No, that not be th’real title. However, this is…
Cap’n Dyke and Th’Frog Combine Psychic Forces t’Bring Ye, Direct from th’Past…
[Note: Clitatia Vaginus was a contemporary of Sappho, the first ‘lesbian’ noted in the historical record. While we don’t know Clitatia’s sexual orientation, we do know she knew about what to eat to prime the heat.]
‘The ancient Greeks and Romans were a randy little lot. Wanting to swell their armies—as well as their libidos, they searched the world far and wide for foods that would enhance sexual performance and pleasure.
According to these past powerhouses of history, one of the most powerful sexual potions was ‘made from the pith taken from the branch of the pomegranate which was then ground together with the testicles of bulls and rams.’ Pliny the Elder remarked, however, that as much as this mixture might have been popular “it was good neither for the heart or the kidneys”. Well, Clitatia is here to tell you that Pliny the E. is right!
The Roman poet Marcus Valerius Martialis favored more ordinary foods as aphrodisiacs. He suggested that sexual appetite could be stimulated in old men if they dined on spring onions and shallots. For “young men suffering from impotency and not-so-young women suffering from lack of desire”, he said that pepper, cabbage, asparagus, eggs, pineapples and snails (eaten uncooked and without sauce) would be effective stimulators.
Between the forth and first centuries B.C.E. many medical doctors, including Galen and Hippocrates, agreed that chomping garlic would contribute to one’s sexual potency and, at the same time it kept vampires away, so it had did double-duty as a desirable plant.
Get yourself a recipe for mussels cooked with onions, garlic and saffron cooked in a buttery, white wine sauce and this former vestal virgin promises that if it doesn’t kill you, it will stoke those fires hotter than Rome when it was burnt by the Huns. Your guide, Clitatia Vaginus, found out that butter and garlic can cause your sweat — and other secretions — extra slick.
Lettuce was considered a boost for sexual potency by the Greeks, the Romans and the Egyptians (a sexual romping trifecta if I’ve ever seen one).
Other foods to fuel your fire include: Aniseed, artichokes, skink flesh (it’s a lizard, small, unpalatable), carrots, rabbits, sweet peas, parsnips and—that all time favorites of favorites—sparrow’s brains. There was some squabbling about what member of the animal kingdom was the sexiest. Romans found the rabbit to be particularly lustful, while the Greeks felt sparrows were the real ‘beasts’ in the pursuit of sexual pleasure. Skinks (those little lizards) are slim and long…well, you take the connotation from there, darlings. Ergo, you ate them to transfer their power to yourself.
As a tribute to our illustrious host, the proprietor of ‘Balls and Walnuts’, our Dear Douglas, let’s discuss walnuts. Walnuts have been cultivated for at least 2,000 years and they have been linked to love and fertility throughout history. According to an ancient myth, Jupiter, the king of the gods who was also known as Jove, lived on walnuts when he lived on earth. Therefore Romans called walnuts Jovis glans, meaning “the glans of Jupiter.†(Glans is the rounded tip of the penis or the erectile tissue of the clitoris.) Romans also called the walnut nux Gallica, meaning “the French nut.†Juglans regia, the botanical name of the Persian walnut (also called the English walnut), translates as the “regal nut of Jupiter.â€
A recipe for your pleasure (hopefully):
Roasted Beet, Goat Feta and Walnut Salad on Radicchio Leaves
3 medium-size beets
1/3 cup goat feta, diced into small pieces
1/2 cup walnut pieces, dry-roasted in a cast iron pan
2 tsps walnut oil
1 tsp (5 ml) balsamic vinegar
1 tsp (5 ml) orange juice
2 tsps (10 ml) oregano, tarragon or other fresh herbs, finely chopped
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Radicchio leaves (or Belgian endive leaves), washed and dried.Preheat the oven to 425 degree F. Place a baking sheet or a sheet of aluminum foil on the lower oven rack to catch beet drippings. Place whole beets on the upper oven rack and bake for 1-1/2 to 2 hours. Remove from oven and allow them to cool. Peel off the beet skins and discard. Dice the beets into small pieces and place in a bowl. Add the walnuts and goat feta. Combine the walnut oil, vinegar, orange juice, chopped herbs and black pepper. Pour over the salad mixture and toss to combine. Spoon a tablespoon of the mixture onto each radicchio or endive leaf and arrange decoratively on a large platter and enjoy your hot n’ steamy evening.
