The Cynical Goody-Goody and Her Men

I suppose this is as good a topic as any for Christmas Week....

A new visitor to this blog might not expect this of the author of a blog with “erotica” in the title, but anyone who knows me at all is well aware: I am a total goody-goody. Yes, even about sex, which I really want to be wholesome and healthy all the time. While I’m anything but perfect (I could list dozens of faults for you, but that would not be Christmas-y, LOL), I am also a ridiculously upstanding citizen. I have fears of and/or aversions to drugs, drunkenness, breaking the rules (even jaywalking), sexual perversions, cruelty in any form, etc.

Meanwhile, I harbor no illusions that reality is a safe or comfortable haven for goody-goodies, as must as I wish it were so. You see, I grew up influenced equally by Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals and the terrible headlines of the late 60’s. I love books and movies with happy endings, but I’ve found very few people in real life who behave anything like the fictional characters I idolize. I spent 15 years married to a gay man who (understandably really) was unfaithful to me for all of them. Meanwhile, I am now married 15 years to a man who has been faithful to me for all of them.

Life has certainly sent me a mixed message.

I am not really changing topics now, as you will see shortly.

My regular readers know that I spent a lot of months quite devotedly fixated with Neil Gaiman. Certainly that wasn’t the only crush upon which I’ve expounded here, but probably the one you could most thoroughly study were you interested enough to go back to all the posts (and who would be? LOL).

So what happened with that? Well, as always happens, I eventually saw enough about him that I didn’t like, and my infatuation died. Don’t get me wrong, I still admire (and one might even say am still in love with) the genius qualities about the man. I certainly adore his work. but I couldn’t sustain the romance with those faults just so up-in-my-face. The emotions went dormant...they only come out occasionally when they are directed toward an utterly imagined version of Neil that is obviously all my concoction.

I recognize that it is neither fair nor reasonable for me to withhold my infatuations from less-than-perfect guys. I know all about real life and real people. But I just can’t help it. When the guy I crushed on all freshman year was snide in the way he signed my yearbook, I was devastated. I’ve reacted likewise to idols who have (1) gotten arrested for public drunkenness, (2) “defected” to another sports team, (3) been caught using drugs, (4) treated their fans coldly, (5) divorced their wives for other women, etc. (I’m not referring to Tiger Woods here, but you can guess my opinion of him.)

Christmas is a very romantic time to my mind. Just as we all strive to find the perfect gift, throw the perfect party, have the perfect family gathering, at holiday time I think about perfect romance. I get really sentimental about whatever celebrity I might currently be dreaming about. So more than ever, my demanding goody-goody heart cannot tolerate less than heroic behavior.

A few days before Christmas this year I glommed on to my holiday-time fixation for 2009. I saw singer/songwriter Ben Folds as a judge on the NBC show “The Sing-Off.” I can’t resist anyone who can talk intelligently about music, particularly in such an upbeat and good-natured way. I checked out his music more fully and found I really love it.

The Internet is a curse to goody-goodies such as myself. You can hold on to your illusions about a celebrity for only as long as it takes to Google them and read some biographies. Ben Folds’ “crime” is that he’s on his fourth wife. Now the rational, cynical, coldly realistic part of me says, “You can’t judge a guy (a) when you’ve never walked in his shoes and (b) when you don’t know him in the slightest.” My best guess is that Ben is like most people: really wonderful in many ways, really terrible in others, and no worse than average.

Still, my goody-goody self yearns for a man who can talk brilliantly about music in an upbeat and good-natured way, and also has no flaws at all. Yes, I know I’m a terrible person. Didn’t I mention that right up front? The best I can do is be in love with the part of Ben Folds that initially caught my fancy, and give the rest of him the benefit of the doubt. That sort of works, but not as well as I would wish for. Bummer, but that’s life.

That said, what keeps my goody-goody hopes alive is that not all my idols have done things to let me down. I’m sure they’ve got faults too, but they are not such apparent and glaring ones that I can’t overlook them, even with my insane standards. A couple of examples of my personal heroes who have not failed me in any respect are Guy Carbonneau and Les Stroud. Both of them are brilliantly talented in their respective fields, and seem also to be good, principled, disciplined men.

While I don’t necessarily fantasize about these two every night anymore (not that I’m admitting I ever did, ahem!), I can and do think of them fondly whenever they come to mind. I appreciate and treasure them for being in that tiny category of heroes that have managed to remain on their pedestals. And icing on the cake is that both have had actual personal dealings with me and treated me with great kindness.

By the way, there’s one more guy in this tiny, special category that I should mention: The one I’ve been married to for the past 15 years. I figured out pretty fast that David was a man of principles and integrity, and time has proven me right.

I may have a ridiculous way of crushing and uncrushing on people, but in the final analysis, I’m no dummy.

When Your Celebrity Crush Finds Out

I first met my friend Rebecca after posting about "the Kohl's Guy" (aka Kevin Rice) last fall. She's a huge fan of his so of course she had to introduce herself. In the subsequent months Rebecca has done a bang-up job being a fan, sharing plenty of photos and entertaining content on her blog and also creating a Facebook page for Kevin. I've really enjoyed watching her go down such a path for the first time, having myself blazed that trail ridiculously often.


Recently, through the people who have signed up on Kevin's Facebook page, many of whom are his friends, it became clear to Rebecca that the man had most certainly at some point read her musings about him. Yes, she experienced the "OMG My Celebrity Crush Has Read My Stuff" Moment. There's nothing quite like it, that feeling that is the perfect blend of "oh yay he knows I exist!" and "oh god, he has to think I'm some insane stalker."

Rebecca reacted as all intelligent, well-adjusted, sensible people do when this occurs: She laughed at herself. I've certainly made fun of myself a number of times on this blog for my own romantic ravings about celebrities from whom I have the hots. It's a much healthier and more reasonable reaction than panic or shame. Certainly any celebrity who has run across fan commentary such as this merely smiles, is fairly pleased, and in the case of the humble ones, shakes his head and says, "If only you knew me, honey, you'd find out I'm just a guy."

Still, I know from experience that Rebecca is having the occasional panicky moment of shame. Well, shame is too strong a word: it's really more just embarrassment. I think that springs from the fact that when one writes or blogs about a celebrity crush, one's thoughts are in another world. We interact with our crushes in the realm of imagination. It's not like we filter everything we do and say in that place, keeping in mind that the actual man may someday read it. As much as it seems ironic, when we are most intimately and vividly engaged with our crush, the real fellow is quite far from the picture.

So when suddenly the flesh-and-blood guy pokes his head into the scene, looks around at what we've created, and reacts...well, it can really freak one out.

During my vacation this weekend, I made a pilgrimage to a comic book store in Minneapolis that is a favorite hangout of Neil Gaiman. For one thing, I do like stores like that, and wanted to see this particular, renowned one. DreamHaven is a very cool place in its own right. But my other purpose for the visit was to drop off for Neil a copy of the comic book I wrote, which includes reference to his inspiration as a comic book writer, and a copy of my collection Soulful Sex: The Darker Side which was dedicated to him.


This isn't the first time I've given a celebrity a book dedicated to him...I actually hand delivered my book Living Beyond Reality to the then-famous hockey player to whom it was dedicated. That was a scary and thrilling time. Meanwhile, I also sent Les Stroud a copy of the book that contained my story dedicated to him ("Spacewrecked with Joel Fennimore," Soulful Sex: The Science Fiction Collection), and it's weird to think he's read it.

The funny thing about this situation is that I'm not at all sure these books will ever be cracked open by Mr. Gaiman. For one thing, it would involve Greg (the owner of DreamHaven) actually remembering to give my package to him on a future, rare visit. And for another, it would require Neil to take the time to open it and look. And gifts from fans arrive in his hands every day, I'm sure.

So to be honest, I really simply went through the motions of this delivery in a ceremonial way; that is, just to go through officially with the dedication of the book. I certainly have no expectation of someday getting an email from Neil or even Greg about the matter. Which is fine with me.

Still, I can't say I haven't gone through the exercise of imagining Neil stretched out on his couch, reading my book by the amber light of one lamp, saying to himself, "Wow, I like this!"

That's just the kind of thing dreamers like me and Rebecca do. Much to our occasional, good-natured embarrassment.

One Man's View of Inner Beauty

In my last blog post I talked about Wendy, Les Stroud's assistant, whom I have enjoyed getting to know in the course of our exchanges about her boss. Well, Wendy is an awesome person in her own right...and so, it seems, is her husband Brian.

Wendy mentioned to me that Brian recently published a book of poetry called In Between. I read a few samples, and was particularly struck by the one entitled "Beauty." I've often talked about the unfortunate inequity how attraction works for the two sexes. (Well, that's a nice way of putting it. In fact, I've whined about men's obsession with outward appearances.) So naturally I was tickled to encounter a poem by a man (a rugged, outdoorsy, Canadian man, no less) that showed a very thoughtful appreciation for a woman's mind and soul. Brian gave me permission to reprint it for you here:

Beauty

Some men are drawn to the curve of a hip
Some drawn to the curve of a breast.
Some men are drawn to the length of a leg
Some to the color of hair.
But some are drawn by the mystery,
Of sensuality in intelligence.
Drawn into the realm of infinite thought,
Pulled into the mind of imagination.
Called to by the curve of a question,
Enticed by endless conversation.
Just as the alluring curves, colors, and smells,
Of the feminine body's mystique.
The soft touch of intelligence in sexuality
Can make the hardest man become weak.
For the colors fade and perfumes dissipate,
And the curves often tend to obscure.
The bond of two minds wrapped in loving embrace
Tends to slip so much less throughout time.
And the gentle kiss of paired mentality,
Lingers more often on the lips of the mind.

