WELCOME BACK MY FRIENDS

WELCOME BACK MY FRIENDS

…to the show that never ends. We’re so glad you could attend, come inside, come inside…
Emerson, Lake & Palmer “Carn…Evil9” 1974.
We thought we’d take a break for a moment and give you a tour of the inside of Alan’s head these days.
Fear not, it won’t be a very long tour…there isn’t as much to look at as their used to be. There may be a brief refreshment pause along the way but that will depend on you. Shall we begin?
The first thing you will notice over here on the wall is a general map of the brain. You will notice along our tour a map like this with blueprints and changes listed next to it. These are not finalized plans by any means. Think of it more as “Phase One” construction because things seem to change around here at a moment’s notice since the collapse of one wall recently that exposed the whole team to new possibilities.
As you can see on the diagram the brain is basically divided into five basic parts, the Frontal Lobe, the Parietal Lobe, the Occipital Lobe, the Temporal Lobe and one of my favorite spots the Cerebellum. All of the parts are split down the middle into right and left sides in an effort to divide all of the functions into two basic ways of doing things. The left side is considered the “Rational” side (something we may debate as we continue on) and the “Intuitive” or right side which is always the fun side of most people’s heads. This one you will notice as we go is a little different than most. We’re going to touch on many, but not all, of these areas during the tour, see some recent finds and share some upcoming exciting changes you might want to try at home later so let’s move on now.
We’re walking, we’re walking and we’ll stop right here. On the left side of the brain here you’ll notice a large hole with construction tape across it. If you look inside you’ll see a large empty cavern at the moment pretty much untouched since it was created so many years ago. It was only recently discovered after this portion of the wall fell down. A team of scientists were enlisted to determine its original purpose (you’ll see them wandering around here and there throughout this tour) and their initial findings are quite fascinating. To answer your first question, yes drugs were used in this research project. Long before electronic monitoring it appears all of the rational parts of reasoning, planning, speech, movement, emotions and problem solving from the left side decided to jump ship to the right side and party with them. The functions in the left side of the Parietal Lobe thought that was a fun idea and did the same thing and to complete the band the entire Cerebellum joined in.
Before long those crazy rascals were having the time of their lives…even though the Boss hadn’t been born yet. Once that happened they had to figure out how to play together and the first of many “Keith Richards” prototypes were developed which have been tweaked from time to time over the years with the latest technology (and more drugs). If you look in the door here you can see the studio area, library and kitchen which is often a coin toss on how clean it is. The logic guys won the battle over the living areas so they’re always pristine…even though you can’t see from here.
That brings us back to this hole over here on the left side. We haven’t decided entirely what to do with this space yet but have received impressive proposals from Toy’s “R” Us, Adam & Eve Adult Toy Superstore’s and a think tank aptly named “The Charlie Sheen Center for Advanced Learning”. It remains to be seen what we actually put in there. Let’s move on and we’re walking, and we’re walking and we’ll stop here.
As you just saw the left side is pretty open so a couple of ideas have been kicked around. Depending on who gets that front space we’ve toyed with moving Fantasy over here from the right side just for giggles and grins and see how long it lasts. A suggestion was also made to move Mental Masturbation over there as well and keep everyone together. I personally like it because that moves more stuff closer to the Occipital Lobe. Since the Boss is male having visual processing nearby those areas makes perfect sense. Besides that…the right side guys can use the extra space since they’re all crowded in and a little neuron screwing around might be fun.
This would also give us the extra space on the right side to expand an area whose working title is “The Department of Make Shit Up As We Go”. The department has always existed but until recently was a one person department and that was Heinrick…everybody wave to Heinrick. With all of the recent discoveries our scientists have unearthed we’ve found a need for more temporary space fillers as place savers and fill in some gaps as we move forward and continue to make sense of things. It’s gotten so crazy around here that we had to hire Julie and Steve here to help with the workload. Say hi to Julie and Steve. As you can see this is the busiest part of the brain at the moment. It’s also the most cluttered but in an odd way comes up with some of the best stuff. Now let’s go downstairs to the Temporal Lobe.
As you can see there isn’t too much going on down here these days…not that there ever has been much going on to the left side here. A lot of the group has been on loan to the right side departments upstairs these days. Initially there was a lot of activity down here. When the wall came down upstairs an interesting discovery was made down here as well. Not long after the wall came down the Memory Chamber had a brain fart one day (thanks again to more meds) and a great deal of the information was ejected into places we have yet to find as of today. Have you ever been told you have shit for brains? We’ll there’s some truth to that because the Memory Chamber filled up with it faster than anyone can imagine. It took us months to clean it all out and in doing so found a few collectables that can be viewed across the hall in a moment. For now we’re treating this area as a “Lost and Found” and Ernie over there is responsible for organizing the “Lost” requests and either matching with things already found or finding them. As activity progresses we’ll bring more of the gang back down here and gear things back up. There’s been some talk about going digital down here but nothing’s been confirmed yet. You can see in this photo on the wall that the Boss has an entire bookcase of journals he’s carried around since he knew how to write so everything isn’t entirely lost. The Boss had a sneaky suspicion they might come in handy some day and he was right. It’s been Ernie’s job to find the right journal and re-introduce things back into the memory banks. Like I said a moment ago the Boss has had shit for brains some time now and his mental organizational plan is unique to say the least but we’re making progress.
Across the hall here you’ll see some of the more interesting things we’ve found so far. A mental image of bowling with the plastic bowling pins the Boss got for Christmas in the hallway of their home, a locker combination…unfortunately we haven’t found to what locker yet. We also have the long misplaced Gerbil from that unfortunate Richard Gere incident from a few years back and…oh! The olive pitter the Boss forgot he’d already purchased. As you can see it’s not glorious yet but it’s a start…maybe.
Thank you for your time and your attention please exit through the rear to the gift shop and refreshment stand. We hope you come back again real soon. Things are always changing around here so you never know what might be here next time.

