Hasta La Gadget!

Qualcomm Intelligent Solutions (QIS) has announced that it has worked with OSIsoft LLC to deploy connected resource-monitoring infrastructure to provide real-time data to the Petco Park (San Diego Padres’ home). Randy McWilliams, a senior director of the facility, expects to reduce operational expenses by 25% in the next five years.

It may be hard to believe, but many venues share something with your home: the owners aren’t 100% sure about which elements/areas uses more water or electricity. In a different city, a stadium didn’t know how much it costs to use the retractable roof, so they only used it scarcely. After measuring the cost, they found out that it was inexpensive ($5 each time), and decided to use it more to increase the public’s comfort.

To be fair, stadiums and baseball parks have huge operating contrasts: they go from just having a skeleton crew to having tens of thousands of visitors. Not surprisingly, even the places built just 15 years ago don’t have much regarding sensors and overall resource consumption visibility. That’s because this was all before the explosion of smartphones and related wireless computing+technology, along with the fall in costs and the rise of hardware performance.

Qualcomm QIS has been busy working with venue owners to deploy instrumentation and management tools that will provide the necessary visibility to highlight potential waste (or anomalies).

It works by adding sensors to key locations (the granularity depends on the actual venue) to be able to monitor everything in real-time. In the past, there was maybe one data point (often a main meter) every few days, weeks or even once a month. With the new data, it’s easy to perform tests to see where resources are spent and devise a savings strategy, without affecting operations’ efficiency.

Not surprisingly, a lot of this happens with wireless connectivity (this is Qualcomm, after all), which is convenient because the deployment is much easier than trying to “wire” these huge places. On the edge of the network, there are gateway boxes that are powered by Snapdragon processors.

When we talked to Kiva Allgood, the president of Qualcomm Intelligent Solutions, he mentioned that the work could be surprisingly quick. For example, when Qualcomm deployed this solution on their campus, it only took a couple of weeks before the deployment was done and the data could be read and acted upon.

Snapdragon Processors Help Save Resources At San Diego Petco Park , original content from Ubergizmo. Read our Copyrights and terms of use.

Houry Gebeshian appears to be living in a Hollywood screenplay. Her life resembles a gymnastics version of the 1993 cult football classic “Rudy,” complete with training montages, unlikely mentors, against-the-odds triumph, and lasting glory.

This month, Gebeshian became the first female gymnast to represent Armenia at the Olympic Games, had the best meet of her life and ensured that the uneven bars mount she invented will bear her name for the rest of gymnastics eternity.

She did all of this at the elderly-by-elite-gymnastics-standards age of 27. After coming out of retirement to take a shot at the Rio Games. While working full time as a physician’s assistant at the Cleveland Clinic.

The training montages basically make themselves. And they come with a sweeping backstory and a compelling emotional arc: a family on the run from violence, immigrant parents working hard for their kids to have better lives, a young woman determined to change the patriarchal culture of the nation she fought to represent. Oh, and there’s a love story, featuring a supportive boyfriend who believes in her dream and also happens to know how to treat her injuries.

Someone option this thing already.

Gebeshian’s grandparents fled the Armenian genocide in 1915, moving to Lebanon to escape the violence. A generation later, her parents fled the Lebanese civil war, moving to the U.S. to escape that violence. A generation after that, Houry, born and raised in Massachusetts, would apply for Armenian citizenship so that she could compete for the small Eurasian nation.

Gebeshian started gymnastics at 5 years old, working her way up through the competition levels. By the time she was a high school sophomore, she was competing at the Level 10 national championships, and soon, college coaches came calling.

She went to the University of Iowa, and it was during her sometimes-rocky, occasionally disappointing college career, she told Flo Gymnastics, that she realized “I’m actually a pretty good competitor, and I can compete with the best on the stage.” She won the gold medal on beam at the NCAA national championships in her junior year and represented the Hawkeyes in the all-around at nationals in her senior year.

In 2010, as she was getting ready to graduate with a degree in athletic training, she started thinking about the 2012 Games. The U.S. talent pool was exceptionally deep, and her chances of making that team were slim, but Armenia has no elite women’s gymnastics program to speak of.

Countries with small gymnastics programs, or with weak programs that do not field whole teams or place highly if they do, can be eligible to send a single gymnast to the games, as nations like India, Australia and New Zealand did in Rio. Gebeshian secured Armenian citizenship, and began training with an eye to competing in London under the Armenian flag.

