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Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Life With Melodee - Part 4

People often ask me the same question:

What is it like to live with Melodee?

That's a pretty big and deep subject, and there isn't an easy answer. Like the old saying goes, it's complicated.

But I'm going to try to tell you a little about what Life With Melodee is like in a series of postings here on Melodee's blog.

Part Four
Random Recollections

As I sat here planning what to write about next, it dawned on me that I have left out a lot of strange things that happened over the years between when I met Melodee and when we admitted that we were in free fall for each other. In an effort to correct this, I offer the following random comments and thoughts.

June Cleaver She Ain't

Not even close. In fact, Melodee is a horrible housekeeper, and a worse cook. I don't think Melodee even knowns why she is so bad at these domestic activities, so she usually just says that she never learned how to do them. But let's be honest here. Using a broom, putting an empty glass in the sink, doing the dishes, and even running a vacuum aren't really skills that have a steep learning curve. Even cooking isn't all that tough if you can read (and Melodee can read very well, even if at blinding speed that makes me dizzy to watch her flip the pages) and follow directions. I think that cooking and cleaning offer nothing to hold her attention. She would rather do something interesting, and since she has no inhibitions of any kind, Melodee pretty much does what she wants to do when she wants to do it. Maria (Melodee's long-time housekeeper and cook) forbids Melodee from even going in the kitchen unsupervised. I think the girl could screw up Cup-O-Soup!

Speaking Of Inhibitions

Melodee has none. Not a one. And I am not just talking about sexual inhibitions here. She will say anything that is on her mind to anyone. Just as one example, I saw her tell a now former President of the United States that he was a "dumb-fuck" and that he should "grow a pair of balls or put on a dress". And this was at a White House reception with maybe 2000 of our closest friends around. On the sexual side, she can be a little hard to swallow sometimes, no pun intended. When "in the mood", she will do just about any thing in just about any place. She has gotten us tossed out of a few of those places. Take the time that she used liquid latex to paint on her "clothes". She was totally nude, except for her shoes, and had painted on a shirt and pair of jeans. She strolled right through the lobby of a major hotel and into the bar like she owned the place. And then there is her habit of playing "dress-up" on a regular basis. She likes the schoolgirl look. And the nurse. And the policewoman. But I think her favorite is to dress up like a cat. Sometimes Melodee likes the big cats, particularly tigers and cheetahs. Other times, she goes for the house cat look. And it can get a lot more, well, complicated. Not that I'm complaining.

Gun Play

Melodee grew up in the country, and like most country folks, she knows how to hunt and how to handle a firearm. She's a fair shot with a rifle, and she won't kill herself with a handgun. Probably. At one point, I decided that, for security reasons, Melodee needed to be armed. She explained to me that she would not carry a gun. She gave up hunting long ago, and didn't want to have a gun in her purse. I can, and did, respect that, so I convinced her to carry a can of pepper spray. She put it on her keyring and had it in her purse. One evening, a bunch of us from the company were having a dinner meeting at Melodee's house, and she decided she needed some gum. She walked to the side table where she had tossed her purse when we came home earlier that day, and reached inside. After a moment of fumbling around, the pepper spray went off. I still don't know how it happened, but it did. She effectively maced everyone in the room. I decided that maybe the pepper spray wasn't as good of an idea as I had thought, so I got her a stun-gun. Again, it went in her purse. For those men smart enough to avoid a woman's purse, you can't believe the amount of stuff in there. Most of it we men prefer not to imagine. We were at a book signing in Chicago and Melodee reached into her purse for something. Next thing I knew, she was on the floor flopping around like a fish out of water. Somehow, she had armed and triggered the stun gun with one hand in her purse. After that, I carry the weapons and just stay close to Melodee.

Economic Stimulus

Melodee is a shop-a-holic. I think she even has a union card to prove it. She has a particular addiction to high-end jewelery. The staff at Tiffany's know her by name and on sight. And I mean the shop in New York. She spends a lot of money on clothes and shoes as well as jewelery. For a long time, I wondered about the clothes and shoes part, but I found out what was going on after we were married. She buys a lot more clothes and shoes than she has in her closets. At the rate she shops, she would fill the house up in a matter of months, and I never saw any Goodwill or Salvation Army trucks around the place. It turns out that she donates most of the "excess" to a local charity. Some they sell, some they give to women to wear to job interviews or to work. The transactions are very low profile. The real downside is that both of our daughters are catching the shopping addiction from their mom now.

