Good evening, my dearest M3 Readers. The week has been fun and filled with conversation and enlightening. The Indian summer is drawing to a close. Clyde is curious about foreplay. Grab a cuppa and snuggle into a rocker. Let’s talk.

Solid

In a week where I settled into the blinking of the Internet, I am pleased to announce something I admit to anyone who will listen or read.

The M3 Readers are the best audience in the world.

I asked you to share M3 with another 60 Americans last week. You answered that call with resounding results. A new

494

Americans joined you. The audience who is gaining the largest is the Asian audience. It will be a while before they climb into the flag counter, but they comprise the entirety of the 11-20 ranks. Compliments of Google Translate, M3 is being accessed in 157 of the world’s 197 (M3 counts Taiwan as a country.) countries of the world. We are missing a few from the countries of the former USSR and a few in Africa where Internet service is not the norm.

You did this.

Thank you.

You continue to join into spirited discussions, like your talk with and questions for Mandy and the massive building of utopia.

I have a few surprises for you for the next week. I hope you like what comes on offer. There will be a light air about M3 next week. A great bit of it will be posts the word meter will ignore.

I listened.

When I was shopping for hosts over the last week, I was met with a question I thought was horrifically offensive. When I explained the amount of traffic M3 gets in an average month, the general response was, “For a blog?!” One of the most interesting questions was “What is your blog about? What is your niche?”

Well, I translate it into something usable.

I laughed. “Whatever subject strikes me at the moment,” was my answer. The guessing game which followed was more irritating than informative. No, M3 is not a news site. No, M3 is not a gossip column. No, M3 is not the traditional advice column…despite my long history of giving advice in column format.

To the wondering man on the line, I simply answered, “I listen.” His confusion was enough to inspire me to run a series on a different way to Make A Difference.

Yes, I listened to you when you told me what you did not like around M3. I also listened to the SIB inhabitants who are not the stars of Friday Follies.

Since M3 is a monument to how to defy SEO and still survive as a website, I am going to continue to engage in my behavior of giving you what you ask for, within reason. And if you missed my responses to Candi, you should know my reason is not as strict as others’.

Teacher

Much of what finds its way to M3 is derived of philosophical conversations I have IRL. Over time, I have come to hate the designation IRL because I realize the people in my computer are IRL somewhere which is just outside my physical reach. They are not imaginary or bots, but real, live, breathing, typing, reading, feeling, engaging, animated, enjoyable, irritating people. For me, the designation IRL is discriminatory. For so many people, I am in the computer, although I am very much real, live, breathing, typing, reading, feeling, engaging, animated, enjoyable and irritating in IRL.

I like them sour.

The conclusion of a number of conversations I have had with my sister have ended with a light bulb named Teacher. She says I am a (insert positive adjective) teacher. While I have never truly considered myself a traditional teacher, i.e. a professor with a classroom, I have no alternative other than concede my sister is correct, as per usual.

I recently began gathering statistical data. Some of the data I am collecting is how many times I hear the words, I never thought (of that, about it that way, that mattered, it applied to me). An interesting revelation has occurred to me in the gathering. One subject we are slated to cover is the adage to give a second thought. If you were around here for when we covered ITTTC, you may have an idea where we are going to go.

It is a subject which necessary has a sour taste, but the sweetness of the apple is the spoonful of sugar.

Right Turn, Clyde!

Clyde is interested in this entire issue of romantic. My operating definition of romance is part of the fifth definition:

a : having an inclination for romance : responsive to the appeal of what is idealized, heroic, or adventurous”

Since it is not the version of romantic which most people use, it puts me rather in an odd position. They are also using the fifth definition (how ironic it is nearly the last one of them all).

c : conducive to or suitable for lovemaking”

For others to understand where I am, I must decry the idea I am romantic in the slightest.  For the most part, it is true.

While I crave affection as every other human does, I am not inclined to do the Hallmark, sugary-sweet things others do. To me, most “romantic” things are sufficient to gag a maggot. I see them all as far too contrived to be endearing. The argument then ensues.

We buy greeting cards because we are not all poets and cannot convey the feelings we want to in the words which are going to strum the heartstrings of our recipients.

Red’s answer: Horse hockey.

In fact, I would prefer something written on a post-it or the flap of an envelope.  If the only thing you can muster is:

• I appreciate you,
• Thank you,
• I love you,

you are already ahead of the greeting card. You have said what is in your heart.

Then, we have the presents. The most notable of which is flowers. We buy contrived arrangements of flowers. We pay as much as $8 per stem to have them put into a $2 vase, have them adorned with what pass for weeds in many cultures and present them to mean:

• I am a complete cad for (forgetting, mucking up, being dill).
• I want some.
• I am planning to (forget, muck up, be dill).

Red’s answer: Hooey.

Talk to me. Tell me you forgot, mucked up, are dill and still want some. It is far more sincere falling from your lips than being delivered on a 1.5×3 card.

If you still cannot get over the entrenched desire to bring flowers (which I actually like when they are not conveying a message), bring me something I like. Know what color rose I do not eat on delivery. Know I would like a plant better than cut flowers. Know I love having wildflowers on the dinner table. Know Shasta daisies are better than carnations.

What about food? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. In some cases, this is true, yet it is always a sign of having the wrong coping mechanisms. Not everyone is so afflicted. Are you one who considers a restaurant meal foreplay? Or do you think cordial cherries in wrapping paper are an aphrodisiac?

Red’s answer: Crap.

If you are intimating you have the ability to satiate me, do not confuse the orifices. Food in my mouth is a completely different need than the one you are seeking to slake.

Another gift of romance is unmentionables. From knickers to teddies to G-strings, fortunes are spent at holidays buying clothes designed to make the wearer appear sexier for the giver.

Red’s answer: Really?

This reaction is multi-faceted.

3. Is the intimation the nude body is insufficiently attractive to create arousal? You are not making your case.

2. If you are banking on a direct correlation between your visual acuity and my exhibitionism, do not ever play the stock market.

1. I am going to take it out of the box, throw it on the floor and ask you how it looks. It truly is the only place you really want to see it anyway.

Enter Ape

Right turn, Clyde.

Clyde wants to know why we go to such lengths when all we have to do is be ourselves.

Humans do this intricate consumerism to impress potential Mate. While in and of itself the behavior is not always completely damnable, if it excludes all of the legitimate behaviors, it is. In concert with the meeting of base needs and fulfilling genuine (not contrived or obligatory) desire, it can be endearing. Case in point, I have only thrice told the florist to take flowers back (and once not to bring them at all).

When we show we are good Mates by being loving, compassionate, kind, passionate and honest, all the other jazz is just for show.

Until next time,

If you find any of the above mentioned conventions romantic, please state why. Under what circumstances are all of them romantic in the accepted sense? How did these things become foreplay? What is something romantic you do which does not meet the traditional standard?

(c) Red Dwyer 2012
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