I’ve Been Hit By A Freight Train

I’ve been hit by a freight trained. Derailed off the course of life. I’ve been stopped dead in my tracks by the evil flu bug. It reared its ugly head earlier this week and is now charging full speed ahead and I don’t see it coming to a halt anytime soon. It has disrupted my daily routine. It has kept me home from work. It has left me wallowing in self-pity as I lay confined to either my bed or couch, while my puppy looks on with soulful eyes. I’m thinking I’ll be out of commission for about a week. He must sense this too as he leaves out a frustrated whine, he has lost his best play buddy. I haven’t had the flu this bad since I was in college and I carried a bucket with me in case I had to puke while waiting in line to register for my Spring classes. Back then, I remember feeling like I was going to die. Now, I wish someone would just kill me. Perhaps I’m just a baby, but I imagine lying on one’s death bed feels very similar. And if I am in fact on my death bed, I wish someone would just pull the plug, end this cruel suffering and put me out of my misery already.

Even my eyelashes hurt! And because of this, I will have to continue writing this post at a later time. Right now, I’m going to go enjoy some more fever induced hallucinations. Good times.

Antique Anti-Masturbation Device

You know the old saying..."Everytime you masturbate God kills a kitten." Well from my understanding, a kitten has never died due to someone jerking it. And as far as I know, neither has a person. Unless of course you are talking about those freaks with that suffocation fetish where they choke themselves out with a belt around their throat just when they are ready to...well, you know. Now I can’t speak for all women, but if you are a guy and you claim you’ve never spanked it – YOU ARE A LIAR! I don’t care if you are getting laid on a regular basis or not, every guy plays with it now and then. It’s just how it is. However, in some religions and cultures masturbation is forbidden! So what do all of those pre-pubescent boys do? Well they turn to eBay and bid on an antique anti-masturbation device of course.

This circa 1880 anti-masturbation device was up for auction on eBay earlier in February. The starting bid was $1,500 and sold for just under $3,000.

From the auction listing:
EXTREMELY RARE ANTI MASTURBATION DEVICE DATING FROM c1880. THE COPPER SHAPED DEVICE WAS ATTACHED TO A BELT AND WORN BY BOYS AS A MEANS OF PREVENTING NOCTURNAL EMISSIONS. VERY MUCH AN INDICATION OF SOCIETIES VIEWS ON ONANISM IN THE 19TH CENTURY. THIS IS THE FIRST EXAMPLE WE HAVE OFFERED FOR SALE IN 24 YEARS. THE CONDITION IS EXCELLENT 3 ½ INCHES TOP TO BASE.

Huh, nocturnal emissions? I’ll need to reference Dictionary.com for this. I’m guessing that would be a wet dream? And what is onanism? (Nevermind, I looked it up. It means to pull out during intercourse.) Stop using these big words! These poor pre-pubescent boys are going out of their mind from not being allowed to spank their monkey as it is, so why turn up the cruelty meter and throw unknown vocab at them?

Can you imagine strapping on a "used" sexual device? And even more shocking, who’s junk can fit into a compartment that is only 3 ½ inches in size? Damn! If you’re only 3 ½ inches long, you have bigger problems than not being allowed to masturbate. Sorry kido.

Saving Your Beloved Laptop At All Costs

Let’s face it. Apple’s new ultrathin, ultraportable, ultra sexy Macbook Air laptop is awful pretty. And Charlie Rose’s face...well not so pretty...and that’s on a good day. So what about when he is black and blue, bloody and swollen? Charlie Rose’s black eye and forehead injury are not from an interview subject fed up with Rose's incessant talking. It's actually from his valiant attempt to save his precious MacBook Air! It’s been reported that Rose tripped on a 59th Street pothole in NYC while carrying a newly purchased MacBook Air. He made a quick, but ultimately flawed, decision while falling (although Mac addicts would argue it was a smart move). He decided to sacrifice the face to protect the computer. In doing so, he pretty much hit the pavement face first. And for those of you that are concerned, the Macbook Air is fine, with the exception of a few blood stains on it.

Like myself, Charlie Rose has a hardcore fetish for gadgets. However, I’m not sure I would eat cement in order to save my Dell Inspiron widescreen laptop. Don’t get me wrong, I love my new laptop, I just feel kind of attached to my front teeth.

How far have you gone, or would you go, to save your laptop or other precious gadget?