Attention Junkie. And Pusher

Melodee likes to be the center of attention. See above for more. I think that a huge part of her lack of inhibitions goes right back to this fact. By being flirtatious, outspoken, and all the rest, she gets the attention that she craves. But it's a two-way street with her when it comes to attention. I shower a lot of attention on Melodee, and I'll even admit that I spoil her. Usually not with "things", because she's pretty well got all of that, but with a touch or a word. I mentioned in Part 3 that I had, without thinking, picked a little wildflower for her, and she sort of melted. Well, I still pick flowers for Melodee. Mostly for exercise, I walk the perimeter of our property every day. That's about 7 miles. Along the way, pretty much all year round, I can find a few little wildflowers to pick and bring home for her. She loves the attention, but she gives it back to me. Melodee is my second wife, though I really believe that she is my first true love. But that doesn't mean that I haven't dated in the past. I have never had a woman so in-tune with my mood and needs as Melodee is. I don't know what a "soul mate" is, but maybe being so connected is part of that, but I think it's also possible that the giving is just a part of Melodee. It's who she is.


Melodee has a good deal of baggage. I won't go into the details of her childhood other than to say that through a rather nasty chain of events, she was addicted to drugs at a very young age. This addiction has, as it does with all addicts, stayed with her for all these many years. Over all, I think she's done well for herself despite being in various states of recovery since her pre-teen years and being deaf. There was even a period when she worked as a hooker to pay for her fixes. Since I have known Melodee, she has had one relapse to the drugs, and I mentioned that in an earlier part of this series. But, since we have been "together", she has stayed clean and says she has no desire to use again. I believe her.

Hell Hath No Fury...

Some people who know Melodee only casually have the opinion that she angers easily. The reality is that she is more of a "slow boil" person. She will sit and stew until she finally has had enough, then she blows up. The reason for the confusion, at least as I see it, is because Melodee is so outspoken. She will tell you (or anyone else) exactly how she feels, and she lacks anything even close to tact. If she thinks an idea is stupid, she will say so, usually in close to those words with a few of the infamous deleted expletives tossed in. If a person keeps harping about something that Melodee has already identified as a stupid idea, she will, usually, tell them to just shut the fuck up and go the fuck away. Her harsh words and course manner can easily be seen by some people as being angry. I get that. But those people have never seen Melodee really angry. I have. Several times. Maybe Melodee is atypical, because she doesn't get angry like most women I have known over the years. She doesn't cry or get sullen. Melodee doesn't throw things. When I think about it, Melodee's anger is more like that I have seen from many men. Melodee yells, cusses like a sailor (actually, I am a sailor, and she uses words I never would in public!), and she will punch someone if they are too close. She paces a lot, too. I have never seen her hit a wall or other immovable object, but I think she just might under the right conditions. Trust me, you do not want to be on the wrong side of her anger.

The Inner Mommy

Shortly after we were married, Melodee legally adopted my two daughters, Amanda and Debbie. The girls already loved her as "Aunt Melodee" and the transition to "Mom" or "Mommy" was easy for all three of them. On April 26, 2008 Melodee gave birth to our son, Jack, Jr., or JJ. There were some concerns, mostly by Melodee, that JJ might be born deaf as she was, but everything is just fine with him. Interestingly, he learned to sign before he learned to speak. Now, he does both, and the simple truth is that he is much better at sign than either the girls or I. He is the only one in the house who can keep up with Melodee when she is signing at top speed. Well, other than our dog Tripper. He's really good at sign, too. I know the trip of being a Mommy hasn't been easy for Melodee. She will sometimes fret about never hearing JJ cry and missing his first words. She gets equally down because she can't hear the girls call her "Mom" or tell her that they love her. But she manages. A good friend and colleague of ours is a ham radio operator, and he's a wizard with electronics and radio, and he put together a little system using old pagers. The kids and I all have a little box with a button on it that we can press. That sends a signal to a pager that Melodee carries, and it vibrates to alert her, and the display tells her who is calling for her. JJ was able to use his to call his Mommy by the time he was a year old. There is an old saying that I heard once that any woman with normal biology can be a mother, but it takes someone special to be a Mommy. Melodee is a great Mommy.

