desk full of clutter

momma's hill

2012-02-01T02:21:00.001-05:00

I rode up Momma's hill today in third gear. That's a first for me I think, though I may have done it accidentaly once before.

Tomorrow is bike maintainence day, so maybe I'll straighten out that rear derailer finally, but until I do I don't have my first or seventh gears available.

I also need to wipe him down, clean off the last of the mud from when I rode where I shouldn't have, and the chain is in dire need of oil.

But back to my gearing, and this is just me bragging, but I've been riding in eighth gear for the most part lately until very recently. I'm now in ninth!

I have twelve available gears on my bike. Really I only have ten because of that whole derailer thing I've already mentioned. Of those ten I use only one for the vast majority of my riding. There are some hills that require a smaller high gear and some that make you go really low. But for the most part I don't really change gears a whole lot.

For me to now be more comfortable in the slightly higher gear can only further prove my own personal greatness.

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Back when

2012-01-30T23:39:00.001-05:00

Our hospital visit lasted just over a week, though while there we were being warned to expect Big Brother to be there for at least two weeks. Treating him with antibiotics ran the two weeks, but we were able to finish that at home. Remind me to tell you sometime about the grenades. Slices of brain would also be a good story from the stay.

And now it's been nearly four weeks since the ordal began, and I'm still taken aback at the suddeness of it all, from his becoming so damn sick to being back to normal.

Similar episodes have a way of sometimes causing some of us to ask those questions, life, the universe, and everything sort of questions.

For many it's a combination of a test of faith as well as a proof of the faith in the existence of a supreme being.

I didn't really go either of those directions for the most part. The whole thing did cause me to think, but more than anything I felt the need to question myself. I had to look at some of the value sytems I've allowed to run the state, and I've had to admit that I haven't been doing the best job.

In truth I've known all of this. This is why I finally made resolutions to start the year when it was still new. And I failed within a week. And then extenuating circumstances gave me something else to think about for a while.

As for great questions of life and the eternal mysteries I have to say that my resolution I've done best with is to make a big cut in overall alcohol intake, and aren't these questions best discussed over a series of pints? I feel like my priorities are letting me down right when I've gotten some good ones.

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Not quite certain

2012-01-30T22:42:00.001-05:00

When I promised more regular posting I wasn't lying or didn't intend to. I was certain I'd have that laptop working and would have time and would get stuff moving. It didn't quite work out that easily, and I blame the laptop.

It didn't work worth shit is what I'm going to say about it. It's old and didn't like to stay on the connection I had at the hospital and doesn't have a usb port that fits modernity.

And now weeks have passed and we're back to the daily grind and I'm no better about posting than ever. So I downloaded a new app

That might help me post more.

I tried posting from regular ol' blogger, but then I remembered why I gave up on that so long ago. It looks neat and clean on my screen but sucks as far as the parts that are supposed to do what you tell them. And I looked up the actual google app for blogger and remembered hating it too. I even found the old app that I also didn't like and installed so long ago.

Will this new app be the thing to get my game back, or will it give me yet another excuse to not post?

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a return of sorts

2012-01-09T02:56:00.000-05:00

It's been just over four months since the last time I posted, and that also means that I haven't been near a computer that wasn't my phone for nearly four months. My phone is mostly a good enough computer, but I've let the blog wither rather than attempt to post from the tiny keyboard. I don't care how easy Swype makes texting and tweeting, I'm not going to deal with a blog post. And if you had any idea what sort of beast I become at the editing stage you'd understand.

I imagine most anyone that visits here is a Facebook friend, so you're likely aware that I'm likely posting from the hospital, East Tennessee Children's Hospital to be exact. And if you are aware of that then you probably know at least a bit of what's been happening in my life recently.

Before I go too much into that I'm going to wander around some of the things that are on my mind right now. Being able to get back to the blog is a new and exciting thing and something I've been wanting and wishing for. I truly miss my episodes of getting to air my brain out. I miss the writing of course, but I also miss when I had a bit of readership and, dare I say, a fanbase.

I can't go too much farther into this post without thanking the lovely young lady who loaned us her laptop and the whole Wolf family for being great friends/family to me and my family. I'm not sure how long we'll actually be at the hospital, but I may have the laptop and the time to fire off a few posts. One of my hopes for 2012 is to regain regular computer access and to revive the clutter filled desk, or lap as the case may be.

A lot has happened in the last five (or so) days, and I have a lot to process. My brain is filled with thinking about things, and I've got several directions I'd like to move toward and write about. As long as I can get online with more than my phone I plan to delve into all this, and I'm sure I'll have the time.

This post is mostly for me to get back into the habit and for any reader to have an introduction into what to expect over the next few days. Big Brother is likely to be cooped up for at least a few days, and Momma and I will be taking turns being here. I'll easily have so time to fill.

For now I'll post this so that I can walk outside and take care of my dirty habit. I might even get myself a caffeinated beverage. I won't be sleeping anytime soon, and the time that I might get some sleep will be a busy time for Big Brother, and I'll be awake for that. Eventually we will all be away from the hospital, and I'll get back to normal sleeping then.

i'll getchayer money ya sumbitch

2011-09-03T22:22:00.001-05:00

The options were cash or cashier's check. I didn't really question his nonacceptance of my personal check, but I also can very easily see that this isn't the kind of place where it's a concern. I accepted his answer and started to decide whether to get the cash or cashier's check.

I've decided on cash. My bank is a credit union with no Saturday hours. And it's a holiday weekend, Boomsday if you live near enough to where I live, so Tuesday is the soonest I could get to the bank. The problem there is that I have to be at work at nine Tuesday which is when the credit union opens that day. And I'm on bike.

But I can visit the ATM over the weekend until I fill my envelope with a deposit and first (is it months or month's) rent. And I totally get how that sounds, but I'm okay with this. I'm quitting this house cold turkey, sort of. I've put it off for far too long, and the apartment is nearly everything I need in an apartment, and it's at least a great jumping off point for throwing off the heavy comfort that this house has come to represent for me.

The computer from which I write these little nuggets of joy will most likely find it's way to Momma's, and I'll hope to find the money soon for my own computer. Anyone have a spare laptop they don't want? I'll have wifi included in the rent. My phone gets the wifi too, but it's a bitch to blog from, especially when you make the sorts of mistakes I make along with the fussy editor I tend to be in spite of those mishaps and the tiny little keyboard.

And it's halfway between work and Momma's house. It might technically be closer to Momma's than to work, but it's just off my usual path between Momma's and downtown that the ridge between the two actually comes into play, and the ridges and hills in this town are not to be scoffed at. Also, I will now have no good reason not to tackle the hill that is Sixth, and I'm scared. I should be.

I'm excited kind of, but that part of me that is just always negative and ready to lash out with its nasty whip of despair wants me to feel like something is going to happen, and then I won't be able to move, and then I'll have failed at something else. The thing is, this is the moment I've prepared for by failing to grab it. And when I speak of grabbing it I totally get that I should have just done this. I should have done it years ago, and writing that makes me want to highlight this whole post and delete it and get drunk. But that, as I've finally realized, doesn't make the problem go away, it just makes thinking about it go away, and I've done enough of that.

Now the next pressing problem will involve figuring out which friends have trucks and feel like moving the little bit of furniture I need a truck for. And add to that the scheduling required for all this to fall together exactly as I want considering how impatient I'm already slowly becoming. I should be looking into packing right now, but I've decided to put that off for the night. Plus I have to work at eight in the morning.

By the time anyone bothers to read this I will already be or have been at work since eight, but it's still tonight to me, so ya'll can all suck it.

Not really. That wasn't nice. But I really am excited to get moving moving. It's a nice feeling. Do they have laptops at pawn shops? I'm sure there are some. I wonder if they get wiped and how much shit shows up on a pawn shop laptop? That would be a cool band name, fwiw.

bleah

2011-08-27T00:36:00.000-05:00

It's late, I'm tired, and while I'm certain there are things I could write about, I'm in no fit shape to do it. I'm tired.

I'm tired, and I'm just now going into my weekend. And when I say "my weekend," I'm not referring to those two days in a row that I get to not work like everyone else. No, my weekend in this instance is my Saturday and Sunday shifts.

I don't like working Sunday. I'll get that out of the way now. I really hate it. Sunday means brunch, and I just hate it. I don't want to do it anymore. Actually, I'd be happy with just every other Sunday off, but that's been impossible for too long.

For too long we had cooks that weren't available Sunday's for valid reasons, one only had his kids on the weekend, and one was in a halfway house and only had Sundays as a relatively free day. But there are the other cooks that can work Sundays that do sometimes get one off but aren't at the level one needs to be to be able to work certain stations.

And it's not that they can't. I know they can, but no one has wanted to, and because I'm a sort of pushover sometimes I've been doing it with little complaint.

Actually there's lots of complaint Sunday. I wage war on people's aural senses with my bitching, but I also make them great eggs and frittatas, so they can't really complain.

Sunday would be less hellish if I didn't have to be there at eight in the morning, and that would be slightly less onerous if I didn't just leave the damn place at ten the night before. My usual Saturday shift is noon to ten with usually about an hour break somewhere near the middle.

Last Saturday I rode from downtown to another part of town to get my fancy tobaccy, and with plenty of time left in my hour circled a small section of downtown blocks for a few minutes. There's your obligatory bicycle reference. Actually, I plan on spending my next Saturday break riding to the downtown library. Now that I'm paid up with them I can once again raid the wonderful cd collection.

So, yeah, my weekend, which is your weekend, sees me working noon to ten Saturday and eight to sometime between three and four Sunday. And those can be the busiest shifts of our week. And as you can see I really do need to get to bed. There has to be something else to write about, but honestly my brain has turned itself off to prepare for my Sat/Sun overload.

2011-08-24T00:18:00.000-05:00

So far today I've mostly cleaned a bathroom and partly cleaned a kitchen. I've gone through the stuff I've been pulling out of my pockets for most of 2011 and throwing on the floor of my bedroom as well.

I've pulled this house in around me like moldering blanket that I can't seem to replace with a fresh new blanket. I've lived here since shortly before The Boy was born, and that's the longest I've lived any one place since I hightailed it out of Georgia so many years ago.

Momma came over today to look at some of the repair work we have to do. We looked at the holes in the drywall and didn't get past the one I kicked when we fought shortly after telling her that I had to come out. That was the same night she broke the French press, though to be honest she's broken more than one, though only one in anger. I also kicked a dent in the oven that night, but we aren't keeping score anyway. A good relationship is not a competition, even when it is.

I've sat on the back porch of this house in that same white chair and read so many books late at night, smoking too many cigarettes, always of course drinking just enough beer. The blogging I miss so much all happened in the exact same five square feet of space that will soon see an end to such.

We've eaten so many meals at the table directly to my left, the table is never clean for very long. I have pictures of that table full of Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy all engrossed in their own lunch and their own book.

I don't approach new very well. I always seem to get in in my own way and find a place for myself, but getting to that point is hard for me. Starting the ball rolling has always been one of those talents I lack.

And this house is not the place I need to be. The deal we've had here is unbeatable in a monetary sense, but I can't continue to accept that deal. I have to move on, and I really should have done this a long time ago, much like the cleaning. It's hard to cast off comfort, or maybe it's just hard for me.

It's time, and I'm making ready. It's time for me to grow up a little bit more and to cast off this place. It offers a kind of comfort, but it's leaden with problem. I can imagine how that sounds, but if you were privy to all my own info, and if I really went into the issues inherent in living here and the situation and family, and if you don't get the point . . .

And so begins my journey out of the suburbs finally.

aaahhhh sweet, sweet books

2011-08-23T09:50:00.000-05:00

Part of what I need to do with myself is to find those things that I've forgotten about. I've let the tumult of the last few years get the better of me, and I feel I've let too many things go away. Essentially I need to look at habits and ways I accomplish or fail to accomplish things. I have less good habits that need adjustment, and I've stopped a lot of things that are just good for me.

There are of course other things like the bike. I am truly in love with that machine, though right now I still need to look at his rear derailleur so that we can get those two gears back, and his chain needs to be looked at. Having been in a bit of rain lately we might need to look into some oil, and a general wipe down would be nice.

In speaking of those old habit that were good I have to get to my real story. I finally paid the library off and found the two "lost" books. When I've read books lately they've been rereads, and while I have no problem with reading a book again, there's nothing quite like reading a book you've never read before, and to make it even better add a new author to that list as well.

Or add an old friend like J.R.R. Tolkien when you discover his The Book of Lost Tales. I'm only a couple of pages into his son's foreword in which he's spoken about The Silmarillion more than not and has even discussed other people's discussion of it. I'm not sure why I bother with forewords sometimes, and sometimes while reading I won't get why I bother. Either way I'm a fan of Tolkien, and better yet I'm sure Big Brother will be happy to get his hands on it also.

He's certainly happy to have the library back. He's rereread so many books lately. The Boy has yet to finish a chapter book on his own, but I know the day is coming. I feel like I hate that he doesn't love reading as much as his brother and I do, but I also get that his interest just doesn't right now and may never. Or maybe he just needs to find the right book.

He happened upon Shiloh which is about a boy and a dog if the cover has any truth to it. I feel like it might be one of those books I should have read by now, and I do plan to read it before it's due back. The Boy picked it up because his teacher is reading it to the class, and he happened to see it. He likes his teacher and loves dogs, so perhaps this culmination of influence will be that catalyst. or not.

I've already finished The Wanderer by Sharon Creech. Sophie is a young girl about to sail across the ocean with three uncles and two male cousins to visit their grandfather. It's a story about a girl getting to make her own decisions though not without having to put up a fight. It's about the family and about the idea of family as Sophie's story comes out. It's about the power in the act of fixing up the boat and setting sail to test people especially as this family is thrown together to actually perform this feat.

The Wanderer is also about the sea. Sophie is drawn to the sea in a way I can almost feel I understand. I've never spent that much time near the sea, and I've never been in it on a boat. All my sea experience involves freshwater. But seafaring adventures tend to make some of the best books in my opinion, and this one has become a favorite. It is a kid's book, ages whenever they can read on up to well past my few years. There's nothing questionable or violent or sexy in this book, and I may be wrong, but I kinda feel like Cody might be gay.

And speaking of Cody, he's the second narrator. Most of the book is Sophie's journal about the voyage. Throughout the book though we also get to read Cody's "dog-log." I enjoyed having the second point of view as well as a bit more of the family background. Even with Cody's dog-log the story is still Sophie's.

I hope Big Brother reads it. I'll definitely suggest it to him, and if I put off our next library visit just long enough he'll have read all his own and may be willing to give it a try. He picked four books total. He was already reading The Wizard of Oz, not a library book, as that's the book he was reading most recently at my house and is the one still on the dining table. He's also reading whichever Artemis Fowl book he's up to, and I had to go look next to his bed to remember that. Along with that Artemis Fowl he grabbed The 39 Clues, How to Cheat a Dragon's Curse, and The Land of the Silver Apples.

I won't bore you with all his books, but The Land of the Silver Apples is a sequel to a book that we actually own, Sea of Trolls, written by Nancy Farmer, and as I google I see that both books are part of a trilogy. Big Brother and I both enjoyed Sea of Trolls, so it looks like I have yet another option of reading material for the next three weeks.

I'm so happy to have paid off the library. I love going there. I love the librarians. I don't know about the people on the computers, though they do make me appreciate having one. This is not only one of the best things I've done for myself in a while, but it's also one of those habits that was always a good one. It's honestly been at least a year since we've been regular library users, and I'd say it may have been a good bit longer. I'm not delving into the story right now, but the main point is that I sucked in my pride and blew out whatever shame I'd built up in letting the situation get out of hand. The librarians, though shocked, were not mean when I humbly approached to find out exactly what I needed to do as the computer told them the full weight of my transgressions.

And just now, rereading and editing, that last paragraph has me forming a plan. Working my Saturday split shift I usually get about an hour break in the middle. I can ride to the downtown library for music and set whatever mood I want for the ensuing Saturday night shift. This is gonna be fun.

round back

2011-08-23T00:02:00.000-05:00

Alleys are suddenly THE cool place to have someone take pictures of your. They're so gritty and urban, and people I imagine come from the palatial and seriously suburban west side of town have been showing up in my alley lately. I kind of don't like all of them.

The particular alley I claim as my own is behind where I work. There is another alley we walk to daily to retrieve the rolling trash cans into which we put our trash. We then return them to their alley, and the trucks come by whenever and dump all the cans. Sometimes you show up between trucks and find all the cans full. Sometimes you can empty one or two less full cans into others and get what you need.

Our alley is very narrow. Toward one end is a bar that has bands most nights, so at some point most days there is some sort of vehicle disgorging the various equipment a band needs. Toward the other end of the alley are more restaurants. Counting my own place of employment there are two ice cream places and four restaurants with servers and sitting down with a menu.

Because of all the restaurants you'll often find people smoking in the alley. I don't know if the percentage of smokers among restaurant staff members is higher than the average for other businesses, but I can see it being entirely possible. A cigarette provides an occasional small break in a job not know for too horribly many breaks of any length.

Any number of homeless people sometimes use the alley as their bathroom, and during large enough events on the square I've seen not homeless people pee in the alley. I've also seen what I'm mostly sure was dog shit one day in the alley, and one day it smelled remarkably zoo like. It wasn't even that horrid a smell because it had more an animal sort of odor than just gross shit stink. Fairly recently someone changed a bandage in the alley and were nice enough to leave their potentially hazardous bio waste for us.

And one day a family or two was down there taking pictures. The large and lumpy dad was dutifully hauling strollers and bags of props and trying to keep the kids not in the current photo busy. And they had bags of props, clothes, hats, big letters. I'm sure there were favorite stuffed animals as well.

And of course you have the happy smiling couples. They all look so stupid being lined up against the graffiti just so. And of course they don't think to confirm outfits and color schemes till they get there.

Then there are the random single people. You can't ever really know what they're doing or why. They're digging the gritty, urban landscape and standing in front of a door of course, but what's their motivation.

I missed the day that a bunch of girls were having pictures made. They had bags of clothes and were blocking doors and being in the way, and they were changing right there in the alley. OMG, ya'll. Again, I didn't witness this, so . . .

And when you do drive west through the land of stripmalls to the homes of these people, you can see those pictures on the mantelpiece. It's so gritty and urban tucked away here in a several acre subdivision named after an English sounding word that doesn't in any way describe the actual place.

I wonder if the ironic hipster kids are going to start taking couples photos in front of big box retail stores?

phoning it in

2011-08-09T23:40:00.001-05:00

After far to much time and money I've finally paid off the library and returned the books that kept getting misplaced only to turn up randomly to haunt me with my misdeed. I admire the grace of the three librarians I dealt with today in our return to being respectable users of the library.

I do feel like an ass, and have, for letting this thing get so bad, but at some point fines piled up to a point, and the two books were misplaced, and the fines got worse, and feeling at the time as if I just couldn't afford it. With school about to start again I know that the library will come in handy soon enough, and I'm just tired of not having a book to read.

Between the books at Momma's and those I still have left I've read nearly all of what we have that I want to read. There are a few of the boys' books I may or may not read, and most of what I have I've definitely read. I've even reread. I even almost read the Whoopie Goldberg book that I think might have come from Momma's grandmother. I got stuck on the fart chapter.

Box Turtle Bulletin has been posting a Daily Agenda featuring current news as well as bits of LGBT history. For instance, I learned a few days ago that James Baldwin was born on August 2, 1924. I should mention that I also learned then of James Baldwin, and though he isn't the reason I so suddenly decided to finally take care of my library tab his first book, Go Tell It on the Mountain, is my own welcome back gift from them.

So far Big Brother has read two of his three books. He too has been rereading books, so I can only imagine how much he's wanted something new. I'm sometimes jealous of his ability to find time to read until I realize that's sometimes all I see him doing, and still I don't mind. He's now taken to having at least two books going, one at Momma's house and one here.

The Boy has long had two books going, but these have always been the books that Momma or I are reading as his bedtime book. There it's Farmer Boy, while here we're on to A Horse and his Boy at mine. Having begun to slowly start reading more on his own The Boy has a couple of books with bookmarks sticking out of them between here and Momma's, and he got two more books today, both of which he's read some of. They're also both about dogs. He also got a library card. Yay him!

I also depopsited my check, bought stamps, failed to find a wallet at the one store I bothered to visit, and did not even think about bicycle tires till too late to do anything. I definitely need to get into action about the tire. I've got a spot on my front tire that's ripped down to the bead, and though I think I'm okay for the most part, in reality I know that it won't take much to get through that.

I also took the boys for Mexican. We went to a local favorite and filled ourselves with all sorts of beef and tortillas and beans and cheese and salsa, and Big Brother even got a ceviche tostada but didn't eat the tortilla. I don't know what's wrong with that kid sometimes. Also I don't care for ceviche.

Then we came home and were lazy, and I've suddenly remembered that I was supposed to go to the store for cereal. It's now too late to bother with that, so I'll just have to get up in the morning and do something about it.

That's been my day so far. The boys have been quiet enough for long enough that I have to assume they're asleep. They should be, though they didn't do anything more today than ride around and wish I'd buy them something.

they (maybe) should

2011-08-03T12:24:00.000-05:00

It's one of those things people tend to say, people who aren't especially supportive of LGBT people, when they are discussing gay pride events. They might suggest that there should also be a straight pride event, and it probably draws chuckles of approval, though of course it doesn't happen.

It is even arguable that pretty much every day is straight pride. The few images we see of gay people in a positive light are the couple of sitcoms that have openly gay characters, but then those aren't people I admire or look to for affirmation. I don't watch Glee, though I have. It's not really that good a show, and it's not really that accurate for most gay kids. Also, if I want to hear actors singing Foreigner songs I'll . . . um, yeah, never want for that ever.

So what would happen if someone did in fact host/sponsor a straight pride event? We've never known because it's always been mentioned in an off the cuff joking sort of way.

