New Year’s Eve

If you’re snowed in at home this New Year’s Eve, here’s a little tip… Tune it to Radio Dismuke, where they’ll be playing classic 78 rpm recordings from the 1920s and 30s. Things get started at 10:00 PM.

And I don’t know that it’ll be on the play list for tonight’s big broadcast, but, here, to put you in the mood, is a little gem from 1930 by the Green Brothers’ Marimba Orchestra.

Regardless of what you’re listening to this New Year’s Eve, I hope you are among friends, or at least happy and warm… Here’s hoping that 2010 is a good year for all of us… Cheers.

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  1. Posted December 31, 2009 at 5:56 pm | Permalink

    See, it is possible to write a Happy New Year’s Eve post without Rush Limbaugh’s heart attack.

    Not that I wish him harm, but it would be nice to enter the new year with a little less evil.

    (Maybe he’ll have a Scrooge-like epiphany.)

  2. Betty
    Posted December 31, 2009 at 7:55 pm | Permalink

    I was about 7 or 8 when I discovered the knot in the bathroom wall. I was hiding in the dark utility room behind it when someone entered the bathroom and the light shone through the wall. That was how I watched my brother, 4 years older, masturbate from 2 feet away every morning for years without him knowing. He would stand in front of the toilet and my view was right at waist level. I couldn’t see his face, just his hand and penis. And I could hear his rhythmic, straining breath. I was fascinated and studied closely the build-up and release.

    When it came time for sex as a teenager, I was quite familiar with the male orgasm. I loved giving blow jobs and perfected my technique frequently on the boyfriends I had. When I met Chuck, my husband-to-be, I’d hardly said two words before I went to work on him. It was at a party, I had been drinking, and I was surprised to see his vaguely familiar face at my door the next morning. I was a senior at Eastern and he was a townie. He was quiet, kind, and handsome. We fooled around again that morning. And afternoon. The next morning he showed up at my door again. It went like that until we were married a year later and I’m pretty sure we had sex every single day from the day we met. I’m absolutely certain we did from the day we were married. A BJ very morning and evening, even when we were trying to get pregnant. He would run his fingers through my hair and squeeze my scalp and whisper my full name as he came.

    A few weeks after our 35th anniversary, Chuck started acting strangely. Forgetting things. Confusion. It turned out to be untreatable early onset frontotemporal dementia. They put him on strong meds. The young doctor stared at me for a good five seconds when I asked him if Chuck’s semen contained traces of the drugs because I swallowed it twice a day. He eventually said, “That’s probably not a good idea.” Within a few months Chuck no longer recognized me and seldom made eye contact with others at all. They stopped the meds when we moved him to an in-patient hospice. They had uncomfortable side effects that weren’t worth it any more.

    A few weeks later, I figured the stuff had worked its way out of him system and gave him one last BJ. I was amazed that he could still get a good healthy hard on. Even though he hadn’t said a word in months, as I was finishing, I felt his hands move toward my head. He took a deep breath and said my full name. The syllables were nonsense, but the tone and cadence we’re right on. There was no mistaking it. He died three weeks later.

    Dealing with someone with dementia is very disconcerting. You just can’t believe that they don’t know who you are or remember anything. His reaction comforted me greatly. I knew the dementia didn’t get all of him. Some memories were intact and I felt so much better knowing that swirling around in his confusion, there were still memories of the great life we shared.

  3. Posted January 1, 2010 at 12:27 pm | Permalink

    I have no idea how to respond to that.

    I think we’re in uncharted territory.

  4. Betty
    Posted January 1, 2010 at 5:29 pm | Permalink

    No response is necessary Mark. I just wanted to share my story. That music was so nice, I just started typing…

  5. Steve J
    Posted January 1, 2010 at 9:04 pm | Permalink

    You, my dear, are one hell of a woman.

    God bless you.

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