Lovely, huh? To read more samples of Brian's work, you can visit his MySpace page. The book is available from Amazon here.

Thanks, Brian!

Thanks to Les Stroud for Being My Fan!

That thump you heard a couple hours ago was my head hitting the ceiling. Why was I floating way off the ground? I'll tell ya.

I was contacted a week ago by Romantic Times BOOKclub magazine in their search for romance authors with celebrity fans, for a feature in their July issue. I felt like there was some celebrity I could think of that I knew was my fan (oh, I'm sure there are hundreds of them I don't know about, chah, right), and I just couldn't let go of the question.

I was in the kitchen putting away dishes, just another part of my glamorous romance author lifestyle, when it came to me. Les Stroud! Long time followers of my blog know that Les and I have exchanged books and DVDs and such a few times in a little frenzy of mutual admiration...well, I definitely admire him anyway, which you can learn from my many Les posts. But while this is certainly my most significant celebrity connection (I trust I'm not offending any of my fellow Y-list celebs when I say that; c'mon, you guys are all my friends and I love you!), I wasn't sure I could say Les was a "fan."

So...I wrote up a little paragraph with our history and emailed it to Les's fabulous assistant Wendy (you see her name in the closing credits of "Survivorman"). And I waited hopefully for a reply. In the week that passed, Wendy had to get in touch with Les in the Bahamas where he is filming another shark show for the Discovery Channel. She ran my proposal by him, and he said, "Sure!"

[I'm of course picturing Les underwater in a shark cage, with deadly lemon sharks ramming the bars, as he is texting Wendy on his waterproof iPhone: s...u...r...e]

Wendy has borrowed my books from Les and she is definitely a fan. That means a lot to me too! And tonight I am Wendy's biggest fan! And grateful as always to that dear and wonderful guy, Les Stroud.

Now just cross your fingers that the magazine decides to include us! What fun that would be.

Phases

Phases are interesting things, especially if you’re like me. My phases--just ask my family--are intense. Bordering-on-but-not-quite-neurotic intense. Consequently, I consider myself quite the little expert on phases. In fact, I know all the types. Please, avail yourself of my vast, but pointless, knowledge of the subject...

Fleeting Phases:

These are the sorts of phases that seem promising at first, then simply don’t prove that interesting. You know, like that hobby that you buy a lot of tools to support, only to lose interest before those tools are barely dirty. Mine was homebrewing. I made two batches of beer, then decided this was what liquor stores and the descendants of Herrs Pabst, Miller and Busch were for.

On a topic more relevant to this blog, I’d say Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn. I loved him in the first "Lord of the Rings" movie, but then I saw David Wenham as Faramir in the second film and the Viggo thing was o-vah. (And whatever happened to Joshua Jackson? Talk about flash in the pan.)

Intense, Quick Burn Out Phases:

These are those fascinations which start out super hot but inexplicably don’t last. There may not even be a clear reason why they are unsustainable, and it really surprises you considering their original promise. A year or so ago I nursed a craving for months to take up the Native American flute. I finally bought one. I was so excited! I sewed a Native American themed bag for it, I practiced almost every day, I really liked it and then, foomp.

Erotically speaking, my example would be Criss Angel. I watched him a bit on TV and my mind was just blown. I collected some photos, used him as wallpaper, blogged about him, had some nice Criss fantasies, and then, abruptly, nothing. I know plenty of women have been hot on this guy for years. I can’t explain why I petered out!

Recurring Theme Phases:

These are variations on a theme, and we all have our own individual themes, sometimes called “fetishes,” those sorts of things we have been consistently attracted to all our lives. I grew up loving to collect rocks. I can’t resist combing a beach, any beach. (I’ve even been known to comb gravel beds at shopping malls.) I got into making jewelry largely because I love rocks. And now I use polymer clay to make rocks!

Meanwhile, my erotic obsessions have included variations on a couple of good physical themes. Blond beards, for example. A big part of my afore-mentioned Faramir thing, and also traceable to personal heartthrobs Kerry Wood, the Kohls guy, and Jason Danieley (although with him it’s really the voice of course). I’m also historically crazy about guys with tousled mops of dark curls. This accounts for why Elijah Wood’s Frodo came in second on my list of favorite LOTR characters. And it may have been one of my husband’s cues when he found the picture of this author named Neil Gaiman and showed it to me as “a guy who is really your type.” So, point is, specific men may come and go, but the blond beard and the dark curls live on (not on one person at once though, ugh).

Take Your Soul in an Iron Grip Phases:

Well, there are a few of these in my life, obsessions I picked up in childhood that never go away. First for me is, of course, writing. Others would be Broadway musicals, science fiction (I should mention that obviously I went through a very passionate “Rocky Horror Show” phase), cats, and crafts.

I’ve had some men-phases like this too, guys who come into my life and make such a big impression that even after the “romantic” feelings eventually dissipate, I never lose the impact that was made upon me. The first example of this is Michael Rennie’s portrayal of the alien Klaatu in “The Day the Earth Stood Still.” I was just a tot when I first saw this film, and the character shaped ever after both my ideal of the fictional hero and my standards for male valor. I rewatched the movie this week and Klaatu still works as much magic on me today as ever. (Good luck, Keanu Reeves!)

I would be remiss not to mention here Montreal Canadiens coach Guy Carbonneau, whose tribute website I maintain (now over 300 pages). He was a huge inspiration (or, okay, I’ll also answer to “obsession”...I mean c’mon, 300 pages?) to me for a good three years, and that’s a long time for this girl. To this day he remains a personal hero and an example of real manhood that few can match.

Impact Your Life Phases:

Some phases may not last for years, but they still make an impression that lingers for a lifetime. In the 80s I was so obsessed with pipe organs that I actually wrote a three minute piece for pipe organ. Well, it was performed publically once, okay? Yeah, yeah, only once. Nevertheless, I still love organ music and appreciate composing in a much deeper way from that experience.

My devotion to “Survivorman” Les Stroud is definitely in this category. I still adore Les but I’m a bit past the swooning stage now. However, he truly affected my understanding of my own love of nature, and taught me much about survival, even of the emotional kind. These lessons will stay with me. And then there’s Neil Gaiman. It’s only been ninth months (and I’m still in the swooning stage as you well know)...but reading the lion’s share of his works has rekindled in me my Jungian outlook on writing and my love of speculative fiction/fantasy. And best of all, if you’re me: I know reading him has made me a better writer. God, I love that man.

Bonus Type--Motivate You to Write a Fan Letter Phases:

I consider a phase as having special standing if it motivates me to write a fan letter. Even in the days of the internet, when doing that is much easier and much more likely to get some sort of reply, I still only write when a phase strikes me as significant. Here’s a list of people who have merited fan letters from me over the years (and whether or not I heard back): Leonard Nimoy as Spock (no), the cast of the movie “Godspell,” (yes, Joann Jonas), Sting (no), Kenneth Branagh (no), Richard O’Brien, author of “Rocky Horror” (yes), Guy Carbonneau (yes), comic book author Terry Moore (no), Les Stroud (yes), Jason Danieley (yes). Wow, that’s a pretty good track record...I must be forgetting a lot of the people who ignored me! LOL

Cripes, this is my longest blog post EVER. Good night.

What Survivorman Has in Common with Me

I’m so amped that the new season of “Survivorman” premieres tomorrow! Ah Les, it’s been too long since we got to see you starving and struggling in some new inhospitable environment. Swoon. LOL

So in honor of this auspicious event, I wanted to share with you some very cool Les Stroud lore I discovered in a recent interview. The October Studio Monthly magazine included an article by Les entitled “Backwoods Warrior” that focuses on the filmmaking aspect of his career. (For those of you living under a rock, Les films his show all by himself. But of course, if you’re living under a rock, you really ought to be watching the show for survival tips.) I took particular interest in a paragraph in which Les talked about his motivation in making “Survivorman” as good as it is:

I sat down and meditated (call it whatever you want) on the fact that I had to make this film/this day/this next scene compelling, beautiful and inspirational. There may only be one viewer, but you owe them a great show. When you present a film or any other creative endeavor you take on, you’re asking each audience member to take an hour or more out of his or her life to watch what you did. What right do I have to ask that of them, if I haven’t put everything I possibly could have into this production? Surely they have any number of other things they could be doing with that hour. I owe it to them to put all my passion into what I’m presenting.

Wow, Les, this sums up exactly how I feel about writing romance fiction! Well, writing anything, really, including this blog.

I recently read a blog post on a website for fiction readers that took a very opposite tack. The blog writer took umbrage when an editor suggested some changes to the grammar and structure of one of his posts. His thesis was that his blog was a window into his head, and therefore it ought to be whatever he wanted, without regard to the readers’ interest or understanding.