NOTE: This brain does not condone the use of recreational or illegal drugs. More often than not YOURS are better anyway and for God’s sake don’t buy them. Your doctors will give them to you for free. Be safe.

A Taste

A very small excerpt from the (nearly finished) book I’ve been writing whose working title is “The Amorous Traveler”. Tell me what you think I would really appreciate the feedback.


When a phone rings at three AM it’s seldom news you want to hear. When it’s a phone in a hotel room three thousand miles away from anyone you know (or think you know) it’s downright disturbing. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going when I left but the important people in my life always knew how to get a hold of me if they needed to in an emergency and had a pretty good idea of where I’d be this time of year, knew my cell phone number, my e-mail address and a few other things but very little else. This hotel and this room number wasn’t one of those ways they could find me. Most people I know head for the usual places. Jamaica, the Bahamas, St. Martins, Aruba or someplace like that. Me…I go to a little heard of place in the Leeward Islands called Guadeloupe. I talk about this place a lot. The people are my kind of people. I’ll land at Pointe-a-Pitre International Airport which is little more than a landing strip in the jungle with a small one story airport and Air France 747’s mixed with smaller aircraft and “puddle jumpers” flanking the two runways. I’ll have a quick but pleasant conversation with the French speaking customs agent, get my passport stamped, have my luggage inspected, get my rental car, a snack and be on the road in less than twenty minutes. From the airport to the town of Sainte Anne (one of two towns on the island I would call photographic or noteworthy…Basse Terre, the island capital being the other) is quick but beautiful as it winds along the coast on the Atlantic side of the island to the hotel. After less than an hour from the time I had landed I’ll be perched on a barstool prepared to forget the world exists for however long I’m here. It’s my secret place of sanity and I guard its location from everyone or so I had thought until this minute. So here I am flailing around in the dark trying to find a phone I’m not sure I want to answer while the few remaining brain cells left over from killing most of a bottle of tequila before bed tries desperately to grasp the situation and the possibilities it brings as I fall out of bed naked and disoriented. Then it hit me. Not the reason the phone was ringing, but the phone itself. (Note to self: DO NOT grab the phone cord in an effort to keep from falling out of bed) As I lay there in the dark feeling the knot on my head swelling I hear a faint “hello? Hello?... coming from the receiver on the floor a foot or so away from my throbbing head. My mangled head and the tequila have diminished my motor skills to about the same level as a baby trying to get their hand to their mouth for the first time. The only difference being, a baby probably doesn’t feel like they’ve got a block of cement on their head. When the phone receiver finally makes it to my ear and I mumble a “hello” I hear a sultry southern female voice cheerfully say “Hi luv! Did I wake you?” Oh God…It’s Constance. I’m not in the mood for this shit right now. The voice on the other side of this phone tends to have a lot of unwanted baggage attached to it (Even if it is Louis Vuitton). I want to unwind…not step into a four act highly charged drama with this woman right this minute and with Con…it’s seldom a casual visit and usually costs me something. (Usually my sanity) My head suddenly hurts worse from the thought of the possibilities that could befall me if this is more than a friendly phone call. Knowing Con…it isn’t. Constance is, on the surface, most every mans ideal woman. Blonde, tall, lean and beautiful with a few kinks in her closet sexually to keep things interesting but high maintenance enough to drive you to distraction and send you to the poorhouse quickly. The socialite daughter of a prominent and powerful southern politician who’s learned a thing or two about manipulation as a means to getting what she wants at any cost (which is usually anything she wants at that particular moment and adrenalin charged sex on her rules with a little cloak and dagger relationship or two thrown in to make it interesting followed by a lot of pain and confusion.). She has a phonebook full of ex-husbands she was never faithful to and has no remorse about it. She never had kids because she was too selfish to give up the time needed for them. In other words…she can be a gorgeous royal pain in the ass you’re not sure you can trust but stupidly like having her around from time to time thinking you’re in control and won’t get burned. That generally proves to be completely wrong and the kiss of death for you but still, you can’t help being drawn to her one way or the other when you meet her. Most guys, in spite of the red flags and other warning signals she puts out get sucked into her world to one degree or another now and then. Hell, I almost married her once. Now here she is on the other end of this phone and I’m starting to get nervous. “Are you busy?” “Well…I was, like most people this hour, trying to get some sleep Con, what’s up?” “I was wondering if I could come up and talk to you about a couple of things.” Panic… no strike that, out and out fear suddenly takes over my whole body, “You’re here? In the hotel?! How did you know where I was?” as my mind raced I looked around to make sure there wasn’t a large sticky web strung up behind me when I wasn’t looking. “As I recall…I know a thing or two about you and your habits, remember? Can I come up?” “Sure” followed by a click and silence on the other end. It would have been pointless to say no. I ruled out getting dressed, she wouldn’t give a shit if I was or not. I danced quickly around the room picking things up with my head pounding and looking for a possible escape route if I need it when there’s a knock on the door. When I opened the door…there was everything I expected to see and more. There was Con standing in the hall wearing a white, nearly see-through linen dress with only three of the dozen or so buttons holding the dress together just below her tits and a pair of heels all accentuating what seems to be a newly acquired tan. The dress I expected albeit not like that, the heels and the tan were something new for her. She had been constantly lectured as a child to play down her height because, according to her mother “Six feet tall is tall enough for a girl” and she should “Never stand taller than the man you’re with.” and Con always listened to her mother (sort of). Yet here she stood looking amazing with me at eye level to what appears to be a recently purchased pair of tits. I could only imagine who paid for them and what else has changed with her since our path’s last crossed. “So what did the other guy look like?” she grins while touching my head as she walks in past me. Kissing hello right now would be a tedious formality with no necessary benefit as far as she’s concerned. “What makes you think it was a man?” I ask trying to sound like the complete smartass I usually end up becoming around her. “With you hun…one can never tell. Can they?” she shoots back grinning from ear to ear as she reclines back on the edge of my bed while throwing one leg to the side and letting her dress fall open to reveal what I had already suspected…the dress, the shoes and three diamonds dangling on a chain from the ring in her navel are all she’s wearing. I have to admit right here and now. No matter how exasperated I’ve ever gotten with her she still has the all time hottest looking cunt a woman can have. I don’t know why that is…but it is and she’s gently waving that freshly shaved slit around making sure she gets my complete attention right from the start. “You’re a little underdressed for a late night drive so I’m guessing you’re staying at this hotel…right?” I ask while