Until now. According to Towleroad, religious leaders in Sao Paolo Brazil have decided to petition the government for just such an event, and the legislation has made it as far as the mayor. Will he sign it, or won't he?

Of more concern might be what would this event actually look like? I can't help but feel that part of the idea behind this would be to exclude gay people and to make a show of this exclusion. Gay pride, while possibly seeming to exclude people does just the opposite. An idea behind gay pride is simply increasing visibility of LGBT people, but another idea is to provide an outlet for all people to show their support for the equal rights of their gay friends and family members.

The few pride events I've attended have mostly been here in Knoxville, and they don't seem to feature a huge amount of straight people, but everyone who is open and fair minded is welcome. It's an inclusive gathering of people wanting to stand proudly and proclaim that everyone deserves fairness and equality. It's also a party and the only time outside of a gay bar that we can feel like we are in the majority. It does wonders to think of yourself surrounded by your community, and for so many it's a first.

So what could possibly be the point of hetero pride? It can't be welcoming and openness. It can't be support for a minority that is often mistreated and maligned.

But still I say go for it. What can it hurt? What do they hope to accomplish? Whatever their goals it's better that they are aired in the sunshine rather that to continue to grow in the malicious darkness.

uppity fags

2011-08-03T01:49:00.001-05:00

All signs point to the likelihood that Lawrence King was gay. At fifteen he seemed pretty sure of it, and he seemed secure enough in himself to do what all teenagers do, play with self expression. But probably because he was gay his self expression led to playing with gender based expressions such as high heeled boots, scarves, pink nail polish.

Another kid around the same age, Brandon McInerney, had a big enough problem with Lawrence King that he eventually took a gun to school and shot him in the back of the head two times. And now a couple of years later he's finally being tried.

I've avoided this subject for the last couple of years because too often when I consider my opinion I can't help but think of them both as children when this happened. They both had a rough childhood with significant family issues. I'm no expert on this situation, though I'll also admit that I could never give all the links to all the posts I've read about this since it happened. I can't imagine at fifteen you don't know what a gunshot to the back of the head means, but I can't accept that a fifteen year old has the same mental competency as an adult who one can argue at least has grown up enough to understand consequences, and I can't imagine the input of the people around him to bring him to where he was.

McInerney's lawyers have already introduced the gay panic defense. Gay panic, for anyone unsure, is what happens when a hapless heterosexual is preyed upon by a perverse homosexual, and because gay=awful, they couldn't help but react by beating the crap out of said homosexual. I think it has a cousin in the idea that women dressed inappropriately invite rape. See also, "If he hadna been all faggoty and shit I wouldna had to whoop his ass. He's askin fer it being all faggoty."

Which brings me, in a long and winding sort of fashion, to this article from Ventura County Star. Several teachers have admitted to having done nothing to stop this other than to make Lawrence King stop being so faggoty. He was told to remove a scarf, makeup, and nail polish at different times, and a teacher worried that he was going to be dragged behind a shed and beaten to death.

They complain that the lesbian principle made it all okay and didn't listen to them when they tried to warn her that Lawrence King was asking for a whoopin'. They blame her for not being aware of the problems.

I blame them all for letting the students be bullies and especially bullies to someone who was obviously struggling. This poor little boy who so obviously needed for the people around him to stop chasing him and hitting and pushing him wanted what every other fifteen year old wants, to make sense of an increasingly peculiar world, or maybe that's just us gays.

The article ends in a very telling fashion with this question and answer between a teacher and the DA:

Brown said she once saw a group of boys chasing King, which she described as a potentially unpleasant situation. Fox asked her if she stepped in to stop the chasing.
"No," Brown said.

not like the other . . . yet again

2011-07-27T00:12:00.000-05:00

Moments ago, The Boy put his book down and asked if his bath was ready. He apparently didn't actually make it to the bath. I can hear him playing with Big Brother.

I'm going to step away for a moment and remind him of his cooling bath water and will take up right there when I get back.

And I return, several hours later, having washed hair, allowed computer time, and texted Big Brother. I thought he was in his room, and I wanted to tell him his brother was out of the bath and that he needed to get into the shower. He was already in the bathroom though occupied in other pursuits at the time.

And all of that is finally done, they are in bed, yet I can still hear them talking. I'm not even a little worried, but we do need to start soon getting ourselves back to school hours.

I mentioned earlier that The Boy's bath was ready, and I came back into the living room and told him so. He was sprawled on the sofa reading an Akiko book.

Big Brother is a somewhat self taught devourer of books and words. He's been reading since he was four and with little prodding on the part of me or Momma. We have always been available and willing, but we've always tried, in that true unschooling spirit, to not help when it wasn't wanted or helpful.

With The Boy we wanted to be the same, but like so many kids he just wasn't into it in the same way. He really didn't want help unless he did and then only on his sometimes (always) strict and difficult to understand terms, so all the lessons we thought we'd learned with his brother were of no use. We remained available and willing, but he always seemed as if he knew he could put it off and that we'd continue to help him.

With the boys' transition last winter from unschool to public school, lots of things changed, and one of those changes was that The Boy, so far a slightly interested, beginning reader was having to read and to learn to read very suddenly. And he took to it like a pirate to booty. He brought the books home that he'd worked on at school, and he sat and worked on them and read them to us.

He still sometimes would prefer to have some reading done for him, but he's been doing it for himself as well. He attempted to read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea recently and didn't get very far. I'd playfully suggested it one day, knowing that he'd likely enjoy the story but that the language would likely be a bit much for him. He did ask me to read the first chapter for him.

He also spent some time reading the Frog and Toad books recently, but I don't know that he ever really read them. They went from one house to the other a couple of times, but each time they seemed to sit in the same place until they traveled again.

I've suggested he read any number of books over the past few weeks. I don't want him to have to relearn anything as he enters school again, but as importantly I want him to realize joy in reading. Mostly I suggest books when the code words "I'm bored" actually mean, "it sure would be nice to play some video games."

Also, he does love a good story. His bed time reading is The Silver Chair at my house, and at Momma's house they're reading Farmer Boy. The Silver Chair is one of the Narnia books, while Farmer Boy is Almonzo Wilder's childhood before he goes west and meets Laura Ingalls.

And tonight, even though it was bath time, and even though I worried I'd have a cold bath to rewarm, I let him read. It took him a while to read through the first chapter, but he did, and maybe he'll remember tomorrow that Akiko has just set out on an adventure, and maybe he'll be interested enough to continue the story.

I don't care if he becomes the reader his brother is, but I want him to read. It really is the best thing since whatever was before sliced bread. But then I'd argue that sliced bread isn't that great an invention, but that just opens the door for all sorts of nonsense about expediency versus quality along with the increasing pace of our lives. And I'm just not doing that one right now.

My point is that he sat (sprawled, knees and elbows everywhere) and read the kind of book you need a bookmark for. I'll rewarm a bath for that.

p.s. I hate using the phrase "worked on" along with the word "reading," but it really is apt. It just makes it sound so . . . and has connotations of all the evil gschool stuff one might have heard me preach not so long ago.

Bike and test

2011-07-20T13:30:00.001-05:00

If this works you can see a pic of my bike. I've published a test post using my mobile device before, but I'm now testing an app that I hope makes this easier. Also I'm working on getting his blog back to some kinda something again.

fights in fridges

2011-07-20T11:01:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's noon here in beautiful (if humid) east TN, and yes, I've been up for about an hour. I have made coffee, pooped, smoked, checked my phone, cleaned the two refrigerator shelves I've been ignoring for far too long, wiped out inside same refrigerator, and found a small sword stuck into part of the vent system.

Relax, it's a Playmobile sword, so the danger is minimal, but still . . .

I asked the boys about it, but neither of them remembers playing with Playmobile toys in there, and certainly neither remembers leaving a sword. It may well remain a mystery for the ages, but I would like to know who's been fighting in the fridge.

like a something doing something

2011-07-20T00:12:00.000-05:00

I've always edited for content those things I've sent out into the world before. I may have not always edited or chosen as well as I could, but I've also set myself up as being better than I really am in real life.

I'm not nearly as soft spoken or as well thought out. There isn't much of a filter out with friends or even at work. Work is easy because we're all a bunch of losers on our way to hell anyway. Actually we're a fairly random sampling sort of place with too many people who are in bands. It'll be hell night at work if they all played a show together.

I also talk a lot at work, and probably you can't really imagine what a lot means in this little story, but it's a near constant aural barrage on my coworkers running the gamut from t.v. theme songs from my childhood to a constant dissing of any music playing that I don't like which is tempered by my witty way of sometimes singing with rather bawdy false lyrics replacing the actual ones. I also might sometimes be a little forward with some of the male servers.

In all these instances my desire is to amuse, to give a worthy laughing dialogue to a sometimes monotonous yet often horrific duty in our kitchen and dining areas. And as for being sometimes too friendly to the boys, I must say I think it's part of my job to let them actually know a homo and to be forced to deal with me on my terms so that they are nudged toward the realization that gay people are just as obnoxious and normal as they are and to get over any lingering nonsense.

I include nearly anyone in my joking and say things that are often over the line of decency, but my intent is never to hurt anyone, and when people realize that I'm really a decent guy they tend to cut me more slack than I deserve probably. On some level I like to make sure that as many people take the fall as I can possibly squeeze in. We all have some stereotype we can fit, and it's my job to remind everyone that it's only funny if anyone can fit into it. Or I'm just making that up to pump myself up.

So we finally get to the point of my meandering. Bob Vander Plaats runs a "family" group in Iowa that thinks that gay people are really not good at all. He's a far right social conservative that led a campaign to have judges removed from office because they voted to allow marriage equality in Iowa. He's on a mission from god to be as big a douche as he's capable of to gay people.

He was caught on video reacting to a joke that suggested that in Iowa one is unable to enjoy a cigarette but that loving gay couples are allowed to marry. I'm lifting the story from Box Turtle Bulletin, so click on their name for their take on the matter and more of the story plus links to why this guy Bob is an ass and why they hate the joke and his laughter. They also have video.

I don't get the joke at all. I'm not from Iowa, though I do have an aunt and uncle and possibly some cousins there. I met them once many years ago, and they seemed like decent people.

To be honest the actual joke goes as such, in Iowa you can't smoke a fag, but you can marry one. And perhaps my not being of Iowan heritage I'm unaware of some nuance that renders this joke unfunny to me. And that's why I hate it.

Oh, I also hate that the guy laughing at the joke isn't getting it either. I'm sure you can still smoke cigarettes in Iowa . . .

. . . unless the meaning of the joke is that it's unlawful to use a firearm to shoot a homosexual. That might be another nuance of the joke as "to smoke" is popular parlance for shooting someone or something with a firearm. That totally moves the joke along, because then you're suggesting that actually shooting someone for being gay is cleverly juxtaposed against basic human dignity and equality.

Wow, now I get why it's funny. Man do I feel silly.

oooh, weather

2011-06-15T13:32:00.000-05:00

Our fifty percent chance of thunderstorms is fast becoming one hundred percent. At two thirty in the afternoon the clouds outside make it look more like seven thirty.

The rain is falling as heavily as it likely soon will be, and the wind is strong but only in short bursts as of yet.

Even so you can almost hear, somewhere in the distance, the worst that is yet to come.

2011-06-10T01:31:00.003-05:00

(2/2) e a good motivator.

2011-06-10T01:31:00.001-05:00

(1/2) There's a point at which I just have to do something, and I'm starting to get that maybe. I really think that providing myself with proof really should b

2011-06-09T13:54:00.001-05:00

This is a test. This is only a test. In the event of a real emergency please feel free to consider yourself screwed.

gonna bitch about it

2011-05-09T23:59:00.000-05:00

I almost don't wanna even bother. I haven't posted in ages, and I haven't even been online on the ol' trusty desktop in days. I even turned the damn thing off a few days ago knowing I wouldn't see it for at least most of two days, and then I managed to add at least a day to that.

I do have my fancy new phone, however the battery life has left something to be desired. Finally getting near the desktop however may have fixed all that for me. I googled my problem and visited some forums and went via the phone to the Android market for what I hope is a fix.

I also took the boys out for dinner tonight, and this why I actually sat down to write. The experience was one of the worst and the best I've had out in a long time.

It was the worst because my food was ruined. The server put our food down, I didn't quite look at it, though I did make sure we had everything and it was all in its proper place.

And then I looked at the plate in front of me. Immediately I saw that my sweet potato chips looked mostly burnt, though picking through them later I realized that not more than about thirty percent were REALLY burnt. Most of the rest were merely overdone.

I pointed this out to the server, and he brought me a new unburned order as quickly as he was able. And here's a little sidetrack that's sorta helpful.

Over the years I've taken part in a useless battle that occurs in far too many restaurants, a battle that pits the front and back of house against each other. It's usually the kitchen that makes this battle ever happen at all, but then the servers are forced to deal with it the best they can.

And often this might mean that the server would rather face an unhappy customer with food that's obviously not right than mention to the kitchen what he/she can too easily see. Or maybe they're used to seeing the food that way and don't get that it's burnt, or maybe they see it and don't give a shit.

Worse is that someone in the kitchen was willing to send this out. They cooked food for too long and made it suck, but rather than throw it away and do it right, they tossed it on the plate and sent it out. They couldn't have not know that they made bad food.

I put my chicken sandwich together and cut it in half. It was a whole boneless, skinless breast, both lobes, and they were still attached via the bit of cartilege between them. That bothers me, but I'm not going to be a dick about that. It's a matter of taste.

I bit into the sandwich and once again knew immediately that it too was over done. I hoped that it was just a little tough because I started at the thinner end, but too soon I was into the thicker meat and was having to rip bites out, and the chicken was pulling out of the bun, and the sandwich was essentially inedible. If I'd cooked it for myself, and if I suddenly forgot how to cook and made it this bad, I'd have eaten it. I'm not really one to waste food.

But I'm not paying for food that is so poorly done. I couldn't eat the sandwich, and I really tried. After not catching the server's eye for far too long I was finally able to lodge my complaint. He took the plate of over done food away and spoke with the manager who was kind enough to not make me pay.

He didn't talk to me. He didn't offer to do anything to make me feel better, and I don't really know what I would have wanted of him. I didn't eat the food, and he didn't make me pay for the bad parts. I left the store unsatisfied, having not gotten anywhere close to what I wanted despite my willingness as a customer.

And now I'm hungry, and I shouldn't be, and because I haven't been at the house much for a couple of days or so there really isn't anything here to eat. That's entirely my fault.

By this point the kids were done eating. I wasn't going to make them sit and wait for me to get and eat a new entree, and I wasn't willing to sit and wait and then pay for food when my experience had been so marred.

But then we sat at the table. I munched on the bowl of not burned chips and the extra side of fries I let The Boy get since we were out for his birthday. He didn't like his other side, black beans, but because it wasn't what he expected, but I enjoyed them and brought them with the other leftovers.

We had a really nice time as we sat and waited. I had to pay the bill and finish a beer, and they were both not quite impatient and sooo ready to go just yet. And it was a really nice time. The munching had taken the edge off my hunger, so my mood had been helped by that, and the boys were both full and happy.

And we just hung out for a little bit. We chatted. I saw pictures that Big Brother took with his phone at his school's cultural fair. I even got to see a picture of some kid's rendition of Abraham Lincoln leading the Hebrew people out of Egypt.

It was cool in the end.

kilt the sumbitch

2011-05-02T22:27:00.000-05:00

I have a few thoughts on the apparent killing of Osama bin Laden. And I'm going to share.

I got off work yesterday (Sunday May 1, fwiw) about four, got a beer at the bar, and sat on the patio in front of work. I drank a couple of beers and hung out with various other work and/or downtown people waiting for the evening and a surprise going away party for a coworker.

The party was held in the upstairs of a bar a few feet away, so I didn't really get too far from the same place all day. I may have ridden from one parking garage to another and back to reorient my senses, but that really has nothing to do with Osama or his recent death.

Later on in the night, the party had gone from SUPRISE! to the band playing and people milling about, many of us having moved to the patio as the upstairs is non smoking.

At some point, after having walked down an alley for no good reason I returned and heard chatter about our having killed Osama bin Laden.

My first thoughts in the random number generator that is my head involved, who care? are you sure? and then I went off on some other tangents that have solidified more today as I thought about it all less drunk.

Some of the fun last night was just messing with people, and some of these people, generally sane seeming in normal life, were growing a little upset that I was willing to attempt to detract from the gravity of the situation. Other, possibly drunker people, cheered on when I shouted, "Hell yeah! We killed Obama bin Muslim."

I tried it today and everyone got it immediately, so it could have been late night at a bar, but it still makes me laugh.

I also don't attach a lot of importance to some brown guy with a beard and a long white shirt from the other side of the world. I just can't accept that he has that much power over us. Sure, if the new stories are correctly presenting the situation, Osama got a few good licks in. The the US got serious about hunting him down, and since then he hasn't able to do too damn much, though his organization has apparently kept several country's military arms fairly busy.

And finally, the things that solidified in my head over the course of this morning. I truly believe that people like Newt Gingrich and Mike Huckabee pose a far greater threat to our liberty than any Islamic terrorist.

solidified thing no. 2-There are people who look to Osama as a hero and likely now a martyr. Perhaps they do hate us freedom loving Americans. I don't hate them. I don't know them, and I think if I were to meet them they might rethink their own feelings. Or maybe they don't really hate us. Maybe they look at things our country has done, or perhaps they feel as if they've been mistreated by our country. I can't know what's in their hearts, but I have to assume they are generally sincere in their beliefs. Perhaps if we talked we could find a middle ground. I don't know. But certainly they hurt when we kill them just as we hurt when they kill us, and neither side seems to have fixed anything even now. There may well be better news tomorrow.

learn where you can

2011-04-21T14:34:00.000-05:00

The title of this post may be misleading to any long time readers. This post is not about homeschooling or school or anything like that, and it isn't about children learning.

It's about me, and you may already know that I've joined the dark side and purchased a pair of Crocs to wear to work. If I'd gone to the cool shoe store in the mall first I could have saved some other store visits and some time spent at the mall, a place I generally loathe.

I've been anti Croc for some time now. When the damn things first showed up a few years back I hated them and swore I'd never darken a pair with my feet. Having worked in kitchens I'v been around my share of clogs, and then Crocs started showing up there as well.

I swore by a good pair of boots for years as my kitchen shoe of choice, and then I realized that a stout shoe worked as well and that I didn't miss the whole ankle support thing. I've been through my share of both over the years, wearing out more pairs of shoes than I care to remember.

And then recently I may have spent some time pacing in circles in a sort of detention facility, and my current home county may provide inmates with orange, fake crocs to pace circles in.

And while I hate to admit that my epiphany happened here, I didn't hate the shoes. In fact I started to understand why so many coworkers wore these type of shoes.

And then I had some foot issues for the past week and change, and my latest kitchen shoes made the problem worse. They are also slowly falling apart, wearing through at each intersection of stitching that holds the different pieces of leather together. I've been in the market to be in the market for new shoes for a couple of months at least, but I've put off actually looking because of time and because I can be cheap and want to get every last bit of wear out of a pair of shoes.

The shoes I'm currently wearing are old Converse that, when new, were my all time faves, and which have been worn solely while mowing the grass for the last four years. They're also loose and forgiving of the aforementioned foot issue while my newer non work shoes will likely be the last pair of narrow Converse I ever buy. I just can't deal with them anymore, and they were also not friendly to the foot issue.

So that's my story. I work at nine in the a.m. tomorrow, and I'll take the Crocs on their initial run then. I may hate them seven to eight hours later when I get off work, or I may have fallen in love with these things I so derided such a short time ago. Maybe I'll bore your asses off with that tale tomorrow night.

wouldn't it be nice

2011-04-19T17:57:00.000-05:00

The following was posted on Facebook as a friend's status. I started to make my own points about each of these fond memories, but I don't have it in me to be that guy to this particular person. So I'm calling blog fodder and bitching it out here. Also, it's not about bikes for the most part.

If you grew up on home cooked meals, you rode a bike with no helmet, your parents house was not "child-proof" , you got a whippin' when you misbehaved, had 3 TV channels you got up to change or went outside to turn the antenna, school started with the Pledge of Allegiance, stores were closed on Sunday, you drank water out of a water hose and still turned out okay, re-post this and show that you survived.

I grew up on home cooked meals for the most part. My mother's repertoire was varied somewhat, and for the most part I'd say it was basically basic American (USA edition) with a strong southern bent. I may well know how to cook a lot more things than she ever needed, but what she cooked was always good. Her own mother apparently was never much of a cook, so my own mother was essentially self taught. Other than liver night I have no complaints about her cooking.

Yes, I rode a bike with no helmet, and though I've begun to wear one there was some small amount of wanting to fight it on my part. I hate bike helmets that look like some sort of alien's skull on top of your own. I feel like I look like a douche in them, and I put off buying a helmet for some time. Big Brother had a helmet in time to start riding his bike to school, and I'm glad he wears it. I'm not sure how I feel about the law, but where we live the helmets-on-bicycles law applies to those sixteen and under.

But I do wear a helmet. I finally visited the skateboard shop and bought a helmet I don't loathe. I even put one of the stickers the shop guy gave me on the side to attempt to get back some coolness points. I can heal from a broken arm or leg, but impact induced loss of what little mental accuity I still have because I chose not to wear a helmet is likely a slightly worse blow, no pun intended.

As well as I remember the house I grew up in was not especially child proof, but sensible precautions were taken to care for any children and to guard against the likelihood of dangerous items reaching their hands. And my own house has been the same way. I don't have any intention to leave harm lying around in the path of my children, but I also understand that some lessons will be learned the hard way, so I make sure those lessons aren't the truly threatening ones.

You got a whippin? How do people still glorify this sort of behavior? I certainly got plenty of them myself, but I've worked really hard not to bring that into my present. That I've turned out as well as I have in spite of being struck as a child as punishment for misdeeds does not make it okay to continue the tradition of striking kids.

