The Swinger (Post #402)

I don’t understand why everyone looks so down on it. Do they not realize the fun they are missing out on? The pleasures of swinging are endless. Endless. The various ways that the body can move. The lack of any insecurities. The feeling of complete, uninhibited freedom. Endless pleasures.

Activities that cause a person to feel fully free have always been a threat to those forces which seek endless control over the individual. Not only does swinging set a person free from the repressive limitations created by our collective society, but it also gives a person an opportunity to know themselves at a deeper level. Once a person starts to swing, they stop following the rules. Maybe this is why so many are threatened by swinging- it threatens the various limitations that so many people have built their entire lives within.

I began swinging around the age of twenty-one. A girlfriend introduced me to it. I still remember the experience as clearly as I would remember something that took place this morning. We were on a walk through a quiet, suburban neighborhood. Tree lined streets. Meticulous front yards. Golf carts. We were both quiet, enjoying the serenity of an afternoon walk. Suddenly she yelled out, “Lets swing!” “What?” I look at her, shocked by her sudden surge of excitement. “What?” I asked again in a confused state. “Lets swing! Look at that swing over there.” I looked in the direction her finger was pointing in and noticed a two person, white swing hanging from an oak tree. “On that?” I asked. “Yes. It will be fun,” she said already walking towards the swing. “But it’s on someones private property. We will get ……” It was too late. She had already started swinging and I didn’t want to leave her swinging all by herself..

That day we were lucky that the homeowners were either not home or did not notice us (or maybe they did not care that we were swinging in their front yard). All I know is that it was such a pleasure to swing with my girl. We had a blast together swinging all over the place. Laughing out loud. Holding each other tightly. I felt like a child again, as I used my leg muscles in an attempt to touch the sky with my feet. Her hair blowing in my face. The force of gravity pushing against my genitals. I felt free, released from all my worries and petty concerns about the future. From that day forward I became a devoted swinger.

I don’t know how it is in other parts of the world but in America, swinging is not easy. In fact, it is very dangerous. Homeowners become quickly enraged when they see a stranger swinging on their property. Some of these homeowners will not hesitate to pull a gun on a harmless swinger. What is it about swinging that pisses homeowners off so much? They have hung a swing in their front yards. Are they expecting me not to swing on an idle and empty swing just sitting there? It’s like having a nice automobile idle on the street with the engine running and the front door wide open. Would you really expect no one to just get in and drive away?

Few things bring me a greater sense of thrill and excitement than searching for a new swing. You never want to swing on the same person’s swing twice (unless they are nice about it), so a few times a week I will go for long walks or ride my bike around suburban neighborhoods searching for a new place to swing. I get such a bodily thrill (and an erection) when I discover a swing that I have never seen before! What a feeling! It is usually hanging from a lone tree in a middle-class, well kept, front yard. Sometimes the swing will be close to the street or it will be further away. Whatever the case may be, the moment I see the swing I run over and start swinging. At that point I have little concern for my safety.

Most of the time I will have no problems swinging. I can swing and swing and swing and no one will say anything. There will be no guns or violent confrontations. No police officers and no handcuffs. No public humiliations. These are my greatest moments. There I am, a 44-year-old man swinging my worries away without any disruptions or bureaucratic interventions. My youth returned to me in full. What bliss! Are there greater pleasures? If only everyone knew how much joy they could receive from swinging. If only everyone understood that you are never too old to swing. What a different fish bowl we would all be swimming around in.

One last thing that I should mention to anyone who is considering becoming a swinger. Despite the potential to get killed or seriously wounded by an enraged homeowner, there is one other serious risk involved in swinging. A person who is a professional (whose economic earnings depend on their reputation) has to be very careful about how they are perceived by society (this is why most professionals lead double lives). I myself am a professional and realize that swinging posses a threat to my good name. Just the other day, on my way home from work, I found a really nice swing on a suburban tree-lined street not far from my home. Naturally, I started swinging and was surprised by what a well constructed swing it was. I was able to get a lot of air and within minutes was having a blast. My worries dissipated. I was laughing out loud with joy when I suddenly heard, “Mr Sokoloff? Is that you?” I instantly stopped swinging, turned my head around and noticed that one of my clients and her husband were standing just beyond their front door with their mouths agape. They looked horrified. Mortified. I didn’t know what to do so I just waved and walked away. I probably will not see that client again. I just hope she does not write about what she witnessed on Yelp.