That attitude kinda frosts my cookies, friends. I have no problem with doing that in my own journal, which is read by no one but me, but when you put writing on a public forum, you thereby invite others to read it. If you don’t care that you may be wasting their time, if you make no effort to be concise and comprehensible, then to me that is putting yourself above others. There’s enough of that in human society without encouraging such an attitude, if you ask me.

I’ve seen that same thing occur recently in other art forms. Case in point: I watched a cake-making competition the other day in which the assignment was to make a haunted house cake. One of the contestants created an ugly abstract mess that she considered “art.” She pooh-poohed the judges’ negative reaction and said they were “unqualified to judge such a contest.”

Hey, sister, guess what? It was their contest! Communication is about the audience, not the “speaker,” and the goal is to get your message across as meaningfully as possible, not to express your individuality at all costs. You’re free to express your individuality in lots of ways—make that cake for yourself if you like. But in art, entertainment, and communication, your efforts are wasted unless at least a portion of the populace gets and enjoys you.

On the flip side, it doesn’t have to be everyone…it simply can’t be, people are too different. That’s the other thing I loved about Les’s statement: Even if there’s only one viewer, even if only one person reads your book or blog post, you owe it to them and to yourself to offer your best work.

I know, due to individual taste, not everyone is going to want to read a vampire romance. But when I wrote Bloodchained I did know that a lot of people like that genre, and that they deserved, in exchange for their reading time, a well-written novel. I kept that charge in mind throughout the process of writing, editing, and publishing the book. I, like Les, consider myself the servant of my readership, not the other way around.

And that’s how the deal works. Artists should never lose touch with the fact that communication is an exchange of currencies: your work for your audience’s money and time. If your ego loses touch with that principle, don’t be surprised if you, like the “cake artist” who came in last, end up with no one watching or listening.

But to end on a more positive note: The nice thing about having Les’s attitude about your work is that it really gets results. “Survivorman” is a moving and beautiful show because Les puts his heart in every episode. I hope you’ll tune in tomorrow night and see what I mean!

That Face, Heaven Save Me!

Sorry, today I’m going to be shallow. Horrifyingly shallow. You all know how I’m usually so cerebral and/or spiritual. All that talk diminishing the physical, with only the occasional lapse that sinks to the level of eye candiness (see my recent post about the Kohls Guy). Well, I’m not in the mood for being sensible today.

Okay, you know how sometimes you find yourself really attracted to someone physically, except there’s that one thing you have to overlook? Sometimes it seems like nobody, even the most perfect, is perfect.

Some examples:

I am secretly in love with Dr. Wilson as well as Dr. House. Robert Sean Leonard has one of the best mouths in human history, IMHO. Personalities aside (which of course I can’t really do), he’s got it all over Hugh Laurie handsomeness-wise. However...there’s the brows. Slightly too thick. Damn it, so close...

My passion for Survivorman Les Stroud is not any kind of secret. I also really like his face. I’m a sucker for men with thin lips, and his nose is very nice, and he has those wide-set eyes that I’d have given all humans if I were God. However--so sorry, dear Les--the hair is departing. I’m sure that’s why Les so often wears a banana or some awesome hat. With a hat he’s pretty perfect.

In days of yore I was wildly, desperately obsessed with Sting. What cheekbones. No, I mean really, what cheekbones. This man in his youth had godlike looks, no lie. A little too godlike to my mind, for a few years into his career, he had his nose done. The pre-surgery nose was strange, a little large, and absolutely gorgeous. The post-surgery nose was BORING. So sad. (And yes, he has the same hair problem as Les, I know. C’mon, we all age.)

This is so often the case with that nearly perfect guy. You wish his chin was a tad shorter, or his mouth less crooked, or more crooked. Even people who make their living by their faces can’t be perfect, right?

How ironic, then, that the guy with the absolutely perfect face is a writer.

I saw a couple previously undiscovered photos of Neil Gaiman today, and honestly, I almost want to smack the universe for there being someone like this in existence who can’t simply be my personal possession. Now just to reassure you, that is my attempt to explain the feeling I get looking at him, not my personal goal for 2009.

Respect, Diana, respect--this guy is your colleague after a fashion! This man is one of the greatest fantasy/horror/comic writers of all time.

Yes, yes, I know that. But the nose, God, the nose! This is a nose even more thrilling than the one Sting felt compelled to redo. And the mouth--it makes me say “Robert Sean who?” even though seven paragraphs I said “best in history” blah blah blah. Sigh, swoon.

And try telling me these eyes aren’t beyond the beyond. I love eyes with lower lids that just seem to cradle them like that. What kind of God would give a man writing skill like his AND eyes like this? It’s insane!

Best. Hair. On the planet. Sorry, Les, length does matter. Especially when curly and black. Neil has to be aware of this and is simply torturing us women by not cutting it short. Let’s pray he never changes his mind. And yes, I realize the woman who has a blond beard fetish is saying all this.

And the topper, the really incredible thing, is that you can’t blame Neil’s looks on tricks of the camera, or hair and makeup experts. I’ve seen him in video interviews. He really looks this good “in real life.” (In fact, real life brings in the voice, which is in a dead heat with the voices of Les Stroud, Edward James Olmos, and Hugh Laurie for sexiest in the known world. Kill me now.)

I’ve tried to find it, I’ve tried, but in this face I wouldn’t change a thing.

How absolutely maddening it is that one of my favorite minds in all the world lives behind this perfect face. It’s a very lucky thing that three gazillion other people are as obsessed with him as I am, so there’s only a .00000215% chance he’ll ever come upon these raving words. I’m so embarrassed, but I’m at the mercy of that face.

I can only hope you’ll keep this to yourself! I’m suffering enough....

Sometimes It’s Just Physical

I was one of those little kids who loved frosting. I’d take the corner piece of cake anytime, to get that extra butter and sugar. In fact, I’d even try to get the piece covered with frosting roses. As I got older, however, I learned to prefer the cake. Nowadays there are some cakes I adore (like my rum cake) that have no frosting whatsoever.

That also applies quite a bit to my history with men. When I was younger, it was the fancy exterior that got me drooling. Nowadays, I am often drawn to frosting-less men who are wonderful inside. That definitely applies to my Edward J. Olmos thing of ‘06-’07. It was sort of a similar story with Les Stroud, whom I didn’t find overly handsome until I learned to love his personality. Neil Gaiman? Well, yeah, there’s some fine chocolate frosting on that man, but it’s his cake that really won my heart.

But occasionally still, it’s all about the frosting.

Last night Davie and I watched the premiere of ABC’s “Fringe.” I was very excited about this show, and not only because J.J. Abrams is brilliant and I love paranormal stories. No, mostly I was anticipating seeing Joshua Jackson every week. He was mighty nice back in his days as Pacey “on the Creek,” and age has only improved him. There are not a lot of actors these days that make my pulse run rampant whenever they are on screen, but he is one of them.

As Peter Bishop, genius ne’er-do-well son of a mad scientist (there’s a nice bio), Josh has a very entertaining, sexy role to play. But to me, the cool role is just icing on the...er...frosting. At one point mid-show, Davie asked me, “So...what exactly about this guy that you like so much?” All I could say was, “Everything.” Could I be any more specific? I’ll really try, because I care about you guys! Well, he does have that whiskery-thin-lipped Les Stroud/Kenneth Branagh thing going on that so sends me. Swoon. And gorgeous eyes and amazing brows. Nice physique, too. He looks really, really good when brooding. Or when cracking jokes in a cranky way.

Am I not ashamed of being shallow? Wait, it gets worse.

Let’s talk about pure-butter-and-sugar-and-not-a-cake-crumb-to-be-seen. Meet: the Kohl’s guy.

I don’t know his name although I think my daughter Amanda could find out; she works for Kohl’s ecommerce department. In fact, among her co-workers, this model is known as “the guy Amanda’s mom likes.” I gotta admit, I love that.

Anyway, I have been lusting for this guy for years every Sunday when he appears in the Kohl’s newspaper circular. You know me and blond beards. I just think he is startlingly dreamy and if I ever met him (which is a tiny potentiality because I guess the circulars are actually shot here in Milwaukee) I would be speechless.

Obviously I have no idea what this guy is like. He dresses nicely, of course. LOL And looking at him, I can imagine he’s intelligent, sincere, heterosexual, and has a dry and slightly dark sense of humor. Can’t you? Of course! And isn’t he just irresistible?

I guess not, actually! I found a discussion about my guy on the LafayetteMoms forum, and most of them beg to differ with me! Read on:

Kohl’s male model; Hot or Not?

Sorry to bring down the level of discourse but I was curious to know what other people think. Kohl’s uses this blond male model in their ads for their Chaps line of clothes. He is on the cover of today’s ad. Every time I see him I think he looks more likely to be arrested for petty theft than to sell designer clothes. Do you think he’s handsome?

--I like dark hair and eyes myself, but I think he’s pretty handsome -- could probably stand to shave, though!

--I think he looks kinda ker-blah, not really anything special. I also enjoy dark hair and eyes. The look on the model’s face isn’t really too pleasant, he looks very cocky and not friendly. Advertising with him for Father’s Day isn’t too smart on Kohl’s part. I want (and have) a nice kind "daddy" type guy.