She went to the World Championships that year, the first step to qualifying for the games. “I was a little bit starstruck because I was thinking, ‘Wow, I am competing in the same arena with the best gymnasts in the world,’” she told Flo Gymnastics. And it showed in her performance: she finished just one spot shy of qualifying for the Olympic test event. Gebeshian was given an alternate spot, and left in the uncomfortable position of quasi-hoping that a fellow gymnast would get sick or injured and have to drop out. No one did. She was crushed: “I felt like my life was over.”

She decided to quit. “I left the sport, I decided, I’m not going to do this anymore,” she told The Huffington Post, speaking from Rio the day after the closing ceremonies. “Life’s not fair.” And so she began her life without gymnastics, her life as a normal person.

She enrolled in a master’s program in medical science at Wake Forest University in North Carolina, and this is where the sports movie finds its romantic subplot. While on a practical rotation in Cleveland, Gebeshian met a podiatric surgeon and they fell in love.

As she tells it, it was her now-fiance, Duane Ehredt Jr., who urged her to go back into the gym. “He was like, you know what, I think it’s possible you should try and compete again at the elite level, like, why not? Nothing’s stopping you,” she said. She was skeptical: “I was like, please, I’m overweight, I haven’t done gymnastics in three years, there’s no way.”

But he was persistent, insisting that the logistical challenges ― the cost of training, the need for her to continue building her medical career ― could be overcome. “The more and more we talked he was like, ‘Come to Cleveland, you can find a gym here, you can find a job here, I’ll be here, we can make it work,’” Gebeshian said. “So he kind of convinced me to start back up again.”

Which is exactly what she did. She moved to Cleveland and found a job at the Cleveland Clinic, and, with the goal of making it to the 2015 World Championships and qualifying for the Rio Games, she found a gym where she could train, Gymnastics World. So far, so good. Still, by this time, she was 25 years old, over the hill by gymnastics standards. (The average age for women gymnasts in Rio was 20). She was out of shape. And she was working full time in a surgery theater. And the owners of the gym would let her use their equipment, but they didn’t have anyone who could coach her to an Olympic standard. She decided to train herself.

“At first I thought, ‘Oh, my God, what am I doing?’” Gebeshian said. “I started from zero, literally.” In the beginning, she was too rusty to even do gymnastics. “I couldn’t do anything,” she said. “I had to get back into shape. I took the first three or four months and just did strength and conditioning and cardio, just to slim back down.” The owners of her gym were supportive ― when the former NCAA gymnast walked in and told them she wanted to go to the Olympics for a nation that had no gymnastics team, she said, “They were like, ‘OK, go for it.’”

Still, she was on her own: “I didn’t have a coach. I was training myself.” And, she was funding herself, working full time to afford training and, eventually, travel and meet registration fees. 

During this time, Gebeshian was working from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. every day, learning everything she’d need to know in the operating room. (Now, she works in labor and delivery, and crams all her shifts into two days, working a 24-hour shift and a 16-hour shift.) She’d work a full day at the hospital, and then she’d go to the gym for four or five hours. 

Were there moments when she thought she might be delusional to be doing what she was doing? “Absolutely,” Gebeshian said. “I would come home some days and be crying to Duane, ‘Why am I doing this?’” 

The people around her might have thought she was kidding herself, too. “The first couple of months,” she said, “everyone was probably looking at me like, ‘Who is this girl? What is she thinking that she’s going to be an Olympian and she can’t even do a cast to handstand on the bars?’” 

Ehredt was a motivational force, and his professional skills came in handy as well. Gebeshian had a lingering foot injury that was causing her pain just as she began attempting her comeback, in 2014, “and so he took care of me, and he resolved the issue. It was good to have him right there.”

Going back to the gym required some pride-shelving, as Gebeshian got her body back into shape and then started attempting tricks and routines again. “It was so embarrassing,” she said, “and I would come home and be like, ‘Ugh, gym was terrible, everyone was looking at me like I was a weirdo.’”

But it paid off. “It was a process,” Gebeshian said. “I made a plan and I stuck to it, and it took a lot of determination and dedication and discipline, and it worked out.” And, for the young girls who were watching her, it was an education. “I think it was really great for the kids at the gym, because they got to see somebody who had a goal and was determined to make that goal happen,” she said. 

