Spencer Moseley

Thank you, Brad Pitt, for baring your sexy ass in one of Troy's opening scenes (a fact which a dear friend has told me was the actor's request). Of course your introductory scene as Achilles opens with an implied threesome—two gorgeous gals lying next to you on the tent floor. Reflections that follow are from the movie, Troy, not Homer's Iliad (source material).  Achilles' perfect hair, hairless abs, and dirty-braided blonde hair make him irresistible eye candy—his go-to combat maneuver: the euro-step-jump combo ending in a sword thrust to the enemy's neck. His every movement poised and collected. His final battle with Hector showcases the best of his skills, and he needed them too, apparently, since he claims that Hector was the best fighter he ever fought.  Hector, tamer of horses, is as far from Achilles as I am from Jason Momoa's body type. He's loyal, puts aside his feelings when a higher purpose calls, and fears things. Contrast that with Achilles nea...

I need time to walk—taking steps into some secluded corner of nature. I'm a philosopher at heart. My mind belongs in Ancient Greece, while my body is in 21st century America. Kietzman said it well when he spoke in our last podcast, Average Joes (shameless plug), about the rustling of the wind among leaves as an "ancient sound". Being in nature, alone, is lifegiving.  Crunch, crunch, hot pavement, back sweat, sore calves. All of this is part of the hiking experience. The hot sun bearing down and offering a reddish hue to my exposed limbs reminds me that I'm alive. Hearing the crickets and cicadas, I feel a rhythm pulsing through the earth beneath my feet—that same earth spinning at a speed I cannot comprehend, yet somehow I am not flung from its surface. The miracle of life becomes apparent the deeper you walk into a forest, swatting spider webs and avoiding thorn bushes. We are here. We exist. We are connected. I spend most of my days asking myself questions that have...

Trump. Pence. Kamala. Biden. 2020 election. Pandemic. Hurricanes. Karens. Face masks. BLM. California fires. Jeff Bezos. Concentration Camps. Critical business losses. TikTok. What a time! Finally priests can catch a break! The various groups in this country need to have conversations: "Hey, other groups, you hurt our feelings the way you went about x,y, and z." The other groups could respond, "We understand, we will try to be better, and here's how." Instead all we get is both sides raising their defenses and throwing up red herring after red herring so they don't have to self-reflect and admit fault.  I recently had a disagreement with a friend who approached me about a bad way I made him feel. Instead of saying, "hey, I'll try to be better in the future, and I'm sorry I made you feel that way," I said, "that doesn't make sense, and I don't much like your tone either."  Here's the reality. When we hurt other people, ...

Everyone I know wishes they were somewhere else most of the time. They're successful, and they wish they didn't have the fame that destroyed their privacy. They're financially secure, but not finding a sense of purpose. They're motorboating the girl of their dreams, and begin to notice all the other girls out there.  I was dating this girl of my dreams a while back. We'd have fun, kick back, sip coconut rum, and pass out to TV shows I didn't like. We'd immerse in conversations as deep as the ocean and sunbathe on grassy hills; but I was tortured by the idea that I could be happier with someone else, so we broke up. Rather than accept that the "what if" question is integral to any relationship, I let it drive me mad. If success was a destination, I think I should feel successful now. I have a good job that sustains me and lets me keep bettering myself, but I'm not "there" yet. This "there" is an intangible utopia where I'...

 A conversation with my sister made me feel euphoric. I struggle with Buddhist meditation, but last night's convo was one of those rare moments where everything came together. I felt each breath; I connected with my anxiety. I let my visual field resolve into a cloud of color, light, and energy. I was connected. I struggle to accept who I am and how I feel. Climbing a mountain? Anxious. Driving? Anxious. Wiping my ass? Anxious. It follows me like the thorn in St. Paul's side. For years I've fought against it, and moments when I embrace it are rare, despite my best efforts. But admitting this problem brings instant relief, like caffeine to a weary body. Anxiety is hilarious. I feel a deep attraction for another man, and my internal homophobia clocks in at 70 mph trying to divert it: "maybe it's all in my head", "maybe this is OCD", "I like girls too", "I'm not gay". It's illogical to try to squash something that is out of m...

Guess it's time for me to churn another one of these blogs out. Why yes, I do think churning butter can be sexy. If a brawny, hairless man wearing suspenders, no shirt underneath, slightly-torn sandals, and a 5 o'clock shadow were to smile at me while churning butter, I'd feel warm and tingly. Might blow him. Radical atheists annoy me more than the hardcore religious — probably because I spend more time with them than Christians lately. They seem sure there is no god and have the attitude, "I've got this all figured out". It fucking irritates me. But at the same time, some radical Christians can be pushy with their agenda. The radical Christian can get preachy, trying to swerve every wayward conversation back to their agenda. And some of them are easily offended. I'm making a mistake, I realize. I'm judging atheists and Christians based on my personal experiences of atheists and Christians rather than by their creeds. And I think I do this, subconsciou...

After my time with the Legionaries of Christ religious order but before I went to regular university, I gave the diocesan seminary life a try for one year. It was a strange year, and I don't spend much time thinking about this period of my life— probably because I don't have the safety of distance to dive into it. I'll still give it a try. The diocesan life was a far cry from Legionary life. I could own a cellphone, call my family and friends whenever, and the schedule was not so rigid. The time spent in Church was not so strenuous, and we had more freedom to make our own decisions. The seminary I attended was unique as it was on a college campus, so I was around girls in a classroom setting for the first time since middle school. It was in diocesan seminary that I learned all of my sexual humor and how to swear like a sailor. A priest there told me that masturbating was no big deal. We had time to play video games and could spend time on campus with fellow students. I appr...