Fantasy Island

I guess this mostly for the men reading, and that's alright. I know I'll catch hell from the women reading, but I always had the opinion that men had a larger sexual appetite than women. I don't know if that's valid opinion or not, and it doesn't matter. In my experience, I was always the one who was ready to have sex anytime, anyplace. I had to talk my woman into the idea. Well, I learned something about Melodee very early, even before we were "together", and that is that she has a healthy and strong sex drive. She enjoys sex, is creative, and very open. Once we started really "dating", I thought that was wonderful and that, maybe, I had died and gone to heaven. A bit later, I found out that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Simple biology is that men are not multi-orgasmic, at least not in the long term. And then there is Melodee's "30 Second Rule". One day she bet me that she could take me from nothing to climax in under 30 seconds. I admit that I don't have the staying power of a porn star, but 30 seconds seemed a little fast to me, so I took the bet. Nothing happened the rest of the day, just normal routine things around the house. About 6pm, Maria took the kids to her place for the evening to watch some TV and play some games. About 6:30pm, Melodee pretty well jumped me on the couch. The bad news is that I lost the bet. The good news is that the loser had to get on top for the rest of the session. Melodee's philosophy on sex seems to be that she'll try anything once, twice if she likes it. I haven't found anything that she has done only once.

Well, that's about all I have for now.

Melodee wanted me to invite any readers to feel free to comment on these postings. One, or maybe both, of us will answer.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Blow Up Dolls

Melodee's Home Page

I can't seem to leave some news stories alone...

Blow-Up Dolls

I like this idea.

Many of you may not know anything about the Bigelow modules, and a good place for general information is the Wikipedia article at and the links from there.

In general, think of a big balloon in space. It's cheap, light, and usable. By the way, none of those things apply to the ISS or the Space Shuttles.

I think this is a good solution.

Keep Loving!

Melodee Aaron, Erotica Romance Author
Home Page
Melodee's Books at BookStrand

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Melodee's Home Page

I can't seem to leave some news stories alone...

Shooting The Moon

No, nothing to bitch about here.

Just interesting trivia for you to consider next time you moon someone.

Keep Loving!

Melodee Aaron, Erotica Romance Author
Home Page
Melodee's Books at BookStrand

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

And The Dumbest

Melodee's Home Page

I can't seem to leave some news stories alone...

Now We're Really Getting Dumb

For Those Who Are Hip

The mos fri par of thi is tha a gro of deg mor in pos of pow act agr wit thi.

Mor pro tha hav an edu doe not mea you are stu.

For Those Who Have A Brain

The most frightening part of this is that a group of degreed morons in positions of power actually agreed with this.

More proof that having an education does not mean you aren't stupid.

Keep Loving!

Melodee Aaron, Erotica Romance Author
Home Page
Melodee's Books at BookStrand

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Even Dumber

Melodee's Home Page

I can't seem to leave some news stories alone...

This Is Even Dumber

Am I the only one who thinks this is really bad idea?

Let me tell you why I think this is such a bad idea...

First, a mammoth (or mastodon if you prefer) is bigger than a modern elephant. In some cases, a lot bigger. That means they are stronger than a modern elephant. And a modern elephant is pretty damned strong.

Second, there is no evidence to suggest that a mammoth has a better personality than a wild modern elephant. Personally, I think that a mammoth probably would have a temper to make a modern elephant look like a Girl Scout on a cookie sales crusade. I would bet money that a mammoth is a pretty foul tempered creature.

Third, the mammoth went extinct for a reason. No, I don't mean how they went extinct. Maybe the climate change got them. Maybe early humans hunted them off the planet. Who cares? I mean why did the mammoth go extinct? Only God can answer that question. The problem is that they went extinct for a reason that we do not understand.

I could go on, but I think you get my drift.

Let's not mess with them, OK?

Keep Loving!

Melodee Aaron, Erotica Romance Author
Home Page
Melodee's Books at BookStrand

Monday, February 7, 2011

Life With Melodee - Part 3

People often ask me the same question:

What is it like to live with Melodee?