In Gebeshian’s eyes, the fact that she had to start from scratch only benefitted the younger gymnasts who shared the gym with her. “It was actually a good thing that I looked like an idiot when I started,” she said, “because they could actually see the transition and see what it takes.” 

Joan Ganim, the co-owner of Gymnastics World, agrees. “She’s been such an example to all my students, because she’s showing determination, she has such a great work ethic, and she pushes herself without anyone telling her what to do.”

By the time the 2015 World Championships in Glasgow were approaching, the Armenian coaches knew about her, though they weren’t helping her out with funding. “They didn’t know who I was, they didn’t know what I could offer,” Gebeshian said. “Which I understood, and I said, ‘Fine. I will prove to you that I am someone who is legitimate.’”

To give her a chance to prove that she could handle competing on the world stage, they sent her to the 2015 European Championships. She could, indeed, handle it; she placed 19th. Now, still working full time (slogging through round-the-clock shifts several days a week in the labor and delivery department), she started looking ahead to the World Championships. She competed in Glasgow and placed 68th, strong enough to qualify for a test event in Rio, where she again placed high enough to qualify for the next event. And the next event was the 2016 Olympic Games.

For her trip to Rio, she was assigned an Armenian coach, though not a coach of women’s gymnastics. His expertise was in the men’s side of the sport, and “he didn’t know women’s gymnastics that well,” Gebeshian said. He was largely assigned to her because he spoke English, “and he was really supportive,” she said. “He turned out to be really helpful.”

How is this story not a screenplay yet? Because if this were a screenplay, you’d tell the writer to cut one of these obstacles from the heroine’s journey, because it’s all starting to be a bit much. Did Gebeshian ever worry that she wouldn’t make it? That she would get hurt, or embarrass herself at the biggest competition in the world, or do more damage than good to the cause of women’s gymnastics in Armenia?

“I really didn’t,” she said. “I had two goals. One was to get me to the Olympics, and the other was to get Armenia to the Olympics. I knew there were going to be obstacles, but I knew what I had to do to get there.”

And in Rio, Gebeshian had the best meet of her life. She competed in a fan-designed leotard – white, with a mountain range drawn out in crystals, a tribute to Armenia – and stuck all four of her routines. She performed her signature mount on bars, jumping over the low bar, completing a full twist in the space between the low and high bar, before grabbing the high bar and launching into the rest of her routine. As she was the first person to perform it in an international competition, it will forever be named after her. When her bar routine was over, she hugged the bars. When her beam routine was over, she kissed the beam.

She didn’t perform well enough to qualify for all-around finals, but that didn’t diminish what she’d accomplished. She became Armenia’s first-ever female Olympic gymnast, and, by creating a new skill, advanced the sport of gymnastics. The miserable months of conditioning had paid off, and the outlandish announcements that she was going to be an Olympian had come true.

Gebeshian’s story has all the hallmarks of stirring propaganda about the power of the American dream – you know, bootstraps, stick-to-it-ness, ignoring the doubters. Asked if it struck her that her story sounds like a classically American one, even though she competes for Armenia, she says she can see the echoes of the American dream in what she’s achieved, but she credits her upbringing “as an Armenian woman,” too. “That dedication and determination and discipline, that mix of being an Armenian-American is really what pushed me to get here,” Gebeshian said. “It’s a mesh of both cultures. I really think that it took both.”

Still, she’s found far more support in the U.S. than she has in Armenia, where women’s gymnastics, she said, is woefully underdeveloped. “We don’t have any funding going to our women’s program,” she said. “It’s still a very male-dominated society, I would say.” The men don’t get a lot of extravagant support either, Gebeshian said, but what little money goes to gymnastics goes to them. “I think it’s just evolved that all the funding goes to the men, and on the women’s side it’s more a recreational program and they don’t have the coaching or the resources to build anything,” she said. 

Gebeshian wants to change that. “The reason why I did this is to get more recognition and support and funding for women in Armenia, especially in the gymnastics community,” she said. “So I hope that I can give back, and all the funds that I’ve raised through my GoFundMe will go to that.”

But if she wants to do that, it’ll once again be up to her. She met with the Armenian president while in Rio, and asked him for help. Gebeshian said he was not helpful: “I said, ‘This is my goal, this is what I really want to do, how can we make this happen?’” His response? “He was like, ‘Well, you’ve done a good job starting this, it’s on you to make it happen.’”

