A few days ago over at Romancing the Blog they were talking about sex in romance novels. I almost chimed in my two bits over there, but I kept thinking about more and more things I wanted to say--so what the heck, I'll blog about it too.

I used to LOVE romance novel sex. The tension between the main characters, the steamy kisses leading up to The First Time, the fallout, the misunderstandings, the embraces behind trees, the quickies in carriages... the whole shebang. And, being a woman of a certain age, I've witnessed the evolvement of sex in novels over the years. There were the early romances, along the lines of Love's Tender Fury, where the female lead endured struggle after struggle on her path to true love. Sometimes she also went through more than one partner, but if her heart remained true I guess that's all that really mattered. Who knows. Anyway, romance evolved into more one man-one woman fare with the conflicts coming more from the dueling personalities involved than time, distance, rape, etc... , but the sex was still a good, solid, intregal part of the story. It was a necessary, lovely (usually) step in the development of the characters/relationship. I looked forward to it. Sometimes I even read the sex scenes first.

The genre is still evolving, and the role of sex in romance novels is continually altering. And I have discovered that what once gave me such a zing now falls flat.

Yes, folks, I'm bored with the sex.

I can't believe it either.

It's been subtle, but it's been growing. I find myself tired of the tension, impatient with the descriptions. And I'm skipping the sex scenes in order to get on with the story. It seems that the sex has become gratuitous: "Okay, we're at page 120, time to throw in the sex scene!" and that it isn't moving the story forward or adding to character development. In short, it's just not a big deal, and so many stories I've read would have--in my own humble opinion, please don't lynch me here--been just as good or better without it cluttering up the plot.

Don't get me wrong here. I'm not turning into some kind of weirdo or anything. But I've been puzzling over my change in attitude, wondering if it's just the books, or if it's because I'm getting older (how much older? let's not go there, please...) or a combination, or what. I don't know if it's just temporary insanity, hormone fluctuations, or needing to be more challenged by what I read.

And she puzzled, and puzzled, 'til her puzzler was sore...

RANT ON

My media patience has just about reached its limit.

In a world such as ours, with a bazillion people, 7 continents, 200-plus countries and 24 hours in a day, you'd think there would be something going on out there more important, more life altering or thought provoking than dead celebrity body battles and bald celebrities hopping in and out of rehab.

I learned "in my day" that it is the responsibility of the journalist to report the news in a neutral fashion, covering the 5 W's while preserving the integrity of both the subject and the reporter. These two stories, headlining for over a week now, have been hashed, rehashed, beaten unto death. The reporters covering these stories seem to relish every grisly, gritty, stinky little detail. Integrity (what's that?) seems to have gone out the window. The media sinks right into the mud pit, going for the Lowest Common Denominator every time.

The most disturbing aspect of this behavior is that these antics are so commonplace, so "every day" that we're getting immune to it. That these extreme, shocking behaviors are becoming normal.

WTF?

I don't want my child to gain adulthood in a world where going to rehab is "normal." I don't want him to think that the LCD is the only viable entertainment option. That the nastier is the better. I don't want him to get all of his "truths" from a TV screen. I don't want him to believe that he "deserves" to be a celebrity or a millionaire without even trying. And most importantly, I don't want him to have to raise his future children in such an environment.

Only time will tell the outcome, but I fear for integrity, decency and plain kindness. For if they get beaten in the ring, what will be left?

RANT OFF

How To Give Your Partner Instant Stress


Don't throw out that condom you got from your buddy, who was handing them out like favors at his bachelor party(euww!). Instead, bring it home and stuff it in your dresser (it's not expired, after all!) where your loving girlfriend will discover it while looking for the lost bedroom TV remote.

Sorry, That's Not At Your Level, Honey


There's days when I truly marvel that I made it to adulthood intact. When I went to school we learned to read from whatever books we could get our hands on. No one talked about Reading Levels, and there was no such thing as Accelerated Reading Lists. Still I managed to be two grades ahead of myself in reading, spelling and comprehension.

Jump forward to today. Books at the elementary level have been categorized and numbered and starred so that parents can pigeonhole their children even easier than before! There's Blue Level One and Green Star Level 3 and Ready-To-Read Red Label-Yellow Starred-Blue Spine-Key Words Highlighted In Pink Level 99... you get the picture. I understand, on one level (which level, you ask? how about Puce With Silver Star Level 39?) that publishers want to make it easier to sell/market/shelve these early to mid level reading books, and I'm sure it makes a teacher's job easier to a certain extent. But there is fallout. There always is.