The Red Leather Diary

I like the feeling of a pen between my fingers and paper beneath my palm. So I began carrying a Moleskin notebook with me, in case a creative juice begins to flow, I’ll have somewhere to capture it. Like right now, for whatever reason, "fallen rose pedals, soft pink bubble gum and the breeze from a butterfly’s flutter" are the words that are currently running thru my head. I have a passion for writing and because of that, I am highly tempted to sell my business and pursue a career as a freelance writer in NYC. I’m aware that I would make significantly less money, live in a smaller place and live a simpler life, but I think following my heart would make me happy. I keep pushing that dream to the backburner and letting it simmer. Why? I guess I don’t really have an answer for that, other than perhaps the fear of failure. I question whether or not it’s smart to discard something I’m highly talented at doing for something I may only possess a small amount of talent for. I try to reason it out. I try to rationalize it. Instead of just making it a reality. Sometimes I think I look to some higher power, like show me a sign. And although some signs are there, I still seem to make excuses to not follow. The story below is just another reason why I carry a Moleskin notebook with me and it’s yet another sign of perhaps why I should follow a dream, no matter how crazy people may think I am for doing so.

Rescued from a Dumpster on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a discarded diary brings to life the glamorous, forgotten world of an extraordinary young woman. For more than half a century, the red leather diary lay silent, languishing inside a steamer trunk, its worn cover crumbling into little flakes. When a cleaning sweep of a New York City apartment building brings this lost treasure to light, both the diary and its owner are given a second life.

Recovered by Lily Koppel, a young writer working at the New York Times, the journal paints a vivid picture of 1930s New York-horseback riding in Central Park, summer excursions to the Catskills, and an obsession with a famous avant-garde actress. From 1929 to 1934, not a single day's entry is skipped.

Opening the tarnished brass lock, Koppel embarks on a journey into the past, traveling to a New York in which women of privilege meet for tea at Schrafft's, dance at the Hotel Pennsylvania, and toast the night at El Morocco. As she turns the diary's brittle pages, Koppel is captivated by the headstrong young woman whose intimate thoughts and emotions fill the pale blue lines. Who was this lovely ingénue who adored the works of Baudelaire and Jane Austen, who was sexually curious beyond her years, who traveled to Rome, Paris, and London?

She writes about her passions, about love, about books, music, art and writing. These are just a few of my favorite exerts...

• "Hours repairing torn music books and they look perfectly hideous with adhesive plastered all over them, but what beauty within. My love is so sporadic."
• "Have stuffed myself with Mozart and Beethoven. I feel like a ripe apricot - I’m dizzy with the exotic."
• "Went to the Museum of Modern Art today. Sheer jealousy. I can’t even paint an apple yet. It’s heartbreaking!"
• "Slept with Pearl tonight. It was beautiful. There is nothing so gratifying as physical intimacy with one you like."
• "Wrote all day - and my story is still incomplete."

Compelled by the hopes and heartaches captured in the pages, Koppel sets out to find the diary's owner, her only clue the inscription on the frontispiece - "This book belongs to...Florence Wolfson." A chance phone call from a private investigator leads Koppel to Florence, a ninety-year-old woman living with her husband of sixty-seven years. Reunited with her diary, Florence ventures back to the girl she once was, rediscovering a lost self that burned with artistic fervor.

Joining intimate interviews with original diary entries, Koppel reveals the world of a New York teenager obsessed with the state of her soul and her appearance, and muses on the serendipitous chain of events that returned the lost journal to its owner. Evocative and entrancing, The Red Leather Diary re-creates the romance and glitter, sophistication and promise, of 1930s New York, bringing to life the true story of a precocious young woman who dared to follow her dreams. Visit www.redleatherdiary.com

Related post of interest...

• 1/1/08 - Proving Myself Wrong

A Bizarre Unknown Incoming Txt

From: ***-***-****

FWD: God saw u struggling. God says its over. A blessing is comin ur way. If u believe.

Tue, Mar 18, 11:00 pm

This is the txt message I received tonight out of the blue on my cell phone. I have no idea who it’s from and it didn’t allow me to reply to it. Weird? I would say so, especially considering it arrived at this rather "interesting" time in my life.

So is it a message from God? Or is it your standard spam? It's probably just spam. Actually, I’m sure that's all it is. But still, you have to admit that it is pretty bizarre.

And I always figured if God ever wanted to talk to me, he would shoot a bolt of lightning down, something flashy and dramatic to catch my attention. Or maybe he would go the more subtle route. Maybe he would leave me a voice mail message or even e-mail me. I never thought he would be a txter though. Hmm.

