Heading the Ball

I have developed an addiction. I don’t know if this is a sign I am not getting out enough or what, exactly, but lately the most blissful moments in my life involve lying back with a dingus like this tucked into the hollow of my neck and spacing out.

On the carpet, on a stack of bedpillows, in my favorite reading chair. I wake up in bed with this thing involved in the sheets. The received explanation in bodywork circles has to do with traction on spinal connective tissues that integrate directly with the dura mater around the central nervous system. Why, exactly, this has an effect rivalling Valium no text has ever quite made clear to me.

My clients love it when I imitate this effect using the back of my fist instead of a ball, and I have IM’ed the method, late at night, to insomniac correspondents who could find at least one tennis ball in the gym bag or dog bed. (They tend to wake up on the rug at four in the morning, feeling stoned.)

I have never been able to get to this place meditating (for some reason, I’ve never been able to shake an idea of “meditation” that goes something like “be a good little do-bee, screw your face up and think about a candle flame AS HARD AS YOU CAN”); occasionally at the end of a long Yoga session, perhaps, or when well-stoked with Benadryl during allergy season, the feeling is close, but never quite the same. Just breathing is the most delightful thing in the world, and the racket in my head stops.

I think we need to get rid of all the prescriptions and counselors and issue everyone a ball.

T-Shirt Friday, September, 2009: I Almost Blew It

It is painting week at the House of Sled (before and after pictures going up soon) and I almost forgot it was also the last week of the month. Nursemyra’s tradition of T-shirt Friday is a favorite of mine, and I had this one all set aside.

T-shirt Friday Sept09Blowfish

The weapon you see held in my right hand is a Hitachi Twin Head Massager, no longer available because of some complications with the companies that manufactured the patented twin motors. I originally bought one from the dazzling Momentum 98 supplier, previously recommended in these pages as an unparalleled purveyor of high-end massage gadgets, clunky Web commerce design, and enchanting New Age sensibilities.

However, as with all specialty items and small providers, sometimes there is an out of stock problem, and even before they stopped making these things, I had to go questing occasionally on behalf of my clients, who would get a load of the deep-throated vibrations of this thing wrapped around their neck or tennis elbow — kind of like a whale purr — and demand to know where they could buy one.

One year Momentum was out for a while, I forget when, and an Internet search turned up an available supply at Blowfish.com, “Good Products for Great Sex,” purveyors of fine sex products on the Internet since 1995, as I recall one of their other claims.

This was difficult for some of my clients, who balked at mail ordering from a business of this nature, to wrap their minds around. How this two-fisted pummeling device would function as a sex toy in anyone’s repertory was difficult for me to wrap my mind around.

Whatever, I found myself placing a mass order one Christmas with a company whose receipt said Good Products For Great Sex and plunking the half-grand total right onto my schedule C. If anyone ever questions this, I think all I have to do is exhibit the device invoiced. Most of what Blowfish sells is, as they say, the finest of its kind and visibly destined for its intended use, but you’d have to be like the “young girl from Mobile with the snatch made of Bessemer steel” to actually do something lubricious with that. On the other hand, it will totally whap your migraine.

The T-shirt, of course, was irresistible.