--He’s got all the right features to be attractive, but he is not what WOWS me either. I think it is the scruff that makes him look more ‘wanted’....by the authorities, not women, that is! lol- totally just joking!! I am sure there are plenty of women who do find him attractive, or he wouldn’t have made it into modeling!

--Not a hottie to me........

--I agree - I don’t care for the scruffy look. Now, the guys on page 18-19 in the same ad are more my idea of hot.

Crazy women! I suppose next someone is going to tell me Joshua Jackson leaves them cold.

Fine, leave me to my plate of frosting, I don’t care! ;-)

Embrace the Anguish

I guess it’s time for another update for those of you fretting daily about the status of my Neil Gaiman crush. I survived the delight that was Anansi Boys (our dark hero truly can write a happy ending, much to my surprise). Even though it was technically C.S. Lewis in the ondeck circle, I cheated and moved on to another Gaiman title: Smoke and Mirrors. My excuse was that I wanted to be reading short stories on the beach when we had our camping weekend.

Right before our departure date, I read the wonderful story “Chivalry,” about an old British woman who finds the Holy Grail under a fur coat in a secondhand shop. Neil mentioned in the intro that this was one of his favorite stories to read aloud at convention appearances and the like. I decided to use it as a bedtime story in the tent, and read it aloud to my girls two consecutive nights, complete with Brit accents for the speaking parts.

Neil has a very warm and sweet understanding of chivalry. I also learned from this collection that, as I suspected from his writing, he loves cats. These things were definite points in his favor. Nevertheless, I find I am still terrified of the man. He is such a rock star and I am too old to be crushing on rock stars. He was just in Brazil at the big, famous literature festival, where people waited five hours to get his autograph. He contributed to a recent issue of Entertainment Weekly alongside several musicians and TV and film stars. (I discovered both these facts without googling for them, just so you know—I can’t help it if the guy is everywhere these days.)

I would rather be infatuated with someone shy and obscure, thank you very much. But no, I had to glom on to the only author in the world who is cool (J.K Rowling, Dan Brown, Stephen King, et al. are famous, but not cool). I had to be swallowed up into the mob of several billion people who adore this guy. Oh for the days when I could blog about Les Stroud and actually get a nice email from his assistant and gifts from him in the mail. (Aw heck, these days I’ll bet even dear Les is too big for that kind of stuff anymore!) Hell would freeze—no, worse, the price of gas would drop to a buck-fifty, before Neil Gaiman would ever find this blog of mine.

And his writing! Blorg! Neil Gaiman has that way of coming up with the most tortured and torturing concepts and putting them on paper so eloquently that you can’t help but think about them even as you are repelled. I’m convinced he alternates between posing as a polite, old-fashioned, harmless English gentleman and being the devil incarnate and armed with a PC. To be fair, he can’t help making the most of his genius, and in real life I’m sure he’s truly a nice guy. But as “animus material”—fodder for the imagination—he is just so dangerous.

Never fear though, dear readers. I found a nice form of therapy this week. I wrote a short story, all within 24 hours (a miracle for me), called “Don’t.” I embraced fully, in a fictional format, the anguish that intermittently is my Neil Thing. The guy in this story is just as charming, just as guileless, and just as wicked as my imaginary Gaiman is. The girl is, well, some poor feckless fool like me. Think about that title and you may guess what she says and what he does anyway and what she lets him do after all. It’s not a happy story but it kind of knocked my socks off. I hope I’m not the only one who will feel that way.

This week I met via email a new fan of this blog named Elizabeth, who found me by googling Criss Angel. This lovely woman is on a very similar wavelength to myself and certainly gets what it’s like to be drawn to someone who scares you. I have a feeling it’s a chronic thing with many women, this attraction to guys though you feel it may well hurt you to care for them. Happily, Elizabeth and I are doing this stuff on an imaginary plane, so (for the most part) our anguish is also on an imaginary plane. And I found it remarkably therapeutic to dive through the wall that separates reality from unreality, and there on the other side giving in to my sweetest dream/worst nightmare...and then writing it all down.

It’s great to be a writer at times like these. And if reading a lot of Gaiman is going to have this sort of effect on my writing, I’ll put up with the anguish.

My Awe Fetish

My, I have become picky in my old age. There was a time, not so long ago, that I could get turned on by a pretty face alone. Okay, a pretty face and a good story. Take for example the character of Sayid on “Lost”: The swarthy good looks drew me in, and the concept of a former torturer from the Iraq Republican Army sealed the deal. (Don’t tell me I’m the only one who has had fantasies of being captured by the flashback version of Sayid.)

A couple years later, I find it just isn’t enough for me anymore. I don’t know if it’s the physical changes happening to me at 51, or the result of my life experiences, or both...but it’s getting so I just can’t get excited without awe. (Davie, don’t worry—husbands are exempt! Not that you aren’t replete with awe, of course.)

This awe fetish isn’t exactly something new. I’ve been into awe ever since I was a teen and in love with Mr. Spock because he was all other-worldly and super smart. I’ve always been a sucker for authority figures, even when it was really a bad idea: like one of the professors at my first husband’s seminary, my boss at the law firm, and my confessor. (Yeah, and he was an archbishop too, not to mention married.) Trust me, not a one of these guys was handsome, much less sexy. But they were, to one degree or another, awe-inspiring.

The guy just has to have something really impressive going for him. It doesn’t matter a whole lot what it is, just that it sparks a little awe.

When I first got interested in hockey, I fell for the goalie on my husband’s favorite team. He was one of the better goalies, don’t get me wrong, but I think I was simply so impressed by the skill it takes to play goal in the NHL that I just glommed on to him. The reflexes, concentration and stamina required by that job just fascinated me. When I met this guy in person I could barely speak, as if I were in the presence of deity. Sometime later he got in trouble with the law and turned out to not really be your most “character” guy, and thus lost all appeal for me. (When the awe goes, so does the desire.)

You are all well aware of my devotion to Les Stroud. Talk about awe-inspiring; well, I’ve done just that enough on this blog in the past. Point is, find a guy who is courageous, a talented filmmaker, and a superb musician, and I’m not sure how ugly you’d have to make him for that fellow not to get me excited. Les is not one bit ugly, and his character hasn’t failed me yet, so he’s one of the few guys currently able to pique my “interest.”

More recently, as you know, I got on my Neil Gaiman kick. (By the way, I finished American Gods and Stardust and just started Fragile Things. I saw “Beowulf,” too—best thing about it was Neil’s screenplay.) Now there are a lot of authors I very much admire, whose work I love to read. I would call Stephen King, John Updike, and William Goldman all genius contemporary authors. But for reasons I can’t explain, they do not provoke from me the awe that Neil Gaiman’s writing does. It may be that he so often has the voice of some charming and brilliant 19th Century Briton, I don’t know. But there is so much richness and profundity in his work, it just blows my mind.

And with me, blown-mind is the ultimate turn-on.

You get the picture: professor, priest, athlete, daredevil, musician, artist...whatever it is in a person or character that makes me feel amazed and humble, that’s what gets to me. I don’t care if he’s drop-dead gorgeous, has six-pack abs, or is an alpha male oozing sexuality. If he has some startling talent, if he has accomplished some remarkable achievement, or if he is simply unique and special and somehow out-of-this-world, he’s my guy.

Now there’s one serious downside to having an awe fetish, my friends, and here it is: People are (oh curse the dreadful truth!) only human. Just as those gorgeous centerfold chicks in Playboy are air-brushed and otherwise enhanced, my awe-inspiring men have plenty of faults as well. I have learned for the sake of my fantasy life not to inquire too deeply into their real lives. Better still, I look for fictional characters whenever I can; Faramir (“Lord of the Rings”) is not going to lose his glamour by turning out to have bet on dog fights or something.

Please post if you too have an awe fetish. I fear I may be the only one. Perhaps we can form a support group. I think creating a clearinghouse for guys who inspire awe would be very helpful.

In the meanwhile, I’m going to keep reading Fragile Things and having Neil Gaiman haunt my dreams.

I’ve Found My Soulmate and Her Name is Meg!

...Meg Wood! I don’t often endorse other blogs and sites here, but I have to make a special recommendation for Meg’s Boyfriend of the Week.

Well, what I mean by “soulmate” is that Meg’s taste mirrors my own in uncanny ways. I’ll grant you, if you blog about a new celebrity you like every week or two, you will have a long, long list that most women will share at least in part. But there are definitely some guys in Meg’s pantheon that you wouldn’t necessarily expect every woman to drool over.

Naturally Meg could not be my soulmate if she didn’t appreciate Les Stroud. But she pleads to have his children ASAP, and for all the same reasons I adore the guy. She’s got a long list of my more “commonplace” faves: Naveen Andrews and Josh Holloway, David Duchovny, Sean Bean, Gregory Peck, Dominic Monaghan/Billy Boyd/Elijah Wood, Joaquin Phoenix, Johnny Depp, Ewan McGregor, Owen Wilson, Colin Firth, Hugh Jackman, Keanu Reeves, Tobey McGuire...none of those guys are overly surprising.