Note that the Roman physician Galen wrote that foods worked as aphrodisiacs if they were “warm and moist”. However, remember, my lusty students, that the Roman poet Ovid wrote in The Art of Love, after giving a litany of aphrodisiacs, “Prescribe no more my muse, nor medicines give / Beauty and youth need no provocative.â€
Alas and alack! What a nothing is man! We all shall be bones at the end of life’s span, so let us be jolly for as long as we can.–Gaius Pompeius Trimalchio
Well, you want to know what Clitacia Vaginus thinks about fusty Ovid? Pah! Hera’s handmaidens, bring on the skink flesh and the sparrow’s brains with a side order of buttered saffron and garlic flavoured mussels and DON’T FORGET THE WALNUTS FOR DESSERT!’
Demented Michelle and I have been e-pals for about a year, and as we’ve already established, that’s about a decade in blog years. We keep pulling for each other’s literary prospects, which is what writerly e-pals do. I’m hoping the day will soon arrive when Michelle’s blog name (Demented Delusions) will be hopelessly outdated. Not demented, babe, nor delusional. Here’s Michelle.
***
There’s a new TeeVee show set to debut this fall. I have no idea what it’s called, but the commercials feature two couples: Newlyweds and Un-newlyweds. For both couples, the wife is the stereotypical neat freak while the husband is the stereotypical slob. As you can imagine, the Newlywed wife is a bit more tolerant, whereas the Un-newlywed wife, after a decade of picking up dirty socks, feels the need to express her pent-up rage by stuffing them down her sleeping husband’s throat. Well, okay then. That’s a marriage that’s going to last. I’d hate to think what would happen when Un-newlywed husband retires and is home ALL the time. I hope they don’t own a gun.
–more-
So, my husband and I have been watching these commercials and the sock stuffing incident over and over again and we are annoyed. The show is SO not realistic. First, why is it the wife who’s always so uptight about socks on the floor? Is this as far as feminism can take us in Hollywood? Can’t we have equal opportunity slobbery (new word, roll with it)? In my marriage, my husband is the neat freak. If my shoes aren’t lined up, I hear about it. If my socks are on the floor, I hear about it. At length. With wagging fingers to boot. The thing is, I am very much a live-and-let-live kind of person. Your socks are on the floor? I don’t care. I’m not going to bend over and pick them up, I leave sock removal to the dogs who consider smelly socks to be appetizers. There’s more than one dirty dish in the sink? So what? I don’t load the dishwasher until the dishes are higher than the faucet.
This means I actually never do the dishes because my husband can’t tolerate that many opportunities for mold growth in the house. I don’t even do laundry. I tried, but my husband wanted to micromanage how I sorted lights and darks to the point of actually rearranging the dirty clothes piles.
I finally screamed that, if he couldn’t leave me alone and trust my ten years of laundry experience to be sufficient insurance that I wouldn’t accidentally shred his clothes, he could do the (damn) laundry all by himself.
It took him three years of doing laundry before he finally realized ‘Hey, this sucks. If I relax my standards a little bit, my slobbery wife can share some of the work.’ I now have to help sort the clothes. Sometimes I am even forced to do actual laundry. Drat.
Anyway, none of this means, however, that I don’t clean. It’s just that my threshold is a lot lower than my husband’s. To me, if it can be cleaned up in twenty minutes, it’s not a mess. True messes require hired maids and tubs of disinfectant. I know this because my father is the slobberiest slob of them all and I cleaned up after him for years. Think dirty socks on the floor are bad? Try dirty socks plus underwear on the kitchen table next to your breakfast.
Whenever my husband ‘loses it’ over my less-than-neat ways, I remind him of my father. So long as I’m not as bad as my father, I figure I’m doing pretty good. My dirty underwear may be on the floor with my socks, but it’s never on the dining room table and I do pick it up on a weekly-ish basis. My father left stuff sitting so long, it became stiff, like a skidmark statue.
If my husband is still irate after the at-least-I’m-not-my-dad defense, I use my secret weapon-of-mass-distraction to defuse his anger: boobs. Flashing works every time. No, really. Boobs stop marital discord in its tracks. Try it sometime.