We had more than three channels, and for a few years we did have to get up to change channels. It involved turning a knob, and sometimes you had to adjust the rabbit ear antenna while barely turning the UHF knob to try to find the kung fu movies. I appreciate technology and am more than happy to change channels by pushing a button while staying comfortably on the sofa.

Most people I know don't have a problem with the pledge of allegiance, but I do know people who have a problem with the phrase "under god" being a part of it. I have a problem with that phrase. It's a way of excluding people, and I think that it's unAmerican. I don't like it, and I don't think it should be there.

Stores can close on Sunday or any other day. The place I work at closes early on Sunday, and a restaurant down the square closes early on Monday. No one should have to not open on Sunday, and I'll go so far as to say that blue laws should not exist that require certain businesses to not open on Sundays. The only reason this exists is as a vague nod to religious traditions that many people don't necessarily follow, and it feeds into the system that allows exclusion of people based on religion.

I would probably still drink out of the water hose unless it tasted like water hose, and if I were thirsty enough even that wouldn't matter.

Other things that I like about progress is that there aren't colored water fountains and white water fountains, and you sit on the bus wherever you damn well please. I like multiple television channels as well as the internet and smart phones and off buttons. I like that I don't pretend I'm not gay any more. I also like bobbers, decidedly low tech, as well as vintage bicycles, even older tech. I like Sriracha a whole lot, which I haven't talked about lately, but I could easily do a blog post on that lovely little bottle of chili sauce.

There's nothing new there really for anyone that actually knows me or has read here for a while. It's all standard stuff, and I do get why that misty eyed view of the past is so powerful. I also get that progress for the sake of progress isn't always worth shit. Maybe it's just me, because this little paragraph shows up periodically, and I hate every time, probably a little more each time than the last. Hell, why don't we just go back to when we were banging rocks together, when our only real fear was getting gored by the wooly mammoth we planned to hunt as soon as we found one. That's the life, no traffic, no screaming kids in restaurants, no tail winds from the Mexican we had for lunch, nothing but banging these here rocks and wondering whether I'd ever see the sun again every time a cloud covered it for a moment.

adding to the list

2011-04-06T10:42:00.000-05:00

At some point last night I wrote a post. As is my usual habit I walked outside to smoke before editing and fixing and posting, and I never got around to posting it. And now I probably never will.

But I will tell you some of what it said. Also, are you tired of bike talk yet?

Leaving work yesterday I stopped in at the downtown bike shop to learn that my new stem will be in today, that I can bring the bike in today and likely pick it up tomorrow with new handlebars. They didn't have any helmets that I like.

I rode a few minutes down the road to the next nearest bike shop and also didn't find any helmets that I liked, but I did find the bike that I thought might be just right for Big Brother, so I continued riding to Momma's house where I locked my bike to her front porch rail and took The Boy and Momma's car to go pick up Big Brother from school.

From there we went back to the bike shop so Big Brother could voice an opinion and perhaps choose from the available models within our price range. The one road bike they had was really sweet looking and too small for me and sort of pink looking. It actually looked like it had once been red but had faded to pink, as Big Brother pointed out, also mentioning that he nonetheless still didn't want a pink bike.

He did like the Schwinn mountain bike that looks an awful lot like a slightly smaller version of mine but in black, dark gray, and yellow. While the back tire is knobby, the front tire is the type I'd considered looking at for my mountain bike before letting the mania talk me into the road bike.

Our next shopping adventure was to Kmart for a helmet and bike lock and a pair of inner tubes for the bike we already have that I hope The Boy will learn to ride on. He has a pretty cool big wheel that he's loved riding the past couple of years, but the bike mania is at least a little contagious it seems.

This morning, as the boys were eating breakfast, I handed Big Brother the instructions that came with his helmet so that he could adjust it properly for his head. He was working on that when I drove The Boy to school, and was wearing it and ready to go when I arrived back home about ten minutes later.

The weather was a bit chilly, and though he rode the bike a bit both before we bought it and after we brought it home, it's a bit new to him still. It's a great fit for him, but he's used to a BMX bike and also hasn't ridden since before winter.

I trailed him to school and did that thing I do where I probably talk to much and try to help too much. He was a little skittish facing downhill and didn't want to go too fast. I kept having to slow down and not run him over. And overall it was a really nice way to start the day. Google maps is telling me it's 1.3 miles and should take me six minutes. We easily doubled the time, but that's fine of course.

And now I'm off to run errands. Deposit a check, bike stuff, something to eat, home, laundry that needs to be folded, pick up The Boy from school, look out the window for Big Brother riding by himself. I'm sure I've forgotten something.

and i'll eat out of containers while standing up

2011-03-30T22:19:00.000-05:00

I should warn you now that this yet another post about bikes. I've been taken over with a sort of mania, but there's also something about this that just feels right. It's like I've gone back to something I never should have let go of.

I flirted with bikes three times over the years since my childhood when riding my bike was a nearly daily occurrence. When Momma and I lived in Charlotte I was able to retrieve the last bike I'd owned in Atlanta, and I was soon riding quite a bit. Then one night, after riding home fairly drunk from somewhere, I forgot to lock the bike outside our apartment door and never saw it again.

The next bike I owned was purchased from a coworker about six (maybe, time is a blurry sensation at best for me generally) years ago. It was a cheap bike from a big box retailer. It rode like shit and sucked then and still sucks now sitting in the garage with its rusty shit wheels. I rode it around the house approximately ten total times over the course of a week and then never again. I wish I had that twenty bucks back. Fuck!

The next bike was last summer when I lived in the Fort. It was also a big box bike, but my mindset then was in a different and more biking places friendly sort of place. I used the bike a lot and then sold it to my ex landlord as I moved back to the house I'm now in. While I'd enjoyed riding the bike to work from the Fort I didn't think I'd ever ride a bike from this house to downtown assuming it was just too far.

And finally my sweet red bike that I love but might replace tomorrow. It's actually today by the time you are likely to read this as it's after eleven o'clock here. Regardless, I do now ride this bike that far often enough, and I've ridden it plenty of other places too. And I actually love riding this bike even though we're on city streets and it's made for narrow trails and dirt berms and jumps over the rough spot

Since I've begun riding the bike I've slipped into the edges of a thing that could be mania twenty years ago with no Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy. But that's not the world I inhabit, so I'll gladly enjoy the tease of it and try to be smart about stuff.

And apparently I'll start contacting some guy on Craigslist about his early '80's Schwinn with the newer "comfort" handlebars, and I'll have asked if he has the original set. And that whole tomorrow thing, yeah, I'm gonna wait for him to call and go look at the bike in the evening.

With any luck Momma will be there, because really the bike would be for her. If it's a good size for her and is in good condition and she wants it she gets it. In the day and a half since I found it and thought about her wanting a bike (she's mentioned it before) I've tried to have her in mind, but I keep looking at it. It's kinda like seeing a boy at a party that you like, but you know he's straight and interested in your friend.

It's really not like that at all, but I want the bike now that I've been looking at it and thinking about it, and I feel bad because I don't want the bike I already have to find out. That can't be good. And I still want to ride him on the street tires I might also go look at tomorrow, but then would I ever ride him how he's meant to be ridden? Would I ever take my beautiful mountain bike mountain biking?

Maybe I'll just keep buying bikes until I'm crazy early '80's Schwinn guy. Yeah, that's the best idea yet.

don't never mind the bollards, srsly

2011-03-30T00:33:00.000-05:00

Alas the rain again could also be a title for this post. As promised, the rain has once again moved into my stormy little slice of heaven.

To be honest a weather forecast isn't the same as a promise, but lately, if it involves rain, it kinda seems like it is.

I find excuses not to ride in the rain. With a few adjustments I could take most of the issues out of the problem, and I know that at some point I'm going to have to just do it. I've done it before, and other than a wet butt for a while it wasn't so bad.

My newest fixation is bike tires. One day, when I can actually have a nice day off, while the kids are in school and I have the time, I'm going to look into a new pair of tires for my bike. It would be a great joy to me to take the bike out and ride to the bike shop and ride away with tires made for asphalt.

Have I mentioned that it's a mountain bike? It's older, but it's a great bike and it rides well, but I can't deal with these tires anymore. I have knobby mountain bike tires, and that makes perfect sense for a mountain bike. But right now, it isn't really a mountain bike. It sees the ridges that make this town so much fun to bike through, but that ain't the same.

What I need is a tire built for the asphalt, and companies are apparently making tires specifically for people turning mountain bikes into commuter bikes. That's what I'm doing. Apparently I'm not starting something new.

I just love the way this bike works, and I love how he and I work together. I also decorated him tonight. That's right, I just called the bike he. Whatcha gonna do about it? The only other thing I've done to the bike was to add lights and adjust the seat. I did also put a reflective sticker on the front before riding home from work one night at the insistence of a coworker, but that thing is gonna have to come off. It's probably a not bad idea, but it's ugly, and I need to have a real light up there anyway if I'm riding at night.

I also mentioned a decoration. Two days ago, preparing for an all out grocery procuring blitz, I was sorting through the shopping bags to see if they were all there when I discovered the skull. It's a small metal skull that was part of a skeleton that has hung from the rear view mirrors of the last three cars that Momma and I shared. It stayed with me in the Honda when Momma moved on in her own car world.

I found parts of it when I cleaned the Honda out after the "accident" and didn't remember finding the skull. I seem to remember some other random parts, but I'm not sure now what I would have done with them since. I grabbed the shopping bags when I went to the impound lot that night and apparently didn't completely empty them out when I finally sorted through the bags later.

I'm kinda excited about the tires idea. I can feel the knobbies working against me I think. Also I want the rain to quickly fall and then move along. I get that it's spring in east TN, but seriously, I've kinda had enough this year. I'm ready to move along.

the ill

2011-03-24T10:36:00.000-05:00

When I mentioned my interview today I neglected to have the future vision that would tell me that today would not be a good day for it. I had no way to know that The Boy would wake this morning sick.

He's actually been at least a little sick for the past week. He's had days that he felt fine, and we assumed he was over it.

After school yesterday he ate a snack and did his homework, but then he lounged on the sofa complaining that he was tired. He fell asleep and wasn't hungry when I got pizza, and he only woke to watch Big Brother play Zelda.

He asleep now, his arms pulled inside his shirt. He's just cold enough for that, but he doesn't want a blanket.

I've tried to call hoping to postpone the interview, but no one is answering the phone just yet. The Grandfather is here finishing up some of the plumbing begun yesterday, and I'm sure he'd be willing to be here for the time I needed to run, but at the same time I feel bad not being here should something arise.

There's also the part where I haven't yet told my current employer that I'm looking elsewhere, and in fact I wasn't looking elsewhere. This interview fell into my lap, and if I didn't think it was likely to be a good opportunity I wouldn't bother. I also did not pick up a few hours today when the current employer called earlier to ask if I could come in at noon. And with my luck someone from work would very likely see me across the square at the other restaurant, and that would surely begin some tiny amount of drama. Restaurants are fueled, to some small extent, by drama, and I'm not willing to fan those flames just yet.

So I have just over an hour before meeting the people, and I'm not really sure what to do. I'll probably wait till noon and hope someone answers the phone then. Or I might ask The Grandfather for the favor.

i dunno, maybe

2011-03-24T01:12:00.000-05:00

Writing a much different post I suddenly realized that my bike is in the trunk of Momma's car which is at her house with the rest of the car. And I'll see her and the car before I need the bike again.

The Grandfather Who Owns The House did some plumbing and some lawn mowing today. I did a small amount of mowing and told him I'd finish tomorrow. I should have time, assuming I can get either of the mowers to work. I know he'll get them working, but he's uncanny that way

I wish my bike was here. Even though it doesn't matter.

I also have a surprise interview tomorrow. A guy I used to work with works across the square at a much different restaurant which is apparently about to lose a couple of people, so they're looking for someone, and this guy remembers me from about a year ago.

There's a whole love/hate relationship, hopefully entirely one sided, between me and my current place of employment. I've been underpaid most of the time I've been there. At the same time I've been passed over for all sorts of perks that I think could have at least been offered to me.

My availability has been fairly limited the entire time I've worked there, though I have ample hours that I can actually work. For what it's worth, I was also the only one with kids most of time that I've been there other than the owner who has both kids and grandkids. There is now another employee, not too bad of a guy, who easily skated into the job of other main kitchen person second to the kitchen manager. I'm not sure of his exact title, and I don't know what he makes. He also has kids, but I won't get into his story. I am, however, glad that I only parented children with a single other person.

I really don't know much about the place I'm visiting tomorrow. I know a little, but I've actually never been in. My going out to restaurant time has kids in it 90% of the time with the other ten being bar food when that's all that's open. I did treat myself to Mexican recently, but that was lunch one day before beginning the picking up of kids from school.

The guy I know talked as if I could show up and have a job, but I have to keep in mind my availability as this place isn't open most days, and that's been my schedule for a couple of years. I've gotten more hours while Momma gets nights which have been better for her. It's worked, and one of us is almost always able to be with the kids. She's willing now to switch her own availability some, and that would certainly help if I decide to take the job.

Of course this does nothing to help my getting-out-of-restaurants-maybe thing I've been thinking about, but maybe it'll be good until I get to that point for reals.

dirty water legs

2011-03-22T22:37:00.000-05:00

Other than the distance from my current home to work, I'm loving riding a bike. There are those times, however, when Momma's car is available, and I take it.

I can't easily move around with the kids on a bike. Big Brother has a bike in the garage that needs to get pulled out and dusted off. One good thing about this house is that we're really close to his school, so whenever we get around to getting him to do it he can ride his bike.

Sunday night saw me making my first ride for the hell of it. I toured a local greenway with a couple of coworkers, we even forded a stream, but we weren't supposed to be there, so don't tell anyone. I rode approximately twenty miles that day.

I don't know if that's a lot for people who ride bikes, but right now it's a lot for me. I'm used to doing ten at most, the distance to and from work, and I wonder if it's a lot or if it feels like a lot jumping from a car to the bus to the bike in such quick succession. My last drive in my much beloved Accord was 1/9.

And I'm also wondering lately if there are more people riding bikes lately, or am I just now noticing so many because I've suddenly joined them. I've always seen them and been a little jealous. Riding my bike stands out as the best times I ever had growing up. I don't know if that has anything to do with it, but I've missed having a bike since the last time I really had one.

I have to congratulate myself again on such a great purchase in a bike, though I'm already wanting to do some slight modification. What I actually want is a new pair of wheels and more roadworthy tires, though I don't want a skinny tire by any means. And I want to be able to slap the mountain bike tires on at a moments notice.

Speaking of which, I want to actually put those mountain bike tires to their intended use as my weekend is upon me. There's a local park with three loops designed for different levels, and though I haven't see it yet I'd like to think that beginner one has my name written all over it. I'm not yet convinced it's within biking distance, and I haven't really tried to find anyone that would/could ride who would also have a car with bike toting capabilities. Also, it's possibly supposed to rain again tomorrow. Again.

Okay, it can't yet rain again tomorrow, but it can rain again, and I think I heard to expect it to do so tomorrow.

And with that I should probably just stop. I just noticed the time and thought that it's a good time to be riding. It's beautiful out right now, and just cool enough to be really nice. I'm going to go stand in it and enjoy a cigarette.

and doggone it . . .

2011-03-08T22:54:00.000-05:00

One of those things happened tonight on the ol' Fb as I was reminded why I deleted so many friends so long ago. A teacher from my high school years made a comment that was slightly politically charged, and I said something to disagree.

He said something about Obama being our first black president and being half white, and I corrected him that Clinton was actually our first black president.

He of course then pointed out that both were bad people and wrong, so I commented that I was rolling up my pants.

I took myself away from the debate, but I made sure to do so in a slightly passive aggressive way. Now maybe I'm prejudiced when it comes to me, but I think that shows a touch of class.

more forced trip greening

2011-03-04T00:40:00.000-05:00

I can't believe it's taken me this long to realize, but I've been doing it wrong. I shouldn't be surprised that once again I've been missing the obvious.

Honestly, it's not necessarily a sudden realization. I've been a little bit stubborn about, and it's kinda stupid when I admit to it.

My bike ride to work is about five miles. I don't ride that everyday, and I don't make the round trip every day that I do ride. The day that I bought the bike is the last time that I rode the bus and the only time the bike has ridden the bus that I know of. Momma has been generous with her pity and her decisions to give me a ride to work, and depending on our schedules, sometimes we're both going to and coming from downtown that it just makes sense to take the ride.

My average time to or from is about thirty minutes. The bus also takes about thirty minutes. It stands to reason that a combination of bus and bike would be the best way to go rather than to add a five mile bicycle commute to a body that isn't really that used to the exertion.

But for whatever reason I didn't reason it out quite like that. I saw a savings of the fifty dollar for a month bus pass. Also, there isn't a bus on Sunday that will get me to work on time, and most Sunday's I'm scheduled at either eight or nine.

I don't dislike either the bus or the bike. I appreciate the usefulness of the bus and will begin using the service again. I love the bike, and I love riding, but I really am not in the physical condition to chew that big bite I bit. Sunday's will have to be my suck-it-up-and-take-it day, and honestly, I'm going in to work brunch, which I truly hate, so I'm already sucking up and taking.

Perhaps I'll work some other deal to make my Sundays less hurtful. There has to be a way. But until then I'm going to make my other days slightly easier if not as cheap. I'm going to find the balance between where I get on and off the two conveyances, trading each for the other at my whim.

There's also some thought about moving closer to town. Everything I want or want to do is that direction, so it only makes sense. But that's another post for another time.

the bf's

2011-03-02T13:27:00.000-05:00

First I should point out that none of what I assume about this couple can be proven without talking to them, and I'm far happier making assumptions than getting to the truth.

Second, we do in fact refer to them as the "bathroom fuckers." And, keeping point one in mind, this might be totally inaccurate.

There is a couple that visits the place I work. They came in regularly for a while before taking a break, but we've been seeing them again. They always ordered the same sandwich that they want ready at a certain time. They meet in the very back dining area, the one that's essentially in the kitchen, at the farthest table from the front.

My guess is that they are cheating on their spouses with each other. I can't prove it, but there's a certain something about them that gives them that air. Do I suspect cheating because I've developed a sense, an ability to recognize it? Or am I just an ass that likes to assume the worst.

After several months in which we didn't see them we nearly forgot about them. Sure, occasionally someone would remember or mention them. Perhaps they'd be the butt of some joke or the topic of a "remember when" sort of conversation. Restaurants change rapidly on the inside, and something that you've grown so used to that you completely take it for granted can disappear and be forgotten in a moment.

This couple, while ordering and sharing the same sandwich each visit, doesn't want it split and put on separate plates. According a to one server the separate plate thing was tried, but the bathroom fuckers put the sandwich back onto one plate and disregarded the attempted good deed.

And now they're back. He dresses sort of normally, but she dresses a bit nicer than you'd expect for an office drone. Yesterday her tight top and fairly short skirt seemed to beg for attention. They sat with their heads together, and then, when no one was looking, the couple was gone.

They weren't too far gone, as they'd left stuff on the table, so we knew where they were. They were in the bathroom again.

We discussed in low whispers what we could do to learn about them. I suggested someone try the old ear to the glass to the wall trick to see if we could hear anything, but no one really wanted to be that guy.

Eventually she exited the bathroom and retrieved her stuff. She pulled on a jacket and left wearing a look that was difficult to read. Had she just been penetrated in our bathroom? Had she performed for him? We waited until he made his exit a few minutes after her. He had a whole other look about him, and he walked away with what I'd describe as a forced nonchalance.

I can't say for certain that they fuck in our bathroom. I sent a server in as soon as the man left, ordering the server to do smell check "for spunk." Yeah, I know that's nasty, but it made me laugh both then and now, so I'm sticking with it.

Apparently there was no spunk odor, and we still can't prove anything, but we'll still call them the "bathroom fuckers."

dirty basement water legs

2011-02-28T17:47:00.000-05:00

I feel like I've written about the flooding that sometimes happens in my basement. If so I've explained that the pump is in the farthest corner from the door, and I've probably described the crate walk.

Because the pump is in the far corner there are two milk crates in the basement. When it floods I use the crates to move above the water. Standing on one crate I move the other ahead of me then step onto it. I repeat this process until I reach the pump then jiggle the pump until it starts pumping. Sometimes I have to dig around in the hole to break loose the collected flotsam, and I have a stick that stays in the basement for this very reason. Once the pump is working I turn and do the crate walk back to the door.

Rain has been falling throughout the day, and I was even lucky enough to get to bike in some light rain this morning. I arrived at work thoroughly damp, though my butt was nearly soaked from the spray off the back tire. I won't even attempt a description of my hair, but it needs to be cut and was the combined crazy of rained on and wind blown.

I left work an hour early and met Momma and The Boy near the square. She needed to be at work earlier than usual, and I was able to leave work in order to take her car and meet Big Brother at his school. She warned me to avoid our usual driving route due to flooding, and as we travelled I saw plenty of flooding around town. Our town is a very hilly town, so between the hills and the paved surfaces and the low places we can see lots of rapids down road ways as well as a number of 24 hour ponds.

I knew of course that the chance of my basement being flooded were very good, so upon arriving home my first goal was to check. I could tell the basement was flooded more than usual, but I couldn't really see how deep it was. I could see one of my crates, but I needed a long stick to get it close to me. I try to leave them near enough the door, but sometimes they get pushed out of the way on dry basement trips.

I found a long stick and braced myself against the brick doorway and leaned as far as I could and just could reach the crate. I wasn't sure how easily it would move, so I wasn't expecting instant cooperation. I also wasn't expecting for the crate to be floating and to slowly roll over when I did reach it.

But it did.

I ended up changing into shorts and donning my flip flops. I was dreading my adventure into the cold, brown water, but it exceeded my expectations. The water is in fact cold and brown and reached just above my knees when I was finally brave enough to step out into it. It's so cold in fact that it nearly took my breath away, almost like that first jump into the pool.