If my clients found out that I was a swinger, who knows what would happen to my business This is one of the serious disadvantages of being an adult professional who loves to swing. Such is life. I refuse to give up swinging. Some things are that worth living for.

Catching A Golfer (Post #401)

There is a golfer ruining my lawn. I find it incredibly upsetting. My lawn is (or I should say, once was) one of my favorite things about my life. It was green, flat and beautiful. The perfect suburban lawn. A serene space where I could withdraw from the madness of the outside world. I spent hours laying around on my lawn in quiet contemplation. I figured out many of life’s big questions while sitting on the calming grass. Everyone who came to my home envied my lawn. “Oh what a nice lawn you have!” “Such a nice spot!,” they would tell me. I was proud, I felt accomplished because such a beautiful space belonged to me.

Things have changed.

Now my lawn is on the verge of complete destruction. It’s an embarrassing mess. There are holes, rocks and mounds of dirt everywhere. My lawn looks like a person’s face during a brutal acne outbreak. I want to cry every time I see my lawn. The golfer is ruining everything.

I have been doing everything I can to catch the golfer. I don’t want to kill him, although I realize that it might have to come to that. I have had enough. Just when I think he is gone, he is there. Every time I come out to my lawn there is a new hole, along with piles of dirt and rocks. I feel violated. Something that was such a source of pride and pleasure is now gradually going away, away, away. Some might say, “Such is life.” But this is happening way too soon. I’m not yet willing to concede that all things in life must happen the way they do. Why should I have to accept the golfer who is destroying my lawn? Sometimes you should be able to have what you want. I want the golfer gone and my lawn back.

Every few days, I see the golfer standing there with his golf club, hunched over and putting a white golf ball into one of the holes he has dug. “Bastard,” I think. I notice that when he gets the ball into the hole he will punch one of his arms up into the sky and yell, “YES!” The moment I yell back, “HEY YOU!,” he jumps right back into the hole he came from. I try to catch him but he is just too quick.

I have done almost everything I can imagine to get rid of him. I have spent hundreds of dollars on ineffective deterrents. The repellents and poisons are all for gofers not golfers! The stuff that seems like it could work on gofers has no effect on golfers. It is very difficult to find a substance that helps eradicate golfers from a lawn. I have tried to make my lawn a very inhospitable place to play golf. I put my garden hose into his holes and run water for hours. I read on-line that golfers hate wet surfaces and mud, so I have tried to turn the golfer’s tunnels into a muddy mess. I have been running my sprinklers for an hour a day to keep my lawn wet. So far, no luck. The golfer just shows right back up again.

I have filled his holes with my dog’s poop and coffee grounds. I read on-line that golfers cannot stand the smell of dog poop combined with coffee grounds. This may have helped in some small way but the golfer just digs new holes. I can’t put my dog’s poop all over my lawn! I’ve also seen the golfer dressed in his white golf pants and his tucked in pink button down Polo shirt, bending over and removing the poop from the lawn. The son of a bitch!

I never liked golfers to begin with. I grew up around golfers and golf courses. My father was a wannabe golfer and I had to play golf every Sunday with him. I had to work a miserable job at the country club I lived just down the street from, where I picked up after golfers and served them nuts and whiskeys. I had to clean the spikes on their golf shoes. I despised those men and their endless card games. All the money that they would waste betting on ridiculous golf scores while I slaved away for a humiliating wage. I hated the way that they would huddle together and look down upon anyone who was not in their golf group. “Hey kid,” they would yell at me and even though I was only fifteen I would say, “fuck you” under my breath. By moving into a lower economic, less pretentious area in the Los Angeles suburbs I thought I had freed myself forever from the game of golf. But now I have this ridiculous, pink Polo shirt wearing golfer digging holes and playing golf in my backyard! I just don’t understand.