stepping closer between her legs and gently run a finger down the lips of her slit and enjoy how soft she is. “Maybe” she purrs in that southern drawl of hers while sitting up a little and starts to grab a hold of my cock and moves her head towards the family jewels as they begin to rise to the occasion. (She seems intent on kicking this little unexpected meeting into high gear right from the start. I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet…if ever.) “What’s up Con?” I ask as I grab hold of her hair and hold her head back a moment. She gives me a semi-exasperated look and relaxes slightly before launching into “There are a few questions that have been bugging the shit out of me for a while now. I have this need to get them answered” she semi-whispers/says as she moves as forward as my grip will allow her to go and flicks as much of her tongue around the head of my cock as she can reach. “So you figured out where I was, even though we haven’t spoken in what, two years, jumped on a plane and flew all the way here to ask me some earth shattering question that you suddenly can’t sleep without the answer to?” “Um-hum” she mumbles as I let her head finally move forward and she swallows my cock right down to my balls (a new trick I see). “So what’s so goddamned important that you had to do this right here right now at this hour?” I ask. She measured her words while licking my shaft as her mouth slides back off my cock with “I was laying in bed the other night thinking about when we were together and all of the stuff we did, and didn’t do, in and out of bed.” “And?” “The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why we didn’t do more than we did. The more I thought about that it started to bug the shit out of me that we hadn’t. I knew where you’d be this time of year so I popped over here. I was going to surprise you in the morning but all these questions kept bouncing around in my head and wouldn’t let me sleep so I called you.” “Like?” “Well, one is…how come you didn’t take me to any of those parties you’re always writing about? You’re well known for your adventures and your swinger friends Doc but we never did any of that. In fact I don’t think I met any of those people the whole time we were together…why was that?” as she looked up at me with an inquisitive/ somewhat pissed look on her face. “Oh…is that all? I thought it was something really important (truth is I wouldn’t subject anyone in the Lifestyle to her brand of insanity. That’s a path best left not taken). That could have been handled a lot quicker and cheaper over the phone don’t you think?” I shoot back half laughing at the whole line of thought. I’m not sure she’s telling me that’s the the truth of her question yet or that she’s going to like the answers to all of this if it is. It’s got all of the signs of a long, probably painful, night regardless. “I’m afraid to ask what the other questions are.” She leans back on her hands while giving me the most seductive look I’ve ever seen her give but says nothing. I chuckle and push her back flat on the bed. Her eyes are flashing playfully as she finally says “Maybe so, but think of all the fun you’d miss doing things like this that way.” She smiles back with that smile of hers that always spells trouble and that tells me there’s more to this line of questioning than she’s letting on at the moment which makes me both curious and concerned. She spreads her legs further and I reach for her pussy to find it sopping wet (another new experience, it used to be difficult to get her that wet) which made me even stiffer while I climb on the bead and on top of her as the head of my cock hits that wetness and I slide into her pussy for what will be a very long ride. The walls of her cunt tighten up around my shaft to make sure I don’t go anywhere soon. Con was never an overly animated lover but when she’s getting what she wants she lets you know it with her face. Her eyes begin to look trance like and her mouth falls slightly open. Her breathing becomes more intense but still keeps the sound level below the radar. I’m seeing all of those familiar traits as she grinds back into me. The only sounds you can hear is her faint breathing and the ocean crashing on the beach a short distance from us outside the balcony doors and the gentle slap of our bodies meeting as we thrust towards each other while she gets wetter and wetter. Everything is quickly building until she’ll grab me and pull me to her as she squirts gallons of her own cum between us as I keep pounding reaching my own orgasm then she’ll suddenly let go, lean back and squirt my cock out of her pussy. Round one is done and for her that was just foreplay. Now she’ll want to get down to some serious sex. (For a seemingly reserved person her sexual enthusiasm for the things she likes went unmatched for quite some time until another woman entered my life (the gorgeous woman I’m married to now) and proved her to be little more than a talented beginner. Still…even when she ticked me off she made it interesting sexually.) She rolls off the bed, gives me a smile and heads for the bathroom saying “I have to pee.” I’ve learned from experience to follow her in. Round two is, apparently, already about to start without the usual break period she always seemed to need. She’s already naked in the shower when I get there leaning forward against the wall with her outstretched arms. Her legs are spread wide and that lustful look has returned to her face as she looks over her shoulder at me. I step in beside her and tease her clit with my fingers before sliding two of them into her pussy and back to her g-spot where I massage the area until I see her knees start to buckle. I quickly step back behind her and drive my cock into her pussy as she lets loose of a long hot stream of piss between us that crash’s to the shower floor and down the drain like a perfect yellow waterfall. I cum hard inside her as the stream of piss continues to flow hard out of her. She’s shaking so hard she can hardly still stand up and just as the flow of piss subsides I pull my cock out of her pussy and ram it hard into her slightly lowered ass causing her to gasp and look back at me again a little shocked but receptive to the idea as she begins to pound hard against me taking all of my cock deep inside her relentlessly as her hand dives into her pussy working her clit and urethra in hard frantic motions until we both cum again then she stands up causing my cock to withdraw, turns around and drops to her knees in front of me in the shower where a giant stream of my own piss begins to flow and I spray her entire face and body which she happily rubs all over and into her hair. A moment later…we’re both done. I turn the water in the shower on, help her to her feet and reach for the soap. We wash each other clean. Then I wrapped her in a bathrobe and put her to bed. Neither of us seems to be in any condition to talk right now and part of me is glad for that. It takes a matter of seconds and Con is fast asleep. A few hours later I find myself still wide awake and sitting on the balcony with a Cuban cigar in one hand and the rest of the bottle of tequila in the other watching the sun rise out of the ocean as Bob James and David Sanborn’s “Maputo” plays quietly behind me from the CD player. Sleeping at this point is an afterthought. The questions I think Con is going to ask are bouncing around in my head. The breeze is warm, the salt spray mixes with the aroma of freshly cut fruit from an unseen kitchen nearby and everything seems so calm. Even the faint conversations in French from the hotel staff heard off in the distance seem soothing. “If I were alone I’d be painting right now.” I think to myself as I imagine the smell of linseed oil and paint thinner in my lungs. I look over my shoulder and see Con sound asleep in the bed I’m supposed to be asleep in and return my gaze through the palm trees to the water in front of me knowing I’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do of some form or another in a while.

