease, the tramp, the slut, the strumpet, the Pussy Galore of the James Bond flick, Goldfinger, and the working girl was understood to be working at one thing and little else.

The legacy of those times remains today, but more and more, women are searching for a renewal of modesty in fashion. However, therein lies the conundrum. Popular culture still teaches women that they must dress in a provocative manner that will attract a man to them, while the new modesty culture tells women to dress in a manner that keeps their sexuality off the table. Today's modest woman is no less sexual than yesterday's "immodest" woman, but her sexuality is a combination of her whole being — her intelligence, her sense of humor, her charm, her creativity, and perhaps most importantly, her dignity.

Dignity, humility, propriety and deference — these are the watchwords of the new modesty.

For too long, women have been made to believe that they are solely responsible for the sexual glares, the wolf whistles, the off-hand touching, and the sleazy innuendo of men. Placing that burden on women is absurd. Whatever kicks a man's libido into overdrive is not the fault or responsibility of any woman. Men are the perpetrators of their own thoughts and choices, whether lustful in nature or intelligent enough to treat women with respect, courtesy, and grace.

Simple.