As a kid in Minnesota I learned to ski and I’d get a sinking feeling when I knew it was time to move on to the next level of slope.  Each run is labeled for difficulty.  After the “Bunny-Hill”, which is nothing more than a slight incline, there were the “easier” Green Circle symbol, then the “more difficult” Blue square…and then…just when you thought you could do anything…there were the Black Diamond runs.  “Most difficult”.
 I’d ski down to the posted sign and sometimes chicken out…side stepping back up to the top.  But that feeling of doing it!  There’s nothing like it!  After all the excuses: “can my equipment handle it?” – “Will I snap like a dry twig?”  Then you just point yourself down hill and go with it.
    The next time I felt that sinking feeling was with Kirsti Novakowski.  She was the most beautiful girl in the whole Junior High.  And when I had a little Christmas party in my basement I invited her.  I made one hundred pieces of mistletoe out of paper and green magic-marker.  I pinned it up on the ceiling.  And it worked!  The party turned into a freakish make-out session that can only happen with all those phonemes squashed into a single rec-room.  More hormones per square inch than normally can be accommodated in nature.  Kids were kissing in every chair, every corner, & behind every door.  Guys and gals were actually switching partners.
    I finally got Kirsti Novakowski in a chair and we pulled a blanket over our heads for a bit of privacy.  We were nose to nose but I couldn’t make the first move.  I could feel her breath on my face.  I had an intense hard-on, my friends, that I wouldn’t know what to do with for another couple semesters.  It felt like we were under there for five years.  What the heck was wrong with me?  (“I’m not worthy…but there she is, waiting for me.”)
    She finally got too warm with the blanket & the carbon monoxide poisoning.  We went our separate ways.  She ended up smooching with Scotty Spears.  I later overheard Kirsti say to a friend, “At least he DOES something.”   I wilted like fake, wet mistletoe.
    Later on I took on the sinking feeling with gusto.  You’ve got to everyday if you’re worth your salt as an artist.  Now-a-days I feel like I’ve set up my daily life so I don’t have to go out on a limb.  Safety first.
    Thank God or the Devil for horniness.  It gets those apprehensive thoughts back in me and I have a great time whacking them down with every lady I meet.  Damn if it isn’t a bit like being an artist.  I put a little soul into a couple hours of fantasy and it’s very exhilarating, don’t you find?
    Maybe I’m a skier on the Bunny-Hill impatient to move on to the real speed of a Black Diamond run.   But I’ve got a date with NetMichelle!  Maybe I’m not worthy.  But there she is, waiting for me.  I hope my equipment holds out!  I hope she doesn’t snap me like a dry twig!   Or maybe, most probably, I do.
    That's the report from this barren field.
Love,  Jockeypants