Why is this happening to me? Just when I got my lawn looking so nice, a fucking golfer has to appear.

I will continue to put dog poop mixed with coffee grounds into his holes. I will keep the water running. I am not going to end this war easily. I want the golfer gone and my beautiful lawn back. I want to have nothing to do with this futile game of golf. I will stop at nothing to put an end to his game. I have hooked up two radios on my lawn, where I play loud grunge and punk rock music 24 hours a day. I have chained these radios into the ground and locked them in a metal box so that the golfer cannot get rid of them or turn the volume down. I presume he is like most golfer’s who have no taste in music and as a result listen to easy rock musicians like Kenny Logins, Air Supply, Chicago, Doobie Brothers and Earth, Wind and Fire. The grunge and punk music must frustrate him. I’m hoping he hates it. I am hoping that he can’t take it and will decide to leave my lawn alone. I just hope my neighbors do not complain.

So far, this does not seem to be working. It almost seems as if he enjoys the music! I see him moving his head and body to the beat as he plays his game of golf on my lawn. How could a man dressed in a tucked in pink Polo shirt actually be enjoying this kind of music? I just don’t understand.

Just this morning I woke up and saw the pink-Polo-shirted jerk out there practicing his swing. I was not yet fully awake but I immediately became enraged. As he stood out there practicing his swing I felt like he was mocking me! “You son of a bitch!” I yelled out. I startled my wife out of her sleep as I slammed the door behind me on my way out into the backyard. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?!!!” I yelled out not caring if my neighbors heard me. Immediatly he jumped back into his hole and disappeared. I ran out onto the wet lawn and kicked his pile of dirt. I jumped up and down on top of his hole while shouting “You son of a bitch!” Of course I ended up jumping up and down on dog shit.

What am I going to do?

I read on-line about The Golfer Catch Cage. It’s expensive but they are supposed to work really well. Just place the cage by one of the holes, open the cage door, place salted peanuts, cigars, some wine or whiskey in the back of the cage and you will catch yourself a golfer. This is what the advertisement for the cage says. From the several reviews I have read this seems to work well. People who live on golf courses write about how they have finally caught a golfer who has annoyed and disturbed their quality of life for years. No one has written anything about having a golfer in his or her backyard that is destroying his or her lawn, but the product information says that The Golfer Catch Cage can work well for catching golfers who are digging up lawns. The only problem is that no one mentions what he or she does with the golfer after catching it. There are no instructions on-line about how to dispose of a golfer. Some say, tie him up and drop him off at a distant golf course. I don’t know. One review did mention that, we still have the caged golfer locked up in the basement. We do not know if he is dead or alive. We are just happy he is gone.

The cage seems like a radical step that I am not quite ready to take. I don’t want to deal with the guilt I would feel for caging or killing a golfer. I really don’t know what I am going to do but I know that I cannot continue to live like this. It is too painful to watch my beautiful lawn be destroyed all for a game of golf! My blood pressure is going way up and now I am always anticipating seeing the golfer every time I look out into my backyard. It’s just too much for a quiet, almost middle-aged, hard-working man like myself. I want to be able to relax when I am home. I need my home to be a stress free space. Something must be done to eradicate this destructive golfer from my lawn. I just don’t know what.

 

The Phoner (Post #400)

I can’t stop thinking about my iPhone. I’m thinking about it all the time now. I crave it when it is not there. I feel sad when it is not around. “Who might be trying to get in touch with me?” I think. “Do I have any new text messages or emails?” I wonder. It is a constant thing- morning, noon and night. Few things feel better that picking up my iPhone after a few minutes away.

