OT: Music nostalgia

Last night as I worked out while listening to my iPod (which has about 750 songs on it, mostly oldies), I heard one of the songs I first bought on a 45, back in the dark ages of 1969.

What's a 45? cries the chorus of younger readers. (sigh)

Who knows what this is?

It's called a 45 adapter. Before MP3s, before CDs, there was vinyl. Long-playing (LP) records were played at 33 1/3 RPM. But if you wanted to buy just one song, you bought a smaller, cheaper record that played at 45 RPM.

The record players had a spindle on which the LPs spun. But 45s had a larger hole in the middle, so you had to insert the plastic adapter.

When I was a kid, my mom and dad (and later, my stepdad) had a ginormous hi-fi stereo. I had a few records that had been given to me (mostly Beatles), but playing records on my mom's system wasn't usually an option. She hated rock and roll and would put the kibosh on my record-playing whenever she was around. Which really wasn't fair -- after all, her @#$%ing opera gave me a headache with all the howling, but I couldn't tell her to stop playing it. But I digress.

So imagine my delight when I was 12, my mother gave me a tiny record player I could keep in my bedroom. Off I went with my allowance to the nearest record store, where I bought my first 45s, three of them. What did I get?

1. A huge "bubble-gum" hit, "Sugar, Sugar" by the Archies. (Yes, the same Archie as in the comics. The group didn't really exist; it was a studio band.)

2. "Little Woman," by a major heart-throb at the time, Bobby Sherman. He came slightly before David Cassidy and Donny Osmond.

3. And finally, an obscure little one-hit wonder, an instrumental called "Keem-O-Sabe" by The Electric Indian. It was one of those bits of music that comes along and then disappears into the rock ether, never to be heard again... until many years later when it turns up on some nostalgic compilation CD.

It was actually pretty cool, I think. Anyone remember this?



It turned out I had an affinity for instrumentals. I was crazy about surf guitar (Dick Dale, anyone? Or how about "Pipeline"?), and everything from David Rose's "The Stripper" to Hugo Montenegro's "Theme from The Good, The Bad and the Ugly." 

A lot of instrumentals became classics, but many more were one-hit wonders that disappeared. Here's another one I had on 45, which I think still sounds good, but my ear may be skewed by age. It was called "Cool Aid."



In the corner of my bedroom, I still have my old wire record rack, a lot of LPs, and a carton filled with 45s. I can't bring myself to get rid of them, even though I haven't played them in forever. Everything I had on records, I replaced with either CDs, or downloads from iTunes. 

Do you guys remember the first piece of music you ever purchased, regardless of the format? Please share!

On Monday I was wearing green...

... and yesterday I was wearing red.

Damn pictures never do the color justice, it seems. But this was just the beginning, anyway.

I needed yesterday so badly. In fact, when Steve called early in the morning, I freaked out, wondering if he had to cancel for some reason. Turns out he had a work thing and had to push us back a couple of hours, but he was coming. I felt silly, but it was then I realized just how much I needed release.

The ongoing issues with John wear on me. Nothing dire is happening at the moment, it's all under a control of sorts, but it's still hard. If I allow myself to think too much, all the possible worst-case scenarios jump into my head and I waste precious time worrying about something that hasn't happened yet. Ergo, I'm tense.

Steve was there to take it all away for a little while. To knock down that wall of tension and let the floodgates open. The pain broke through, allowing all the poison to come out.

When we moved to the implement phase, he asked me if I had any requests. But I didn't want to make any decisions; didn't want to think about anything. So he took over, choosing several. It turns out he didn't have to use any of them for very long, because I broke down almost immediately. One minute I was bantering with him, and the next I was crying.

He talked me through it, encouraging me to let it all out, release that stress, bring it all to him. I wept on and on, losing awareness of what he was doing and simply feeling the waves of release. Kind of an emotional orgasm.

Not to worry, though. I was OK. Better than I'd been in a few weeks.

See? Happy.

Afterward, I felt as if a heavy brick had been taken off my chest. I love this kind of escape -- it doesn't leave me hungover, or with weight gain, or with drug withdrawal. Just a purity of soul, feeling clean from the inside out.

I wish that feeling would last longer. But I guess that's what the regular visits are for. Such a wonderful connection, with such a dear top.

Thank you. ♥

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work. I'm in the middle of proofing a script for a medical course on pressure ulcers, complete with pictures. Please wish me a strong stomach.

The latest with John

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Yes, I am wearing green, so no pinching.

Well, we got an answer on John's right leg swelling. That started about a month ago, and he dealt with it at the 50 Freaks party by mostly remaining seated in the room parties, because standing around made it worse. He also brought ice-packs, and we traded off with them (sometimes on his leg, sometimes on my butt). He went to the doctor about it, but was told it was simply a circulation complication due to his heart problems. They gave him a diuretic and told him to keep it elevated as often as possible. Not very convenient.

It didn't get better, and he thought it was a little weird that it was just one leg, not both. So on Friday, he went to the doctor again. First, the doc (a different one this time) tried to pass it off as the circulation thing, but when John kept insisting he thought it was something else, they did a sonogram.

John has a blood clot in his right leg, just above the knee.

UGH.

They put him on Coumadin (a blood thinner). This week he has to go in three times, and after that, once a week, to monitor his blood and make sure the drug levels are correct. He can no longer take Advil or aspirin for his arthritis pain, just Tylenol. The blood clot will self-resolve, but it takes time. It's a fairly common thing, but it can be dangerous, even lethal, if it detaches and travels to the heart.

So now, along with a malfunctioning heart valve and as-yet untreated sleep apnea (he's still in the process of being tested for the oral device; he goes to yet another sleep study in two weeks), he has a blood clot. The trifecta. 