Related post of interest...

• 9/21/05 - Hi God, It's Me. Are You Busy?

I’m Ignorant About Whores & The Whore Industry (Part 2 of 2)

(read Part 1 here)

I was 8-years-old when I had my first encounter with a hooker. I was walking to the stadium with my family to watch a Pirates baseball game when a scantily dressed woman approached my father. Now keep in mind my Dad was walking with my Mom and 3 young children, but that didn’t stop this woman from trying to set up a date in broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon. I was a naive child and looking back, I’m thankful for that. I didn’t know what a hooker was. My Dad built houses for a living, so I thought it was some lady he built a house for and she wanted to say hi. I just assumed he knew her, that was until my Mom quickly whisked me away from the situation. She was trying to shield my eyes...and protect herself from the questions that would surely follow. "Mom, who is that lady? How’s Dad know her?" Somehow my Dad managed to save her from my inquisitiveness by distracting me. I remember him snatching the adult sized outfields glove I was wearing and playfully slapping the leather over my cranium. One way to avoid a question is to ask a question and he asked me how I was going to catch a ball with a mitt bigger than my head.

Later in high school, I would question the girl who sat beside me in homeroom. I asked if she had finished her Biology take-home-test. Her reply shocked me..."Yeah, Jason is doing mine. I told him if he got me at least a B on it, I would blow him." Damn, I could have got her an A on it for a BJ! Of course I didn’t say that, but I did think to myself that her deal with Jason sounded an awful lot like prostitution. Money wasn’t exchanged, but services were. Like Bill Clinton, she didn’t see oral sex as sex, therefore she didn’t see that she was selling herself.

Fast forward in my life to when I was fresh out of college. I would take a job with the #1 tech startup in the city. Four Carnegie Mellon grads would co-found the company and become multi-millionaires almost overnight, one of which would turn out to be my mentor for future business deals and help me get my own startup company off the ground. When it comes to business, he’s an innovative genius. When it comes to social skills, he’s an uncouth caveman. I cringed at a company picnic when he dropped the F-bomb a total of 7 times in just 2 sentences...and this infront of the wives and small children of his employees. I was so embarrassed for him that I found myself actually apologizing to total strangers for his crude behavior. Later he would utilize an escort service when it came to finding a date for the company’s Christmas party. Here he was, the head of the company, dressed in a tux and had a hooker on his arm. And despite his wealth, she wasn’t even a high-class escort either. She screamed "paid for" with small funds, from her sprayed out hair and thick caked on makeup, down to her cleavage/naval cut dress and clear stripper shoes. I can’t say I was surprised he couldn’t get a legit date. After all, he is brazenly arrogant and ill mannered, not qualities most women admire in a man. But couldn’t he at least pony up the cash for a girl that would have blended in a little better? It was obvious, he didn't give a fuck what people thought and wanted a date that was a guaranteed fuck.

When it comes to sex, I can see why many politians pay for it or find themselves caught up in some type of sex scandal. They are usually 40+ year-old men who are in a mid-life crisis mode. They spend their days and nights lobbying in stuffy suits with other equally stuffy suits, while their every move and word is carefully scrutinized under a magnifying glass. I can sort of understand why they are busting at the seams to shed that reserved demeanor and get their freak on. Although, I also feel it has to do with the power kick factor. These are men in powerful positions. Men who not only use, but also abuse that power to get what they want. It’s similar to a cop who exercises his God-like complex when issuing a speeding ticket to a young women, but offers not to cite her if she performs a sexual favor on him. I’ve come to realize that those who make the rules or try to enforce the rules, are usually the ones that go about breaking them.

Being in the "geek industry" myself, I can’t tell you how many of my Dot.Com comrades turn to escort services. It’s so easy these days to find a call girl. You no longer have to stroll down a dark alley. You just jump on the information superhighway and click your way over to sites like Craigslist – well known for their plethora of escorts, especially if you live in the Bay Area. You do the math. Bay Area + Silicon Valley = Geeks Galore. Most geeks are introverted by nature and because of that, many simply lack the confidence and social skills needed to pick up a girl the old fashion way. So they result to "ordering" themselves a girlfriend online.