I'm sure the boys above in the house heard me as I made my way to the pump. I was singing loudly, "Oh my god it's sooooo COLD!" a little ditty I made up trying to keep the water temperature from driving me over the edge of sanity. I could only move so quickly as there are plenty of dangerous and invisible things in the brown water ready to trip me or worse.

Thankfully I did finally reach the far corner, and thankfully the pump didn't take too much jiggling to start working. Now I've got coffee steeping and another trip outside to peek into the basement. I hope to hear the pump still working, and I hope to see a noticeable drop in the water level. And I hope to relight the water heater's pilot soon. The boys already needed baths tonight, and now I'd really like a shower.

loose pad

2011-02-21T00:24:00.000-05:00

Fortunately my back brake is tight, tight as in works well enough that I can skid without too much trying. Also I was fortunate in not having been moving very quickly when I hit my front brake which suddenly wasn't really working in a way that was even a little bit helpful.

It probably wasn't really nice or proper of me to refer to the kid as a sack of shit, but either one or both of his parents are a sack of shit for letting him play with my bike.

Entering the restaurant where I work through the front door you pass between our bar area to the left and a separate dining room on the right. Continue through and you reach the courtyard which is essentially fenced off inside the greater room, separating it from two walkways on the outer edges of the room. These walking areas lead to the doors that lead to the stairways that lead to the condos on the floors above. Continue your walk from the front door to end in the kitchen, where we have more dining, but if I start talking about the tourists I might start to rant a little.

Only one of the two doors to the upper living areas is used often, so the walkway leading to the less used door has become parking for those of us who ride our bikes to work.

At some point today, as I was moving between the kitchen and somewhere else in the restaurant, there was a family seated in the courtyard. Only the parents were actually seated at the moment I walked through. The two young girls and young boy that were also part of the party were in the less used walkway. While the girls admired the horrid painting of crap that takes up nearly a twenty by thirty foot area of the wall there the boy could be seen fucking with my bike.

I have no proof that the kid fucked with my brakes. One of my pads on the front was loose when I left, and I didn't know this till I was pedaling away and tried to use the brakes. I tend to use the front brake more for control and the back for stopping or to slow myself more quickly. In a sense I kinda rely on them a lot.

And it's not as if the kid was off somewhere, unattended and unwatched. The parents were seated at a table facing the exact direction of my bike and their kid and were not more than five feet away. Looking at their child would have confirmed that his bike was not in fact the one leaning against the divider fence and that he was in fact fucking with a bike not his own.

Perhaps they just didn't realize that the machine their child was treating as his own is in fact my main mode of transportation, much like their car is for them. Maybe they just don't realize how dirty my bike probably is. And it's not that it's so dirty so much as that I ride on regular ol' city streets where anything can and likely does go. Bikes also hold potential dangers for small children, not the least of which is that they could easily pull the bike over on themselves.

Maybe the kid didn't loosen my brake pad, but it was working when I arrived in the morning, and it wasn't working when I left. I easily found and fixed the problem, but that didn't really help when I first attempted to use that brake and it wasn't really there suddenly.

My front brake works, but it isn't as tight as the back. The back is my stopping brake or my sudden need to decrease speed brake. My front is a more delicate sort of control of speed. That doesn't make it any less essential, but it also doesn't make it the point.

So, I saw the kid fucking with my bike, and I wanted to approach the parents and say something. I'm also a restaurant employee and have been trained for years to not piss off the customer. I also know how some parents can be when approached about something their kid is doing but should not be doing. It's almost as if you're questioning their entire ability to parent as well as the general goodness of the children.

And I'm still not sure what I should have done. Perhaps the simplest thing would have been to push my way into their little zone and remove my bike. There are a couple of places I could have moved it to, and without having talked at all other than to excuse myself there'd be no reason for the parents to turn douche, though some people never need a valid reason.

The best idea really would be for people to control their kids and teach them that fucking with other people's stuff is really never cool. They aren't special, and my bike should be understood to be off limits. More than anything, the fact that parents didn't already get this idea is just baffling to me. And that's part of my reluctance to say or do anything. What can you really say or do to people like this?

p.s. Is the post title an homage or just a coincidence that made me think of this?

food war? srsly?

2011-02-17T11:16:00.000-05:00

Apparently two brothers in DC have competing pizza restaurants, and now they're "jumbo slice" is going to be on tv as they compete to see who has the best.

Food competitions sorta bother me. I watched and enjoyed Top Chef when I had the good cables, but the competition aspect always bothered me a bit, and sometimes it irritated the shit out of me.

On a personal level it's not uncommon for cooks/chefs to have to feel like they are the best. It's part of the thing, and it's probably completely natural. Maybe it's just a guy thing because many of the guys I know are like this while few of the girls are, and by guys and girls here I mean those with whom I've worked in various kitchens.

The only reason the tv and show are even on behind me is that I'm just too lazy to go turn the damn thing off. The remote works mostly, but the power button doesn't tend to. Sometimes if you mash the button hard enough and enough times in quick succession the tv will turn off and then back on, but generally it's just easier to walk the couple steps to the tv.

Everyone likes different foods in different ways and for different reason. And there is no single food that every single person on the earth is going to like. Cilantro is a great example of how we taste. I personally love it. I feel like too much is almost enough. But many people don't like it, and in fact they will often taste is as having a chemical like flavor.

Do you win by pleasing the greatest number of people? or do you win a food competition by having the best food? or do you win by being happy with what you've made?

Maybe there's my real problem. I'm my biggest critic, and if I'm happy with something I've made then I'm satisfied that I've created what I wanted. I don't always feel like I've created what I set out to accomplish, but I'm also a good enough cook that I can make people happy while not feeling like I got it right.

Here's another example, chicken and dumplings. Momma and I both make really good chicken and dumplings, but we make the dish somewhat differently, and we end with fairly different versions of the same thing. We've also put some amount of time over the years moving our own personal chicken and dumplings recipes into our own territory where we play with the different variables to further create the dish as we imagine it.

As a side note I didn't really grow up with chicken and dumplings. It just wasn't in my mother's repertoire, so it wasn't something I ate a lot. If anything this just means that I'm less wedded to an ideal that I'm trying to recreate and/or perfect.

How about a final example? Take a pound of green beans and trim them then steam them just right so that you've just brought out that lovely shade of green. Half of that pound goes into an ice bath to stop the cooking while the other half gets tossed with a bit of butter and some sea salt. The plain cold bean will have a nice crispness and sweetness to it. It will almost seem to pop in your mouth, tasting just like itself. The other bean has that bit of salt and butter, the salty and fatty being two things we tend to crave as humans. Which is truly better?

something about a hill or something

2011-02-16T08:54:00.000-05:00

I really should have gone to bed before two o'clock this morning, but I was up by seven, and I did wake the boys up and get them moving toward clothes and breakfast, and I did get The Boy's lunch. Big Brother is opting to buy lunch today because they're having barbecue trukey and/or pork.

Yes, the menu does say "trukey," and yes, we have resorted to calling it that. It's kinda like when your very young, not quite speaking clearly/correctly child refers to granola bars as "goobahs" and it sticks so that years later you say it without quite thinking. I'm sure my mother still sometimes refers to "bibbits."

I could have gone back to bed, but I seem to have just as much trouble waking up after that little bit of extra sleep, so I made my first cup of coffee of the day and decided just to stay up.

As our weather turned cold and business dropped on the square my place of employment ditched one of the day shifts. This weeks sees us getting warmer weather, and with that there's every chance we'll have busy-ish lunches, or at least busy enough to need that third person back.

I should be off today, but I'm going in at eleven to be the third person for a couple of hours. And since I'm up I can leave the house by ten. I won't feel like I'm having to pedal so damn hard just to be at work on time, and I can finally explore some alternate routes that may or may not be almost just as bad as the basic route I've been riding to get to work.

Also, I really need to get my ass in gear and move closer to town, but that's really not the point at all right this moment.

I am slowly getting the hang of proper gear shifting, or at least shifting that feels proper. But in this town it seems like a true art, because we have lots of hills. Mostly I'm doing fine, avoiding most of the worst hills, but I'm also learning that there is always going to be at least one big hill between me and my destination.

I shouldn't complain, though I will, because the ride has to be good for me. I'm sure I'm going to be in decent shape before too long, but I also need to get in the habit of eating better. The machine can't work properly without enough fuel, and my eating habits have sucked so much for so long that it's difficult to change.

And now I have another hour before I want to be rolling down the driveway. I'm feeling the sleepiness that wants to push me back under the quilt. And I'm fighting the voice in my head that's telling me I could sleep for an hour and be up and ready to go on time. I'm fighting that voice because I know better.

school stuff

2011-02-15T21:17:00.001-05:00

Big Brother is reading for fun, which is sorta what he does. He told me earlier that he's supposed to read seventy five minutes a week, and he even has a sheet to list what he's read and for how long. I get to initial it, I suppose as proof that he read what he said.

Seventy five minutes? I laughed when he said that and pointed out that he'd only need to read for fifteen minutes a night and only on school nights. He told me that he thinks some kids do exactly that. I felt bad for those kids. I just can't imagine not reading for pleasure and not enjoying reading.

When I initialed Big Brother's reading sheet earlier he'd already been reading for just over two hours. He has a book that's due back tomorrow, and he wanted to finish it. He's already well into the next book. Before the night's over I'll initial his sheet again for another two hours worth of book two.

The Boy is hating doing his homework. I suggested throughout the evening that he do it, but I never said "do it" as opposed to "you really should do it." Part of me wants to get him to learn and understand the benefit of doing the work earlier rather than later in order to have that time later.

Right now he's taking a break. He's written two of the six sentences that are his homework. He's learning contractions and has to rewrite six sentences changing the underlined words into contractions. It's easy enough, but he hates the writing. I try to remind him that it's great practice and gets easier, but that's absolutely lost on his seven (nearly eight) year old point of view on how the world works.

I have to remember sometimes to pronounce words properly, but I also have to point out sometimes that we are in fact southern and mostly used to the accents around us. I myself do sound southern, just so you know, and I'm pretty much okay with that. Apparently I sometimes say "aigs" when I mean "eggs."

I also had to make a point when reading contractions to pronounce the word "didn't" properly instead of my more common "dittun." I don't think they cover "ya'll" leaving to society to instill the proper use of the word.

He's finally on sentence number four, and he's got ten minutes before we need to get him moving toward bed. They've been at Momma's for the last few days, so we haven't gotten to read The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe for a while. Three of the four Pevensie kids are about to leave the Beaver's dam, while one already has.

"You can always write smaller," I mentioned moments ago to The Boy. Before he begins each sentence he extends the line that he has to write the sentence on to the edges of the page so that he'll have enough line to write the sentence.

He answered, "I don't really like writing smaller." I can't argue with that.

p.s. This is what's playing right this moment.

p.p.s. I do understand that The Boy may disagree about whether it's better to finish the homework earlier or later, but I can't help but think my was is better, and I can't help but wish he'd at least try it once.

not my job

2011-02-13T01:48:00.000-05:00

Some amount of conversation happened at work tonight between me and a coworker, and part of it involved me reminding him that I'm not into girls. It wasn't so matter of fact as that, and I really don't remember any of what was said other than me using the phrase, "if I was into girls . . ."

Part of his answer involved him saying, "I know; you tell us every chance you get."

I don't know that I do the thing he said, but I won't pretend that I don't. The thing is that I don't feel that I'm reminding people "every chance I get" as much as I'm just not playing any games or pretending anything. To me, being out is more than just letting people know that we're gay.

To me being out means that I'm myself. If my not gay friends are willing to notice and/or comment on the attractive women around then they need to accept that I'm going to mention and/or notice the guys I think are hot.

Okay, on some level I am aware that I'm messing with them. I get that it's not something they're used to. I know way more people who are not gay than people who are. It's merely a matter of fact. It's how it is. And I would wager that the vast majority of people as a general rule know far fewer homos than not.

While sometimes I do set out to shock and to fuck with people, for the most part I'm just not willing to not shock and/or fuck with. I'm not going to go out of my way to help keep their life squick free. And for what it's worth, I do love telling people to "fuck your hetero normative bullshit!"

I should probably also admit that I can sometimes be the guy that turns too much into a euphemism, and of course mine are all totally gay. I can throw some not gay euphemisms out there, but most of the time they too disturb the not gays. Sadly, my ability to make things into a euphemism has become sort of it's own inside joke. I think maybe I should do something about it, but it almost always makes somebody laugh, so I'll probably just keep going for the easy ones.

So, do I let everyone know every chance I get? or do I just keep it real? Do I sometimes take things too far? or am I just being myself?

I probably should answer the one that means I need to think before I speak, but that would apply to my life in general. I seldom stop to stanch the flow with forethought, and it's failed me just fine up till now. I can't imagine doing something differently just because it makes sense to try a new direction.

And even if one day I do reach a point and finally start to ruminate a bit on my thoughts before verbalizing them, I'll still make sure you know.

oh the places I'd like to go

2011-02-07T00:55:00.000-05:00

I'm falling in love, and it's with a bike.

My Saturday work schedule is usually eleven or twelve to whenever, whenever usually falling sometime around ten. Somewhere in there, roughly in the middle, is usually an hour long break. It's usually enough time to eat and walk the few blocks to the tobacco store.

This past Saturday my break was nearly two hours and involved a walk to the bike shop that is slightly farther away. I've been needing to start looking around, beginning my quest to hopefully find that bike that is the perfect balance of actually useful to me along with quality and economy.

I've assumed I was going to spend some time making this decision. I've never really owned a good bike. The bikes I had when I was a kid were fine. They weren't the fancy ones I drooled over in the BMX magazines, but they took a beating and came back for more. The bike I have in the garage as well as the one I rode for a short time over the summer both were purchased originally at that horrid bastion of American made crap, Wal Mart.

I explained to the sole visible occupant of the shop that I was replacing a totaled car with a bike and emphasized cheap and used as being key issues. He pointed out a bike hanging above us, upside down that he seemed happy enough to pull down for my inspection.

My decision may have been a bit rash, but I've proven myself right by having researched the bike after the fact. I did take a test drive. The guy at the shop asked for and i.d. and explained just how far I could actually take the bike for a test, but I didn't have quite the time.

Perhaps if I'd declined the test ride I might have held out and not purchased this bike. Certainly as I pedaled around the first corner I was taken aback. The handlebars are shorter than I'm used to, and the bike felt unsteady as I dealt with this thing I hadn't considered. I overlooked the handlebars as I tested the shifters and pedaled easily and then furiously. I found a good gear for the terrain and slope and found some speed.

Other than a few turns around the square after work earlier today I haven't really ridden this bike for fun yet. I've recognized that the short handlebars help make the steering more responsive. Actually I read it on a forum last night, but then riding today I found it to be true. And riding today involved to work.

I put about five miles on the bike within twenty four hours of ownership. I've also already pulled both wheels off to get it into a car trunk and reassembled it on the kitchen floor. I've flipped it upside down so that The Boy could see as the derailleur worked while I changed gears.

It's sitting in the kitchen right now, waiting next to the door. I can feel it wanting to go outside and ride, and I can feel it trying to will it's desires onto me. I have to go to bed so I can get up and be responsible tomorrow, but I'm already thinking about when I have a day to myself and what I'll do.

i didn't even have to use my ak

2011-02-02T23:24:00.001-05:00

The weather has turned back to cold. Perhaps we're getting our little bit of the big storm. The forecast I looked at has us having a good chance of snow and rain by the weekend but with temperatures higher than freezing. Maybe it'll just be a pretty snow.

Today was sunny for the most part. I opted to stay awake after Momma came to get the boys for school and hadn't really planned my day when the phone rang.

It was work asking if I'd come in to replace a sick coworker who was there but needed to not be and would come and pick me up. Being inside working meant that I didn't see a lot of the sun, but the nicest part of the day might have been my walk to the bus station after work.

I tried to chase the sun as much as possible but kept finding myself in the shadows of buildings until the last and longest stretch. That final stretch involves two long blocks headed east which put the sun at my back.

One of those little things I crave during the winter is that sunny day with the sun at your back creating that little circle of warmth. It helps, I think, that I wear a black leather jacket that seems to soak up the energy.

A little tense from the cold I turned that block and was a short way down when I felt that little spot growing on my back as the sun shone down on me. I relaxed a little bit and might have even walked a little taller. I certainly didn't slow down my pace. I was cutting my timing a little close and didn't want to miss my bus again.

I had no need to worry. I arrived on the platform with time to spare, though not much at all. I met the driver as he came from the driver holding pen and boarded the bus right behind him.

I'm glad to have picked up the hours at work and will be glad to see them on my check. My favorite coworker was there, and she and I nearly always have a great time in the kitchen. I got a needed dose of sunlight and blew some of my last little bit of money till I get paid Friday on pizza because Papa John's delivers and I can pay online with my debit card. If I'd had a bike I could have easily taken the #22 bus to the grocery store and biked home from there, but alas that has yet to transpire and is not germane to this conversation. Homework help was provided, pizza was eaten, Scribblenauts was played, and chapter five of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe was read.

title of post taken from

figuring it out

2011-02-01T23:46:00.000-05:00

The idea of homework has always been part of the deciding factor in homeschooling the kids. I just don't believe in homework. Very few jobs really require you to do work outside of doing your work. Sure, there are some times when you might spend some personal time taking care of some business, but when do we, as adults, really have homework?

So to think that schools can't, in the time they have, do the job we expect of them maybe suggests we should assume something is wrong. But now that I'm seeing some homework and helping, I'm actually developing a different appreciation, though I'm only going so far with this. I'm not really changing my mind.

By the time I got home The Boy had already finished his math homework, and he's doing well it seems. He needs very little help except with understanding sometimes what's being asked. The homework I helped with tonight involved eight sentences which were missing their verb. The verb was place at the end of the sentence, apart and hugged only by ( ) but needed to be translated to past tense and inserted into the blank space.

Out of eight sentences offered there were only four verbs, so each was repeated. We worked through the first four, and he once again impressed me with his reading. He's taking his time with it, but he's actually doing it even though it takes a lot of reminders of what things sound like. Of course we're also learning American English, and it feels that sometimes you almost need to work in our own Southern dialect. How many times can you tell a kid that this time that letter sounds different from nearly every other time that you see it, and it actually sounds just like a letter that exists, which begs the question why it's spelled this way instead of another, and I'm not even stopping homework to discuss how many non English words seem to exist in American English, which is still only some amount of the issue, none of which is even the point.

After completing the first four sentences we agreed to take a break. I settled back expecting a few minutes of playing followed be requesting food which would then be followed by a reminder from me that we needed to finish. Less than five minutes passed before The Boy was back telling me he was done with his break.

He sat down and took a few seconds to look at his work paper before making the realization. He looked at the four remaining improperly tensed verbs and realized that he didn't even need to do anymore reading. He explained completely what he was doing, that the words repeated and he could just write them in without needing to read the sentences, and I couldn't argue with him.

It's true that reading the sentences would have been reading practice, and I even pointed out that it would be good to read them anyway. I tried to entice him with the idea of being able to work on reading and to get better at reading. I told of reading for pleasure, and he agreed that he'd like to be able to read better and to read whenever he wanted to.

I couldn't argue with his better way. And I'm willing to go with the idea that he's learning not to work any harder than the worksheet. He did the assignment, and he saved himself some time so that he could get on the computer quicker.

And honestly, he's really doing great with reading. He isn't fighting it, a concern I once had, though he's not at the point where it's easy enough to do so much. He'll get there, and in unschooling fashion I'm going to step aside if he figures out how to beat the system once in a while.

And I'm glad I just remembered to look up Turkish Delight. The White Witch enticed Edmund with it, and we've read about it the last three nights that the boys were here. The Boy keeps asking what it is, but the only answer I have is that I think it's a confection. Then he asks, What's a confection? and I have to tell him it's kinda like candy or a sweet treat or something, that I'm not really sure, but I'll look it up.

so . . .

liberal locust that I am

2011-01-27T01:51:00.000-05:00

Let's get all the perfunctory out of the way, so I can bitch about the dumbass. A friend on the book of faces posted this Salon story about a mother who defrauded the government out of millions of dollars and punched a clown AND a kitten. She also tripped kids in glasses and made puppies feel really bad about themselves.

The piece was written by Elon James White who also has his own blog, This Week in Blackness, which I've added to my reader because he's awesome apparently. FWIW, he's also kinda cute, but the smarts is why I want to read more of him.

Actually, the mother in question apparently told the local school board that her kids lived with their grandfather. She did this so that her kids could go to a better school, described in the article that spawned the piece as a "rich white school."

If I have regular readers then they likely know that my kids have started attending school after having been homeschooled for all their life up till this year. The Boy, from Momma's house, is zoned for the school he attends, though for middle school both boys are zoned for the school Big Brother attends. We could probably have given either address for the kids as their primary domicile as they stay at whichever house makes the most sense based on the day, Momma's and my work schedules, and any number of other possible reasons that may come up based on any number of things that we may or may not foresee. They're zoned for a different elementary school from the house I'm currently in, but I don't know anything about that school. They can see their potential high school from Momma's back porch. I don't really know anything about it other than it's much more racially diverse than the rich white school, and yes, we have at least one of those. There's a fair variety of schools around this town, and there's really no point in arguing the fact that the whiter the student population is the nicer the school seems to be.

Most of the comments to the story at Salon seem to suggest my own feelings, that this mother did what any number of other people do or would do. She did break a law, but what she wanted to accomplish by breaking the law was to get the best education for her children. And the reasoning behind her act should be considered in whatever legal issues arise from this act.

The bigger point, and the bigger problem, has little to do with this one family. The real problem is that within any one city there can be such a variety of schools so that one could actually know, based on ethnic makeup, which school was likely to be a better school, to have better and newer equipment, to have more options for the students. It's sickening that this happens, but it does.