THE TRAVEL

“A person isn’t measured by their success. Rather success is measured by the person and the path they took.” …Author Unknown

I couldn’t have imagined the life I have lived at this point had you asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up. It’s better, more exotic and more adventurous than my wildest dreams could have conjured up at any juncture of time in my young life.
Encounters at odd times in strange places with people you couldn’t have imagined meeting in any other way. Casual conversations with a stranger that takes you in an entirely different direction than you were headed just a moment before. Subtle things that made a life a life and not just an existence that got me from point A to point B on some plan or timeline that, like most people’s, was not entirely of my own making to begin with.
Few have the courage to change directions quickly without seriously considering the positives and negatives of such a move or change in course. I can say that without hesitation the times I stopped to consider where I was headed were the very times in my life I was run over by an unseen bus, train or assassin (who knew old ladies with walkers also knew martial arts and had pissy attitudes). Needless to say I have somehow spent a great deal of time standing in crosswalks at all the wrong times. When I should have been walking…I was thinking with, more often than not, painful consequences. I now know sidewalks (or better yet coffee shops) are a much safer place to ponder such great things.
I’m not suggesting for a moment that all changes require such deep thought or consideration. Deciding on Chinese instead of Italian at the last minute should hardly require a debate before Congress or the Supreme Court before it takes place… unless were talking about my house these days.
I don’t drink coffee anymore. It messes with my meds and can cause me at times to look like a strung out junkie with a disturbing twitch so I stick to tea in small doses. I’m not much of a park bench sitter either I’ve discovered lately. Scottsdale is a disgustingly healthy place to live. By the time I’ve walked wherever it is I wanted to go with my cane I look a little tired as I park myself and watch the world go by. In no time at all I see more tight butts in spandex jog, bike or walk by than I can count. It looks like a pedestrian rush hour for the physically fit and like the old dog who used to chase cars and people I’m not sure I’d know what to do if I caught one these days either. I am quite positive I’ve had more impure thoughts than Bill Clinton during that time frame though. It’s better I stay out of harm’s way with that regard. So it would suffice to say I’m still seeking out a place to reflect on my new life other than the couch in the living room. An initially expansive universe of possibilities that shrinks in small increments every day as I test each new scenario and find it lacking in…something. Besides I’m not supposed to be wandering anywhere without supervision. Yet another thing to my list of “can’t do’s”.
I can out cook the majority of people I know (and a great many I don’t know) and have cooked lavish gourmet meals for dozens of friends and family but I can’t even think about opening a restaurant anymore. I can’t do real estate anymore and I can’t even be a Walmart greeter either because I can’t stand (or stay awake) long enough, Retail Clothing…same story.
When I traveled I was the world’s greatest non-tourist. I’d check into my hotel, put things away, grab my backpack filled with at least one camera, a sketch book, a journal a couple of pens and pencils to write with and a traveling paint set that was custom made for me by a friend many years ago. I never dressed like an American tourist either…I took (and still take) more clothes and shoes than most women. I’d hit the front door of the hotel and disappear into the town to see what trouble I could get into. No bus tours, no tourist attractions, no guides other than the occasional local I would befriend who was only too happy to show me the real side of wherever I was.
An example of such a trip happened several years ago in the Caribbean on an island called Guadeloupe. Lots of people go to the Caribbean every year for a variety of reasons. Jamaica is probably one of the more popular because of Hedo. A great place and probably one of my favorite islands of all the islands, many go to the Virgin Islands and hob knob with the jet/yacht set or to Bermuda for much the same reason. St. Martins and Orient Beach is a very close second but I’d rather go to Guadeloupe. Unpretentious, quiet when you want it to be and rockin’ when you don’t, and the people as warm as can possibly be. A French state of mostly Creole and French ex-Pat’s that just bursts with color, there are a few small islands just off shore and one in particular called Marie Gallant whose native inhabitants can only be described as the most seductively beautiful people on the planet. Golden brown skin, kinky/curly red hair with blonde streaks, with the body of an athlete and the features of a Nordic God or Goddess looking like they just jumped out of a book.
I have found myself frequenting the Club Med there. I’m not an “all inclusive” guy but they have one of the few really good nude beaches on the island and renting a house on Guadeloupe is usually more than I can afford. Parked near the town of St. Anne it’s picturesque in every way.
On my first visit to the island I wasn’t sure I’d like it or not. The ex-wife and I thought it would be the safest experience for our kids, which turned out to be true. (We were in the process of going through our divorce then)The towns are hardly postcard shots worth sending home (which is true of the majority of the towns in the Caribbean) and Guadeloupe is no exception to lacking quaint architectural buildings. Most of the “homes” are little more than square concrete bunkers with heavy steel hurricane shutters that can be bolted in a heartbeat. You can easily tell how wealthy a family is by how many cows are chained by the nose in the front yard. Every so many kilometers down the road would be a vendor with a couple of 55gal. drums turned into barbecues filled with chickens being cooked and a small table with condiments and napkins. I can tell you right now it’s the best grilled chicken you’ll ever eat in your life and it costs literally pennies. The closest you can find here in the states is here in Arizona at one of the Hispanic markets or barrios on Saturdays…FANTASTIC! A five star meal anyone would enjoy.
My first breakfast at Club Med that time was less than stellar. The food, as always was incredible. I love, love, love French food. I’m part French and am a closet Francophile much of the time except when it comes to wine and coffee. There are far too many places around the world these days that make as good or better wine than the French. French coffee sucks!!! In sooooo many ways it’s not funny. You’d have thought I had been banished to Siberia for a week rather than where I was based on just the coffee alone.
I sulked out of the food area and sat down at the bar looking dejected and ready for the worst culinary experience of my life If I had to drink that coffee all week. The kid behind the bar was quickly chatting with the other workers and a few of the other guests who had sat down for their morning Bloody Mary or whatever. Their banter in French was quick, lively and fun to hear. I had quickly discovered upon my arrival to the island that I’m quite good at reading French. Speaking it…not so much, after clearing customs and getting my passport stamped I asked a police officer standing nearby where the restroom was. The shocked, stern look on his face told me volumes about how bad my attempt at speaking French must have been as he leaned over and got nose to nose with me and asked in English “Why do you want to have sex with my grandmother?” and then he burst out laughing and told me where the restroom was. It was decided then and there I’d stick to English.
The kid behind the bar finally made his way to where I was sitting and asked me in French what I wanted to drink. I was about to ask for a beer when a familiar aroma hit my nose. Just over his shoulder was a single burner on a shelf with a restaurant carafe’ of “American coffee?” came this thick Texas drawl out of this kid’s head. Eric from Houston became my “go-to” guy and provider of life giving morning liquid for the rest of the week. He even improved my speaking French while I was there.
From that moment on I have made a point to make friends with the bartenders, chefs and the well researched concierge at whatever hotel I’m staying at. I say “well researched” because any good concierge can get you tickets to this that and the other thing. A spectacular one can change and/or rock your world in ways you can’t imagine. (You figure out how those ways might be) It’s like another form of social “gaydar” for someone like me. It becomes easy to tell who is and isn’t on my wavelength quickly.
On this particular trip Eric has gone on to bigger things somewhere and been replaced by Stephan. A congenial Frenchman with a love for Jazz, at his suggestion I would find a few new smoky clubs in St. Anne that treated the music with the respect and reverence often missing these days here in the States. The open air markets were filled to the rafters with fresh fruits, vegetables and local wines that weren’t too bad either. The staff didn’t mind me sneaking into the kitchen to borrow a knife and cut up my purchases (as long as I shared my wine and food) Paco the pastry chef would throw in a loaf of fresh baked bread and some cheese. We’d all sit like old friends around a prep table swapping stories, lies and recipes until everyone had to get back to work and I had to find a chair on the beach for the daily parade of merchants selling everything from jewelry, t-shirts, microscopic bathing suits no one ever wore (they were usually naked), sarongs, food, beverages and so on. The best malls in the world are on some strip of beach somewhere in the Caribbean filled with new or yet to be new found friends and lovers.
I can only hope that my newly appointed life still allows me to enjoy all of this and more for many years to come.
I don’t have a lot of pictures of me standing in front of some statue, building, amusement park or whatever. I have a lot of pictures of things I’ve seen, people I’ve met and things we have done together that probably never will show up in a travel magazine…maybe that’s just as well. The memories are mine. The experiences are mine. I didn’t do them to show someone else how to do them. Does that make me selfish, successful or none of the above? Does it really matter either way?