Still, despite all my slobbery flaws, I don’t rely on my boobs alone, I actually do get my hands dirty. I vacuum, I steam clean carpet, I clean bathrooms, and constantly try to find the laziest way to organize my closet that doesn’t involve throwing everything on the floor or draping things over a chair, My husband’s anality (another new word) for cleanliness does push me to a higher level of neatness because I love him and putting my shoes in precise rows seems to improve his facial tic.
Even so, I will never be one of those people whose hands are just twitching to throw a vacuum into full throttle. Nor will I be watching the Newlywed/Un-newlywed show, because, as far as I’m concerned, they don’t know anything about marriage and I don’t want to give my husband any more ideas about what he can do with those socks on the floor
— Demented Michelle
I’m not sure how the Invisible Lizard found me in the first place, but he and I go back a long time — probably a year, which is a decade in blog-years. Count on Liz for spot-on reviews of movies and videos. The SOB also goaded me into doing NaNoWriMo last year. I hate it when people dare me. No resistance, no resistance at all.
What’s that? You don’t know what an Invisible Lizard is? Here’s one:
Pretty, ain’t he?
Here you go, folks. I can’t wait to read this one, too. Yes, yes, it seems to be a Thursday Thirteen, and today isn’t Thursday. Get over it.
Here he is, the Invisible Lizard.
***
(Yes, we’re counting backwards for this one.)
13. Blogwhoring. What is it? How does he do it? And how does he make it seem so easy? I’m still trying to figure it all out, but look at the man’s hit counter. He’s got a gift, no doubt about it. Doug, let me know when you graduate to the status of blog pimp. I need some representation.
12. The Rules of blogging (nos. 7 – 9): Photoshop, photoshop, photoshop. Amazing things can be done with a modicum of talent and a healthy dose of enthusiasm. (Doug, it’s possible you have more than a modicum of Photoshopping talent, but I, unfortunately, wouldn’t know the difference.)
11. A noodge (alt. nudge) is one who persistently pesters, annoys, or complains, not, as I suspected, based on the context of this post, one who enlists the aid of follow blogizens to help get published. Personally, I think that anybody with the self-discipline to write an entire 300k+ word manuscript should at least get read.
10. Not quite a lesson learned as still an outstanding question: is this dreidel supposed to look like the spinning thing from the end of Tron? And a further question: why is that the first thing I thought about when I sat down to write this 13 Things Learned list. Granted I did hide it down at number 10 to make it appear as if that wasn’t the first thing that I remembered about this site (which would be lame), but I’m owning up to it, anyway. I guess that’s what you get when you go off on vacation and leave your blog in the hands of (insert shameless plug here:) others.
9. Balls and Walnuts has cool guest bloggers (yours truly notwithstanding, see no. 10 above). In an attempt to contact Prof. S. for a comment on this entry, I was blessed with the following exchange:
IL: Professor would you care to… PS: Turn you back into a newt? I’d be delighted. IL: Newt? No. Lizard, professor. Lizard, here. PS: As if I could possibly care less. |
8. Elmo has a camel toe. Not only that, but you can blog about it. I would have shied away from the subject, myself. But no, there it is, along with many other examples, in flagrante delicto, as they were. It was about at this post that I began to suspect that…
7. …Doug has “balls the size of church bells.” (See no. 8 above. And extra-credit to anybody who can name the cheesy 80’s movie from whence that line came, hearkening back to no. 10 above as I have now completely cemented my uncool status with bad 80’s references.) It wasn’t until his recent post detailing his own olfactory predilections that the point was hammered home.
6. Speaking of hammers, if you ever see Doug approaching you carrying a ball-peen hammer, run.
5. You can use the words “nasal polyps” in a punch line, but it may not work for you. This joke cracked me up, but I have the worst time re-telling it. Believe what he says: “only an ENT can make nasal polyps funny.”
4. The rules of blogging (nos. 4 – 6): Recipes, recipes, recipes. A few that I’ve been dying to try:
3. Word Press can categorize! One of my biggest complaints about Blogger is the lack of categories. (That and its tendency to lose my posts in the virtual ether as soon as I hit publish.) Sure, some people have devised their own categorization systems, but it’s just hacks and whistles if you ask me. On my to-do list is to follow Doug’s example and convert, but I just can’t find the time.