Now, however, for the “overly surprising” category, relatively less popular guys that I have adored and/or blogged about: the “So You Think You Can Dance” guys, Mike Rowe, Bill Nighy, Mythbusters Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman, the Serenity guys, Josh Whedon and Anthony Stewart Head, Sam Neill, William Hurt, Kevin Kline, Anthony Hopkins, and Ray Walston.

Yes, Ray Walston! When I saw that name I knew Meg and I quite possibly share the same brain! Or at least libido! I couldn’t believe there was anyone else out there who had a crush on him in “My Favorite Martian” besides me. But Meg did! Will wonders never cease?

Really, there are very few guys on Meg’s boyfriend list (other than those I hadn’t heard of) that I don’t find attractive. Eric Stoltz? Adorable. Chow Yun-Fat? To die for. Morgan Spurlock from “Super Size Me”? I’ll take two. James Spader? Swoon. I even get what she means by the Pets.com Sock Puppet.

I just love that Meg seems to have developed her romantic taste, as I did, based upon a combination of science fiction, Broadway musicals, and admiration for men whose resourcefulness emulates MacGyver. She likes a lot of guys who are quirky, exotic, romantic, heroic, and ingenious. Just reading her analyses (and admiring the accompanying photos) is inspiring, because she really gets (at least according to my particular taste) what makes men spiritually satisfying to women.

Love, love, love it, Meg. I only wish we were both twelve years old and could stay over at each other’s houses making scrapbooks of our fave guys and giggling till one in the morning.

My Sexiest Guys of 2007

Okay, People magazine, I just don’t get the Matt Damon choice. He’s cute, funny, a good actor, but Sexiest Man Alive?

I realize there can never be any kind of consensus on an issue like sexiness, so the question is moot anyway. But a choice this weird just motivates me to make my own list. I blog about sex, isn’t that enough qualification? Okay, I know my opinion counts no more than yours...so write your own list!

Here’s mine:

Sexiest in a TV comedy: John Krasinski (Jim on “The Office”). Now that he’s got the girl (Pam), he manages to be just as adorable, charming and sexy as ever. Even playing ping pong badly.

Sexiest in a TV drama: Milo Ventimiglia (Peter on “Heroes”). I know I’m not alone on this one. Dark, handsome, goodhearted, brooding and tortured, looks great half naked and bruised, plus he is the most powerful superhero in the Heroes pantheon.

Sexiest in a film comedy: Simon Pegg (Nicolas Angel in “Hot Fuzz”). I wish I could tell you why he got to me so; I guess his being a super cop with perfect dedication to his job was some kind of turn-on to me.

Sexiest in a film drama: Daniel Craig (James Bond in “Casino Royale”). I think I’ll get some seconds on this one too. He added a dimension of vulnerability to the Bond package that intensified his allure. I would be remiss not to mention the eyes, of course.

Sexiest villain, TV or film: Zachary Quinto (Sylar on “Heroes”). Gotta give it to him this year, he just brings superpowered-blacksouled-serial-killer to a whole new level of hotness.

Sexiest dancer: Danny Tidwell (runner-up in this year’s “So You Think You Can Dance”). The looks, the body, and one hell of a samba. Honorable mention to third place Neil Haskell who shines mostly by humor and charm, but pulled sexiness out of his tights a time or two as well.

Sexiest singer: Les Stroud. I’m not about to deny Les his due here, and if you don’t believe me, listen to “Nice Tattoo.”

Sexiest speaking voice: Mike Rowe (“Dirty Jobs,” “Deadliest Catch,” Ford commercials, etc.). The rest of him ain’t bad either, but I could listen to him talk all day, even about poo and crabs.

Sexiest in a reality show: Les Stroud encore (“Survivorman”). Call me biased, but I really think a national vote (wait, let’s include Canada) would back me up. The commentary in the blogosphere sure suggests it.

Sexiest entertainer who doesn’t sing, dance or act: Criss Angel (“Mind Freak”). We all find magic sexy but this guy blows away all competition. He’s one of a kind, this one.

Sexiest sports figure: Mark DeRosa (Chicago Cubs). I have to qualify this by admitting I’m a rabid fan of the Cubbies, but Mark deserves the title. He’s hot, nice, talented, hardworking, and a team player. Honorable mention to Peyton “Laser Rocket Arm” Manning who may not be sexy but steals the show both on the gridiron and any commercial in which he appears.

Sexiest guy, mature category: Edward James Olmos (Admiral Adama, “Battlestar Galactica”). At age 60, E.J.O. has a strong, wise, gentle dignity about him. As Adama, he can be father figure and alpha male all at once. Works for me.

Sexiest guy, barely-legal category: Shia LaBeouf (actor, “Disturbia,” “Transformers,” etc.). Okay, he’s 21 now but he doesn’t look it. Shia has a shy, youthful charm with just enough innocent sexiness to attract without freaking you out. Runner-up props to 18-year-old Corbin Bleu (“High School Musical”), who in my opinion totally outshines Zac Efron.

Sexiest person if you base your choice on Google searches leading to my blog: Cody Willard (Fox Business Network, hedge fund manager). 2.3% of searchers, people, can you believe it? I have a feeling all those hits are due to the fact that investors are so surprised to see the third result in Google for Cody is a blog called “Erotica with Soul.”

Matt Damon, eat your heart out.

Choose Your He-Man

Well, an awful lot of people find this blog by googling “Les Stroud,” and I am about to commit an act that will mean a lot of people will find it by googling “Les Stroud vs. Bear Grylls.” Now before those of you not into either of these dueling survival show masters bail on me, you may want to stick around. The issue of which guy a person prefers is about more than just whether “Survivorman” or “Man vs. Wild” is a better show.

First of all, these two Discovery Channel shows have quite different themes. “Man vs. Wild” is about just that, one swashbuckling ex-Special Forces guy taking on the worst nature can throw at him. Many people feel it is the more entertaining of the two shows, because Bear is a young, highly athletic, agile, tough and fearless fellow, whose abilities are far above average. The program’s producers have tried to convey that Bear’s survival techniques are not necessarily the sort of thing you or I should tackle. The show is more about impressing us with what one amazing guy can do, while dazzling us with the exotic locales he visits.

In the interest of fairness, I must admit right now I have only seen a little bit of this series. When I saw the ads, I said, “Oh wow, another Survivorman-type show, and the guy is really hot, and better yet, British!” I tuned in with eager curiosity, only to tune out after 20 minutes. Why the quick loss of interest? More on that later.

“Survivorman,” meanwhile, is more truly about survival techniques. Les doesn’t have any particular interest in calling attention to his personal prowess, and in fact, sometimes tries new things just like an actual survivor would do, or showcases his failures. The one-man-alone-with-cameras style makes the viewer feel much more empathy, more a part of the experience, rather than like someone watching a travelogue. And there is a lot more truly helpful survival advice; in fact, in a recent interview Les said he’d been told of three separate incidents in which real life survivors credit watching his show for helping them know what to do.

Okay this is the Erotica with Soul blog, not the Emmys, so I’m not here to review these two shows. I’m here to address the question so many have debated online: who is sexier, Bear or Les?

Let’s make the point right away that if you are going to be superficial, Bear wins hands down. I was attracted to him enough after one commercial to tune into the show. He’s young, handsome, British and can climb rocks, what more does a girl need to know? Meanwhile, I didn’t fall for Les until sometime during the third episode (note I did watch the show up till that point for its own sake). He’s 45, a tad balding, just slightly handsome, and I didn’t know yet that he was a fabulous musician with a drop-dead gorgeous singing voice. (I am a die-hard Canuckophile though, so that’s second best to British.)

However, given more than 20 minutes, my loyalties settled in the opposite way and I will explain why. My own reflections may enlighten you as to why at this point Les is the more popular of the two Discovery Channel stars, and has a bit of an edge in the sexiness department for us women. There is a palpable integrity about Les, a sincerity and openness, that truly make you feel connected to him as you share his adventures. You honestly know when he’s afraid, and consequently, you also know when he’s not, so he comes across as possessing bravery rather than bravado. His willingness to show vulnerability, clumsiness, and even stupidity keeps you mindful that he is only flesh and blood, and the danger he faces is real.

That was why “Survivorman” sucked me in, and, to my mind, “Man vs. Wild” just kinda sucked. Well, not really...it just paled by comparison. While it’s pretty sexy for a guy to be able to leap across gorges and look good doing it like Bear does, it’s a lot sexier for a guy to know that in a survival situation you have no business leaping across gorges. When Bear eats elephant dung or a live fish, you can’t help but feel it’s just for show. When Les eats something weird, you are so convinced how starving he is, you believe it’s for survival...much sexier (or perhaps less “not-sexy”). And of course, what could be sexier than a guy all alone in danger? Yeah, he has a safety crew nearby for emergency aid, but that’s okay; it’s not sexy for a husband and father to be taking unnecessary risks for the sake of a TV show.

The alone factor definitely helps. Even though it’s silly, you feel like the poor man has no company but you as he soldiers through his seven day ordeal. And meanwhile, he’s doing his best to show you a good time! Seeing as it’s Les running all the cameras, sacrificing rest and survival time to share with you everything he can about the adventure with beauty and style, you have to admire him all the more.