…

AND DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE WE GO…AGAIN

Maybe it’s just the time of year or maybe it’s more cerebral than that…I don’t know. Yet it seems like just as spring starts to approach I find people waxing nostalgic about some of the damndest stuff which suddenly becomes suffocatingly important to revisit. It’s as if they’re going to have an epiphany that will put all of the puzzle pieces together or explain some unanswered question from the past they’ve always wondered about. Something Earth shatteringly important like why so and so didn’t invite me to the prom or why “she” said no.
As you well know, I’ve been forced to analyze this and a great deal more lately and I won’t bore you with what I’ve discovered so far…I’m sure it’s not your bedtime yet. Not only that, it’s not all that interesting or important to anyone (including me).
Right out of the chute I’m going to drop the “non-bomb” on all of you just to see if you made it through the first two paragraphs intact. It’s a “non-bomb” because it’s not a secret in any way, shape or form. Anyone who has known me for more than five minutes already knows this. My family knows this (although they will feign shock and surprise in a few moments) and has treated it more like the military’s “don’t ask don’t tell” program (another rousing success for government stupidity and inept situational management as we know it.).
I am a swinger. I have been so most of my adult life with a few “sabbaticals” here and there for reasons I won’t get into right now. You can now feign shock, surprise, disbelief and whatever else here… Times up, let’s move on.
Over the years I’ve had some glorious experiences with some of the most intensely sexy and interesting people a person can ever want to meet. I have also been witness to some heartbreaking calamities and unnecessarily vindictive attacks on good-hearted people who deserved better. They harmed no one. They threatened no one and represented no danger of any kind to anyone…including themselves.
A few years back I had the unfortunate displeasure to have ring side seats as the City of Phoenix spent a great deal of time and money trying to shut down Swing Clubs in the city…more to the point one particular club. It was quite a circus executed with all of the tactical precision of a Keystone Cops movie complete with a plainclothes cop diving head first into the backseat of an unmarked car as it sped away from the court house after one of several court appearances everyone had to endure.
To say the clubs lost would be an understatement. The City’s pockets were much deeper that the owners of the clubs and besides…the City could lay off people if they needed the extra cash (strangely enough they did try and reduce police and fire personnel a short time after the dust settled.). The people who were quick to pat the owners on the back for having such great clubs were a little less enthusiastic about saying or doing anything about what was going on, much less open their wallet and help.
The landscape of the valley changed overnight and people would sit in bars and hotel banquet rooms talking about “What If”. “What if” someone did this or that, “What if” someone had done this or that? I would often hear questions like this, especially around this time of year. I would get approached about opening a new club and all of these people would finance it and blah, blah, blah. Great fantasy but no thanks, I have no interest in doing something if it can’t be done right to begin with.
The State of Arizona recently trotted out a piece of legislation for a test drive to see if there was any interest in it, if anyone would back it and if it would help anyone get elected or re-elected. It’s basically the same group of wet dream laws and ordinances the City of Phoenix used to close the clubs with the same unsubstantiated “facts” and accusations but the State wants to go after all Adult Oriented businesses. Some people giggle and think it’s not likely to happen but they fail to take into consideration…this is Arizona. We’re the leaders in wacky, half-baked laws no one would imagine passing.
So what happens if this new law actually gets passed? Probably nothing really in the long run just more businesses will close. Fewer taxes will be collected so roads won’t get built or repaired as quickly, schools will close because districts can’t afford to keep them open and pay their teachers what they’re really worth. More people will get laid off. Parks will close, cultural events will be cancelled and who knows what else. But look on the bright side…you helped keep some construction worker (assuming he’s still employed) from getting a table dance on Friday night at a tittie bar that doesn’t exist anymore.
I don’t know why so and so didn’t go to the prom with me so many years ago and quite honestly I’m pretty sure I don’t care either. I don’t know why the eighties fashions hung on as long as they did…maybe it was the drugs. The one thing I do know is the end of the rabbit hole is getting closer. I can see the light and once I get there I have a choice or two to make. As honorable as I thought my intentions were the last time I came down this way I’m not sure I want to try and repeat it hoping for a different outcome. That’s insanity.
Time for me to land…see you in the tunnels.

February Meet & Greet

Join everyone in February and help bring in the New Year right at the sexiest and longest running Meet & Greet in the state with the Hottest people you’d ever want to party with!
People have started making travel plans from around the country to be here each month for this M&G. It just keeps getting bigger and sexier every month and you won’t want to miss it. The last thing you’ll want to hear from your sexy friends and playmates are …”You should have been there.”
If you need Hotel accommodations check our website at http://arizonalifestyles.org for a list of hotels near Terroir Wine Pub.
So join us Saturday February 18th at the classiest and longest running Meet & Greet in the Valley for the most enjoyable first part of an evening a Lifestyler can have with their clothes on! And speaking of clothes… Dress as sexy as you dare! If you’re still in the Holiday Spirit show it!
A SPECIAL NOTE: As long as you’re having a good time the staff at Terroir will keep the place open for us so the closing time is now flexible.
ALSO: If you find yourself in the mood to have a party afterwards and you want everyone to know…let us know and we’ll get the word out for you.

WHERE: Terroir Wine Pub
7001 N Scottsdale Rd
In the Seville Shopping Center (NE corner of Scottsdale & Indian Bend)

FROM: 7PM to ???

WHEN: Sat. February 18th 2012

DRESS: Casual Sexy

Please register so we can let Terroir know how many to set up for.



KEEP THESE ON YOUR CALENDAR FOR THE NEXT FEW MONTHS TOO
FOR THIS EVENT!