She tried to convey that she was hoping for some government support, arguing that there are talented young gymnasts already training in Armenia, who could make it to the world stage if given some funding and coaching. “And he said, ‘You get a team together and make it happen.’ I’m not sure I’m supposed to do that, but that is my goal,” Gebeshian said. “I guess all the weight is on my shoulders.”

The president’s response is disappointing, to be sure. But it means that we already know exactly what the Houry Gebeshian movie sequel will be about.

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Poor Ashley Iaconetti, right? The most beloved sentient mascara smear on TV, or at least on “Bachelor in Paradise,” continued her stint on Season 3 this week with more tears and more heartache. 

Last week, Ashley arrived in Puerto Vallarta to find her beloved Jared Haibon, the object of her single-minded attentions since last season of “Bachelor in Paradise,” had recently paired up with Caila Quinn, the ever-sunny second runner-up on Ben Higgins’s season of “The Bachelor.”

Devastated, Ashley simultaneously insisted that she’d come to “Paradise” to move on and meet someone else, but also that she could never get over Jared and couldn’t stand to see him fall in love with Caila. But she was ready to move on. But would Jared EVER want to be with her? But she finally had closure with him. But maybe if she can convince Jared that Caila is a robot he’ll fall in love with her at last? It’s like “The Notebook,” ladies and gentlemen! 

It’s impossible not to empathize with Ashley. But the world isn’t black and white. She can be suffering, but also acting in a selfish and even cruel way.

Ashley has become a core member of the “Bachelor” squad since her arrival on the second season of “Paradise” last year. She’s beloved by her co-stars, including Jared ― if only platonically! ― and by producers ― if only for her nonstop capacity to spark emotional dramatics! ― and by many fans ― if only out of sheer pity. We feel like we know Ashley, far better than Caila (and, for that matter, Jared, who barely makes a peep in three seasons on the franchise until he meets Caila and finally gets excited about something). 

Perhaps more importantly, we feel like we know Ashley, as viewers, because she behaves exactly how we all would like to behave when a romantic endeavor doesn’t go our way, and how many of us have behaved in the past when suffering through a first heartbreak. Sure, she can’t stop sobbing, following Jared around and begging him to give her a glimmer of hope, but most of us can remember a time when we acted just that pathetic over a romantic object.

Twitter rallied around Ashley this week as she sobbed over Jared and lashed out at Caila: 

I won’t dispute this. Years ago, in college (and, for the record, Ashley and I are the same age ― 28), I fell hard for my best friend. We had an on-and-off relationship through graduation, and remained friends throughout. I know exactly why I acted the way I did when I sobbed on his shoulder after he told me that he couldn’t see me romantically, or that he’d met someone else. I know why I remained obsessed with the idea that we were ultimately soulmates and no other girl could satisfy him.

But I was wrong. I hurt him, many times over. I made his life very difficult and his dating life impossible, because he cared deeply about me but he wanted a platonic relationship. I look back and see an agonizing time in my own past, but also a lot of unjustifiable, hurtful actions on my part.

Now, I see Ashley making the same mistakes out of the same pain, and it’s impossible not to empathize with her. But the world isn’t black and white. She can be suffering, but also acting in a selfish and even cruel way. I know, because I have DONE JUST THAT. Most people have.

Defending this as “just being honest” or “being the realest,” though ― that’s a bridge too far.

Ashley might be aware of her own pain, her own resentment toward Caila, and her own hopeless desires ― and how embarrassing all of those are ― but she doesn’t seem aware of how selfish they are, so it might be healthy for her to be made aware. A true friend doesn’t pat a girl on the back for spiraling out and calling a romantic rival a “backstabbing whore” and “a robot” ― they pull a Nick Viall and tell her to pump the brakes. Sometimes tough love is better for you in the long run.

In the rush to pump Ashley up on social media ― as many other “Bachelor” stars did ― and to trot her out on “After Paradise” to double down on her nastiest statements, there’s been little regard for the actual couple in the mix here: Jared and Caila.

And believe it or not, Jared and Caila (Jaila?) are real people too. Imperfect perhaps, but easy enough to sympathize with, were there not such an automatic suspicion toward a woman who has a cheery disposition and tries to be diplomatic. Caila has long been dogged by the label of “fake,” though the evidence seems to come down to how much she smiles and how sweet she acts ― which, by the way, can both be genuine behaviors, not to mention behaviors that women are traditionally groomed to possess.