And while I considered posting my own rant about this story I hadn't made up my mind till I got to the comment HERE, by someone calling himself something that he isn't. I'm not a regular reader or commenter at Salon, so I can't know how well this guy is known. But something I notice in blog comments is how open people are. If you hide behind the veil of an anonymous and nebulous username then you can get by with being the world's biggest douche and a half.

Let me just give you a snippet of the insanity so that you don't have to actually visit the comment.
-liberals (the locusts that they are) destroy poor neighborhoods by building welfare offices and abortion clinics
-that boogeyman, “racism” that we are always told is everywhere all the time except that we never ever ever ever fucking see it
-Liberals are disgusting baby killing race exploitive pieces of shit
Seriously, he says all those things.

Let's look at it one at a time.

How many "welfare offices" does your town/city have? I know of one here. Momma and I, once upon a time, received what were essentially food stamps. And we went to the same place as everyone else, sat in the same shitty waiting room, and were just as happy as most people when we were doing better and no longer qualified for the help. I could easily qualify now if I'd swallow my pride. Also, abortion clinics? Really? I know where two are, and I know some people who've had abortions. I don't like that they felt they had to, but that's not especially my place. I'm glad they could do so safely. I know of two places that will perform abortions, and both of them are nearer campus than in our city's poorer neighborhoods.

That boogeyman racism is alive and well, or at least more well than many of us would like. But that doesn't mean we all see it all the time. That doesn't mean that we all see it when it happens, and it doesn't mean we recognize it when we see it happening. I can see things I think are racist, but I can't suddenly be black and see life through the lens that growing up black would give me. I can be gay and see homophobia, but at the same time I'm still a white male that can pretend he's not gay. Yes, that comes with it's own baggage, but I wouldn't dare compare being black to being gay or being gay to being black. Black people who are not gay can't see through my lens any more than I theirs.

Finally, I've never killed a baby, and I don't think I've ever exploited race. I killed a snake once, and I've killed my share of mosquitoes, and some of the bugs I've squished might have been babies, but I'm not stopping to look. I want to not understand what he means by "race exploitive" because ignorance is supposedly bliss, but I have to accept that this is proof that racism is alive and well. I may have mentioned that. It gets back to that lens thing. I don't get to decide what is or isn't racist to black people. I can disagree all I want, but my balls aren't really that big.

My point with this post isn't about this one commenter. I live in the south, and I think I have a slightly better handle on racism than some white people. I do think being gay gives me at least a little peak into, but as mentioned above, I don't think there's a way to compare racism and homophobia, and I don't want to say either is worse or less worse.

I hate reading comments like this because it just makes my brain hurt. It makes my heart hurt. It makes a bad place in my day. It's too good to be satire, and it's too likely that this guy believes what he says. He really, honestly thinks what he is saying is true. He doesn't see a problem with black schools and white schools, or he just doesn't see that this problem exists. If he does see it then he just doesn't care that racism is alive and well and that he's perpetuating it.

If you happen on an alligator that wants to eat you, hiding your face in your hands won't make it go away.

duckface

2011-01-25T13:28:00.000-05:00

If we're Facebook friends you may already have seen this, but this syndrome is so out of control that I feel this song needs to be shared as widely as possible.

I'd like to think none of my friends do the duckface in their pictures on social networking sites, but sadly I know that I've seen it on people who should be smart enough not to.

Watch the video and stop making the duckface.

struggle this

2011-01-25T11:17:00.000-05:00

Anti gay activists in Iowa want to take away the marriage equality that the state's supreme court gave us and aren't stopping there. They want to make sure that there is no chance that relationships between gay couples are recognized on a civic level. This means that they aren't happy just to take back marriage equality, but they want also to make sure we can't even look forward to civil unions.

They know that there will be gay people rallying in support of our cause, our cause being the desire to maintain equal rights, and to show that they are driven by love the anti gay activists are planning on giving away bags of cookies. That's right. They're going to show us love by trading their cookies for our equality.

I've actually seen this story a couple of times, and I've been outraged by the sizable balls on display when christianist tell us how much they love us but don't want us to be equal in the eyes of the law. The Friendly Atheist posted about this today, and I was finally compelled to say something myself.

What's especially galling is the wording so often used by the anti gay activists. They can't just admit that we are people, people who also happen to be gay. So, like usual, they play with words to put us in a light that they feel makes them look better, makes them look like their cause is not a despicable and nasty jab. What they want, in their words is to show love "to people who are struggling with homosexuality."

Here's the thing. I once struggled with homosexuality. I call it being in the closet. I knew I was gay, but I pretended I was just bi and that being in a heterosexual marriage and having a family was going to make me hetero enough so that being my true gay self didn't need to happen.

I was unhappy and miserable for the most part. I struggled to be okay with my decision. I tried to be strong and maintain my family, though what I never realized is that tearing myself up inside was as unhealthy for me as for those around me.

I struggled with homosexuality until I finally accepted that I am gay. Now I've embraced that I'm gay. I'm happy and proud to let myself be who I always should have been. I no longer struggle with homosexuality.

Of course there are still struggles. Sometimes it feels that life is a series of struggling from one struggle to another. But when it comes to my sexual orientation I don't struggle with it anymore. I admitted the truth to myself.

yeah, that's right

2011-01-24T23:28:00.000-05:00

I missed my bus today and had to walk about two and a half miles to reach the next available but that would make me not late for work. Google mapping the way I walked suggests a trip time of forty six minutes, but I think I did it quicker.

Actually if I hadn't slowed down walking on my street I wouldn't have missed my bus, but I saw what I assumed was my bus and assumed, based on where I know the bus goes and how long it takes to go there and come back on its way back downtown that I had plenty of time. I don't know what bus I saw, but it wasn't mine.

Rushing up the street, as always unsure of exactly when the bus will arrive, I saw the apparition bus and slowed my pace. I even smiled to myself at how well I was doing. And I have been doing well. In just over a week I've now missed the bus once, and that's required me getting up at least an hour earlier than usual.

I suppose not having a car helps. I can't reasonably go anywhere other than work or home unless I know for a fact that I have a ride, or it's going to mean me getting to the bus on time coming and going. My bus doesn't run nearly as late as I used to, so neither do I.

Perhaps it's a good thing. I can't say I like it, but I can admit to being home and ready for bed nearing midnight. I can also admit that this is becoming a bit of a habit.

I don't really like it. I'm a boring person who wastes time when by myself. I suppose it's what I do all the time, but I'm actually noticing me do it. Having to stare that in its ugly face is kind of a downer.

fwiw

2011-01-23T22:19:00.000-05:00

It being twinnyleven I used the Facebook instead of actual talking or writing a letter or whatever people used to do. I sent a message to this guy that I'm afraid to like.

Maybe the problem with talking to him or saying anything is the writer that lives inside me and wants to edit everything before the recipient receives the message.

I hate talking to people sometimes because I can't edit. I suppose that I don't misspell words when I'm talking, but that's small consolation.

In the end I think I'm happy with what I wrote. Now I get to enter that period of waiting, hoping that he sees things similarly to how I see them. I get to hope that he likes me and that I haven't frightened him off. He takes my phone calls, so that's good, but I just don't trust myself.

I really do manage to fuck things up more than you might realize. I'm probably ruining something right now even though all I'm doing is typing words and trying to manage to convey thoughts. It's kinda how I roll.

And now all I can do is wait.

not trying equals not doing

2011-01-23T22:11:00.000-05:00

I feel like I'm setting myself up for a big let down again.

There's this guy, and he's nice and sweet and hot, and I kinda like him. I kinda like him because I'm not letting myself get too far into this thing, but I also can't help feeling stuff and thinking things.

He lives just far enough away so that the car thing is an issue, and that's compounded by him having his own car problems right now. It's a situation, and it probably sounds worse than it is, or maybe I'm making it sound less worse than it is.

The last time I liked a guy it kinda blew up in my face when he incredulously and vocally realized that I really did like him that way and really did want a boyfriend. It was kind of a moment, and it wasn't fun.

There's another guy who just wants to have fun. I've been there once, and I'm not entirely against the idea, but it just isn't where I want to be in life. It isn't the kind of person I want to be. But what I want and what I feel like I can have are so often completely at odds with each other.

And neither of these situations need to be where I am in life. The one that I'm actually worried about could be part of where I want to be, but it shouldn't be the key component. That's so much easier to say than it is to act on, which raises a whole other bunch of list of whatever.

I feel like I've covered this, but it's probably something I've written about but never published. There are probably a few drunken rants in my drafts file, rambling rants that need never see the light of pixelated day.

So what to do? It's late enough tonight that I'll probably just dig up some obscure Les Paul and Mary Ford on the Youtube, because that seems to be what I'm doing right now. I'll wade through all that's built up in Google reader, all the blogs that are just sitting there, patiently waiting for me.

It isn't going to help me figure anything out, and it will more likely just keep my mind occupied enough that I don't have to think too deeply about anything. It's the internets and like a drug that way. Maybe if I actually had some drugs I could forget about everything the right way, but for now I'll just think about the cute and sweet boy, and I'll begin to compose Facebook messages to him where I bare my soul. And then I'll click on "cancel" instead of "send."

It's easier that way. And I can drag out the enjoyment of possibility longer before I say something and fuck the whole thing up.

how was your day?

2011-01-20T17:30:00.000-05:00

My day started as they have been lately, alarm going off while it's still dark outside. After forcing my eyes to remain open long enough to consider myself actually awake I started the ritual that is waking the boys up. Big Brother usually wakes quickly, while The Boy, in yet another instance of being just like me, does not.

I made sure they were putting on clean clothes and got The Boy to finally change his socks then helped them get bowls of cereal lined up. I made them sandwiches and peeled and cut kiwis for their lunches, and I made sure they both had milk money.

Momma arrived as the boys were finishing getting ready for school and whisked them away. I had time for a bowl of cereal before I went to stand up the street and wait for the bus. Sadly I had no coffee in the house, so my day didn't start as well as it could have.

The bus station/transfer point has a lunch counter at which I paid $1.09 for a horrible cup of of coffee delivered by a guy who was so cheerful that I wanted to drag him across the counter and beat him with the airpot.

The municipal court/police station is an uphill walk of two long blocks from the bus station, and I was early enough to relax at the station while waiting till I needed to start my walk in order to get there early.

I'm glad I was there early, because in a random moment of making sense I checked my paperwork to see if I'd missed anything about my court appearance. I'm somewhat familiar with the court house that I went to as it's where I've been at least twice in the past ten years, once to pay a speeding ticket and once to pay one hundred dollars for committing the crime of not knowing I needed my registration in the car. To make that one worse I realized sometime later that the registration was in fact in the car.

Upon looking at my paperwork I realized I was at the wrong court. For my offense I did not need to go to municipal court. I needed to be over ten blocks away at general sessions court which is in the city/county building. I began the quick walk, glad that I'd arrived early, and called the phone number listed on my paper.

The lady that answered was nice enough even though she insisted that I was already an hour late. Her records indicated I needed to be there at nine, and she wouldn't accept that my records said ten. It didn't matter either way.

I did actually make it to court on time. The judge was finishing up his discussion of rights and the nature of the offense that most of us were there for and then began to call the roll.

My court date was actually an arraignment, so within about an hour I had my actual court date and was free to go. From there I walked another five blocks to my place of employment to mark the calendar we use to request days off so that I could be sure to have my court date free. A coworker was also there with his eight month old, so I got to hold a tiny baby. I then proceeded to tickle his toes and that spot on the back of all baby's necks that makes them shiver. It's so much fun.

I then walked to where Momma works, another couple of blocks, so that I could let her know about my court business. Another three blocks took me to a coffee shop so that I could eat a scone and enjoy a cup of good coffee.

Another three blocks saw me at the bus stop so that I could ride to the grocery store. From the grocery store I walked another two blocks to catch the bus that would have taken me home. I rolled a cigarette and checked the schedule only to find myself wishing I'd been there ten minutes earlier and debating how long I felt like standing and waiting. I opted to walk. The next bus wasn't due for about forty minutes.

Home was another two mile walk, and by the time I finally reached here I almost wished I'd waited. You'd think with all the standing and moving I do as a cook a little walking would be easy, but my legs, from the knees down, are some achy bastards.

I'm home, have some chicken stock simmering on the stove. I'll use it a bit later to boil some rice into which I'll mix some leftover chicken and whatever else sounds like it'll be good. I'll also hope The Boy eats some, otherwise he'll be a hungry little monkey.

And that was the first half of my day. I've since dozed for a few minutes in front of the television and checked Facebook. Momma is stopping at the co-op for me and bringing me coffee when she brings the boys later, and as soon as I see her car in the driveway I'll get water on. The French press is already clean.

Right now I'm hungry and tired. I really hope the boys don't have any/much homework. I don't feel like dealing with it tonight, though so far we haven't had any problems. The Boy is behind where his class mates are, so we're working with him to catch up. He's a smart kid, and when we work on combating the frustration he easily understands the math. The reading/writing may take a bit more patience, but it's good for me to learn some of that.

taint ticklers

2011-01-16T23:54:00.000-05:00

People have noticed lately that I haven't shaved in a while, though I have to wonder if they're noticing or just commenting. Very rarely has anyone had reason to comment on my facial hair, and the main reason is that I really don't grow it in a noticeable manner.

When I say I don't grow it I'm not suggesting that I shave daily in order to maintain my appearance. No, what I mean is that, whether or not I like it, my face doesn't produce hair in the manner typical for a man my age. I shaved just over a week ago, and I've just now reached a point where my face looks as if I'm attempting to produce a hair style upon it.

I know when I last shaved because it was in preparation for a visit from a cute friend. I won't go into that right now, though there could easily be a post out of where my head is lately. I then didn't shower again till Momma helped me purchase my freedom, and I was able to shed the layer of jail and the stink of bologna.

I just didn't feel like shaving then. And usually I don't. I suppose that I'm lucky in that regard. I do kinda hate shaving, and I don't really feel like I want facial hair, and I certainly have no need at all to shave daily to maintain a clean look, but there's also the part of me that just doesn't like not having that thing that men do. It's totally not available to me.

Long sideburns? Handlebar mustache? Satanesque Van Dyke with pointy beard? I can achieve none of these classic styles. Fourteen year old boy who shouldn't need to shave yet but kinda needs to? Yes, I can totally pull that one off. I'm doing so right now.

And I don't even like the facial hair on me. Okay, I'll tell you now that I don't like my own. It feels unpleasant for the most part. However, a bit of beard brushing against my neck? Let's just not even go there. That's not what this post is about, and my viewers may include mixed company.

Every so often I ignore my need to shave, and it does almost look as if I'm deliberately attempting something, and on even rarer occasions I consider for a brief passing moment just not shaving. I almost begin to pretend that if I don't shave a real mustache will grow while I'm asleep. That's where I am now.

I feel like I know better, and I'm sure I'll look like the kind of guy that has a van for very bad reasons if I were to actually have a mustache of my own, but I still wanna see, just once. Just one time in my life time I want to actually have this thing that so many take for granted.

mouth full of gravel and glass

2011-01-11T21:06:00.000-05:00

There's a space between ordering the pale ale and sitting on the ground next to the car while that angry lady across the street yelled at me that isn't even a memory. I can't justify it any way at all, though my brain can't wrap around this quandary, and I keep telling myself that I didn't have that much to drink.

I don't remember paying my tab. I don't remember leaving the bar. I don't remember walking two blocks to the parking garage, and I don't remember any of the drive.

I remember that woman yelling at me about her kids going to school this way and that she'd already called the cops. I remember looking at my car and thinking that it was facing the wrong direction. I remember the telephone pole, though at the time I couldn't see that I'd hit it hard enough to break it. As my arresting officer said, "You cut it right off!"

I remember as the realization of what I'd done tried to crash down on me. I remember crying.

I remember the cop trying to get me to do the field sobriety test and that I honestly couldn't. Between being drunk and crying I couldn't do any of the things he was going to ask of me. I've done those things at least two other times and passed. I couldn't this time.

And regardless of how absolutely not even a little bit that it matters I didn't have that much to drink. And that's not a problem because I didn't have that much to drink. The problem is what does "that much" mean?

One of my "not resolutions" was to drink less. Wanna know how much I drank Sunday night? According to the slip I got when I clocked out from work Sunday I left there at about 3:15. I was at the bar with a bloody mary by 3:30. I drank that somewhat slowly and then had a beer. I finished that and ordered another beer and paid my tab at the same time. According to the receipt I paid out at about 5:00. I was probably done with that beer and two blocks away at another bar by 6:00. According to that receipt I paid out and left by 8:00. I was being processed at the Sheriff's department and sent to a cell sometime between 11:00 and midnight.

I can't tell you how much I had to drink at the second bar. I drank a beer that I ordered and at least two parts of a beer that the bartender gave me. He's a friend, and the beers he gave me were overpours, some of it run off from filling a growler. I remember ordering a second beer, and that's the last thing I remember before that lady yelling at me. My receipt doesn't reflect what I drank, and once you black out from drinking you don't know what you did unless someone tells you.

I do get that "a lot" of alcohol varies from one person to the next. I have a fairly high tolerance because I drink a lot. It's slowly starting to seem less like a badge of honor.

How much is a lot to drink? For me it's somewhere past a six pack. I can really put away cheap beer if I start early enough. Add to that the fact that my recent history sees me drinking cheap beer (and by cheap I mean PBR. I still have some kinda standard-ish) and at least a six pack a night. And that's just an average of what I'm likely to drink in an average day.

I feel like there's so much more to say. I feel like I should moralize and preach, condemn the beastly drink. I feel like I should loathe it so that I swear off the evil beverage, but I know I won't be doing that. The fact is that it's not beer's fault. It's not the fault of anyone person or thing other than me.

This feels like it's all part of some bigger conversation about drugs and the nature of addiction, but it's not a conversation for here and now. I stand by all I've ever said about these subjects, but I feel like I'm going to have to start being more honest with myself about my own drinking. I can say all day that I'm going to drink less, but until I really look at what I'm doing and where I am I'm not going to make any progress.

That's not going to happen tonight. I am drinking beer as I write this. The couple I have will hopefully ease the pain in my ribs that I have to assume is courtesy of the seat belt, and they will also help calm my nerves after the hell that is jail even if only for a couple of days.

The only other thing I can say is I'm sorry.

is they or aint they

2011-01-07T00:49:00.000-05:00

Chic-fil-A, home of one of my favorite chicken sandwiches, is owned by people who happen to be Christian. They are also closed on Sunday. The restaurant I work at is owned by an older couple who have their own belief system that they've not shared with me. I have no system of religious belief, and I don't believe in a host of other things. I'll freely admit to wishing that I had a unicorn for a best friend, but that's neither here nor there. Also, we used to be closed on Sunday until the owner decided we could do some bidness adding brunch to our schedule.

fwiw, I hate working brunch. It's the very bane of restaurant life. Most people hate it. May you always go to good brunch places and never suffer the indignity of a pre-broken yolk on you benedict.

Anyway, somewhere there's a conference involving a couple of churches and Christian couples learning how to be married in the proper Christian way. Of course that proper Christian way involves someone's interpretation of someone's interpretation of bronze age myths, and it filters through other filters on the way to the conference which lasts a day and a half or something.

I imagine Christian couple sleeping in cots in the gymnasium, holding hands across the empty space. Being gay I'd probably have found some nook in which to trap my partner and commit sinful acts, but that's just me. We wouldn't be welcome anyway, so that's really beside the point.

Chic-fil-A, in addition to being a slight pain in the ass to type, may or may not donate money to random organizations. I don't know. I haven't looked. Some intrepid blogger may well do it for me. I am sure that they sometimes possibly donate food to groups for events that might also involve some amount of people who don't like gay people.

The Chic-fil-A sandwich is not something I'm willing to boycott. Their waffle fries may not be as good as McDonalds regular ass fries, but they are the perfect side dish to the sandwich.

Chic-fil-A is sort of a reward for not killing anyone at the mall. I sorta tend to live and work on the square. It's a nice public space in the heart of downtown. There are a variety of buskers through out the day. There's the homeless guy selling our town's new street paper. Right now there are the last remnants of the ice rink, and in a couple of days there will nothing left of that but the increasingly smaller piles of ice. Sometimes you'll find someone passing a football with a friend American style, though only the employees of the Mexican restaurant across from where I work ever seem to pass a football international style. At almost any time of the day or night you're likely to see someone walking their dog, and sometimes it's a dog you know and can say hi to.

The mall is made up. It's a "public" space entirely devoted to commerce. It's full of mall people, and while I don't necessarily not like them, I don't necessarily like them at the mall. Maybe it's a turf issue. Maybe it's that they're all so seemingly alike. Maybe it's me and not them. Either way the mall can sometimes stress me out a little bit, and sometimes there's only one antidote for that stress.

Chic-fil-A's sweet tea isn't too bad at all, for what it's worth, but it really is their namesake chicken sandwich. It's a decent sized breast half, deep fried, served on what was once a toasted bun with a couple of pickle slices in the middle. I eat around the last pickle bite personally.

It's served in a small bag, white paper with a foil inside, and if you rip that little bag down the seam on the underside and then rip it open along the crease at the bottom you have room to lay down your waffle fries and create your little piles of ketchup and mayonnaise. I put them next to each other so I can mix them in the middle and still have either one by itself as well. On the sandwich I put mayonnaise and hot sauce.

And while I enjoy that fast food paradise, the mall melts away, disappears around me and ceases to exist. All my worries are gone, and I can see heaven in the distance.

Okay, not really. I'm still being catty in my head about all the mall dorks, but at least for a while my mouth is full and mostly free of words. I can sink into the goodness.

p.s. the whole point of this post is thanks to the fine people at towleroad.com. I really do love the blog. The link HERE is just the latest in a story that is ongoing. My own comment that is this blog post is in answer to comments that I've read here as well as other blogs. It's easy to sit back and laugh, so I do.

again with

2010-12-30T23:49:00.000-05:00

The blog This is Fag City has only been in my reader for a short time. I forget where I found him originally, which doesn't really matter, but I always like knowing these things. Or maybe I don't really care until I realize I can't remember.