2/18/12

3/17/12

4/21/12

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED…PART II

The re-education of Alan continues:
Recently I have learned I have the best doctors in the world. They really do have my best interest in mind and treat me as a friend not just a patient…mostly because they are friends at this point. Why else would I always get a heartfelt note from one of them in my Christmas card each year saying “Thanks for making my ex-wife’s alimony payments again this year”.
Speaking of Christmas cards…you know when you’ve hit a certain point in life when you get fewer cards from family members (because they’re all mostly dead these days) and get more from doctors, lawyers and pharmaceutical companies than anyone else. I get a warm fuzzy feeling every year usually just after Thanksgiving.
I have discovered that medical people need to learn to ask better questions. Asking someone like me if I feel like I want to kill myself or do harm to other people is not a valid question with which to extract important information from. Once asked they only leave me with two possibly rational answers A) “No I felt like spending close to seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars I didn’t have at the time and nearly two years of rehab and physical therapy to fix myself so I’ll feel and look better when I put a fifty dollar gun to my head.” And B) “I hadn’t thought about hurting anyone until you became the nine-hundredth person to ask me that stupid question so far.” Please people…think before you put your mouth in gear.
I have also begun to learn that once you’re told you shouldn’t have something you want it even more…even if you never liked it to begin with. Add to this the fact that when we get older we get this nostalgic twinge for things that don’t exist anymore. I’ve never been much of a fast food eater. I’ve eaten healthy most of my life and even more so when I was heavily into body building so explain to me why lately these days I have a perverse desire crawling around in my head.
I want so badly to walk into a Taco Bell with a bag of cheap hamburger buns and order eight tacos and tell the kid behind the counter “I don’t want the shell, just put the filling on these” and see what his reaction is. One of the few things I have missed from my childhood is the “Bellburger” (AKA: taco fillings in a bun.) I loved those things. Think outside the bun my ass.
I wish they’d bring back Bob’s Big Boy. That was the only hamburger worth eating and now I have to drive to California to get one along with their world’s greatest onion rings. Since I can’t drive anymore I see this as a little more than problematic. I would have an easier time trying to rob a bank than convince my wife to drive me that far for fried foods and a burger. A Big Mac just isn’t quite the same and they don’t have onion rings.
So here I sit longing for days gone by, drinking my green tea, taking my meds and wishing for a heart attack on a bun. Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