So far, Caila hasn’t been needlessly unpleasant toward Ashley on or after the show, even taking responsibility for not handling the situation with Jared as thoughtfully as she could have. Meanwhile, Ashley has been openly discussing her intent to sabotage the relationship in her in-the-moment interviews and tossing around slurs about Caila behind her back, especially to Jared. When Jade and Tanner, last season’s golden couple, show up to hand out a date card, Ashley goes in for the kill:

Afterward, when Caila finally confronted her underminer, Ashley smugly told her, “I don’t know if [Jared is] ever going to trust you more than he trusts me,” and flaunted her intention to continue telling her main man whatever crap she wanted about Caila.

Meanwhile, between sob sessions, the woman has brought her supposed dear friend Jared to a state of such exasperation he nearly walked off the show. 

Has no one ever experienced the misery of a “friend” who controls you by inducing guilt, demands all of your attention, and blackmails you emotionally whenever you try to find a scrap of happiness elsewhere? What about the hurt and frustration of being slut-shamed and trashed by a jealous ex or so-called friend of a guy you’re seeing, who’s determined to ruin your reputation?

These may not be comparably intense or heart-wrenching experiences to what Ashley is going through, but both Jared and Caila are suffering because she’s choosing not to deal with her pain in a mature and considerate way.

Frankly, there’s no way for Jared and Caila to avoid the situation short of simply ceding to Ashley’s demands ― and sacrificing their right to pursue a mutual, adult relationship. That’s not a fair or remotely healthy expectation, but it’s one Ashley is creating by constantly surrounding their blossoming romance in a tropical storm of tears. 

The Ashley I.-Jared-Caila love triangle is painful to watch because we all relate to the anguish of unrequited love, but her pain is inevitable. Jared doesn’t love her back ― that’s just how it is.

It’s hard not to love Ashley’s openness and relate to her pain. But kindness and self-control are also virtues, and a little bit of moderation in all things never hurt anyone.

Thus, Ashley is the only person with choices that could minimize everyone’s pain: She could have left when she didn’t get a rose instead of begging to stay. She could seek out non-Jared friends on the show to be her emotional supporters and distractions from Jared and Caila. She could simply be a little less impressed with her own realness and a little more kind. 

Honesty is a virtue, of course. It’s hard not to love Ashley’s openness and relate to her pain. But kindness and self-control are also virtues, and a little bit of moderation in all things never hurt anyone. 

Speaking of which, Team Jared and Caila ― but also Team Ashley. There might just be humanity and goodness in every single one of them. Who’d’a thunk?

For more on week four of “Bachelor In Paradise,” check out HuffPost’s Here To Make Friends podcast below:

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When I was a child I used to spend lazy Sunday mornings with my parents, relaxing in our large den on adjoining plush, comfy couches. My dad would turn the stereo on to listen to whatever opera or classical music was playing on WQXR. When he sat down next to me he’d unfold the neatly folded copy of The New York Times that was delivered by our paperboy in the wee hours of the morning. Dad had first choice of which section he wanted to read. I can’t remember if he chose the first section of current events or the sports but after he made his choice it was my mom’s turn. After that the paper belonged to me.

I was happy with leftovers.

I didn’t think about it then but those were golden hours. I loved reading the paper while lounging with my parents. The Times reliably offered something for all of us. I’d savor the Arts and Leisure section but also revelled in reading their magazine. I’d cut out the restaurant reviews to paste into my own restaurant notebook. And then I’d try my hand at their challenging crossword puzzle.

But as Bob Dylan wrote, the times they are a changin’.

The Times recently introduced a weekly feature series called Disability where readers will gain first hand perspectives from people living with disabilities. The feature will give an inside peek at what it’s like to live with daily challenges.

The inaugural piece was titled “Becoming Disabled” by Rosemarie Garland-Thomson and it was absolutely brilliant. I urge you to read it. Garland-Thomson, a teacher of English and bioethics at Emory University and founding director of the Disability Studies Initiative, explained in precise detail the importance of preparing now for your future that will, most likely, include becoming part of the disability community.