And like I said, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is my bummer house. It's a little woo for me, but I love the quote near the end of the post Fantasy Castle. He is discussing mental attitudes and says, Trying not to make myself a bummer house cuz I do not want to live in a bummer house. I want to live in a Fantasy Castle.

It ties in perfectly with my not resolutions, because this idea fits nicely at the core of my goal. I'm not in a good place because the universe has always been out to get me, so I've always lived with that in mind. But if the universe isn't really out to get me, and if it's okay to maybe imagine I might could live in my own fantasy castle, then maybe I can start to do something about it. And maybe I'll just make enough of a fantasy castle out of where I am to get me started

I know, kinda woo, and it kinda grosses me out that I'm talking like that. It seems so trite, but there again it ties right into my thing that isn't resolutions, because it's new. Plus, fantasy castle! Fuck yeah!

p.s. trying to edit and reread that first paragraph is giving me a headache, so with all apologies I've opted to leave it alone for now. Just ignore it as best you can.

resolute these nuts

2010-12-27T03:18:00.000-05:00

I've never made new year's resolutions. I don't really believe in them. They always seem like they were made up in a moment of clarity that happens to be surrounded by a lot of getting and then being way too drunk because you were at a NYE party, and it's what you're supposed to do.

At the same time I want my life to be different, and a lot of this wanting is coming to a bit of a head right about now. I've been thinking and thinking, and I think I've come up with some ideas.

The only solution that I have is to give myself this arbitrary date at which point I want to begin putting my bad behavior to an end. And it's not that I'm so bad of a person or that my behavior is so bad, but it's not even a little bit helpful, and I want my life to be different.

What I've come up with, in my head, is this idea of new. I've done things the old way for a long time, and I'm still here, broke and alone and unhappy. The old ways aren't working, so I need to try some new ways.

I'm not sure the shape this will take, but I'm setting a deadline, and after that I really have to figure out what changes are going to get me to a point. I need now to figure that point out. I need now to set some goals. I've got twinnyleven to figure my ass out, and then I've got twinnytwelve to make a point of it.

How will I start? Putting the boys in school is a big start, both for them and for me. I'm going to worry more about their education, and I need to be involved in their school/schooling. Another step that should be easy and maybe even fun is to begin to put more concern into both my diet as well as the boys'. We don't eat very well, and I could easily solve that problem. Beginning work in those areas will help me to want to work harder to better myself.

How happy am I in the world of food as I've known it? What would I rather do? I've been in food service seemingly as long as I can remember. It's what I do. It's how I earn my dough.

How can I find a way to make my life better in solely monetary terms? I hate to think of it that way. There's a stink of "selling out" that punk me finds repulsive, but punk me barely pays the bills and seldom on time.

I need to remember throughout the year that "I'm too old for this shit." And I need to devote my efforts to better things, better places, better meals, better friends. And it has to begin with me. I have to take that first step and then the second and on and on.

Repeating past mistakes will never yield new successes.

what christmas means to me

2010-12-23T00:44:00.000-05:00

First I stole the title from a Stevie Wonder song of the same name. Listen HERE.

This being the first Christmas season that I've celebrated with some distance between me and Momma it's been a much easier time for me.

I'm sure that sounds mean, but really it's not. She celebrates much differently than I do, and it's difficult for me to just be throughout as she sees what seems to be me not getting into the whole thing. That's truly a shit rendering of the portrait, but it's close enough.

I'm happy to roll through Christmas. I'm happy to peruse the wish lists the boys craft so perfectly and sometimes leave leaned just so against the computer screen where they're still not sure I saw it.

I'm happy to not get them the things on their list, but I'm quite happy to get them things they will love nonetheless. Both boys will absolutely love The Simpsons Hit and Run I got them for the PS2 their uncle gave me a few weeks ago. And it's not the exact Lego thing they might have asked for, but they'll be happy.

And that's where Momma steps in. She's already got them the lesser huge Lego thing they wanted and plans to get them the other huge Lego thing that turned into THE toy this year and would be available for a buck and a half at the store if it weren't gone to ebay and up to an even five hundred. She's not planning to pay that much for it. Her idea is to give them a picture of what they'll soon be getting. I kinda want to talk her out of it. I think she does too much, but I love that she loves it so much. It's how she does Christmas.

Tomorrow it's off to the local super awesome used book store where I'll satisfy that family tradition of the pile of books under the tree. That's my favorite of our traditions, and I'm looking forward to what I'll find. The best part? Momma gave me her store credit she earned by taking in a pile of stuff we'd collected over the years. Really it's our store credit. She just did the work of actually boxing it up and offering it to them.

Christmas for me is an entirely secular celebration. I get what it means and signifies to others. Momma and I shopped together today and left the boys at Great Grandmother's house. At some point between then and picking them up she told them that Christmas is Jesus' birthday.

The Boy told me about the Jesus birthday thing, and that led to a short conversation about the number of celebrations that happen to occur at this time of year because of the variety of belief systems that exist which then led to my pointing out that many people celebrate similar holidays, different holidays or even the same holiday for a different reason. Later we watched part of a show about Buddha, he told me he believes in the god that's called god and that he thinks Christmas Eve is Santa's birthday.

I celebrate the fact that people really might one day be capable of the things they claim when they are thinking Christmas. I love the ideals we echo and hear echoed back by Charlie Brown and some woebegone sitcom dad-as-Santa right after he fails his family yet again, but gosh they love him anyway.

I've let so much of my anti Christmas cynicism go over the years. I built up this anti Christmas-as-religious-holiday hatred for the whole of the holiday seasonbecause that's all I'd ever known it as and wasn't then able to separate the Christian beliefs from the holiday as a thing unto itself. My faithlessness prevailed to the point that I went to the other extreme and wanted to reject this whole end of the year thing. The kids have been a big part of me pulling back from the edge.

And now this year has been nice. I don't have Momma's endearing if incessant barrage of cheeriness. I also don't have a tree. I do miss the lights and the smell. I miss those keepsake ornaments that are special because of their forced rarity. Momma wants me to spend Christmas eve at her house so I'll be there for the usual Christmas morning thing. I can do this, and it will be good, though I'll bitch about sleeping arrangements. The boys will want to tear into Christmas while I'll want to slink into a cup of coffee, but that's just another tradition.

Next year may well be different, and we'll look back from there and then look forward. Another truth? I've been using this holiday as the end of year celebration it's becoming to me. I've been taking an honest look at some aspects of areas, and I'm finding some things I don't like, some paths I need to work my way off of, some edges I need to be done peering over, some cliches I've worn to nubs and need to dispose of.

I want to build up a nice supply of desire-to-do-better that I can use to help power me over the course of what I'm going to call Twinnyleven. I'm sure I'm not the only one. And this time next year, as it's all been sucked out of me, I'll be somewhere not unlike this (in a good way) refilling my tanks.

btw, if you're in my neck of the woods Christmas day let me know. Momma and I are working yet another tradition where we do our family thing and then start cooking for friends and other family that want to come by and make a time of it. You're welcome to bring kids and booze.

p.s. just read a bad review of the other PS2 game I got them, but for five bucks I aint about to complain.

no, seriously

2010-12-21T00:38:00.000-05:00

For full context go HERE and watch the video of Alex Nicholson (homosexual) who was booted from the military because of being homosexual and DADT versus Peter Sprigg, professional sayer of lies about homosexuals. It's some CNN show where the host doesn't take sides but instead introduces some sort of information and follows with a question. Hat tip for this nugget to Towleroad.

Peter Sprigg says the most outrageous things about homosexuals, and Alex Nicholson answers his questions with reasoned responses. They aren't asked the same questions, and it's arugable that the CNN guy chose questions for Peter Sprigg to point out the folly of his ways, but then he mostly sits back and lets the loony go.

When I first watched the clip I found myself getting irritated as Peter Sprigg was allowed to talk uncontested. Thinking about it now I wonder if that wasn't part of the plan from the beginning. The only way to fight these people is to let the world know exactly what it is they are suggesting that America do to its sons and daughters.

Also when first watching the clip I found myself doing this thing that I sometimes do that sometimes annoys the people around me. I correct people's language. I don't just do it about homosexual sometimes. But I do because I do think it's helpful overall to worry about our words. I had a discussion recently with a coworker in which he mentioned that he'd stopped using gay as a pejorative because of me calling him on it. I know other people who at least don't do it around me anymore, and I hope they've stopped doing so in general.
There needs to be that voice, saying things like, "Is the knife really gay or is it that you need to sharpen it so that it works right? I don't think knives have the ability to be gay or not gay." fwiw, I work in a kitchen, so knives are a huge part of my day.

When I hear "same sex marriage" I want to just loudly enough say, "marriage equality." When Peter Sprigg tries to say "sexual assault, molestation," I just want to ask for proof and for stats for both same gender and opposite gender sexual assaults. When I hear "preference" I say "orientation." Sometimes it's almost involuntary, but I'm also kind of an ass apparently.

And whenever Peter Sprigg opens his lying mouth at a camera that is in the on position there needs to be the counter point. There needs to be someone else on camera saying to him, "No, seriously. How does the presence of out homos make it more likely that you will lose a leg in combat?" at which point I'd follow up with, "and does my presence here today next to you increase the odds that you will lose at leg during this interview?" and that would possibly end my career as the voice.

And you know, it's not that I really want to control people's language. What I really want is for us all to think about our words. Peter Sprigg flat out lies. He makes words do bad things, and he never really comes out and says what he means. He hits around the whole more than a suck up playing golf with the boss. fwiw, the "w" in "whole" is accidental. I mean to put "hole" but then I liked the way it sorta worked. Let's pretend I did it on purpose.

p.s., homosexuals on CNN should never say, "That's a good question," when in fact it really isn't that good a question.

or is it cuz my glass is half empty

2010-12-19T23:41:00.000-05:00

I'm still not convinced about DADT repeal. I know it's essentially happened, but there's the whole other part where it doesn't really take affect until the military has thought about it a little bit more and figured out how to go about it.

It really shouldn't take more than to rewrite some passages in whatever written guides/codes/manuals they use to make their rules clear to the people in the military. The rules aren't changing at all as far as members of our military should be concerned. The only difference that anyone should really notice is that more gay people are able to be out and honest about themselves, and that's just good for everyone.

I can't imagine that should take too long to figure out, and then you actually train people. I don't know if it would be a sensitivity training class or a video. I suppose it would more likely be a DVD these days, but still.

Really, all it should take is for everyone to sit down and reread the rules rewritten to include reality as concerns sexual orientation and individual gender recognition. The rules aren't changing, they're just recognizing everyone now.

And I know how a Republican can spin some shit, and I fully expect enough of them to band together and try to make this study/implementation process take two years while their brothers and sisters in the party continue to bombard Obama with obstinacy and rhetoric. I should hope that the American people finally begin to recognize the shenanigans on both sides and push us in the direction of a third party that isn't spoiled by the big time guvment jobs.

I know it's a done deal, and I'm not concerned for the actual repeal of DADT as much as I am the hurt that could be done to too many people if this thing continues to drag on. What you have to understand is we're gay, and we're not going back in the closet, and we're going to keep being out and open so that we can one day close the useless and finally empty closet because no one is going into it anymore.

what links are for

2010-12-13T00:27:00.000-05:00

Now for a semi homeschooling post. From Towleroad we get the link to dlisted, and from there we go to the actual interview at the Telegraph. The story is about a young girl whose parents are actors in movies. Her father's initial rise to fame was as a rapper.

Towleroad tells us that her, "parents would rather put their ten year old child to work rather than give her an education." fwiw Towleroad, minus point for redundant rather.

dlisted asks, "who needs math anyway?"

And the Telegraph is the source for all this. The first two sources listed here quoted from the story, but they picked little nuggets of what the young girl said and inflated them with their own issues.

If you didn't follow the links just yet I'll give you the story. Will and Jada Smith have kids, and those kids may be embarking on their own careers as stars of things. Their daughter Willow has acted and done voices and now has a song about giving herself neck problems because she's head banging to pop music that she creates.

I really don't feel like disecting it all, so I'll try to summarize. In the Telegraph article/interview Willow mentions that her peers are ahead of her in math and that she often misses classes and tutoring sessions due to being on set or whatever it is ten year olds in her situation go to to perform/work. Someone read the interview and assumed negligence and ignorance, and they blogged it where someone else read and assumed ignorance and negligence and they added malfeasance.

I did read the "anti" stories first, and of course I disagreed. I believe that this family and this child are fully capable of achieving learning in a variety of situations. And as I read the Telegraph article I noticed that she seems like a really bright young lady. She seems to speak with candor and understanding and seems like a smart kid, and I think that's more important than "education" or book learnin' as we say down here in the south. If you aren't forced into one educational model you can take what you need from all the sources around you, find what you need when you need it.

I feel that this just proves the idea that we need variety in our education models. More than that though we need for people to break out of the idea that it's school or nothing, because schools need to be a part of the model that I think works best which is that whole variety thing, but we need more than just typical brick and mortar schools.

I really didn't mean to write two posts back to back dealing with education, but they did both feed off each other. I read the stories about Miss Smith and got irritated, but then there is no finer place than the internet to find some douche referring to a ten year old with the sort of bile you can only find here. And who doesn't love when people damn children based on the perceived sins of the parents?

I wouldn't recommend it, but if you don't know about the whipping about of hair and the too adorable Willow Smith you can go HERE. fwiw, the video is from Ellen. You do get a fairly shitty video with the color all kinds of busted, but the option is her Vevo and having to watch that damn cotton ad.

hs to ps

2010-12-12T23:47:00.001-05:00

My family will soon join the normal world, as, after this winter break, when the public school kids return to school, Big Brother and The Boy will be joining them.

Momma and I have had to face the we haven't been doing the job right recently, oddly enough for the last couple of years. We haven't really focused our attention with all we've been up to, if you know what I mean. We discussed over the summer putting them in to start the year, and in retrospect we probably should have, but I argued for one more chance. I really believe in the idea of homeschooling, but I also argue more than anything for a variety of options when we think about educational models.

A huge part of my desire to continue homeschooling, I have to admit, is that I've allowed homeschooler to define my identity to such an extent. I can kinda invoke the closet again here, though I hope that I'm not just continuing to blame the closet. But part of my whole thing here is to try to understand the power of the closet even if this isn't really the blog post for it.

Having said that, I keep losing my identities and keep not figuring out how to get/form new ones. Having said that, I keep finding that it sorta happens sometimes when you're not looking. It's like that whole homeschooler thing. I don't really think that I'm losing the identity or becoming not a homeschooler, I'm becoming more, maybe?

We've visited both their schools, and while The Boy seems excited, Big Brother is his usual calm and somewhat impassive self. The Boy's school is on the route we drive daily to get to most places we go, and Big Brother's is on a common route to some place we don't go as often, but we have used their field as a practice field a few times over the years during soccer seasons. They've been pointing out their schools as we've been driving past.

And while we think of school for them I kinda think maybe I could think about school for me. I think I can't imagine what I would study, and this time it wouldn't be about getting a career like last time. I'd have to only study things I enjoyed learning, or it wouldn't be worth it. And fwiw, look for a post soon that might be a clue.

I'm excited for them. I've kept them too close to the rut I'm in for too long, and if I were honest I've been worried for their sake. I put my own fears onto them and worry that it'll all be too much, the lines, the crowds, the noise.

It's a part of a journey inside the journey I suppose, and it's time for it to happen. I'll tame my distrust of the man, and I might even try to get involved. I'm sure the schools can find something I can do. I could always be a lunch lady.

now where were we?

2010-12-10T01:48:00.000-05:00

This post is alternately title, Bruce Springsteen's voice kinda makes me wanna take my clothes off.

The local college rock station has been playing a really cool song lately, one I hear and think to myself, Is that Bruce Springsteen?

I used to like him, and I think I do again. I should rephrase that, but rather I'll explain. After breaking away from the fundamentalism with the help of a friend I found myself in a place I didn't then recognize, but I was trying to earn some sort of something with this new friend, or maybe I was trying to find a way to fit in. I gave up a lot of what I'd been into in order to be the punk I thought I was supposed to be, and I'd just gotten through giving up a lot in terms of beliefs and related whatnot.

So I started not liking things I perceived were perceived as being uncool by my new friend/s. I wasn't then trying to find myself as much as I should have been, but that doesn't really matter. I gave up a lot of music, some of which has remained gave up.

Bruce Springsteen may be back, and here's why.
This song is just loads of awesome. I'd been hearing the song every now and again. I usually listen to the local college radio station at work, but the KM hates hip hop, and the local college radio station sprinkles it in liberally during the day. I personally love the station even when I hate the song they're currently playing, but I digress.

Of course hearing Springsteen makes me think of older Springsteen. Yes, that first song is older, but because it's new to me it's essentially new. It's probably at least newish to you as well, so get off me.

I remember the song that should have been a bit of a warning, but I didn't see it then. Listening now and remembering then, if I'd had even a slight clue about myself as a person this song really could have been yet another early clue about my actuality, aka that whole gay thing. It was then one of my favorites, but listening to that voice now I think I just didn't realize then that I wanted him singing it to me rather than me projecting those ideas outward. Or perhaps my young mind just hadn't discovered the same sex just yet.

And here that one is. fwiw, I include this particular video version because of the randomly gay picture that essentially is the video.

it's so like the thing I'm not referencing more than now

2010-11-09T00:19:00.000-05:00

On the middle finger of my right hand is the end of a blister. Sometime tomorrow it's likely to become the shiny spot of new skin that was fairly recently under the blister.

I've made hollandaise sauce before, but I haven't made it often, and when I did before I just stood and beat while someone else told me what I was supposed to be doing. It just never happened to become my job, and because I likely heard often enough how hard it was to make I never bothered to try.

But finally I've made it once or twice, and I've realized that it really isn't that hard, and I've now gone on the internets and googled and read about it here and there. I've checked Escoffier, and when I have time on my day off this week I'll check Julia and James.

It is time consuming, and I suppose if you don't know how to lift your bowl off the heat once in a while, or if you can't tell when something becomes a different color and consistency, well, sure it's scaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrry!

BOO!

No really, it's tiresome at it's worst. I didn't even notice the blister till after work. I forgot that I needed to head home sooner than later and sat down at the bar for a quick gin and tonic. I didn't know I was sitting down for a gin and tonic till I sat down and was reminded that we run decent liquor specials for brunch, so I opted in.

I did soon go home, but that isn't really a story other than the part about going home. I needed to and was reminded via a text, so I then did.

It was while I was enjoying the gin and tonic that I saw the blister and was stuck on it for a moment. I had to think how I'd gotten it. I knew it wasn't a burn. It was big enough to remember if it had been a burn. And as I thought I remembered the hollandaise and the whisk. While beating the yolks find that I switch back and forth between gripping the handle fully with my hand and holding it more like writing with a pencil. It's what the hand does I suppose. The holding it like a pencil part gave me a blister on the second finger of my right hand.

Actually, this isn't really much of a story either.

Finally, to end this not really much of a story on a whole other but still hollandaise related note. Nearly anything is better dipped in hollandaise. Roasted potatoes are of course lovely. The fatty end of a strip of bacon is marvelous. Perhaps the most decadent of all and surely one of the most delightful is the simple potato chip. But these are only ideas. There's a world of food waiting to be dipped into hollandaise, for hollandaise is the new ranch . . . up to a point.

p.s. ranch is still awesome

p.p.s ranch and hollandaise are probably equally awesome

p.p.p.s maybe I should make up my own super awesome ranch recipe

p.p.p.p.s. damn, now I want some wings

circles, always damn circles

2010-11-04T01:22:00.000-05:00

How do you go about doing everything differently? How do you look deep into yourself and accept finally that you are more often than not the reason you are not making any progress anywhere at all?

How do you decide what is an excuse and what is a reasonable concern?

How do you stop being that scared and confused little boy that you've always been in spite of all the shit you talked then and still talk now?

Sometimes I feel like I'm missing something. Maybe it's a clue as to how to move to the next part, or maybe it's a part I need to figure out how to fix or replace.

I want to do all of the above, but it feels like every time I step outside I get hit by something, so I've begun to go outside a lot less, and being a nervous recluse doesn't seem to help me do much of anything.

There's more, something about bursting out, being reborn as a phoenix or something, but I just stared into space and nearly dozed off a moment ago, and I really do need to get to bed. I've got a world of making sense of my world to do.

a story

2010-11-03T01:12:00.000-05:00

We were in the gym waiting for the school building to open, and in walked one of my "friends." He was closer in age to my next younger brother, and if any of us were friends it was them. We were within the years considered middle school probably.

The typical schooling segments always throw me off as we only had elementary and high school, the first downstairs in the school building and the latter upstairs in the school building. In elementary you stayed in the same classroom throughout the day with the one teacher while highschool was the normal lockers and walking to classes. Both elementary and high school did share the same paddling room, though the high school teachers shared a different paddle than the elementary. Kindergarten was in the basement of the church building, and the paddling room there was in a room that was unused during the day. The principal and coaches had the option of paddling in their respective offices.

Anyway, this kid walked in, and he was wearing some new jeans that were probably quite fashionable, and on the flap over the fly, in very bold white on the denim background was a word. I have to assume it was the brand for these fresh and/or fly new jeans, but it struck me as odd that they chose to make this statement and that this particular kid chose and was allowed by his parents to make this statement.

And my too slow to think before I speak self asked what was written on his penis. Even now I still can't think what I did that was so wrong. Apparently it was just awful. I think he cried. I had to apologize and probably had detention for multiple days.

yellow pen

2010-10-28T22:26:00.000-05:00

Do you ever reach a point where you realize that you may in fact be doing absolutely, everything wrong? Do you wonder what things you should stop doing and which you should start doing the opposite of how you've always done them?

Maybe I exaggerate a tiny bit with the everything and the completely, but so often lately life seems to feel as if I really must be doing at least nearly everything wrong, and perhaps that's why things seem like they always seem to seem.