That's a pretty big and deep subject, and there isn't an easy answer. Like the old saying goes, it's complicated.

But I'm going to try to tell you a little about what Life With Melodee is like in a series of postings here on Melodee's blog.

Part Three
The Flames

Sorry I've been absent for so long. I had a bout with the flu, and then other issues came up. I think Melodee really nailed it, though. I just got lazy. So, after her giving me a little push, I'm back at it again.

This time, I'm going to talk a bit about the things that led up to Melodee and I falling in love. No, that's not really correct, because I think we'd been in love for a long time before we admitted it to ourselves and each other.

As I said before, my two daughters and I were living at Melodee's house, and everything was working out well. Melodee's housekeeper, Maria, would watch the girls when I had to leave town with Melodee on trips, and if I had to go someplace alone, Aunt Melodee would take care of them. The girls learned sign language, both the standard ASL and Melodee's own special version, much faster than I did. I chalk it up to them being kids and information sponges.

Melodee was still dating other people, and it was still making me nuts sometimes. Yes, I was still rationalizing my irritation as being concerned about her safety. Yes, I still knew it was bullshit.

It was about that time when I noticed a change in Melodee. She stopped dating and became more withdrawn. She spent long hours talking with a man on the Internet in chat rooms and via email. I wondered what was going on, but she would deny that anything was wrong. I found out that the man she was in contact with was doing a tour of duty in Iraq, and then things got really weird. Melodee started asking me if I knew of anyone who could get her to Iraq to meet him. I tried to impress on her how dangerous that would be for her, but she wasn't interested in any of that. She wanted to go.

I didn't mention that the man was also married. Any of you who know much about the military will see the problem here. For a married officer, having an affair can end a career. Whether it was that fact or just that the man really is an officer and gentleman, he talked Melodee out of the bad idea of going to downtown Baghdad for vacation. Personally, I think it was the latter that motivated him.

Just days after this all happened, we had a tour on the US east coast. Melodee hates to tour, but she went anyway, and she became more and more isolated. She snapped at everyone, and even walked out of an appearance. Somehow, she got past the security people and pretty well vanished for several hours.

I had gone back to the hotel to see if she was there, and was just about to call the local police when she walked into the room like she owned the place. And it was clear from the instant she walked in that she was so stoned that she could barely stand.

I mentioned before that Melodee has a history of drug abuse, but she had been on the wagon for about 4 years. When she fell off, she fell off hard. At the risk of getting an assault charge, I shook her down and found a rather large supply of dope and the related paraphernalia. I also found the name and phone number of the pusher who fixed her up. I doubt they will ever find him.

To make a long story short, we got her home, cleaned up, and back on her feet.

Melodee continued her contact with the man in Iraq, but he made it clear to her that he wasn't going to leave his wife. You have to keep in mind that Melodee is used to getting what she wants. Call her spoiled if you like, but she was not a happy camper about that. She went off on him, and later, after she effectively hung up the Internet on him, she went off on me. And all I was doing was having a glass of milk before bed.

I had learned a long time before this night that the worst thing I could do when Melodee was in a mood like she was in was to actually say anything. So I just listened as she ranted. Actually, I watched, mostly. She was so mad that she couldn't speak, so she used sign. At one point she said that the man had told her that she needed to find a good man who was available, and suggested that she go out with me.

I almost choked on my milk, at least at first. I had pretty well worked up my nerve to ask her out before she started her online dating affair, but then backed away. So, I decided in an instant that it was now or never.

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "So, would you go out with me?"

Melodee stopped pacing and stared at me for a moment before she signed, "What? Like on a date?"

I shrugged again. "No, not really a date. Just go out for a couple of drinks and dinner and maybe some dancing. You know, nothing about business, just friends out for a good time."

She laughed. "Oh, like fuck buddies?"

I actually did spray milk out of my nose. "No! Just friends." I'll admit to more than a few fantasies about her.

It was her turn to shrug. "Sure, why not?"

We decided to go to the local tribal casino at Viejas the next evening.

We more or less avoided each other all the next day. I really don't know if that was intentional or not, but Melodee and I didn't see much of each other until it was time to leave at about 6pm. Maria told me that Melodee would be out in a minute, so I went to get the car. Truck, actually. A Ford F-250 with a crew cab. Melodee likes trucks. I pulled the truck up in front of the house and was about halfway up the steps when Melodee came through the door.