LET’S TALK ABOUT ADDICTION

There are many types of addiction to be sure. Smoking, drugs and alcohol are the obvious ones. Food can be one, chocolate, sex (I wish), personality disorders and pretty much anything you can conjure up including exercise.
I’ve never been a smoker. It always made me sick and green just wasn’t a color that looked good on me. Like most people of my generation I experimented a little with drugs and quickly discovered I could take ‘em or leave ‘em. They just weren’t that interesting. Unlike Bill Clinton I did inhale marijuana and for some years (I quickly discovered I could smoke that), due to the stressful circumstances in my life at that time, and was the next best thing to a chain smoker for a while to stay calm. I bought Nabisco stock hoping to make some of the money back I spent buying Oreo’s back then years later. I went into therapy for a while only to be told by three different therapists I wasn’t an addict…just confused (really?). Talking about my past went nowhere because neither of us had any clue what we were supposed to be looking for (that answer was recently answered as you well know by this time) so I was pronounced cured handed a ridiculous “Chip” and sent on my way. Truth be told I think we were all tired and frustrated with each other at that point. I don’t think entities like AA, NA, Alanon and so on aren’t useful things. I’ve known far too many people who have lived better lives because of them to discount them in such an abrupt way.
In spite of the life I’ve lived sex, unfortunately, has ever been an addictive issue. I believe sex addiction exists but not nearly to the level people would like to believe it exists. It makes for a great fantasy or punch line to a joke but the reality is far more troublesome in the light of day. I’ve noticed a trend over the past few years where if you’re rich enough, famous enough (and apparently have a big enough putter) and you get caught with your pants down you can claim sex addiction and pay someone a ridiculous sum of money to cure you (Thanks Tiger….not) and hope everything goes away quickly.
For the rest of us, famous or not, addiction usually brings a rather unpleasant means to an end. Bob Crane (the Hogan’s Hero’s guy) was a legitimate sex addict that was beaten to death with a camera tripod while doing a dinner theater gig here in Scottsdale. Rumor has it because he filmed a few too many people having sex in his hotel room one night. Hardly a stellar way to go much less remembered by, his “drug of choice”, to use a PC term, seems to have the same outcome regardless.
I had been cautious of my drinking most all of my life going so far as to not drink at all for several years as a pious way of thinking I was better than my mother who was a full blown alcoholic a large portion of my growing up years and at times belligerent, other times suicidal.
I swore I would never become like that. In some ways I’ve lived to regret that oath.
When she became sober she was like most reborn alcoholics and after apologizing to everyone she ever encountered in her life (including the garbage men). She dove head first into religion as part of her penance and to make amends for her sins (real or imagined). To be around her was tedious at best and I found it difficult to determine if it were genuine or simply lip service in hopes of bluffing her way into forgiveness by whomever somewhere along the way. It made me stop and re-think my own views about religion. For that I must admit I have to thank her for.
Because of that I stopped being the dutiful eldest son. I had done all of that to this particular point in my life and was done with trying to be what I really wasn’t. I had the wife, the two kids (I love to death), the house with the mortgage, the two cars, at least one “regular” job to pay the bills, a couple of dogs romping around the yard, the Sunday School teacher and for a brief moment chairman of the board at the church. I had stuffed the real me into that box I wrote about some time back and only allowed bits and pieces to come out and play to maintain my sanity. All of that came grinding to a halt one day without notice or fanfare. My wife, at the time, woke up one morning and had no clue who I was. To be honest I’m not sure I knew who I was at that moment either. We went down in flames but emerged friends at the end.
I began to look inward and discovered I was not Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu or any other religion organized or otherwise yet at the same time I was all of those things.
I am agnostic by definition. I believe in God…end of story. I don’t feel a need to go to a building and sit there to talk to God nor do I feel the need to have to pay for the privilege of doing that. Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed and all the others are interesting people who like Republicans and Democrats all say pretty much the same thing in different ways and different practices and symbolism…hardly reasons for wars to be fought or laws to be written saying that one interpretation of something is better than the others. Keep it to yourself, believe however you want to believe and in whoever you want to believe in and shut the hell up and concentrate on something important like feeding people, giving them clean water and a decent education regardless of where they live or what they look like. For the cost of one military ordinance bullet you can pay for three math books.
How I ended up in real estate for nearly twenty years during this time is as much a mystery to me as it is anyone else. My best guess is the dutiful son snuck back in for one more shot at redemption and stuck around a lot longer than anyone could have predicted before the real me arose like a Phoenix bird once again and began pissing people off even more.
I never quite succeeded in making my parents entirely proud because of all of this and resulted in a love/hate relationship that was often times tense but cordial. Just as my mom’s health was diminishing due to her heart problems I was getting the first subtle twinges of my own. I was becoming easily fatigued and had to have a couple of extra drinks at night to try and turn my brain off so I could sleep and things progressed that way for almost a year.
My family is no different than anyone else’s. At times when you need it most they have your back but that doesn’t mean they can’t gossip about you behind you’re not around. It must be a sick way of showing they care about someone and no one seems to be exempt from this process. In spite of that fact you can’t help but love them anyways…besides…it leaves so many opportunities open for paybacks later.