If you’re shaking your head no because you disagree, think again. Depression, anxiety, anorexia, bipolar disorder, ADHD, alcohol and drug addiction, panic attacks, dementia, dwarfism, autism and traumatic brain injury are included in what the author terms “disability growth areas.”

As time passes the definition will continue to shift to become more and more inclusive. Prepare yourself now for what your future may hold.

Garland-Thomson was born with six fingers and “one quite short arm” yet never thought of herself as disabled. Instead she learned at an early age how to adapt and thrive in a world that isn’t kind or accessible to those who are physically or emotionally challenged.

Like the author I never thought of myself as disabled. When I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis I was young and didn’t dwell on what my diagnosis meant in the world view. Subconsciously I must have thought I was merely someone who got a bad break and, like the author, began to learn at an early age (28) how to move about in a world that at times was unfriendly to me.

Becoming disabled while we’re young means we’re better prepared for what life has in store for us. We’ve faced and learned to live with obstacles, and that has been a great life lesson. Now we’re better prepared for life than most. At least we have that in our favor.

Years ago the word disabled had an unkind connotation. Handicapped. Different. Not able-bodied. Weakened. Incapable. Lame. Broken down. A lesser person.

No one discussed it. You could subscribe to medical or patient magazines but there were no newspaper headlines, no pride movements or slogans and barely any books to read on the topic.

For us it was a lonely world of hushed tones and long, sad faces that made us hang our heads in shame.

That was then. Thank G-d this is now.

The newest addition to The New York Times has me feeling hopeful. Hopeful, elated and filled with pride that our community, the one that was whispered about, will now take center stage as it’s prominently featured in a prestigious newspaper that’s provided all the news that’s fit to print since 1851.

In today’s healthcare landscape where patients’ voices are finally being listened to for their value I heartily applaud The New York Times for providing another place to hear our stories. We are, after all, in this world together and have something of value to say. And something of value to learn from each other.

When my parents sat next to me on that comfy couch in those golden hours so long ago we never dreamed I’d someday be writing about living with a disability. The last thirty years taught us how to live with it as a family. Today the new norm means it won’t take newly diagnosed patients as long to find their new norm. Now they’ll have the ability to learn out loud from each other. And for that I am truly grateful.

Communication is what creates awareness that will lead to a better understanding of the human condition. Education. Compassion. Tolerance. Community.

In the emotional climate we’re currently living in, where people are pitted one against the other, we need to walk around in each other’s shoes to create the kind of Nirvana I dream of. That’s a much better place for all of us to live.

This post was previously published on Cathy’s blog, AnEmpoweredSpirit.com.

Cathy Chester is an award-winning writer and health advocate who has lived with Multiple Sclerosis for 30 years. She writes about finding the joy in life despite disability on her blog, AnEmpoweredSpirit.com and as a regular contributor for MultipleSclerosis.net and The Huffington Post. She is also the official blogger for the prestigious international organization the Consortium of Multiple Sclerosis Centers. Her work has been published on countless health-related websites as she is passionate about helping others manage the difficulty of living with a chronic illness.

Follow Cathy on Twitter.

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Being a naïve, 19-year-old virgin gives me little authority on this lacy-bra-orgasmic-sigh topic, but I’m still nonetheless a writer that pens in provocative scenes when risqué characters run wild. Hints of unwinding zippers and sly smiles pepper my work, but usually those intimate paragraphs are confined to my Microsoft Word screen. Also, these rendezvous are a jumbling of vague sex buzzwords–I have as much sexual experience as a turnip so my characters act puppet-like and shallow. Although my affectionate words are false, it’s still awkward when my parents read my blush-inducing work. Eyes shift, middle age wrinkles burn, and young cheeks flood with quasi-innocent blood. To tackle this touchy subject, I asked my parents how reading these sexual encounters made them feel. Uncomfortable? Old? Unequipped to handle teen angst? Controlling the small smile and cheeky redness when interviewing my parents wasn’t easy–I’m their prized “baby girl,” not an author of sexy time.