I hear it every day: "Honey, you're not at Level 3 yet. You can't take that book out." "Ma'am, can you show me where the Red Label Level Ones are at?" "My child needs some accelerated readers at Level 4.1. Where are they?" And all the while I'm smiling and directing and selecting, I want to just scream at them, "Just let the fricking kid read what he wants to!! Trust your parental judgment!! Grow a set, for god's sake!"

Sure, as a parent you don't want your child to suffer. But a little struggle never hurt anyone. I overheard a parent yesterday saying, "You're at Level Two, honey. You'll just get frustrated with that Level Three book." So let him get frustrated! Let him work it out! Challenge the little darling! Wait, here's a novel idea--sit down with your child and help him/her work through it!

I think what concerns me most about this reading level business--and here pontificates the conspiracy theorist again--is the niggling thought that boxing our kids in to "levels" and "lists" is going to turn them into a bunch of automotons. No imagination, no creativity, no coloring outside the lines. Everyone reading the same story, thinking the same thoughts, turning beige.

Not a real pleasant future vision, is it?

Snow Days

Gosh, aren't snow days great? The kids are off school, the roads are impassable... but the best part of all is the fact that my work closed yesterday, and I still got paid for it! Woo hoo!

Of course, there was a downside to all this: shoveling.

The driveway was totally drifted in to about fifteen inches. Dense, compacted, pain in the ass. We were out there for a good hour; Sweetheart on the snowblower, Son and I on the shovels. And of course, the dog was running around for good measure. We had a drift by the back patio door that was almost six feet high, and we couldn't get the Weber out for grilling. This was a hardship no one should have to face.

But compared to upstate NY we lucked out okay. My folks are still up in that region--they consider themselves lucky with "only" seventy inches on the ground. Sheesh.

Simply put, it's cold outside. And for this part of the country, having a wind chill of -21 is a big deal. All the schools are closed, my PSR lecture is cancelled but in spite of my most fervent wishes, I still had to come to work today. Oh well.

So I'm sitting here, thankful from my head to my toes that I'm inside and warm, and parents are calling and asking whether or not we have storytime today.

WTF?

It's twenty-fricking-one below ZERO!!!!!

What parent in their right mind would drag their babies out in this? (Parents in this neighborhood, that's who!)

So it begs the question: Why does the thought of having to spend an entire day indoors/alone with their child send parents into a "gotta get out of here" tailspin? Why does each and every moment of each and every day have to be filled with scheduled activities, play dates and Baby Einstein? Why do parents have absolutely no faith in their own ability to entertain, discipline and teach their own child? It boggles my mind.

Sure, my son was a handful at times. There were plenty of times when I questioned my own judgment, and there were times when I really wanted to just foist him off on a day care someplace and go shopping. But I didn't, because I'm his mother, and since I had him it was my responsibility to raise him. I took him everywhere with me, read all the labels at the grocery store to him, caught bugs and camped out and went swimming with him and read stories to him every night. And twelve years later, he's doing fine. He gets decent grades in school, he's a black belt, he plays trumpet and guitar and knows how to snowboard. He says "please" and "thank you" and cleans his own room and reads books(under protest most times, but still...).

He's not perfect. He gets attitude with me, and his belongings manage to get strewn from one end of the house to the other daily. But he's a good kid. And I can look at him and see that good and bad, he's a product of me. Not of daycare or play dates or Baby Mozart.

PS: And I sure as hell never took him out in below zero weather.

Remember that commercial where the dad is pushing the little boy in the tire swing and between one push and the next he turns into a grown man? "Life comes at you fast."

Does it ever. It seems like yesterday Son started taking Tae Kwon Do. Now he's a black belt, and his instructor just talked to me last night about letting him go to a regional tournament next month. And a state tournament the month after that. Yeah. State. My son competing in a STATE tournament. I'm floored.

And it seems like yesterday that he was a little boy and I was still able to pick him up and carry him around. Now he's too big and heavy for me, and Monday night I'm giving a lecture to his PSR class about sexual morality. As in, Wait To Have Sex Until You're Married.

How did this happen? More to the point, how did I let myself get talked into lecturing about sex to a bunch of 12-13 year olds?

Life comes at you fast.