That’s why all over the internet you run into people saying, “Stroud is the real deal.” Of course it didn’t help when the British Daily Mail exposed “Man vs. Wild” for misleading viewers in a dozen ways. The volcano was faked? The “wild horses” brought in? Bear stayed in a hotel for the night? His crew built his raft for him? And the wild bear...was a guy in a bear suit?

Now I’m not going to be petty and knock off Bear’s sexiness points for this stuff; for all we know, the production company or Discovery forced it on him. He is the youngest guy to climb Everest so I don’t think he’s pretending to be what he’s not. Please don’t flame me, Bear fans--I’m sure your bloke is a perfectly nice person.

Still, he’s not a wonderfully human expert on survival, he’s not a brilliant filmmaker, he’s not a fabulous composer, musician and singer. And he doesn’t quite possess that genuineness that makes viewers think of Les Stroud as a friend, a guide, an inspiration even for people afraid to go camping.

You just gotta love our Survivorman, and there’s nothing sexier than that.

Thoughts on “the Junk”

I’ve been keeping this blog for awhile now, and really haven’t given a lot of attention to male genitalia. That’s probably because the subject is a lot less important to us women than it is to men. As was mentioned in my household during a recent screening of the film “300,” referring to the loincloth-sporting Spartans, “That’s okay, we don’t need to see their junk.” Chests, obviously, are another matter. (Good lord, have you ever seen so many pectorals in one place as at this re-imagined Battle of Thermopylae? It was like a fire sale at the Harlequin factory.) Even posteriors (or if you’re me, especially posteriors) are always a welcome treat as well. But the junk is usually better left to the imagination.

Why? Because what the organ represents is a lot prettier than the organ itself. Face it, a penis is a funny looking critter. Not bad, but not gorgeous either. But what it stands for (no pun intended) is a whole nother matter. It stands for a whole passel full of wonderfully erotic things: power, virility, dominance, strength, superiority, aggression, lust, force of will, and the list goes on and on like the resume of a romantic hero. That’s why you find women not so interested in pulling down men’s pants (except for a rear view, especially if you’re me) as they are in seeing men’s jeans bulge. It’s the suggestion that gives rise (what’s with these word choices?) to exciting fantasies about male sexuality.

And the suggestion can pack a wallop.

Case in point: After the aforementioned viewing of “300,” my family took in the wildly anticipated premiere of Season 2 of “Survivorman,” in which Les Stroud (my hero! swoon) takes on the hellishly inhospitable Kalahari Desert. In this episode, Les shares a number of survival tips that will help you immensely the next time you are lost in an arid clime. Among them is the handy “urine still,” a technique for turning your own pee into potable water.

Having crafted his still in the sand with a piece of heavy plastic wrap, Les, as he so eloquently puts it, “does the deed.” Of course this is the Discovery Channel, and this is All-Canadian Boy Les Stroud, who doesn’t even say bleepable words when slicing his finger to the bone while lost in the jungle. So no, you see no stream of fluid and you certainly don’t see any junk.

However, the man does turn from the camera and unzip and without a doubt extricates himself from his sandy khakis.

Is anyone besides me losing it over this mental picture? Judging by the things people search on to find my blog posts about Survivorman, I’m guessing yes.

All right, enough of the goofy schoolgirl crush stuff, I’m trying to make a point here. The female viewer with an affinity for Survivorman doesn’t need to see length and girth to get all giddy over this scene. The exciting part is the gesture. It’s our hero doing something essentially masculine, acknowledging he has that wondrous equipment. And even though peeing is not an erotic act (at least not in my world!!), there are other situations in which men unzip that definitely fall into that category.

So I admit, after this eclectic double-bill of home theater viewing, I did not spend the next day daydreaming about the rippling abs of the 300 Spartans. Not even those of David Wenham, whom I fell in love with as Faramir in the Lord of the Rings movies. Nor those of Rodrigo Santoro, possibly the handsomest man on the planet, who was substantially less attractive in his Xerxes piercings than he was in glasses as Karl in “Love Actually.”

No, my dreams were haunted by the sound of pants unzipping in the Kalahari.

Men, take note of the subtleties of the female mind. You can be as ripped as the computer-enhanced army of Leonidas, only to lose out to a guy from Ontario, simply because the latter knows how to make drinking water from pee. Obviously if you want to lure us, having “the junk” is key, but we don’t care a whiz...I mean whit...about the specifics of said junk.

Miracle Music

This topic is not strictly regarding the erotic, but whenever I encounter real life magic, I think it’s worth reporting.

I posted recently about Les Stroud’s new CD “Long Walk Home” which he sent to me as a gift. The title song on the CD, composed by Les and members of the Northern Pikes, happens to be (for me) one of those songs you encounter once a decade. The kind that you want to replay as soon as the last note sounds. The kind that uses your mind as modeling clay. The kind that tweaks and piques your soul.

I’m not saying anyone who listens to this song will experience what I do (life’s not like that), only that it’s the music and not me that’s working the magic. I always love Les’s voice. I’m a big fan of the Pikes--“Dream Away” is nearly in this same category, but not quite. But it’s this particular song that transcends. It’s the combination of all the elements in it: the shushing percussion, the haunting electronics, the heart-tugging chord progressions, Les’s plaintive voice (his “come with me now” is irresistible), the classic-Pikes-sound bridge, the relief of the lilting bluegrass at the end that ultimately yields again to the melancholy of the song.

You can combine such elements and be assured the resulting song will be a great one. But “Long Walk Home” goes beyond being simply good to listen to. It has an effect beyond auditory for me. Every time I listen to it, it seems to probe at my brain like water stirs up sand, dislodging feelings and memories I’d lost for years. One minute I’m remembering how it felt to be wandering the vacant lots near my childhood home, picking wildflowers. The next it’s the memory of looking forward to seeing some guy I’m crushing on at a high school football game. I’m transported to other times and places, in my own life and sometimes even scenes I’ve never actually lived.

Far away, beyond the crest of hill or around a street corner, Les and the Pikes are playing this song, leading me on like the Pied Piper through the village of my own soul. It’s amazing.

That’s the miracle of music. Now, I love to write more than anything in the world, but I’m not sure writing prose or even poetry can achieve what music can. I’ve drawn and painted and worked in clay, and although I’m sometimes thrilled to be able to create beauty that didn’t exist before, the visual arts can’t quite do it either. But music can be magic, and is, remarkably often. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be able to do what musicians can do.

I am familiar enough with the creative process to suspect that such miracles are not deliberate. It’s probably not as if Les decided one particular day, “Okay, enough of this regular stuff...today I’m going to write the mind-blowing song.” I’m guessing he and the band put all they had into this one and hoped it would be special, but probably even they didn’t know what this piece of music would be capable of once it was done.

I wonder if Les and the Pikes listened to this track after it was mixed and looked at each other and said, “wow.” Did they not even guess what the song was able to do? Or did they know instantly that it had that power?

Guys, please Google yourselves and find this post and email me. I’d sure love to know what it’s like to be able to work real magic.

Another Gift from Les!

As my regular readers know, I am crazy about Survivorman. Well, not only Les Stroud when he wears his survival-TV-show hat, but just as much when he’s singing. I’ve been counting the days till the release of Les’s new CD recorded with that awesome Canadian band, the Northern Pikes. I listen to his self-titled first CD at least once a month after playing the thing daily for the first couple weeks. If you think this guy is good at building a shelter out of crashed plane scraps, you should hear him play guitar.

Yeah, I really dig the man. So imagine me Friday night when I got home from work and my husband said, “You got a package from Les!” And it was true! There was a package from that Huntsville, Ontario address and inside was the new CD.

Did I ask for this? No. It came to me out of the blue! I mean, think of it: Survivorman himself deciding, “Hey, I’ve got to send a copy of my CD to my writer fan in Wisconsin!” Please understand, he doesn’t know me personally--he just did this to be nice. It all started when I blogged about him and ordered a couple of things from his online store, and he sent me gifts on top of my order. For a blog post! Gosh. So I sent a copy of Soulful Sex: Volumes I & II to him as a return gesture. His assistant Wendy and I have exchanged a few emails too--what a nice person she is! Anyway, over the past year so I have definitely gotten into all things Les Stroud.

So, when I released Soulful Sex: The Paranormal, Science Fiction and Fantasy Collections a couple months ago, I had to send a copy up to Ontario to Les. You see, one of the stories, “Spacewrecked with Joel Fennimore” is basically Survivorman in Space, and Joel is a sort of futuristic Les Stroud. My little tribute to this inspirational guy.

I don’t know if Les actually got a chance to read it and liked it, or if he was just being a sweetheart on general principles when he sent me the new CD. Either way, a person just doesn’t get an unrequested gift from a celebrity every day. I really can’t believe it, actually!