It’s not just the stuffy politians or the socially awkward geeks that are utilizing prostitutes, it’s seems like just about every man in America (and overseas for that matter) is. Or maybe it’s just that everywhere I look lately, a hooker is attached to the hip of the traveling businessman, replacing the briefcase. On a recent trip to NYC, I felt almost out of place on a short ferry ride across the Hudson. There were only a total of 3 other guys on the ferry with me, none of which were together, but yet all 3 had a hooker on their arm. I never knew Newark’s Sheradon hotel housed so many whores. Each time I got on the elevator, a new man and a new hooker were checking in. I was beginning to wonder if I was staying at a brothel. I also began wondering if it would be more sanitary to lay my head in the streets of Chinatown as compared to my hotel bed.

Honestly, I wonder how they do it – not just the prostitutes, but the Johns themselves. I would be scared to death of picking up some STD. Whether it’s a $10 trick or a $10,000 trick, there’s always a good chance you’ll get ripped off. And if you do get robbed, there’s not much you can do about it. It’s not like anyone is going to feel sorry for you for being mugged by a hoe and anyone with half a brain wouldn’t report it to law enforcement. Plus, who’s to say that the girl you thought you were getting isn’t actually an undercover cop, or even worse, a dude! And let’s not forget the lifelong embarrassment and loser tag attached to you if you happen to get caught paying for sex. I may no longer be that naive 8-year-old boy, but personally, I’m going to stick to the old fashion way of meeting a girl.

Although, when you think about it, we have all whored ourselves out to some extent at one point or another in our lives. Now you may not have been so bold as to place an ad offering sex, but if you are brutally honest with yourself and you dissect some of your past, I’m quite certain you will find an instance where you’ve given sex in exchange for something. That "something" probably seemed innocent at the time. Something like...if I do some extra kinky stuff with my boyfriend a few days prior to my birthday, then he will be more likely to buy me those diamond earnings I want. Perhaps you would have been having sex those days anyway, but you felt it was necessary to turn it up a notch, to ensure you did everything in your power to get what you wanted.

A friend of mine jokes with me and calls me a "man-whore". She’s kidding, but really there may be some truth to that. I’m no different than anyone else. I too have whored myself out before. At the time I didn’t see it as such, but looking back, it could be considered whoring. I was looking to buy a new car and the salesgirl made me an offer I couldn’t refuse – fuck her right then and there and I would get the car at dealer cost. Her thinking was...why spend time negotiating numbers back in her office when we could settle a deal during the test drive. My thinking was...why say no to two things I wanted anyway – her and an M3 at an unbelievable price. She was young, sexy, exotic looking and nearly impossible to resist. So did I whore myself out? Did she? Or did we both just use one another for a cheap thrill? There are many shades of gray to situations like these, but one thing is certain...

Sex, it’s a powerful thing and whether you want to admit it or not, you have used sex to your advantage. You may not grind for the bill, but I’ll bet you’ve gotten your way by using sex, even if it is just the allurement of sex. Whoring, it’s as American as baseball and apple pie. And we are all guilty of being whores.

I’m Ignorant About Whores & The Whore Industry (Part 1 of 2)

The Price
"It’s not easy to write about prostitution in a totally honest way because it is painful. Painful like being fat growing up and having people yell lardass at you out car windows and strangers approaching you on the street to tell you to lose weight. Painful like being a 13-year-old girl saving her virginity for marriage and being held down and robbed of that. I am embarrassed to talk about my pain, about the times I have been hurt. Especially when the road there was tricky and circuitous and partially of my own design. It’s hard for me to sift through the detritus, much easier to poke fun, to glam it up, to be some badass character." – College Callgirl

When I came across the infamous blog, "Confessions Of A College Callgirl", the title alone intrigued me. Oddly enough, I expected the content to be somewhat educational, due to the fact that I really have no idea what the life of a prostitute is actually like. So to hear it told firsthand, thru her eyes, this would open up a whole new dimension into the seedy underground. A different perspective, one that an HBO documentary or an episode of "Taxicab Confessions" couldn’t thoroughly and properly capture. And of course I expected her blog to be rather graphic in nature and maybe even a little arousing to read, like a dirty novel. Although what I found was very different. Sure the tales are candid and dirty, but they certainly don’t leave me feeling turned-on. They left me feeling disturbed, almost nauseous. My skin began to craw and I genuinely felt sad and kind of scared for her. I have an uncanny urge to wrap my arms around her and hug her. To say I’m sorry, but sorry for what? That I don’t know. I guess just sorry.