And sadly that's just a knee jerk reaction to my real issue which is that I never really do much of anything. I convince myself that I'm making great strides and trying and pushing/pulling my share.

But more often I'm actually busy watching the ass end of opportunity fade in the distance. I'm really good at thinking about things, and that ought to be good for something.

garbled message

2010-10-23T00:39:00.000-05:00

The third comment to a blog post I just read suggests that the people in my state are illiterate. The post discusses a town being told that their school has to stop broadcasting Christian prayers and the fact that the townspeople are not happy or at least one woman.

It's a trainwreck already, and then the dude in the comments suggests that whole thing about us Tennesseeans, and I don't know whether to comment and then post or ignore the comment section and just post. There was a time I would have commented, would, in fact, have barged in with all my guns blazing.

But anymore I just can't bring myself to do it, so I backspace a bunch and clicked back over here so I could just talk shit at my own place.

But even before dude-bro posted his jab I'd nearly thought about posting because of a single line at the very end of the post.

Okay, the post is at Friendly Atheist and also discusses something about a monument and a Christian flag. I don't really remember, because it's that last line that I think needs to be addressed to be able to understand this whole thing that many Christians do.

Those of us who are nonbelievers see just how pervasive religion is even in so "enlightened" an age as our twenty first century. Those of us who both nonbelieve and live in a smallish and possibly southern place see it all too well. Don't get me started on the gay thing cuz omg ya'll.

And the last line of the post, that juicy tidbit that keeps on giving:

This is a kind of Christian extremism — assuming that government neutrality on religion is somehow anti-Christian.

There is of course the whole for-us-or-against-us thing, which is mentioned in the comments, but this whole mentality actually comes from the biblicaly based idea that Christians are supposed to suffer, and one of the best ways to suffer, as mentioned in the book of John, is to be despised and hated as people of faith. Often they tell themselves that this is because none of us want to hear what we must know is the truth, ants and grasshoppers and long lost sons returning home.

It's part of a playing the victim meme that seems to have grown stronger lately, or perhaps it's just being used more often. Christians who insist their religious views keep the rest of us from progressing as humans will always hate it when they lose because they put so very much into the fight for their moral superiority. And because they are morally right according to their own faith they must necessarily be right for everyone because theirs is the one true faith.

And really, you just can't force people to step outside of their belief system and look at it from a different p.o.v. Atheists have already done that for the most part, or many, if not most, of us would still be locked in a similar faith based way of life. Too many questions can make you waver in your steadfastness.

So we have to keep reminding people that forcing others to even passively participate in your faith rituals is not okay. It's wrong to force your religion and the trappings of your faith system onto others.

You do still have freedom of speech and religion, but I also deserve freedom from your religion.

2010-10-21T23:25:00.000-05:00

The moon has risen to that point between the trees where it's perfectly visible as I stand out on the porch smoking. It's a cool night, but it's not really the night that's cool. The cool is on the breezes that are blowing, that occasionally kick up to nearly a light wind, nearly rustling my hair as I turn my back to it. And the moon staring down at me looks cold, so bright white and silver. And it wears such a halo on such a clear night.

come out wherever you are!

2010-10-12T03:10:00.000-05:00

You're most likely familiar enough with Facebook, but what you may not be aware of is Fabulis. It's sort of a Fb for gay men. So far it's not a hook up site, and that's nice. It's still in it's early stages, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it or how I feel I fit in there, but over all it seems like a potentially delightful resource.

All of that is to explain the fabulis questions which are questions you can post to other members and that other members might post to you. They're sometimes interesting and thought provoking, and sometimes they're just nonsense which is as it should be. One I got today, and I imagine all members got today, from one of the founders, was this, followed by my answer:

Q: Today, October 11, 2010 is National Coming Out Day in the U.S. (It's also celebrated on the 12th in the UK). We'd like to know, what does OUT mean to you?
When I think of being out I can't help but think of it in levels of outness based on the situation you are in at the moment.

My family knows, but we don't talk a lot, and they're very Baptist for the most part, but it's a really big southern family, and there's a lot we don't talk about. Plus they live in a different state, though close enough to visit sometimes.

At work and in my social life I'm completely out. I see no reason not to be. I don't have a problem being gay, and I don't have a problem if some people with opposite sex attractions choose to live that lifestyle. It's not for me, and I want to make sure that straight people know that I'm gay so that if they have a problem we assert from the beginning that it's going to have to remain their problem. I don't really have room in my life for it.

Each spring and fall for the past few years I've coached my oldest son's soccer team. I coached both of my boys till we realized soccer wasn't for the youngest. I'm not out even a little bit there. When we started this whole soccer thing my oldest was five, and for all intents and purposes we were a fairly normal family, mom and dad with two young sons. I was even a stay at home dad at that point while my wife followed her career.

I'd love to feel like I could be out at soccer, but I'm not sure how they'd take it. While our social life involves that part of our town that's the hipper and closer to town part, soccer takes us north to the more socially conservative part of our town.

Also, it doesn't come up. I kind of want to say it doesn't matter, but I lied for so long in the closet that I just feel dishonest sometimes. And it kind of feels like the closet all over again.

Really, coming out is a never ending process. People tend to assume you're not gay and don't really even think about the fact that they've already made a judgment about you. It isn't necessarily a big deal except that you are consciously making judgments because you are gay. And I know in my case that I'm always looking for an ally or, better yet, a fellow homo.

I want to think that there will be a day when being out isn't a big deal, that we'll one day be accepted as normal people, that it won't even be a curiosity that we are also gay. But I can't help but think there will always be some sort of coming out process.

totally could if

2010-10-11T00:32:00.000-05:00

I don't really hate straight people. I don't know what you may have heard, but it's not hate. Sure, I think you're all a bunch of filthy, craven animals, but I don't hate you.

Okay, sometimes I do get a little irritated with you. You have no idea how it looks to watch you do your little courtship dances and fumble around and act like idiots.

I could have your girl in seconds flat by telling her all the things I wish someone would tell me, and I can understand her in a sense that you may never figure out. But as pretty as she is she has those same icky, squiggly bits that all girls have, and she's probably not too many places removed from the big sister I never had once we get a couple of beers in us.

Honestly I'm just in a place. I'm in the hole where I see a lifetime of loneliness, unwanted and unnoticed in the sea of much younger and ache free fodder.

I wish I had a dollar for every time the phrase, "I'm not really looking for a relationship," was spoken at the local gay bars. I'd open my own gay bar with that kind of money, and I'd fill that lonely pit of despair I call my heart with all the pretty boys wanting free and/or discounted drinks.

I'd need a good bit more than a dollar for every time that line has been directed at me to open that same gay bar, but I'd probably ruin it by trying to do something. And it's not like I haven't been hit on, just so you know, and often without the desire for more than an evening's encounter.

Which is not to say I always do.

And I really am just in a place. I'm seeing all the horses of some sort of mini apocalypse bearing down on me, and I may not be able to outrun them this time. They seem bigger this time, like the draft horses of the apocalypse freed of their yokes and heavy burdens. And we can further mix metaphors into a stew of a rut of unsightly proportions.

I looked into a mirror that reflects my life and see that all along I've been doing almost everything completely wrong, and I'm going to have change almost entirely if I'm going to insist on wearing that one particular piece. And that one piece sort of makes the whole outfit, so I really do kind of need that particular one.

And just so you know, I didn't really mean that part about your girl. I'm just kinda in a place, and I spoke without really thinking.

accepting the fact of who exactly you won against

2010-10-09T21:07:00.000-05:00

The pizzas are in the oven, and the kids are putting together Big Brother's newest Star Wars Lego toys. Soon enough we'll turn on a movie that should get all the kids to relax enough to fall asleep so that I can then go to bed.

Not so long ago, however, we were at Laser Quest, and in the two games we played before and after the cake and present opening I came in second and then first.

I have to admit that by win I mean I took my own amount of experience and age and ruthlessness into a maze filled with a few friends and kids of friends and a bunch of rowdy kids I do not at all know. I kept my back to the wall and kept my eyes moving for those red lights.

I shot withering barrages of laser blasts into small masses of children, many of whom were not only wearing the lights but also white shirts that glowed beckoning in the blacklights.

I posted up at windows as I heard the squeals of terror approaching in the dark sending red burning death into the group trying to slink past, heads low.

I ran reaching over walls to blast blindly at sounds that may well have been solely products of my over active senses.

Everyone was an enemy unless I needed a friend for a moment. Everyone was a target for my blinding rage.

And I beat them all.

hardship

2010-10-09T12:03:00.000-05:00

Today's soccer game was the absolute epitome of a rough game, but it was also a game we could have won.

I haven't really discussed soccer in a while, and part of that is just the general writing malaise, but part of it is the injustice of this season. I've had a roster of ten at an age level at which they play eleven on a side. My team has played a person down each game this season, and last week saw us playing two down.

I'm not going to write a post bitching about the unfairness of it all. I don't know how the kids on the team feel about it, though they have to see the unfairness. The thing is they don't seem affected by it. They go out every week and give everything they have. They take it and turn around and keep trying. Even on the roughest day playing against a team with seven subs they didn't stop. Even when one of my girls told me she just couldn't run anymore she turned around and kept going.

Today was especially rough. We once again had nine players show, and the opposing team was nice enough to play only ten, so it was a little even. It was still an all boys team versus my coed, and while I feel like that can't help but be a factor you wouldn't think it has any bearing when you see my two girls play. Also, I don't want to suggest that my female players are any less capable than their male teammates or any of the boys they've played against this season.

I should mention here that I'm not the overly comptetive coach that some coaches are. I do want to win, and I do want my team to win, but more than that I want them to learn the game and to fall in love with the game, to have fun. If they've given everything they have to give then I'm satisfied, and I'm proud.

I also make a point throughout the season starting with the very first practice to let them know my priorities regarding injuries. My list of things I need them to know are true is that it is just a game, that they are always more important than the game and that their safety and health are more important than the game.

One of the girls entered the game with a minor hamstring issue. I kept an eye on her and whenever I was able I asked her how she was doing. She's tough and spent too much of the game fighting for the ball often against two opponents at once. Another of my players also pulled his hamstring slightly while playing defense, then in the second half after being moved to goal keeper he stopped a shot that bent his hand too far back but didn't do any damage beyond hurting.

And then a defensive player went down and didn't get up. As the players on the field took a knee I jogged across to check on him. He stayed down for a few more moments and actually apologized for, "letting you down." I could almost cry sitting here now thinking about it. Of course I immediately let him know that he in no way let me down.

He insisted that he could play as he got to his feet and took a tentative couple of steps. He was wobbling and unable to put any weight on the knee but insisted he could play. If I'd let him he would have tried and would have made the injury worse, so I had to tell him no. Even then he tried to walk off the field by himself until he finally realized that he did need my shoulder just then.

My team got back into the game and, if anything, began to play even harder. We'd entered the final quarter when I lost another player.

It was my girl with the hamstring pull, and this time I ran onto the field. I knew immediately it was gonna be bad, and as I reached her I saw she was crying. She'd hit the ground and was covered in grass. The referee and I knelt next to her and took her hands. We helped her to calm down and start breathing normally while her mom also arrived to help.

The game was over. I couldn't ask any more of these guys at this point. We were down enough goals that we couldn't come back, and this was just the last straw.

We have a week off for fall break. I think we could all really use the time off. I told them that practice is sorta optional because of fall break but that I'd be there even if we only screw around and have fun rather than actually practice. But then that's one of the beauties of soccer that even when you're just messing around you're somewhat practicing.

We might have lost on goals, but I and all the parents won by watching the heart and determination we saw in our kids. I hope that my team got the win of having persevered in spite of the blows they took, that they learn to keep fighting no matter what. And I want every single one that is eligible back on my team next season.

experimenting

2010-10-08T00:38:00.000-05:00

I'm still awake quite later than I should be, but I haven't had a single beer tonight either.

And it's sad that that says as much as it does. But I know that I drink too much and that I should at least cut back even though I don't drink nearly as much as plenty of people.

It's one of the things that keeps helping me hold myself back.

I'm not convinced I need to give up drinking altogether, but perhaps at least for a time I should. I've tried cutting back, and that just never seems to work. I'll sometimes even think that I am, but then I look back at the recycling pile growing next to the trash can and realize nothing has changed.

But I don't want to quit. There's that thing right there, and along with it comes even more justification.

I'm about to go to bed, and I will have gone an entire day without a beer. I'll feel better in the morning while at work and hopefully will have a good soccer practice. I'd like to think now that I can go another day without a beer, but the random aches of my post soccer practice evening will make it difficult. Maybe I'll drink a beer, and maybe I'll try again Saturday.

dang YT's gettin in my bidness

2010-10-07T00:25:00.000-05:00

He did that head thing and gave me such a look when I accidentally used the word boyfriend at the table in front of his mom.

I kept the Marilyn Monroe tshirt he gave me for years, and while it slowly deteriorated from use and time that hole in the front was always there. We were smoking his sisters pot, good pot, and he'd rolled a good size joint. We were both done before the joint was too far gone but kept insisting on passing it till I couldn't hold it. I tried not to take it, but he was insistent as only a pothead can be. I dropped it, and before I realized it had started to burn my stomach through the hole it had already burned in the shirt.

I've been listening to random mashups over at the YouTube, and I came across this song, and it's put me in a sort of retrospective mood.

Both these songs meant something to me then, the Nirvana song because of the time and my place in it and the Dead or Alive song because he loved it and played it and found a seven inch copy of it one day when we were hanging out. The song always reminds me of him.

He shared the same name as another guy I'd kind of been hanging out with. We'll call them C1 and C2, C1 being the one mentioned above.

C1 was younger but had obviously figured out he was gay much earlier in his life than I or C2. We were fumbling along trying to figure stuff out while C1 rolled his eyes that we still didn't know. I never really was able to deal with either of them in an intelligent way because I just didn't know how at the time, and before I was ever able to make sense of it I was gone.

I got a chance to leave Atlanta and took it. Charlotte was far enough away so that I could be myself, or so I thought. And it was a number of quite random happenings that even opened the door for me to take the sudden flight to NC in that maroon Volkswagen that day.

Thinking back now it's almost as though I had competing sides, the long term punk rock me that was into something not unlike the personal punk rock nihilism I'd grown to think was cool versus the wanting so to emerge me that was gay and just wanted to be. He didn't see much sunlight for a long fucking time.

But what if I'd stayed?

See? it just don't bear worrying about.

not even a card

2010-10-05T00:42:00.001-05:00

In a comment to a recent post, JJ Ross links to a story from Florida about a hit and run victim. He was riding home from his job as a dishwasher, a job he'd held for ten years, obeying bicycle safety protocol when a car hit him.

It's a tragic story, but in my reading there's a whole other tragedy, and I honestly don't know what to think without more of the story. Whatever the rest of the story is though I can't help but get stuck at $7.25 and hour. That's absolute shit that he's making that little money.

As the article mentions, $7.25 is minimum wage. So ten years at the Crab Shack gets you minimum wage.

I kinda gagged in my mind when the manager mentioned that he was family. Does he treat all his family like that?

The article ends with the suggestion that the man was solitary and "lived within his means." Well, yeah, I guess you have to at that point.

And again, there's always more to the story. There's something or other that I don't know and might get if I heard the story, but it all just sounds too . . . Republican? maybe?

It's just this story of a man who died in such a horrid way, and he's solitary and doesn't really do much of anything and certainly never bothers anyone. He prefers the job of washing dishes and is likely very good at it, and he earns the smallest amount of money you can pay your hourly staff. But that isn't the point. He was poor, a noble savage perhaps. He did the best he could with that pittance he was allowed.

I didn't know the guy, and I'm parially bothered because I can almost see my future self in this guy. That could be me in ten years. Hell, I'm halfway there at the job I've got now if you leave out that solitary part. There is a lure sometimes in the dishroom when you're kind of away from it all, but usually I'm just trying to make a little sense of the mess in there as I grab whatever utensil or storage container I stopped in for and shove racks of dishes through the machine at the same time. Outside of the dishroom I'm kind of an ass but in a good way once you get it and realize it all sounded so funny in my head right before I said it.

Maybe he was happy exactly as things were. Maybe he'd found his point of balance.

But to pay the man, for ten years, the bare minimum amount of money that you possibly, legally can?

wow

random gripe with fun jabs

2010-10-04T17:51:00.000-05:00

Myspace is so totally early 2000's. I walked away from that motherfucker soon after discovering Facebook, and I seriously never looked back.

I do take a quick peek back at the ol' page once in a while, but it usually only happens when I get an email that there's been some activity, and that doesn't happen very often.

Apparently I got a friend request within the past week, and I've seen the email several times and thought to myself that I should at least pop over and see who it is. You never know, it may be from someone that I'd be happy to connect or even reconnect with. Perhaps it's the man of my dreams discovering me.

I finally bothered to open the email, and it's none of the above. I didn't imagine it would be, but I had no idea what to expect, and apparently they didn't either. I got a friend request from Official NFL.

I didn't bother actually going to Myspace because it's a slow and clunky pile of too much glitter and crap, and I just don't want to sit and wait while all the glitter and crap make my computer slow down. I don't want to sit here impatiently waiting while frustration forces me to try to click on some other tab which further slows down the computer. So of course I don't know how truly official it is. I don't really care as I'm not a fan of the NFL and so won't be bothering.

But really? They asked me. Do they pay any attention at all, or do they send the friend requests out willy nilly and just hope that somehow they get something out of their foray into social networking? Perhaps a computer sends out the requests, but even a minor scan of my page there would yeild absolutely nothing to suggest that they should bother.

Maybe it's a real person who just thinks I'm soo cool from what I've put on my page that they just can't wait to get me on their side so they can parade me around like a prize stud horse and show the other sports that they got me.

Either way, I'm not bothering.

in which I say poll several times

2010-10-03T23:32:00.000-05:00

My main email account has been at Yahoo for years. My very first one ever was either Prodigy or Juno. There was the MSN one for a while, and I may still have an active email account with AOL that I never used other than for the AIM. I do have a gmail account, but I really only use it because I like it better for sending pictures from my phone.

None of that's really the point other than the Yahoo part which is the email address I use for my daily electronic correspondence, and because I have then to visit Yahoo I sometimes catch myself having to read one of the stories featured on the front page.

Today's story was about a poll Yahoo was taking that showed Americans are equally split in their opinions as to whether or not I should be allowed to marry a man, though thankfully they didn't have a poll on how long it would take me to meet one worth marrying. That would have been depressing.

Though the story itself isn't depressing, and the poll numbers do basically tell us what we likely know, it's not disheartening to read that we get closer to equality over time. Toward the end of the article it even mentions the age gap in difference of opinion in older versus younger generations, and that's a testament to how far we have come in that so many people are coming out younger, and their straight friends remain friends and eventually become allies.

But the article does leave me a little underwhelmed.

I may have mentioned that I don't really like the term "gay marriage." So it should be no surprise that the use of that term throughout the article was irritating. Then the third paragraph begins with the line, The battle for what pro gay-marriage activists call "marriage equality" . . . And yes, they do use scare quotes around what the writer must assume is not a real thing, and they're letting us know that it's the activists, the loud ones that get in your face that want to use this term.

They mention DADT and almost mention Margaret Witt, a flight nurse in the Air Force who was discharged/fired because of DADT. While the article is correct in suggesting that the discharge was unconstitutional, and they mention that a judge has ruled that she should be reinstated because of that, but I think it bears repeating that the judge ruled that Margaret Witt should be given her job back because of constitution issues as well as because her discharge hurt unit morale as well as their ability to function properly.

Further into the article about their poll they mention reader comments showing the divide between how people view marriage equality. In an effort, one assume, to be balanced they include a comment from an anti who points out that the world will be destroyed because all the families will stop being families. I really feel that, at this point in the conversation, when all you can offer is a soundbite then maybe your voice is no longer valid, so I can't believe this sort of shit is still included in the story. It's an argument that's easily disproven as several countries around the world allow openly gay people to serve in the military and don't tell you who you can marry, and the world seems to be spinning and orbiting as much as ever.

They end somewhere around "marriage is a religious ceremony" which is the antis trying to make us believe that churches will have to marry gays, another thing that they say that just isn't true, but the article doesn't seem to point out that churches already have the ability to pick and choose who they will or won't marry.

It just seems lazy to me I guess. Maybe I expect more than just a telling of the story, but I have to remember most of my gay news comes from actual gay people writing about them in blogs devoted to gay news and opinion. Not only do I get my gay news quicker, but I get it picked apart by gay people. For this same reason maybe I expect a little activism when I read a story like this, and perhaps I shouldn't or should consider the source before reading to save myself the stress.

The thing is that I would like for people to write stories that involve calling people out when they say things that are untrue or to at least do some research and find out if what they are saying is either a misunderstanding or a parroting of that guy on the radio or just a blatant lie. And maybe if the news would start to treat gay people as people instead of always having to be gay as well as nearly people we could move this damn bus even quicker.

not a huge step

2010-10-02T15:34:00.000-05:00

I'm sure you'll all be happy to learn what I just did. I'm not the most rapid person in the world when it comes to checking my email, and after a couple of spam comments made their way to the blog a few years back I changed my comment acceptance so that I would moderate and publish all comments

I should say I set moderation to happen at my leisure, because that's what ended up happening. Because I don't check my email as often as I might I have had comments languish in moderation for days without me realizing.

So I've changed that, and now you need only fill in the little word and send the comment on its merry way. And now that I'm making an actual effort to make myself write more perhaps we can stir some shit up and get some conversation going.

maybe ah orta

2010-10-01T23:34:00.000-05:00

Why can't I stop sitting here worrying about her and instead sit here and worry about myself? Is it because even when I do worry about myself I tend to stop at worry?

I could be doing something, but I opt for not doing something. I've been doing the same thing for so long that I kinda just don't know how to do that while adding other stuff. I'm a little scared to do something, and that's one of those things I don't talk about.