Whispers of me “becoming just like mom” were widely circulated and in some cases with “holier than thou” exclamation points attached to it by some members of the family. Nothing could be further from the truth but who cares when “expert opinion” (not) is sooo much more fun.
My mother passed away several months before my own physical deterioration began to run its course so she missed all of the recent fun. My last memories of her was watching her sit at the long dining room table (that sat about twenty people) filled with every imaginable jar and bottle of more pills than any one pharmaceutical company makes with several of those weekly pill compartment things four or five deep and seven across and color coded with an oxygen line stuffed up her nose. In these she would put all of her assorted pills in by when they’re needed. Pink box for morning, blue for mid-morning, green for afternoon and so on, I remember thinking to myself “that will never happen to me.”
As the Zen master once said “We’ll see.”
I started having heart attacks during the day at odd times. They weren’t anything like you hear, read or see on TV and stuff at all but I knew instinctively what it was and my reaction to it was classically male…I tried to ignore it and figured they would go away on their own. When they became persistent I went the classic asshole direction and decided I could cure myself by making my body do what I wanted it to (a discussion my heart and I had a short time later and guess who won.) and just drank a little more at night to sleep. Eventually that didn’t work either and I would be woken out of a sound sleep by my heart shouting “Hey dumb shit! Pay attention to me!” My rational mind told me I could meditate the problem away…which in all honesty worked in the short term (translation…until the next night). Truth is…I was buying time. Our goofball bookkeeper had told us I couldn’t be added to Wendi’s health plan but just once a year and that wouldn’t be until October (almost three months from then). Being self employed health care was a luxury I couldn’t afford at the time. We found out later it could have been done at any time but…
The rest of that sad tale you know so we’ll skip ahead a few months. My meds were still in a constant state of tinkering over the next eighteen months it took to get back to “normal” (I love that word…don’t know what it really means but it’s fun to say now and then). They gave me meds to help me sleep but all they did was make me more awake. They let me start drinking small amounts of alcohol which made the med experiments interesting to say the least. I didn’t abuse the alcohol, in fact in some ways it helped. My first, now identified as a, seizure incident happened during that time. The family, including my wife, was quick to jump on the “alcohol as the culprit” bandwagon. As it turns out…nothing could have been further from the truth yet again.
Like I mentioned a moment ago they tried several things to help me get to sleep and turn my brain off at night and nothing worked. A topic of conversation that continues with my committee of white coated advisors to this day and probably will for some time yet. With all of the recent changes they’ve made to my meds as Howard says it “We’re reluctant to put more wood on the fire until we know what we’re up against.”
With sleep hanging in the balance I eventually gravitated back to the one thing I did know would put me to sleep…my old friend’s tequila and bourbon and for the most part had done the trick with no significant problems except for maybe one or two.
Alcohol is often called “truth serum” because you might say something you otherwise might defer from saying. God knows I’ve done my fair share of that in an effort to fall asleep and at times been less than tactful in the process. Like I mentioned before my mother had a belligerent side when she drank and I’m hereditarily predisposed to being an asshole on my father’s side. Needless to say that little genetic recipe can only be a hurtful disaster at all the wrong times and I’ve spent the past couple of years apologizing to the people I love for being such a dick at those times in so many ways…especially to my wife. Something I’m still working on at many levels. Not just from the drinking irresponsibly but for allowing it to be a, seemingly, good excuse to cut someone off at the knees when they least deserved it.
Addicts can be an entertaining group. If you ever want to learn how to split hairs creatively spend some time talking to one. They’ll give you a hundred and one reasons why they aren’t addicts at all except for one thing…why they couldn’t (or can’t) stop if they needed to. It doesn’t matter what the substance or activity there are some great excuses to be had.
I like to think that’s the difference between me and them is I have walked away from drinking so many times by my own choice without prompting and without withdrawals, regret, remorse or any other feeling of emptiness. I have many advisors I check in with periodically who know a great deal about subjects like this than I do and can give me straight honest answers and also tell me when I’m full of shit. Over the course of the rest of my life I probably will continue to back away now and then many times again in my life but not necessarily because someone said I had to but more because I see doing so at that time is the right thing to do. There’s a difference between doing that and enjoying a glass of wine with dinner or a few drinks with friends now and then than feeling you need to do to that excessively to feel complete or have the courage to do what deep inside you tells you is wrong for you personally.
Before you think about anything else ask yourself this…does this apply to me and my life? If so why? Am I right? Am I grounded or am I fighting windmills disguised as dragons? If not blow it off.
My family so wants me to be the scapegoat and whipping boy of their own dysfunctional lives that they may or may not believe what I’m saying or trying to say. They’re in dire need of someone to point a finger at and feel superior about. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter either way with me personally but how they ever reconcile things like this for themselves…
Like the old Zen master said…”We’ll see.”