Folding the laundry and concentrating harder than normal on our fragrant t-shirts, my mother said reading sex passages erased the rosy picture she painted of me. Dashes of guiltless brown hair and a fair complexion were my portrait, but after my short stories, I was black as the picture of Dorian Gray. It’s hard to stomach your daughter writing about “backseat blowjobs,” but the sphere of sexuality comes with the writer territory. “It was like I didn’t know you. I realized you were growing up,” she said intently to my Target leggings. She was taken aback at my maturity–it wasn’t so much awkwardness, but the shock of her baby turning into “scandalous college student” seemingly overnight. Without explicitly condoning my own sexual prowess, she said that to write piercing, memorable sex chapters, the author had to experience sex themselves [there goes all credibility of my writing]. Although porn is a cheap commodity, there’s something silky–spicy–exquisite about experiencing sex through your own skin rather than the sketchy internet. However, my mom said that sex wasn’t an integral part of writing; a read-between-the- lines aura was just as effective as direct, body-on-body descriptions. Despite her “fantasize without the gritty details” opinion, she was not overly comfortable with the following paragraph (which I admit is sappy and a false play at love).

“I lied. I said that nothing could distract me, but Nikita’s lips, his golden hair, his checkered dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, and that dainty Jack of Hearts tattoo on his forearm put any thought of the performance artists from my mind.
Only the pounding on the door by some impatient person tore us apart.
“Look at us being so selfish,” I said with a sly grin, zipping up his khaki trousers.
“What? Getting a stain out requires care and…precision.” Nikita’s beringed hands lingered on my inner thighs for as long as possible.”
—“You Got A Fast Car”, LearnTravelArt.com, June 2015

When I first published the short story, I secretly hoped she would skim (or skip entirely) the zesty zipper and thigh details (she didn’t). She wasn’t too phased, considering I was a flirting failure that still wore Star Wars socks with flip flops. Overall, my mother was laxer than I thought, accepting my Intercourse Words but seeing a few adult curls where there were baby hairs before. “Go to x-rated movies together,” she chuckled when I asked how to bypass parental embarrassment. It’s not a horrid idea; reading my explicit sex is akin to those trumped up movies that sexualize breathing, eyelashes, and bedsheets.

My father: he’s the most clandestine, intelligent, and scatter-brained person I know, so puzzling together his thoughts was no laughable feat. Stringing together his shifty looks, disparate statements, and random interruptions about my sister’s leased car created a sex dilemma–at least from my writer’s perspective. He admitted reading that work was uncomfortable, but I would only understand “if I was a parent.” I’m not motherly, but imagining my offspring in racy literary adventures is not pleasant. I’m an unashamed daddy’s girl so a resounding NO answered my question about needing to have great sex to write a stellar sex scene. I’ll always have dimples and bows to my father. He’s always going to fix my broken down car. Skipping over my sex diction is only natural for a teenage coddler. Staring intently at his browned face, I asked him the best way to get over this growing-up awkwardness. “Abstain,” he said, glaring under thick brows at my smirking face. He wasn’t an enthusiast for this little ditty I penned:

“The seedlings of my second Indie Phase were germinating, Florence + The Machine whipping me with red hair and echoing, strengthening tones. Florence Welch’s powerful voice, saddening and demure, belted out Addicted to Love (also one of my favorite songs) every morning of senior year. The student parking lot smelled of backseat blowjobs and inadequate driving skills, but it also gleamed of seven a.m. dawn and gauzy pinkness.”
—“An Open Letter to my Musical Phases”, LearnTravelArt.com, July 2016

Blowjobs and overprotective fathers will never mix.

My sister is the shoulder-touching, sensual-voice queen of flirting and is eons ahead of my clumsy lip smacking attempts at boyfriendhood. She frankly doesn’t care about my sexual writings; in high school, she was the connoisseur of the hot pink sex books at the library. I appreciate her openness and breezy attitude to human biology, especially when she reads passages that blush my fingertips. However, she is the (much-needed) exception. Imagining my 80+ year old grandparents perusing literary threesomes, Victoria’s Secret lingerie, and marijuana flavored condoms is pure horror. The same goes for cousins, aunts, uncles, etc. who think my baby-faced countenance will never morph into adulthood. My upcoming novel will most likely feature sex, so a plan of familial avoidance is already stewing in my brain. Use a pen name? Personally deliver them copies with arousing pages ripped out? My family is an open mess of relatives and drama, but titillating literature isn’t quite in the sphere of normalcy yet.

Mae West once said “Sex is an emotion in motion.” To me, this doesn’t just mean the physical sensations that wet the lip and electrify the skin. It’s the rhythmic heartbeat of words, undulating and drumming out a beautiful cadence of well-written sex. There’s absolutely nothing awkward about that, even for a naïve 19-year-old.

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