The Big Easy…Sex Once a Week

A recent article in the Los Angeles Times’ Health Section, entitled Use It Or Lose It, told us what we all pretty much sensed already. If you have sex on a continual basis then your sex organs will perform better than if you you don’t. This report is especially true with…ahem…older men. It was fond that those who had sex once a week had less problems with Erectile Dysfunction, or ED, as they like to say in all the TV commercials, than those poor souls who didn’t.

Now the survey stated that the men were asked about sexual intercourse and not about all the other sex variations that tend to make men happy. Masturbation was not part of the questionnaire. Apparently there is a relationship to visual and tactile stimulation and response rates. In other words, as women have suggested for centuries, that is the one organ outside the brain that does its own thinking. That said, muscle memory apparently plays a large role in readiness.

While I can think of a a few men who have been involuntarily celibate for so long the associated stimulus is all but a vague memory, I refer to the other men who work out regularly and have sex regularly and seem to have no problem with either. If, as the article suggests, oxygen plays a large role in muscle response. the more the muscles are oxygenated, the more responsive they are. Taking it one step further, since oxygen is combustible it would only stand to reason it would fan the flames of desire.

Since protein is important in muscular development, along with oxygen, I guess your mother was right. Drink your milk and have sex often. Okay, so maybe your mother didn’t say that. She should have, probably, if she really cared about your health. Either way, I wouldn’t ask her.

All right, so what besides the usual dry survey does this article offer? Well, it offers ammunition of course. Men will readily point out the benefits of frequent sex to their significant or even their insignificant others. Savvy men will soon be telling their dates they have to have sex because they need it for your health. Maybe it’s wise not to press it on the first date, but then again some well. Men are pigs, after all.

If the relationship endures, beyond the early discomforts, men will point point out the virtues of sex will help keep the more meaningful part their relationship…well…meaninful. They will argue that when the years pass and they are faced with that precarious period when they are finding men their age appearing on Viagra ads, and she has arrived at her sexual peak, they will still be able to perform. All thanks to regular and frequent sex.

But then there is the reality. Nature loves to play practical jokes on us all. She will be at her sexual peak, and he, for the most part, will be well past it. She will be the one reminding him about the importance of having sex a week, and he will be reminding her to turn out the lights when she finished talking. Therein, as the bard would say, lies the rub. Perhaps the only thing hard in one’s golden years is actually having sex on a regular basis.

The Olympics and the Tedium of Repetition

I realize now why the Olympics come only every four years. It is not just the preparation, the bidding for venue, and the endless merchandising that occurs in the in between years. It is the fact that by the time the Olympics end, you really have had enough and don’t care to see anymore of it for another four years.

It seems since 1972 and the tragic Munich games every Olympic Meet begins with the questions as to whether the hosting country will finish construction of the Olympic facilities on time. This is accommodated by the fanned flames and speculation on all the terrorist activity. Then there are the reports on security, the lack of security and more speculation on which groups will demonstrate to showcase their cause to the rest of the world.

Then there is more shameless merchandising, coupled with the over amped depiction of the humanitarian efforts of every corporation who is a “proud sponsor” of the Olympics. We are suddenly aware of the giving world around us, so that it seems nothing is done for branding or profit. Then we get the predictions on the outcomes, from the major events to the nose picking meets that in the end never do make the television. I suppose with the Internet to capture all the events not shown on TV you can zero in at three in the morning at just about any event you so desperately want to see.

And then, come the Olympics, we not only get the vents but we must endure the countless up close and personal features about people whom we are supposed to know. In the case of this year, the endurance process was exacerbated by the repetition. The same stories over and over again, about the hard life and struggle to be a mega-million dollar success as an Olympic Star.

Look, I love the Olympics. And there is not enough praise we can lavish on Michael Phelps and his ground breaking accomplishment. Well, not enough praise…up to a point. He had done some amazing things, but after the ninth time around on how he was picked on in high school, the bonding of his school principal mother and her young ADD son, we get it. I saw more of Debbie Phelps than I did some of the more major athletes at the Olympic Games. Debbie raised a child and no doubt she did it well. But to focus so much time on she and her son makes me wonder if they are trying to pump this story up for ulterior motives. The television network? Never.

The Olympic athletes are young kids, for the most part. It is one thing to tell their story, but quite another to chronicle over and over again like you would Winston Churchill. Once you get the point of twenty odd years lived on the planet and considering we Americans suffer from dog-like memory, our thoughts and prayers will linger only in the ether of the spirit plane. We won’t remember much. We will barely remember who won what.

But then we will be reminded during the next Olympics. The athletes, still competing and retired, will be dragged out once again like an old wedding dress so that their glory is revisited between commercials.

We Were Here…The Human Need for Recognition

There was a story released the last couple of days about how archaeologists stumbled upon an ancient cemetery in the Sahara Desert. This Stone Age graveyard sheds light on the great mystery when the great Sahara desert was lush and green, when civilizations dwelled on the edges of it waters. One such article was in the Los Angeles Times.

Yes, the Sahara was underwater. And green. The Waters came during monsoon season, especially. There among the bodies were tools, fishing gear, harpoons and other stuff to reveal the once verdant Sahara. There were the remains of 6-foot-long, 300 pound Nile Perch. So with fish that large and people on the edge of the waters, you would have to assume the reality of Lakeside property. Whether the property was divided into sub-tracts and McMansions will remain one of the desert mysteries.

Discoveries are made every day. But the thing about this one that was so striking was the grave of a woman and two children, all with their fingers entwined. There they were, buried on their sides, together for all eternity. Obviously, they didn’t die in that position. Someone had the position the three bodies, my guess a mother and her two children, so that their fingers were entwined in what looks like a take off of an urban handshake.

What is remarkable of evidence not just of a civilization, but people’s eternal and inherent need for recognition. We as humans strive for recognition. Be it fabulous monuments, cave paintings or even graffiti on the side of a bridge, we must find acknowledgment that once upon a time we existed. It’s pretty remarkable really. It is our way of attempting to deal with our finite selves in relation to an infinite universe. We were here.

Whether it matters in the long run become an entirely different issue. Schools of thought debate it and will continue to debate what largely amounts to the meaning of existence as long as we truly are on the planet. It is a heated debate in certain sectors and regardless of the mythical final conclusion, it is one worth having. But here as throughout all human history, we find the markers of our existence and in this case the identifiers of humanity. A mother with hands entwined with her two children tells us not only that they existed, but they cared about each other. There was life and there was love.