Before I go on, I want you to remember that I had been living in Melodee's house for more than a year and working for her for more than 4 years. I'd seen her in everything from jeans and a tee shirt to evening gowns that cost more than the GDP of some countries. I'd seen her in swimsuits that weren't much more than a few square inches of lace and some string to baggy sweatshirts and footy pajamas. And she has the habit of running around the house after she showers in nothing but a towel. I already knew that, somehow, Melodee made them all look good. Maybe I'm biased on that part.

She was wearing a yellow skirt that was far enough above her knees and tight enough that I couldn't help wondering how she could walk in it. Added to the skirt was a black top that left like a mile of her waist exposed. She had her hair down to its full length just past her shoulders, and she had added shoes that had at least 4-inch heels. Melodee is tall. She claims she's 5'9", but she's closer to 5'10". I know because I'm 6'9" and the top of her head was level with my eyes. Not that I was looking at the top of her head.

I can remember that the only thing I could come up with to say was, "Hi."

She smiled that dawn-breaking smile of hers and said, "Not tonight."

We got in the truck and drove the 10 or so miles to the casino. I couldn't even speak and I was afraid to look over at her for fear of wrecking the truck. As we walked through the casino to the restaurant, she held my hand and every man we passed stared at her. No, it didn't bother me, but I still don't know why. All I knew at the time was that I didn't blame them.

After dinner, we went over to the nightclub in the casino, and we had a few drinks. Between the wine with dinner and the drinks at the bar, I was at least able to talk to her. Until then, I don't think I had said more than a dozen words. I managed something like, "You look nice tonight."

She smiled. "Thanks. I hoped you'd like it."

"Yeah, I do." I needed another drink. Or ten.

She laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. I recall wishing she hadn't done that, because my mind sort of kicked into neutral then. "Are you going to ask me to dance or what?"

I honestly still don't know how Melodee can dance. She's totally deaf, but she keeps in time with the music somehow. She says she can feel the vibrations, but I don't know. Maybe she's in better tune to that than I am, but I can't feel anything. But I asked her to dance, and we went to the dance floor. The band played two fairly fast songs, and we danced to them, only holding hands most of the time. Then, the band shifted gears to a slow dance. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and headed for the table, but Melodee grabbed my hand. She frowned and signed, "Where are you going?" Without waiting for an answer, she moved into my arms and wrapped hers around my neck. By now, my brain couldn't find any gear, not even neutral, so I just followed her lead.

I had danced with Melodee before at various business gatherings. I often went to such events with her as her "date", but I was actually her bodyguard. The fact was that this was different. Those past events were, well, business. This was pleasure. Before, I was focused on the crowd, watching the people there. Now, I was focused on Melodee.

As the song played (it was "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" originally by Aerosmith. Yes, I remember that.), it felt right somehow. Melodee rested her head on my shoulder, and she did something that, at the time, I couldn't follow at all. As we danced, she pulled her right hand from around my neck and rested it on my chest, and was signing with her fingers against my chest. I couldn't understand her, though, and I told her so. She just smiled and put her arm back around my neck.

After the song ended, we went back to the table, and sat down. I had my hands on the table in front of me, and she reached over and took them in her left hand so she could sign with her right. "I was trying to tell you 2 things out there. First, thanks for bringing me here tonight."

I guess my brain was working a little better. "No, thank you for coming with me."

Melodee smiled. "And it felt really good dancing with you."

"I could say the same."

She laughed. About then, the waitress came around, and Melodee changed from the mixed drink she had to iced tea, and I followed suit. I realized that I didn't need booze to build up my nerve. I just needed to relax. Melodee wouldn't bite me, at least unless I wanted her to!

We talked and drank tea for a long time, sometimes taking a break to dance a little. As the night wore on, I think we both relaxed a lot and became more comfortable with each other. We also spent a lot of time just staring at each other. I won't even try to guess what Melodee's thoughts were, but mine were that maybe this attraction I'd felt for her for so long was something more than simple attraction.

It was after 1am when we decided to head home. As we waited for the valet to bring the truck around, Melodee held on to my arm and rested her head on my shoulder, and it felt great. As we pulled out of the casino, Melodee told me to take "the other" way home.