For all I know, "Confessions Of A College Callgirl" could be completely fictitious, a blog that evolved purely as a figment of her own imagination. Although something tells me that what she writes about is true, painfully true. I have a hard time believing that anyone who can open themselves up to the world (often a cruel judging world) so candidly would do so for no other reason other than pure enjoyment. There is a reason she writes. There is a reason she feels the need to tell her story. And if she’s like me, she writes because it’s therapeutic. I’ve read less than a handful of her posts, but from what I have read, she has a talent for writing. Personally, I would like to see her pursue a career as writer rather than a call girl. And although I’m willing to bet she gives amazing head, I couldn’t help but feel my heart drop when she described herself as having to "fake a smile", fake her happiness when meeting with a client. Believe me, faking a smile thru life is a terrible way to live.

Whores, hoes, hookers, sluts, prostitutes, escorts, call girls...call them what you may, but don’t forget they are human beings. You may not agree with their lifestyle and profession of choice, you may even detest it, but something tells me that every single one of us can relate to their pain. With the recent news surrounding Governor Spitzer, is anyone really surprised to learn that his 22-year-old high-class escort, who calls herself "Kristen", was abused as a child? Studies show that nearly every stripper or prostitute has suffered some form of abuse earlier in their life. Now sure, there are people who have overcome damaging upbringings and horrendous events in their adult lives and have gone on to become doctors, lawyers, teachers, etc.

So how do some people persevere thru it all while others choose the red light district path? And why is it that so many men resort to paying for it? I suppose prostitutes exist for the guy who can’t get laid unless he pays for it. Or the guy that is either too busy or just too lazy to actually court a girl which will eventually evolve into a sexual relationship. Or for the married man who is bored out of his fucking skull.

I was 8-years-old when I had my first encounter with a hooker...

(to be continued)

Identity Crisis

About 2 years ago I met a girl from NYC, who unknown to her, taught me a valuable lesson. Discretion. It’s not that I didn’t know the meaning of being discreet, it was more that I didn’t always apply a level of discreetness in my life that perhaps I should have. I could use the phrase that "I was young, dumb and full of c...", but I think my immaturity and my hormone surges were only half of it. I was in college and craving attention. Attention not just from girls, but attention from the guys as well - to boost my social status. I suppose looking back I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. All guys brag and boast to a point, the point being where does it end? It ended for me when I began approaching my mid-twenties. One night stands and random hook-ups started to look cheap. Getting wasted and acting like an idiot started to look pathetic. I was growing up from the frat boy on spring break who was lost among a sea of boobs and booze, to dare I say, a decent and respectable young man? When I wasn’t studying or playing basketball, I would spend my free time fraternizing with those that most likely went on to grace the upcoming year’s cover of a "Girls Gone Wild" DVD. I would return each semester to campus greeted by high-fives for concurring the previous semester’s easiest lays. Today, those "achievements" are not impressive to me.

At the end of 4 years, I graduated from college knowing more about myself than perhaps the amount of knowledge I digested from text books and class lectures combined. What I learned were things that a professor couldn’t teach me. Sometimes you grow best on your own. And sometimes you need to find that one girl who helps you grow into the man you never dreamed you could be. I was lucky enough to find such a girl during my college years and to this day, I cherish every minute I spent with her. She was my first true love. Sadly though, a year after graduation we parted ways, but I still carry with me the things she’s taught me and we have managed to remain close friends. Despite the fact that she once broke my heart, I have always credited her for changing my life for the better and will continue to do so until the day I die.

It wasn’t until she came along that I wanted to be safe from all the stupid questions like "hey man, did you get some?" "That’s so dumb", I would think as I rolled my eyes. For the first time in my life, it wasn’t about getting laid. Just the mere thought of telling my buddies what we did the night before seemed so slimey and wrong. To kiss and tell, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I had no right to share a story that most likely would be exaggerated just to make things sound extra dirty or juicer than they really were. Why should my buddies get the privilege of knowing a girl’s inner most secrets and sexual escapades that I was dating? I would not tell these tales, nor would I fabricate a tale just for their own devious pleasure. I did not need their approval. I did not need their pats on the back. From now on I was practicing discretion and it felt good. It felt really, really good. They say good things happen when you make good choices and I choose to keep our intimacy just that – intimate. I no longer sought attention from my peers. Instead, I turned my attention solely on her.