 

When I am having conversations with other people I can’t wait for them to shut up so that I can check my phone. The conversations with real people bore me. It is the conversations or interactions that happen on my iPhone that feel the most important to me. I can be more myself, do what I want. I do not have to pretend to be interested if I am not. Short and to the point. The less talking the better. This is how I like to keep my interactions when on my phone. Real people just talk too much.

 

I would rather be on my phone than doing any thing else. I long for it. When I am working, driving, exercising- I can‘t wait for an opportunity to check my phone. Red lights, breaks from work, breaks in conversations, the end of a work out (which I always end too soon) are all great reliefs for me because it is then that I get to check my iPhone. I don’t really enjoy hanging out with other people anymore only because they get in the way of time with my iPhone. When I do check my iPhone while around other people, I always end up feeling like I am doing something bad. I feel judged and guilty. I prefer just to be left alone with my iPhone. Then I don’t have to deal with that.

 

They say that texting while driving is dangerous. Maybe so. They also say that drinking and driving is dangerous but almost everyone does it. I’m not going to stop driving and texting. There is just no way that I could do that. I would have too much anxiety. I need to check my phone regularly. I have important things to attend to. My iPhone demands constant attention. I can’t let driving get in the way of that. I have developed the skills needed to text and drive. I know what I am doing while texting and driving and the fact that I have not yet been in an accident is proof of that.

 

The on-line world has become just as important if not more important than the so-called “real world.” Most of my relationship and business interactions occur on-line. I shop on-line. My reading material is on-line. My music is on-line. I watch films on-line. I go to school on-line. I am even dating someone on-line. Why would I not want to be on-line? It is the direction the world is heading in and if you are not on-line most of the time you are already far behind.

 

Some people tell me that my interest in “real world” things has fallen behind. So what? I no longer make art or read books. I no longer use handwriting (something I was once very good at). I was once an avid collector of clocks and watches but now clocks and watches are unnecessary because the time is right there on my phone. My father tells me that I was once so creative and that since I have been using my iPhone it has all gone away. I don’t know about that. I think my creativity has changed with the times. I am just creative in other ways now. How that is I do not know. Maybe it is true that most of my life is spent staring into a screen, preoccupying myself with an unnecessary world. Who knows? But I can’t get enough. I need my iPhone in the same way that a junky needs her junk. The other day I thought that I lost my iPhone. I freaked out and was hyperventilating. I became possessed in a crazed search to find my phone. Fortunately, I did find it before things got really bad.

 

I love my iPhone. I love it so much. It has become my closest friend. More important than anything else. I used to love sex but now sex is just a distraction from my iPhone. The last thing that I see before falling asleep at night is my phone and the first thing that I see when I wake up in the morning is my phone. I used to fall asleep in my lovers arms but now I fall to sleep with my phone in my hands. There is so much to find out about, so many people trying to communicate with me. There are so many things going on on-line. Why would I stay away from my iPhone? I once was miserably lonely. I felt like I had no purpose in my life. I was always stressed out. Now I have my iPhone and I no longer feel any of that. I now have things to do. No time is wasted. I am always engaging in something on-line or through texting. The answer to the emptiness that I used to feel inside has been my iPhone. Why would I want to get rid of that?

 

I can even write this while on my iPhone. Someone is trying to talk to me but I am writing this! I wish they would go away. My house is a mess. I should go exercise or be outside. But none of that matters. I am perfectly happy, sitting here on my phone. I just wish that the “real world” would go away so that I can be undisturbed while on-line. Why do I feel guilty about that? Once I publish this on my blog I will go and see what everyone is up to on Facebook. Then Instagram. Then Twitter. Maybe first I should check the weather? I wonder if it will be sunny all week? Is anyone trying to text me? Did I forget to return any texts or emails? I should go to Amazon and buy those pair of shoes I have been wanting. I wonder what the top stories in the news are? I have had this pimple on my butt for weeks now, maybe I should Google about it and find out what is going on. I should also Google about finding out if there are any negative side-effects from being on my phone as much as I am. I don’t think so. First I need to reply to some emails then I can do all of that. What time is it anyways?