There are 2 ways to get between where Melodee lives and the casino. The fast way is to take Interstate 8 from the East Willows Road overpass to Highway 79. The "other way" is a dirt road called Viejas Grade Road up the mountain and through Descanso. So, I turned and made my way through the reservation and started up the grade.

It was a clear and moonless night, and there were at least a million stars in the sky. I'd known for a long time that Melodee loves the night sky, and it didn't surprise me at all when, about halfway up the hill, she asked me to pull over so she could look at the stars. I pulled over on a wide spot and shut off the truck and the lights, and we stepped outside. Melodee fumbled in her purse and pulled out a little LED flashlight with a red lens, and we walked to the back of the truck and I let down the tailgate and spread a blanket on the bare steel. I lifted her up to sit on the blanket, and without thinking, I leaned over and picked a freeway daisy from the side of the road and handed it to her.

In the red light, I saw her face get a funny look, like she couldn't believe that I was giving her a flower that didn't come from a florist. For a moment, I thought that I had offended her somehow, broken some rule known only to women that said unless the flowers cost $40 a dozen, they aren't worth having. But Melodee slowly smiled, and took the flower from my hand. She signed, "No one ever picked a flower for me before." She slipped the flower behind her ear, and then patted the tailgate next to her. I sat down beside her, and she leaned against me. We just sat there for a long time, watching the stars and not speaking. We only moved to point to the occasional shooting star as they passed through the darkness.

I felt Melodee shiver, and I asked if she was cold. She nodded, so I helped her down and we got back in the truck. I started the engine and started to put the truck in gear, but she touched my hand. When I looked at her, Melodee took a deep breath and took the flower from her hair and put it carefully on the dash. She leaned over and kissed me.

Things got a little blurry after that. I know we set there in the darkness making out like a couple of kids at the drive-in for more than an hour. I can't remember either of us saying much of anything, and truth be told, we didn't get much past "first base". What I do know for sure is that Melodee felt wonderful in my arms and her lips tasted delicious.

It was pushing 3am when we finally came up for air and decided that we should get home, and all the way there, we held hands and Melodee used the center seatbelt and sat next to me. I just parked the truck in front of the house and we went inside. We peeked into the girl's rooms and they were both sound asleep.

All the way home, I had been wondering what to do when we got there. Okay, I'll admit that I wanted Melodee. To this day, I have no idea why we didn't have sex in the truck, but it seemed right just kissing her. Once we got home, I thought things would be different. I know there are some reading this who will fuss about my kids being in the house, but I wasn't thinking about that.

I walked Melodee to her room, and she opened the door. She turned to face me and smiled, though it looked a little shy, something I had never seen from her before. She asked, "Would you like to come inside?"

I didn't even think about it. It was like I had planned it all, and rehearsed the lines, and knew exactly what to say to her. I reached up and put my hand on her cheek. "No, we both need to think about this and what happened." I kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Melodee."

I walked down the hall toward my room.

By the time I got to my room and closed the door, I was ready to kick myself. I don't know how long I was in the shower (cold, by the way) before I noticed that I still had my socks on. But sometime around when I laid down and turned out the light, I realized what had happened.

At some point over the last five years, I had fallen in love with Melodee. The fact that she was acting an awful lot like I was told me that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way.

I slept very well that night, and I had wonderful dreams about an amazing woman.

How Dumb Is Dumb?

Melodee's Home Page

I can't seem to leave some news stories alone...

That's Dumb

The key point that the article misses is that it doesn't address the goals of the American Educational System.

Actually, I should say "goal", because there is only one, and that can be summed up in one word...


The single goal is to make sure the student conforms to accepted thinking and current political thinking. Nothing more, and nothing less.

There are many examples to back this, but the clearest and the most obvious is the simple fact that every college student knows, and that is that on any particular exam, the correct answer is not the answer that best answers the question, but the answer that the professor/instructor says is the right answer.

In other words, all the elegant proofs and detailed analysis to prove that 2+2=4 doesn't mean squat if the professor says that 2+2=3. If you answer "4", you fail. If, on the other hand, you conform and answer "3", you pass.

Yes, it really is just that simple.

But we need people how can think analytically. We need, to use an old term, free-thinkers. But there is a problem with that...