And the CD? Well, it’s awesome! It’s just my luck that my favorite musician in the world does his music as a sideline (although it used to be his primary vocation back in the day). Don’t get me wrong, I adore the show, I get pretty swoony over Les’s wilderness adventures, and his film work is amazing. But it’s the music that sends me most of all. The title track on the CD, “Long Walk Home,” is (at least to me) like something from another plane of reality. It transports me to this weird place where I want to cry but also never want the feeling to stop. With most songs I like, I can tell what it is that makes the song good: nice chord progression, zippy beat, excellent melody, whatever. But with some of Les’s songs (same could be said of “After Neil Young Dies,” “Clouds,” and “All Restless Souls”) I can’t even get my mind around what he’s done to make them work like they do. The magic is transferred from the performance directly to my emotions with no comprehensible link in between.

Regular readers of this blog will recall my lament for a really good crush back in March. I was wishing I could believe in the goodness and heroism of some guy again, if only on a fantasy level, the way I used to be able to in my younger days (like my early 40s, LOL!). I’ve been noticing lately that over a year out from the last new episode of “Survivorman,” even upon listening to his first CD for the thirtieth time, I’m still able to get as excited about Les as ever.

With this gesture, I think he’s put himself over the top. What a swell guy.

So You Like Him TOO?

Let me explain that subject line. A few days ago I finally got around to putting a tracker on this blog, It’s about time, I’ve been keeping this for over a year and a half! Anyway, I was AMAZED at (1) the number of visitors I get, and (2) the ways they discover the blog. The stuff people are searching for has reassured me about my own sanity!

First of all, wow, there are a lot of people who are fans of John Krasinski, who plays Jim Halpert on NBC’s “The Office.” I discovered some people who have written some very cool fan fiction about him too, and I see that the appeal I find in the character is having a very similar affect on a lot of women out there.

I am also very surprised to see the number of people googling “Sean Maher shirtless.” For those who don’t know, Sean played Simon on the short-lived but awesome show “Firefly.” He did appear shirtless on the show, and I guess I’m not alone in noticing he was not just your run-of-the-mill shirtless guy. It’s staggering to me that a guy in a supporting role on a show that aired I believe only six times, even if he did have a supporting role also in a feature film spinoff of said show (and did appear shirtless in said feature film as well) should have made such an impression on the general populace. Wow.

My tracker also tells me that a lot of people are fixated on the hot males who populate the Discovery Channel. I guess Discovery does have a larger-than-average quotient of attractive men, seeing as it is heavily weighted towards guys who scale mountains, build flying machines, and slop pigs (that latter is a tip of the hat to Dirty Jobber Mike Rowe).

Speaking of the Discovery Channel, I have to say nothing surprised me more than seeing the number of people searching for “Les Stroud naked.” Well, Les has appeared naked on his show “Survivorman,” but his privates have been consistently pixilated. Apparently, however, he has fans determined to turn up the real deal, nudity-wise. Les does not appear naked on my blog, either, and for the record (not that I want to admit how thorough I have been in researching the man) I can assure you there are no naked photos of Les anywhere on the Web, although I guess with this paragraph I have guaranteed attracting more of those who are looking. Also for the record, I have not myself been specifically searching for such photos…Les pixilated is more than enough for me.

Now in the circles I run in, when I say things like “Oh, this necklace I’m wearing? That’s the logo of the show ‘Survivorman’ with Les Stroud,” I invariably get the response “Survivor?” No, NOT “Survivor,” I think that show blows. My point is, in the States you don’t find a lot of people who have heard of Les. It does my heart good therefore to find out I’m not alone in my admiration for Mr. Stroud. Wise women of Canada, hopefully your southern sisters will catch on eventually.

All this has been very reassuring. I have never been one to be drawn to the obvious (Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, etc.), but instead am forever falling for non-glamourboys like Edward James Olmos and John Williams. (Heck, I’d make out with goofball MythBuster Adam Savage.) But I consistently maintain that there’s more to sex than the obvious, and the attractions women can feel for men attests to that. Apparently my taste is not so off the beaten track as I thought. Apparently I’m just a regular, red-blooded American girl.

Hope springs eternal that one day Les Stroud will top People’s Sexiest Men List.

Holiday Dreams Diana Style

Why is Christmas time so romantic? Well, that’s a question for another day. But I thought I would indulge myself and envision my own personal perfect romantic fantasy Christmases. Here goes:

Christmas Fantasy #1: A Cozy Scottish Holiday with James McAvoy

James as Mr. Tumnus in “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” is just about the coziest thing in history. He wouldn’t necessarily have to be a faun to be cozy, just wear a wintry scarf and host a tea party in front of a hearth. Our celebration could certainly take place in a cottage in his native Scotland, and he would definitely need to speak in his natural Scottish brogue. Imagine curling up with him with a mug of mint tea with cream, gazing into the fire and listening to him tell of Christmases in Scotland. Ah, I’d be a happy lassie….

Christmas Fantasy #2: A Joint Heroes/Lost Party

Should we hold it on the island or in New York City? It wouldn’t really matter, with John Locke, Charlie, Sawyer, Peter, Hiro, Mohinder and Isaac all in the same place at the same time. Okay, you Jack fans, he wouldn’t be bad either. I think the most fun to have with this crowd would be if we all sat around with some leftover Oceanic Airlines booze and tried to figure out how the plot lines of the two shows might possibly be connected. Maybe the Dharma Corporation is behind the genetic manipulation that created the heroes? Maybe Hiro is distantly related to the guy in the hatch training film? Maybe John Locke is one of the heroes (that miraculous healing of the legs, ya know)? At any rate, we’d all have to drink another toast every 108 minutes. What a blast.

Christmas Fantasy #3: Christmas on the Canadian Shield with Les Stroud

I’m not envisioning spending the holiday with Survivorman in one of his usual inhospitable settings like the jungle or the desert. Nope, I’d rather have him show me the splendor of Canadian winter in his neighborhood in Ontario. Some sledding, some snowshoeing, and all that cold beauty…appreciated as only Les can. And of course, we’d end up in front of a fire warming our toes, with Les singing carols and playing guitar. You know, I have endless admiration for his wife Sue, who bravely supports her husband’s hazardous lifestyle, and I hope she wouldn’t mind my giving Les one Christmas kiss of thanks for all the joy he brought me this year.

Christmas Fantasy #4: An Office Christmas Party with “The Office” Crew

I’m not denying the best thing about hanging out with the Dunder-Mifflin crowd would be catching Jim Halpert under the mistletoe. But I’d love to spend time with the whole gang. I would shamelessly encourage Michael’s ridiculous sense of humor, talk “Battlestar Galactica” with Dwight, and become best pals with Pam. Then we could all head over to Chili’s for drinks and get really crazy. (I’d have my eyes on Jim the whole time in case he made one of his classic faces at the videographer.) And if Toby was all alone for the holiday, I’d be happy to keep him company.

Christmas Fantasy #5: Feliz Navidad with Edward James Olmos

EJO is the first person of Mexican heritage I’ve crushed on, so it’s been interesting for me to find a romantic element in that old Jose Feliciano song this year. It would be lovely to have a tour of Mexico at holiday time with Eddie, and knowing the kind of guy he is, I’m sure the experience would be more about the reality of Mexican culture and history than any margarita-sipping-at-a-Cabo-resort kind of thing. The man has one of the most loving hearts I’ve ever encountered, and he pretty much embodies the spirit of Christmas. I’d love to just sit with him and watch a Mexican sunset, and listen to him talk about the unity of the human race in that magnificently beautiful voice of his.

Christmas Fantasy #6: Home for the Holidays

Yep, I have to admit, my best fantasy of all for Christmas is the one that will really come true: Spending time with my own wonderful family. I must confess we know how to do Christmas up right, and I can’t wait for the annual fun to start. Although I’m sure David and the girls would be quite thrilled if all my fantasy friends were able to join us. (Yes Davie, Evangeline Lilly is invited too.)

Merry Christmas everyone!

Sex and the Creative Juices

After a bit of a hiatus, a friend of mine recently developed a new celebrity crush. She is a writer too, and we have a lot in common psyche-wise. In the wake of her new fascination, my friend found herself suddenly coming up with new ideas for stories, a phenomenon I have experienced over and over again. It’s amazing how this process works: the connection between sexual attraction and creativity.

As you’d expect of me (LOL), I have some theories as to why this happens. Infatuations, whether they be for characters, celebrities, or real life individuals, are a sign that the object of affection possesses some particular, powerful appeal to your psyche. He is compelling to you in some unique way. The fact that you have encountered someone who strikes a chord with you naturally sparks your imagination. You fantasize about him, in specific situations that evoke strong emotions from you. These situations are exciting, and his character is thought-provoking and forceful.

If you have any creative propensities, it is only natural that the imaginative activity inspired by this crush spurs you to some kind of action. Obviously if you are a writer, you will feel a strong desire either to write non-fiction about a subject related to your idol, or fiction about a similar personality. If you are a musician, you will want to compose or perform pieces somehow connected to him. A graphic artist will draw, paint or sculpt with a related theme; even a craft person will find a connection by making a quilt, scrapbook, costume, etc. that connects her to the character.

Can you be creative without this sort of sexual/romantic inspiration? Of course you can, it’s just more effort. I’ll illustrate: Over the past couple of months I’ve been working on my next anthology, Soulful Sex: The Science Fiction Collection. The first story I composed was initiated during a period when I was particularly fascinated by director M. Night Shyamalan. I created the general storyline and the hero’s character at this time, developing a fellow of Indian descent who was a videographer of almost preternatural talent. Things got off to a good start, but then, as fate would have it, I got distracted by a new celebrity crush.