2. When all else fails, post a picture of your own ass. (Balls and walnuts, my friends. Balls and walnuts.)
1. Sex sells. I’m sure most of you realize that Doug’s blog is founded on the first three basics rules of blogging: Write about Sex (rule 1), Politics (rule 2), and Boogers (rule 3). But let’s be honest, everybody’s got enough of those second two. It’s the sex that keeps ’em coming back. And with that, I give you the ever-popular category 22.
— Invisible Lizard
Blue Gal is on vacation and she still found time for me. Is that a pal or what? On top of that, she’s a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie (just check out her blog and you’ll see what I mean) AND she has the right politics AND she has the world’s largest panty collection.
About the panties. Blue Gal shows only “disembodied” panties, as she calls them, because she wants to engage men’s BIG brains and not their little ones, or so she says. Here at Balls and Walnuts, however, I have no qualms about showing panties as God intended them — being worn, damn it. Thus:
Here’s Blue Gal.
***
Doug has given all of us “serious political bloggers,” heh, a lovely opportunity to, as guest bloggers, let our collective hair down over here at Balls and Walnuts. Thanks, Doug.
Usually at Blue Gal, I’m pontificating about an Atlantic Monthly article on Roe v. Wade, or at least holding forth on why anyone would buy a pint glass with Hillary Clinton’s chocolate chip cookie recipe on it. All this interspersed with disembodied novelty panties. Works for me.
Since Doug occasionally blogs about television (I don’t have one) and also about sex, and also has the occasional fearful meme, I offer the following poll-type question for his readers:
‘Kay, which is the gayest moment in the history of television? My nominations:
1. Clay Aiken sings Elton John’s “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” for Ryan Seacrest and impersonator boy on American Idol Five’s finale.
2. Ryan Seacrest and Anderson Cooper should get a room while Nicole Richie giggles on Larry King Live.
Maybe it’s not fair that both clips feature Ryan Seacrest. Maybe.
Leave your own nomination or vote in comments.
— Blue Gal
Well, not really by Walnut, but you wouldn’t believe how tough it is to change the author stamp.
Erin and I met when we guest-blogged together at Demented Michelle’s place. The Demented One will be joining us shortly. What struck me most about Erin, since I’m a typical shallow guy who thinks with his testicles, is how cute she is, and how incredibly willing she is to bare her skin on her blog. We’re a lot alike in that regard, except her skin is worth looking at and mine is all covered up with hair.
Without further ado, here’s the lovely Erin O’Brien:
Greetings Hoffmanians. My name is Erin O’Brien and I am a writer in Cleveland, Ohio.
Was that not a nice, simple, polite introduction (nude picture not withstanding)?
It always amazes me how people introduce themselves and present themselves on the Internet, particularly in the blogosphere. Take our humble host, for instance. Although I have never met the good doctor, I know that he has a proclivity for earthy oral experiences. Now, I find nothing wrong with this. In fact, I find it refreshing in our increasingly sanitized, deodorized and hairless world. But can you imagine approaching someone at a cocktail party, someone you have never met and saying, “I love the smell. If I’m getting freshly washed goods, I feel cheated,” of the feminine … er … experience?
Granted, it seems the vast majority of bloggers go under anonymous names or titles. (Note at this juncture this does not include me or Dr. Hoffman.)
I, on the other hand, pride myself in taking the higher moral ground. Instead of announcing the status of my pubic area, I merely referred to the controversy surrounding how hirsute a woman should be. The resulting post, which was more or less a take-the-day-off filler post, garnered a flurry of commentary.
People love to talk about this stuff online. Look how much traffic the same topic stirred up here. Enough about shaved genitalia. Now onto me.
BUY my novel, Harvey & Eck!
READ the funniest thing I ever wrote.
MARVEL over the fact that I watched a bunch of people masturbate and got paid for it.
VISIT WITH OBSESSION The Erin O’Brien Owner’s Manual for Human Beings.
This is the light and the truth. This is the sound of falling water.
Erin O’Brien
www.erinobrien.us
erin-obrien.blogspot.com/