When I browse thru blogs, I’ve come to realize that many people still seek that attention. Let’s be honest, running a blog in itself is a bit narcistic to begin with. Narcissism is something I would not like to be associated with. Spend any amount of time with me and you will soon realize, I would much rather hear about you than talk about myself. It’s sort of a double edged sword in the sense that although I choose to be somewhat mysterious and keep a certain degree of anonymousness in my life, I also feel the need to bleed myself out at times and allow raw emotions and thoughts to pour out of me and into this blog. The power and manner in which I open up varies from the trickling drip-drop of a leaky faucet to the powering gush of a broken dam. It’s often difficult to predict the speed or intensity of this outpouring until I’ve put it down on paper.

Believe it or not, I actually signed up for a Blogger account in 2002, but never made a single entry post until 3 years later in 2005! Why? Because I hated the narcistic persona that was tied to bloggers and blogging. I didn’t want classified into that group. That stereotype alone kept me from writing for 3 solid years. I would even form a pseudo name "DIAMONDKT", to further protect my identity and shield myself from the misrepresentation that it’s all about me, me, me. Because of this, my intent at the time was to not compose personal entries, but to write about tech news. Somewhere along the way I noticed people being more intrigued by my side comments and my sense of humor, rather than my journalistic style of reporting. Somewhere among the accolades, I began sharing pieces of myself. Pieces of my life, of the lessons I have learned and of the pain that brought me to understanding those teachings.

Along this journey I’ve come to realize its ok to be me, to be true to myself. Just use some discretion when I choose to tell a story because it’s not always about "me". Other people are involved in this thing called my life. Personally, I find the "gift of gab" ruins intimacy in a relationship. If I wanted the world to know my business, I would tell them myself. Demonstrating discretion, I find it to be an incredibly smart and sexy trait she displays. And I thank her for showing me how to apply discretion to my own life and to our "little thing". Although I'll admit, it was hard not to brag about you, even if it was just to my Mom.

I Would Be A Professional SnowBum, If It Paid Well

While everyone else is complaining about the snow and asking when Spring will arrive to melt it away, I’m looking at things completely different. I love the snow! I often pray it never ends. Like a child waiting to hear if there is a 2 hour school delay or cancelation, I too rush to turn on the TV for the latest wintery weather report. While most people are bracing for the storm, I’m embracing it. I’m not looking to skip work, but I am looking to head to the mountains. I want to snowboard the day away and to keep riding late into the night. I’ve been snowboarding for about 10 years now and each time I go, I think I fall deeper in love.

There’s nothing like standing on top of a mountain and looking over the earth covered in a blanket of white. It’s a beautiful sight to see. It’s so peaceful and calming. Silent and still. It’s my definition of serenity. I think part of the reason why I enjoy it so much is because its a total disconnect from the electronic world, the world my profession is tied so tightly to. And its a reconnect into the real world, a connection with nature in its purest state. I love the fact that my cell phone often loses signal in the mountains, the high elevation makes no difference. It gives me even more reason to leave it and my laptop behind. I don’t want bothered with e-mails and conference calls. I don’t even want my phone to beep with txt messages. The only sounds I want to hear is the back edge of my board cutting thru the snow and the crisp air whistling thru the knitting of my beanie.

Snowboarding is classified as an extreme sport and while it delivers that adrenaline rush my body craves, I also find it to be incredibly relaxing. When so many things in my everyday life leave me feeling numb, snowboarding makes me feel alive again. While it exhilarates my soul, it somehow puts my mind in a zen-like state. It’s a total workout for the mind, body and spirit.

It goes without saying that spending 10 hours carving down a snow covered mountain in sub zero temps will leave even the most physically fit person with a few aches and pains. However, I find it to be a small price to pay. In fact, I often feel like I’ve just come home from a weekend spa retreat. I may feel exhausted, but it’s a good exhaustion. It’s the kind of exhaustion that leaves you feeling happy, almost rejuvenated. It's similar to marathon sex, but with much more clothing on.

Hitting up the local ski resorts is fun and all, but I need something more. So I started going to snowboard parks where I could drop into halfpipes, slide across rails and grab big air off of launch ramps. That satisfied my urge for awhile, but I still feel the need to progress further. I’m giving some serious thought to taking one of those extreme adventure vacations where they basically drop you out of a helicopter in the Swiss Alps and from there you have to snowboard your way down the mountains. Just the thought of that gets my blood pumping with energy and excitement! The only thing left to do now is finding some friends crazy enough to do it with me. To risk life and limb for the feeling of being alive, being truly alive.

Any takers?