This, of course, was my attraction to Survivorman Les Stroud. The problem was, the archetype represented by Les suggested some very powerful drama and heroism, perfect material for fiction. And this was also one of those rare infatuations that is more than a fleeting fancy, but actually hits you on a number of significant levels.

So, I found myself really struggling to finish the first story about the videographer. I’ll admit there were some plot points that would have been tricky to handle under any circumstance--for example, could I really make it believable that in the near future society had managed to replace human sex with machines? But the matter was complicated by the fact that my imagination was preoccupied with survivalist themes.

Well, I’ve been writing for 40 years, so I know how to use discipline to complete a story, and I did. It was finally time to take on the next tale, and once I moved on from the sex machine story, I found nearly the whole plot of my next one lying piecemeal in my imagination. It was, naturally, about an interplanetary survivalist. The hero was as vivid to me as any I had ever created, being my own personal version of Les Stroud in space (I don’t know the real man personally so there’s no telling how much he is like my character Joel Fennimore). The heroine’s feelings for him were intense and clear and passionate, as you might expect. Putting the thing on paper was as effortless as creative writing gets. What a relief after the struggle of the prior story!

Which brings us to where I’m at with the third and final novella for this science fiction book. I’m in the interesting position of having processed my obsession with survivalists and no longer having that as such a powerful distraction, but meanwhile not having replaced it with a new fascination. So my imagination is on its own this time. My hero is not based on anyone in particular, and the plot is simply a concoction put together from random ideas in my head. I’m finding it easier to write than the sex machine story, but certainly not as effortless as the survivalist one.

So, all this discussion begs the question, is the creative process more fruitful when a powerful attraction drives it? At this point in the romance genre I have written 32 stories, novellas and novels. Of the 32, I would classify 15 of them as having been inspired in the manner outlined above. Is there any significant way in which those differ from the rest? Well, all of my longer works utilized an infatuation for inspiration, so I suppose it might be hard to sustain a sequence of creativity without that factor. My three most popular stories also are in that group, but my personal favorites fall both within and without the category.

Most significant is that all of them were easy to write. I guess that suggests that while imaginative effort and discipline can indeed substitute for pure “inspiration,” they are definitely more work! I would state unequivocally that, given my druthers, I’d certainly prefer writing under the thrilling influence of an infatuation every time.

Too bad I have to write a new story every couple months, and am not quite that fickle!

My works to date (“inspired” ones in italics):

Pints
Between Earth and Sky
Abigail’s Archer
Office Mating
Real Magic
The Dark Prince

Souls’ Embrace

The Trio
The Infatuation
One Hundred Women
Je t’aime, Etienne
As Commonplace as Rain
Fantastic Toys

Hunter
The Queen’s Lady and Her King
The Guy from Beadsville
The Frontier
The Seduction of Squire Meg
Masquerade
The Verity of the Vampire

Harmless Pleasure
Dead Man’s Chest
Conjugals

Alloy Love
Spacewrecked with Joel Fennimore
Claude’s Laboratory

Gift of Flesh
The Golden Padawan
The Scarlet Shackle
Playacting
Tartan
Secret Santas

How to Spend an Idol Night

If you have a personal hero, animus-bearer, celebrity idol, or however you wish to term it, I highly recommend you have yourself an “Idol Night” sometime. It’s not only fun, it’s good for the psyche.

My first experience throwing an Idol Night was about 15 years ago, when I was in my Sting phase. I had three girlfriends at the office who indulged my obsession (they actually dubbed me Queenie Bee) and so one night we all got together at my house for Sting Fest. Much music by Sting and The Police was played, I shared my favorite videos, and a great time was had by all.

But for my example of how to conduct an Idol Night, I will use a more recent experience, from this past weekend. My daughters Katie and Amanda and I got together for an overnight celebration of my current personal hero, Les Stroud (aka Survivorman). Interestingly, it was my Katie who came up with the idea after Les was kind enough to send me his gifts (see "Those Little Addictions"), and Manzi was all about doing it too. So we planned what we decided to call “Lestivities Night.”

Now, for a proper Idol Night you will want to of course incorporate your subject’s various talents into the entertainment for the evening. You also want to focus on whatever it is about the person that inspires you the most, the aspects that move you the most deeply. It’s also fun to explore different facets of the individual’s personality, to get a “whole picture.”

If at all possible, you should work in some opportunities for “audience participation.” That is, make the experience active as well as passive. That can mean anything from just talking about the subject matter, to playing games, to doing a project. The point is to explore the part of yourself that relates to the Idol, and learn something about yourself as well as him. If there’s any common ground between you and the object of your affection--in my case with Sting, it was our mutual appreciation of Carl Jung and his analysis of the human psyche--be sure to work that in.

[If you’re wondering how my girlfriends and I brought Jungian psychology into our Sting Fest, well...we watched Sting’s film “Brimstone and Treacle” and talked about the sex appeal of the dark side of the psyche. Educational and fun.]

So, let me elaborate on Lestivities. It began with a beautiful fall afternoon in Greenfield, Wisconsin, very well suited for an occasion that would focus largely on Les Stroud’s appreciation for the natural world. We started by making some jewelry out of rocks that I had polished myself, using the rock tumbler Katie’s boyfriend gave me for my birthday. To me this was a really relevant activity, seeing as Les is always reminding me that the stuff nature creates can be even more beautiful than what man creates. I’ve certainly always felt that way about rocks.

I finished my jewelry first, which gave me a chance to pull out my new Native American flute for a brief demonstration. I just recently decided to take up the instrument quite on a whim; I’m not even sure how it came to me, it might have even been in a dream. At any rate, I’m usually a very logical person, and to do something based on a feeling was quite a departure for me. I’m sure Les’s influence had a bit to do with it, as he frequently points out the importance of following your heart.

We adjourned to the upstairs VCR to watch “Snowshoes and Solitude,” the documentary Les made in 1999 with his wife Sue about their year-long honeymoon in the Canadian bush. The two lived as natives did 500 years ago, in an utterly deserted wilderness. It’s an inspiring adventure that provoked no little discussion afterwards. We were quite in awe.

I’ll tell you right now, the girls and I are hardly survivalists. But we do really adore our annual camping trip to Point Beach State Forest on Lake Michigan. That’s our personal “touchstone” for living in nature, so we made ourselves a supper of hot dogs in biscuits and salad out of a bag, the sort of stuff we consider camp food. (Our plan to bake the “wiener wagons” on sticks over the grill was abandoned for the oven in about two minutes; yeah, we’re real survivalists all right.) Later we also broke out the pie irons to make pudgie pies for dessert. Native North American life of yore was never like this; I’m sure they had no Octoberfest beer like we did, either.

Now it was time to really get the fun underway, in the living room where we have our big screen HDTV and kickass sound system. We alternated three thrilling episodes of “Survivorman” with listening to excerpts from Les’s music CD. This is what’s called immersing yourself in the Idol. The room was illuminted by my wood-scented candle, I had the fountain running for splashing-ambiance, and it was the next best thing to having our hero in the room.

We squealed in horror as Les dealt with giant tarantulas in the Costa Rican jungle. We laughed as he sang the fun Irish-jig-style song “The Cockroach.” We thanked our lucky stars for our safe, dry sofa as Les got caught in a horrible nighttime storm on a life raft. We recovered from our sympathetic-seasickness thanks to his most blatantly sexy recording, “I Got My Mojo Workin’.” (What would Les think to see two generations of women swooning over this song?) We despaired with him as he made the tough descent into a Utah canyon in desperate need of water, only to find a dry riverbed.

By 10:45 we were exhausted from sympathizing with our daring, determined hero as he endured heat, cold, hunger, thirst, loneliness, and all those godawful jungle bugs. We went happily to bed and were more grateful than ever to be in warm, dry, comfy sleeping quarters.

The next morning we reconvened for a breakfast of bacon and eggs (standard camp fare) and scrumptious homemade granola, the one food we had all weekend that Les might actually have eaten himself! We listened to the whole CD and talked about all manner of things.

Everyone took away from the experience a little piece of what I think Les Stroud tries to impart with his music and filmmaking. And that’s what Idol Nights are supposed to accomplish. If you are mightily attracted to and/or appreciative of someone, it’s because there’s something about that person that speaks to the needs of your soul. Katie, Manzi and I all are the sort of women who look for heroes among the genuinely goodhearted, talented but humble, spiritual sorts of guys like Les. It does all our hearts good to find that men like him truly do exist.

This blog is called Erotica with Soul, and of course there is always an erotic element to the powerful attractions we have for heroes and celebrities. But as you see, it’s that wholesome, invigorating kind of erotic element, one that a mom can share with her daughters. Our Idol Night resulted in all kinds of good aftereffects: the appreciation both for nature and for the comforts of urban life; a desire to be more spiritual and more in touch with our life goals and dreams; and the inspiration that comes from discovering a true hero, an ordinary man who can do extraordinary things out of love and spirituality.

It was a night none of us will ever forget. Try your own Idol Night sometime soon--you may have a similarly powerful experience.