This man used to be the picture of health and strength. The same man who used to cycle for miles now puffs and pants when he goes up one flight of stairs. It makes me sad. And there is little that's more frustrating than the snail's pace and balking of the medical system.

Bottom line: Don't get sick, people. Never get sick.

John is in good spirits, considering. He's happy to have answers, to know that there are cures and relief ahead at some point. This past weekend, he was tired, but chipper, making jokes and being his usual silly self. We laughed a lot and had fun, visiting a good friend in West Hollywood, taking her to dinner for a belated birthday gift and then sitting out in her yard, in front of a fire pit, talking and watching her cat's antics.

I am doing my best to stay positive, to not let my mind wander into worst-case scenarios. For the moment, things are under control with John. Far from ideal, but we're hoping for the best. 

Meanwhile, I am dying to see Steve. Tomorrow morning cannot come too soon. It's been two weeks, and I'm definitely in need.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend. 

What timing

So I'm at the gym, struggling through the last of a difficult class (abs -- my favorite!!), and trying to find some incentive in the relentless pounding of the techno-beat mixed MP3 that's playing. And then what comes on the rotation?

Yup. Rihanna's "S&M."

Really, who among us couldn't get into exercising to lyrics like "I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it," and "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me"? :-)

If you've never heard this song, have a listen. It's catchy. But I would advise simply listening to it, and not watching the video. Keep your sound on, but go to another screen. This video will give you a headache. And sadly, there's no spanking in it. It's all show.



Poor Rihanna. I think she's a little confused between what we do (consensual), and what Chris Brown did to her (non-consensual). :-(

Hope everyone has had a good week. Here in So. CA, Mother Nature seems to have forgotten that it's March, and we're going to be in the high 80's-low 90's this weekend, with high winds and elevated fire danger. FFS, Mom -- will you knock it off?

(Yeah, I know. Shut up, Erica. The rest of the country is freezing.) What can I say; I hate the freaking heat in summertime -- I don't want it in winter!

On my mind

I will not be seeing Steve today. This past Sunday, after rigorously training for months, he participated in the L.A. Marathon, along with roughly 21,500 others. It was a bucket list thing for him.

He finished. He had been afraid he wouldn't be able to, but he did. And now he's dealing with, believe it or not, DOMS.

That is a real acronym; it stands for Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness. Which is a nice way of saying his body is broken. Poor guy. He said his legs hurt so badly, he couldn't even stand to have me lie across them. :-( Now that's pain.

So, while he soaks in a hot bath with Epsom salts and I sit here feeling out of sorts, I figured it was a good time to discuss a couple of things that have me cranked.

Recently, my friend Secret Spanko posted about childhood spankings. In his blog, he mentioned about how a well-known spanking video producer interviews all his new models, and specifically, asks if they were spanked as children. If they say yes, he asks for details.

Something about this set off a trigger in me, and I was really pissed off. I had to think about it for a while and determine what was bothering me, but now I think I have it.

Please don't misunderstand me. I understand that it's a fairly normal course of conversation among spankos, especially in the getting-to-know-you phase, to ask about childhood spanking experiences -- were you or weren't you, was it often or just occasionally, etc. I don't have a problem with that.

However, I've noticed that some don't stop there. Over the years, I have had many men ask me (yes, it's always men, in my case) for extreme details. How old was I? Was it my mother or my father? Was it OTK? Was it bare bottom or over my panties? How long did it last? Did I cry? (No, I laughed, stupid.) And I became aware of what these questions meant: The person posing them was eroticizing the spanking of a child. They were getting off on my details.

And that, y'all, is what creeps me out.

I'm sorry. I know we're supposed to be tolerant and accepting and open-minded and all that crap. Fuck that. Adult consensual spanking is one thing. But making wank fodder out of the non-consensual, non-sexual spanking of a child is GROSS!!!

I realize that for people of my generation, all we had growing up, regarding spanking, was the tales of our peers and the spankings in children's books/comics. But nowadays, with all kinds of information at our fingertips, there is no need for the over-fascination on the spanking of children. It's icky.

I have shot for many spanking video companies. If any of the producers had tried to query me at length about what did or didn't happen to me as a child, I would have said, "I am into adult consensual spanking. Any spanking I received as a child was non-consensual; therefore, they are two different subjects, and the latter isn't open for discussion." I'm sure the new young models are far too intimidated to speak up and say this, even if the subject makes them uncomfortable. Which is what pisses me off even more.

SS issued a challenge to this producer, requesting that he stop asking this question to his new models. I second it. Keep kid stuff out of adult spanking.

And while I'm on a tear...

Recently I wrote my opinion that the L.A. spanking scene is lacking, and that I don't think a BDSM dungeon is a good place for a spanking party. I stand by that; I don't believe the energy is right. Like it or not, there are big differences in the atmosphere of a spanking party vs. a BDSM party. But I digress -- I'm not going to argue this point yet again. Anyway, it seems someone took exception to my expressed opinion, and in a roundabout way, not naming me (but it was quite obvious who was being discussed), implied that I was "disingenuous."

According to Merriam Webster, "disingenuous" means, "insincere; lacking in candor or frankness."

Interesting. I can be many things, it's true. Snarky, opinionated, sarcastic, prickly. Moody, cranky, sharp-tongued. But insincere is not one of them. I don't say things I don't mean, and I have been told I often have the candor to voice the things that others are thinking. I'm not perfect by any means, and I know I rub some people the wrong way. But at least I am honest. What you see is what you get, with me. Some love it, some hate it. But it's real.

So, really. If you're going to insult someone, at least use the proper terminology. :-)

And now, I'm going to attempt to focus on my work; thank goodness I have some. Goddammit, I need a spanking.