Free-thinkers have always been seen by the regime in power as being dangerous. This is because the free-thinkers can see the fallacy of what the regime is saying, they can find the flawed logic. And they can lead the revolt that brings down the regime.

Therefore, we must nip free-thought in the bud, crush the creativity of the masses, and stop any activism against the regime before it gets started, before these dangerous individuals reach adulthood and can effect change.

God save us all if anyone should disagree with the tyrants.

Keep Loving!

Melodee Aaron, Erotica Romance Author
Home Page
Melodee's Books at BookStrand

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Rock'n'Roll Never Forgets

Yes, I'm back.

I took a hiatus to focus on some writing projects before a trip overseas (Asia, Africa, and Australia), but the tour was canceled. My husband (Jack) is also in charge of "Loss Prevention", and that includes security, for the company. Some of the losses he prevents include life. Mine. Due to the problems in the Mideast (Egypt in particular), we won't be going.

The good news is that I was able to actually get ahead of the writing game a little. The bad news is that the gains are almost all on the print side of the coin. The other good news is that has freed up some time to get to work on the E-Book stuff.


A few things have been going on around here while I was working...

The biggest is that Jack may soon get to join me in the world of the deaf. Those of you who read regularly here will recall that we got our oldest (Amanda) a new guitar and small amplifier for Christmas. She loves it. And she plays it. A lot. But she has been fussing that the amp doesn't have enough power (her statement is that the "...amp doesn't have enough balls..." Yeah, she's ten) and at the higher volume levels, the amp distorts. What do I know? I'm freaking deaf, so I have to take her word for it. Amanda went to her dad, and then came to me, with an ad for a new amp. A big amp. A REALLY amp. We're talking something that could rattle the roof of the Astrodome. And the puppy is made up of six "cabinets": The amplifier itself, four big speakers, and a smaller monitor speaker. Did I mention that the amplifier is rated at 750 watts? Per channel? Into the five channels? Yeah, that's 3,750 watts total. I have no clue how "loud" a watt is, but I did some checking. Our family room is about 25 feet wide and 35 feet long. The entire family tells me that the sound system for the home theater system in there can get painfully loud if turned up past about 6 or 7. It has a total of 1,500 watts into ten speakers. So, I would guess that better than twice that much power would be pretty freaking loud.


Yes, we got Amanda the new amp. We also have a contractor coming out Monday to do a bid on building her a "Sound Room" into the garage. It will be sound-proofed and have good acoustics so she can play without disturbing anyone and have good sound reproduction.

In the meantime, she is playing the thing in her room.

Amanda's room is next to my office. With her small amp, when she would really crank it up, I could feel the vibrations while working at my desk. She's playing the big amp right now, and I can see the pictures on the shared wall between her room and my office bouncing. The iced tea in my glass next to me is not just "rippling" is sloshing around.

And Jack is walking around the house wearing his noise canceling headphones.

And here's the funny part...

Amanda understands that loud noises and music can damage her hearing. She has learned the lessons that rockers of the past like Pete Townsend missed. So she wears some kind of special "Musician's Hearing Protectors" when she plays. I gather that these things reduce the volume without changing the sound. Again, how would I know? You can actually talk to her in a more or less normal voice and she can hear you even when the foundation is cracking. Or, as happened when I went in to talk to her last night, the sound was blowing my hair around.

I'm just thankful that the amp doesn't dim the lights when she plays.

And there is a bright side to all of this...

Amanda is pretty good on the guitar. Oh, she's no Eric Clapton or Eddie van Halen or Jeff Beck, but she's only ten and has only been playing for about five years. She has a gift for the instrument, though, and is able to learn a song very quickly. She can read music, but she can learn a song in a matter of an hour or two just by listening to it. She likes all guitars, too. She plays acoustics, but she loves electric. She also likes bass and rhythm, but she really loves lead. And she can sing, too. At not-quite-eleven, her voice is still a little soft, but she's learning and growing.

I sometimes think that Amanda wants to be a rocker when she grows up. She'd be good at it, I think. Yeah, I'd love to see her be an author, but whatever she's good at and likes is OK with me.

Jack just wants her to do something quiet.

Keep Loving!

Melodee Aaron, Erotica Romance Author
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