It would scare you to hear a list of things that scare me. I absolutely hate having to call people on the phone. I'm so cool with texting because of that, but there are times you just have to call. There are certain calls I can make, like the produce company when I call in an order at work. But soccer families even considering how much I can enjoy coaching soccer? yeah, that takes motivation.

On some level I fear being alone, but more than that I fear being in the wrong relationship. Even the greatest ever heterosexual marriage is wrong if one of you is not in fact heterosexual. And I know how easily I can get sucked into a not good relationship with a guy, and I think there are a lot of factors I can look at to make sense of why gay people rush into things sometimes instead of maybe waiting to see of the next train is less full, or something.

Trying to figure out what you're supposed to do now that that whole cooking thing is so quickly losing its luster is a whole other can of brown, wiggly things. And that means that I have to stop not doing something and do the opposite instead.

And really, I do nearly love my job. So many of the things I've always loved are still lovable, but I'm realizing two things. I really am not meant to be a career cook, and I'm really getting too old for the job. Read Bourdain. I'm nearly forty, and I'm roughly fifteen years older than the average for kitchen people there. There's a server who is less than two full years younger than me, then there are the owner who have at least twenty on me, but that's no consolation.

Maybe it's time to write a book. If I do it right there's years worth of drinking money in it.

this is why

2010-08-29T01:16:00.000-05:00

boy meets girl, they fall in love, ... There are other kinds of love, of course, but romantic love is none other than this - and if portrayed to be otherwise, its aesthetic value ... mysteriously vanishes

Boy meets girl.

I'm so tired of that story line. Boys meeting girls happens all the time, and some of them know what to do with it, and some of them are idiots and fuck it up from day one.

And that's the story we all hear, that is hammered home daily, that boy meets girl and happily ever after flows forthwith.

But I don't want to meet a girl. I'm not made to do it that way. I want to meet a boy and fall in love and be happily-ish ever after.

But the romantic quality of that relationship according to some douchebag that writes for a right wing blog site would find his penis slightly less erect when it came time to bone down with his god fearing love slave if I got to be a little bit happy just once.

And I'm tired of religion fucking everything up for everyone. If you want to worship and believe then fine. I really, really don't care. I might make fun of you when you're not around, but is that any reason to insist on forcing your bronze age myths onto everyone? Really?

h/t Prop 8 Trial Tracker

hipster beer

2010-08-18T02:23:00.000-05:00

Before we get into this I should admit that I might be a little bit on the drunk side. I'm also feeling a little maudlin, and you'll know this if you're my friend on the almighty Facebook. Yeah, I'm taking my status and making a post out of it. You should also just deal with the fact that I'm going to fuck up with the typing words properly part of being a blog writing sort. I do it often enough anyway, but this time I'm warning you. Feel free to rag on me in the comments.

I'm sitting at home, and by home I mean Momma's house. She's already texted me that she is staying elsewhere tonight. It shouldn't bother me, and on the levels that matter it doesn't. But there's the part of me that is tired of sitting here alone that is a little irritated.

Why am I sitting here at all, much less alone? It's part of the deal she and I made that allowed me to move back into what used to be the playroom. It's part of the deal where i don't earn enough at my job regardless of how many hours I get or how hard i work.

And I actually sort of like my job. I do have to deal with at least one douche on a regular basis, and there's the other day shift guy, a part timer, who has some issues that I try to avoid, and there's the . . .

Really, I kinda hate my job. I hate the hours, and I hate the pay. I hate the kitchen manager that treats everyone like we're idiots when we don't agree with the stupid shit he says and does. I hate that at my age and level of experience I'm still showing up at nine to sweep and mop the dining room and bar, that the owner may well bitch at me because his idea of enough paper towels and my idea didn't happen to agree with each other or because he thinks he smells something that he refers to as a sour mop even though the fucking mop head is as clean as I can get it and that sour smell is probably his own inability to just shut the fuck up and not work so fucking hard to find something to bitch about.

I hate that I drink too much and can't sleep till late which makes my morning shifts a pain in the ass so that I'm running out the door tired and unhappy only to come back home more tired and not wanting to be a reasonable person who cooks a decent meal for his kids and interacts with them because I really just want to lay down for a minute which turns into a nap that I awake from cranky and unreasonable.

I hate that I can't seem to concentrate on anything long enough, that i can't seem to find out what it is I can do that makes me happy. I hate that my only adult interaction is 95% people I don't actually want to see but that I can get along with at work and that my interaction with adults happens solely within the confines of my job.

I hate that I can't do something that benefits me because I can't figure out what that thing would be and that i can't get past the fact that other people might have to take care of their own shit, or so it seems, if i wren't here to cover their ass. I hate that i can't just make a decent living and be happy and reasonable and buy myself something nice once in a while.

senseless dadt bullshit

2010-08-12T00:02:00.000-05:00

Lt. Col. Victor Fehrenbach should be retiring from the US Air Force in just over a year. Instead, chances are that he'll soon be fired from the job he's apparently done well.

Why would anyone want to fire a soldier with this much experience which includes flying ninety missions in three different wars? You can read about his story at military.com or theadvocate.com.

In the middle of so much strife and war that our country finds itself in, we are still kicking out good soldiers merely for being gay.

It's stupid and sad, and it's a waste. Don't Ask Don't Tell is one of the worst and most shameful atrocities ever forced on the American people and is responsible for too many good soldiers being removed from their jobs.

red scare ya'll

2010-08-09T19:53:00.000-05:00

While I do know that it's likely a mistake, I've started some shit on the ol' Facebook. One of my brothers posted a picture of a bumper sticker suggesting that President Obama is a socialist with a picture of his face as the last in line of several faces, only a couple of which I recognize. Apparently they are the faces of socialists past with Obama being compared to them.

I'm curious as to who the different people are in the picture, and I included that question along with a request as to what exactly makes Obama a socialist. Hopefully, as part of what I expect to be a fun if extremely trying and eventually unrewarding argument with the right wing, I'll at least make one or two valid points while simultaneously changing absolutely no minds whatsoever.

In response to my question as to what makes Obama a socialist an old family friend brought up the health care mandate and pointed out that health care is in fact not in the Constitution. My answer to that was to compare the health care mandate to the idea that we are required to purchase car insurance in order to legally operate our motor vehicles. I'm still waiting for a response to that, and I've had to once more add my request for names of the other socialists in the picture.

Below is the picture in question. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Again, I fully expect to argue with people who don't really know what they are talking about and have no actual idea of what socialism is, but that's what happens when you argue/discuss with the right.

just keep poking us in the eye

2010-08-08T23:10:00.000-05:00

Proposition 8 was justifiably overturned last week in a ruling many people have been awaiting for months. National Organization for Marriage has begun what they've decided to call their Summer for Marriage Tour, driving around to preach to people about marriage being one man and one woman.

Perhaps in the majority of US states marriage is confined to one man and one woman, but as time slowly creeps on we find that equality keeps growing more than not. Outside of the US Mexico City is one of the more recent places to find that gay couples should be allowed to marry. Five US states and a growing handful of countries are realizing that equality benefits all families.

And that is one of the most hurtful things to come out of this culture war, this battle that need not even be fought. I am gay and have a family. I have children, and I'm most certainly not the only gay person with children. But to hear NOM talk about family you'd think that children only appear when a loving heterosexual couple marries with the intent to produce children and raise them in a loving home.

Families come about in a variety of ways and for a variety of reasons. Some people do in fact marry and make babies and stay together till death do them part. Sometimes a person's loved one dies leaving them alone with the children. Sometimes children find their birth parents gone and no longer part of their life for any number of reasons. Sometimes people are unable to have their own children and are willing to create a family through adoption to provide a family for children without parents. Sometimes families combine two pre-existing families to create a new family. And to pretend that only the first type of family I mentioned is the only kind of family that is real or that actually exists is to insult every single other type of family, to degrade them as worthless and not of value.

And that is what NOM does every single day and every minute of every day that they exist. They've spent untold millions of dollars fighting this culture war that need not exist, dollars that could do the thing their Bible actually tells them to do, help the weak and downtrodden, the hungry and the hurting.

But instead of doing that they are making a point of making sure more people are weak and downtrodden, increasing the number of hungry and hurting.

If you want to follow their evil trip to spread hurt then visit the Courage Campaign's Prop 8 Trial Tracker blog. They began earlier this year to make sure that anyone interested was able to keep abreast of the Prop 8 trial, and they've continued their work as we've waited for the verdict (great post about that HERE) and are now on the front lines documenting NOM's bus of animus tour.

oh your poor feelings

2010-08-04T23:18:00.000-05:00

After months of waiting for the verdict, people across the country who believe in equality and fairness were delighted today when Judge Vaughn Walker overturned California's Proposition 8 which made marriage inequality in California the law of the land. Prior to prop 8, for a very short time, gay couples in California were allowed to be equal citizens in terms of marriage rights, and a few thousand couples married the person they love. Prop 8 closed that like a closet door slamming shut.

A very few states in the US allow same sex couples to marry, and a very few allow same sex couples to attain something not entirely unlike marriage, often known as a domestic partnership. Like school segregation before Brown vs. Board of Education, gay people were, and in too many states still are, separate but not equal.

Some people who oppose marriage equality will self righteously and infuriatingly pretend that marriage is something a man and a woman do in order to then begin bearing children so that they can have a family. They see marriage as a holy and sacred thing that is the only way in which children are brought into the world, and they insist that the only good way for children to be conceived, born and raised is through this myth that they so want to be true.

Possibly the most infuriating argument now that prop 8 has been overturned is their decrying the "activist judge" who invalidated the votes of seven million Californians who wanted to maintain the charade that all children are born into loving families with parents of opposing genders and are raised in a quaint fifties style sort of perfection that never really ever existed.

And this argument is one that angers me so much because they conveniently ignore reality. Okay, so they consistently ignore reality. They ignore that children are in fact now and have been being raised by gay parents, by single parents and even are adopted and raised by parents with whom they share no actual genetic heritage beyond mere humanity.

So, back to that seven million now disenfranchised voters in California who have to deal with the idea, solely in their slow bigoted minds, that their democracy has failed them. What these anti equality people fail to realize, or what they so easily ignore because the light burns, is that the vote wasn't seven million to zero. The vote, according to this page at Wikipedia was more like 7,001,084 for taking away the right to marry the person you love to 6,401,482 who believe that marriage is a fundamental right that should be available to all.

Somehow the right to equality and the votes of 6.5 million people just don't happen to matter as much as fear mongering, deception and animus. And honestly, if you just don't like gay people have the fucking balls to say so. Quit hiding behind your Bible or your church or your platitudes. Own your bigotry. Quit pretending that you're going to be in any way effected. Quit shitting on all those kids who don't have the fortune to be married into a family that involves a couple lucky enough to have found "the one" the first time around. Quit fucking with other people's lives. Quit forcing us to fight you over and over again. Just fuck off!

from whence come I

2010-08-04T01:27:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Christine for this one. I played with what it asked for as I suspect most people do. I didn't mean for it to be as negative seeming as it seems to seem, but maybe I'm just looking at it the way I tend. At the same time, if does come across as negative I have to remind myself that I didn't want to spend too much time with each line. I wanted this thing to come out of me in a way that I felt was being honest.

And then I remember and must accept that I over analyze everything, that I edit a lot, that I want to present things in a way that I'm at least okay, if not happy, with. I'm never altogether happy about it. But it's done, and that's all I can say for now.

And all that being said, I give you the thing below. It's called Where I'm From and is basically a set of writing prompts. It wasn't really fun, but if you want to play along go HERE.

I am from old toys from older brothers and out of style clothes.
I am from the white ranch style house where in the summer, if you would just lie still in bed you wouldn't be so hot and could get to sleep.
I am from the dogwood, the red clay, the pines and kudzu.
I am from setting the table and sitting down as a family for sandwiches and listening to Larry Munson on the radio while watching the game on tv with the sound turned down, from being one of many brothers so that we're all always and forever a Hullboy.
I am from the not really talking or being heard.
From because I said to.
I am from the same pew every single service, Sunday morning and night and Wednesday night, and missions conference and revival, men's prayer meeting.
I'm from South Dekalb and iced tea being the first thing I ever learned to make in the kitchen.
From only ever really knowing as family my parents and brothers, a couple of cousins and their parents, from a grandmother I never really remember liking as much as I liked that a night spent at her house meant a certain freedom.
I am from a random assortment of pictures at my parent's house as well as the new collections on the internet as the family I have moves into the twenty first century.

here kitty

2010-07-28T11:36:00.000-05:00

There's a smallish black cat behind the sofa, and two boys are sitting on the sofa discussing possible names.

Late last night Momma and I were sitting on her back porch. She'd worked late, and I just didn't (yet again) go to bed at a reasonable time. We were not drinking too much, for what it's worth.

The dogs had been out and in and out and were back in as the older one was off her lead and kept wanting to sneakily dissappear around the house and into the darkness. Had any of the dogs been out it's likely the cat wouldn't have stopped by or would have gotten chased off before we realized.

But the dogs were inside, and the cat showed up. It's all black, and his/her (don't know yet) tail seems extra long. The poor thing had obviously not eaten recently but didn't seem in too bad a shape. Of course we didn't have any cat good, but I brought out a little dog food which was very quickly gobbled up. I worried that the cat would eat too quickly and end up throwing the food back up, but that didn't happen.

The dogs still don't quite know what to think of the cat. The older dog might remember her old cat friend who we all miss, but the two smaller dogs don't likely have a clue about the new person in their midst. Of the two small dogs only one is ours. The other is a friend's and will hopefully soon be leaving us. The friend needed her two dogs watched for the last month as she worked to find a new living situation.

So we may have a cat now. If we get a reason to believe someone has lost this cat and wants it back we'll do the right thing. But for now the right thing seems to be to give the cat a safe place and to feed it and get some meat on it's bones. And we also have to think of a name.

shouldn't oughta ate it

2010-07-28T00:24:00.000-05:00

Liverwurst! Let's just get that out of the way. I hate it.

Maybe I've shared my childhood trauma with you, and maybe not. Either way, I'm not going into the long version right now. The quick version involves household rules requiring us to eat whatever our mouther cooked. She and I were the only two people out of the nine that did not like liver. Dinners that involved liver for us involved her eating something else and me getting the shaft.

Have you ever eaten something that so disgusted you that you would gag the entire time it was even in your mouth? Did you continue to eat it? Okay, I once voluntarily did, the first time I tried octopus. Momma makes sushi, though this particular time was the first either she or I had tried it, and she now realizes that the octopus we had that time was not prepared well and was cut too thick. The flavor wasn't the worst thing then but the fact that no amount of chewing seemed to effect the composition of the piece of octopus.

Liver has the effect on me that I gag while my body tries to relieve itself of this infernal organ and expell it far, far away. It's a memory that still sort of pisses me off, and too much dwelling on the subject can actually make me nauseous even today, and before today I haven't eaten liver in nearly twenty years.

I came home from work a bit later than usual today and immediately needed to visit the bathroom to take care of some business I'd been unable to transact throughout the day. I wouldn't mention this, but it did give a later start than I'd have liked to the taking-care-of-kids half of my day. Following the waste removal operation I fixed the cup of coffee that I also needed.

Somewhat off topic, I really can't stand the coffee at work. I've been drinking water in the morning lately, waiting for ten when the servers start coming in and someone finally makes tea. The coffee there sucks and comes from a machine that makes coffee from packs of some sort of coffee concentrate. It's a big red machine that I like to claim was stolen from the big local politician/business family's local chain store. After choosing your coffee you press the appropriate button while holding your cup under the appropriate nozzle.

And then I needed to relax with my coffee, check Facebook and my email. I needed also to keep the idea of supper in the back of my mind so that I could decide what to get at the store that I needed to soon visit. Eventually I realized the time and the fact that I needed to just move. I hustled the boys into shoes and found some myself.

There are four grocery stores within reasonable driving distance, though it's really a question of two stores represented twice each with a regular version close to the house and the slightly nicer versions being slightly farther away. I chose the nicest of the four because they have a better produce section, and my idea was to just grab some vegetables that the boys would eat while formulating a protein plan.

Though it hadn't occurred to me till we got there, another advantage of the nicer store is the number of samples strewn throughout the deli area. I'm not sure what all the boys ate, but I do know there was muenster cheese, cold cuts that looked like turkey and some sort of ham and that damn liverwurst.

I thought Big Brother would probably like the liverwurst because he likes a lot of stuff. I had no idea how The Boy would enjoy it or whether he would have a meltdown over this ghastly thing that was in contact with his person. They both enjoyed it, and knowing how time can effect our tastes I took a tiny nibble.

And this is where my entire being went into a whirlpool of despair. I suggested to the boys that they share a single piece thinking that they might not like it, and I ate a tiny piece, a piece roughly the size of my pinky fingernail. At first it wasn't bad, and then I suddenly, actually tasted it. And again within another short second I most certainly did taste it and was revolted. I forced it down as quickly as possible.

And then I almost had to wipe my tongue. I might have whined a little, and I certainly did almost reach for my shirt to wipe the gruesome off my tongue, and then I saw myself being the guy in the store licking his shirt, and that didn't seem like it could possibly make the situation better. I finally did what I do, sucked it up, shivered up my spine, felt my head do that thing where it cocks a little to the side.

We were finally moving away from the produce/deli area. The taste of the liverwurst was still in my mouth but hopefully fading, and as I walked that same old feeling started coming over me. Even as the taste of it grew weaker I felt I could still taste it on my breath. That horrid deep in the throat feeling, that rough stomach feeling was slipping up, and I was afraid that I was going to cough and throw up a little. And still I could taste that damn liverwurst on my breath.

I finally stopped and explained to the boys that I needed them to be extra cool, to move quickly with me. I quickly explained about my liver issues, that I shouldn't have eaten it and told them how I felt. We needed to continue the shopping, and thankfully I was forming more ideas for supper as we walked, but more than anything I wanted to figure out where the hell the damn water fountain was.

The taste slowly seemed to go away, and eventually, mercifully, I did find the water fountain. We were mostly done by this point, and though the taste seemed to have completely been taken care of I still had that same feeling, that same worry that I'd start gagging and coughing and lose control.

Fuck I hate liver!

look at the hour

2010-07-27T01:58:00.000-05:00

There's no good reason for me to still be up. I'm tired, and while I work an hour later than usual tomorrow it's still early enough for my night owl ass.

I'm not really a morning person, but once the hangover wears off and I get into the swing of my work day I'm usually okay. Or maybe once the vapors clear and the caffeine kicks in enough I'm usually okay.

But I've also learned that getting a decent night of sleep helps the most, so why don't I do it any more often than I do?

Is it the night owl thing? Am I just a dumb ass? or drunkard? Maybe I subconsciously hate my job and am sabotaging myself by being a dumb ass, drunkard night owl.

owning up and not reviewing

2010-07-24T02:19:00.000-05:00

Not so long ago I began a post, but for whatever reason I didn't finish or post it. In that post I discussed that Momma had a Dr. Phil book that I'd sorta been reading. And though I've ignored it for a couple of days, I've apparently started sorta reading it again.

I'm sure we're all familiar with Dr. Phil. He's Oprah's lovable oaf that got his own show drawling at people to tell them how they should live. Many people dislike him, and with good reason, while many people find his folksy, aw shucks sort of, get-in-the-game mentality to be exactly what they need.

I don't hate the guy, and I think I'm able to hear him and decide for myself whether the things he's saying at the moment has any actual value. And I think I'm able to weed out all the generalities that work for everyone if we'd all just somehow be exactly as we should and thought right thoughts and always acted in a way that made sense and was healthy.

The problem is that none of us ever always do those things we should, so hearing someone tell us to always do it as we should just isn't that big a help to most of us. If a calendar with daily affirmations and quirky advice about smiling and enjoying the rain gets you through the day then good for you.

But some of us just swallow the hearburn most of the time because the Tums don't work, and forcing a smile gives us a headache rather than makes our inner sunshine sparkle for all the world to see. And chances are there's something within eyesight that makes me feel hatred, and that's just how I am. I kinda hate to say but my daily affirmation calendar would involve pictures of people that I can feel better than.

I suppose my real issue with the book is that I approach it from my gay point of view, though it's a book about hetero women connecting with hetero men to form hetero relationships. I never figured any of that out in my years of research(aka being in the closet), and now that I'm finally out I can admit to all that. Before I would have had to defend the honor of men and damn him for comparing us all to fish. He actually suggests to some extent that getting a man is like catching a fish in that you have to know how he acts and where he feeds so that you can use the right lure to snag him out of the river.

And I'm really doing Dr. Phil a disservice. I'm measuring his book as a gay man, and really it's just not for me. It's kinda like reading a map for a city I'm not going to be visiting, or maybe it's like when Google maps gives you shitty directions.

For all that I'd really hate to imagine the gay version of this book. While straight men do fit a bunch of stereotypes, whether or not I said they do or don't earlier, it doesn't matter, because we gay men have and fit all of those and then some. We're everything from mind numbingly normal to glitter clad. I can swoon over Rufus and still squee when I touch something gross while rocking out to Motorhead. It's how it is.

Maybe my problem was in thinking that a Dr. Phil book would not eventually piss me off. I kinda want to watch his show now just so I can yell insults at the tv. But if you happen upon his book and find help in it then good for you. I haven't, though I have gotten depressed by the whole thing.

I'll never find a man, and if I did I wouldn't be able to marry him. Maybe I'll go drown my tears in a drunken cheezy poof and ramen orgy. Woe! woe is me!

did publicly admit

2010-07-23T16:51:00.000-05:00

Go to Matt Algren's blog to read about Dan Choi being fired from the military for being gay, and HERE is a pdf of the actual discharge papers. There's something fucked up about actually seeing in writing that someone was relieved of duty for the sole fact that they told someone that they are gay.

Is surreal the right word? Or is it just fucked?

it belongs in the pool

2010-07-23T00:39:00.000-05:00

During the US team's attempt to make their way through the World Cup I thought I might have developed a new appreciation for Landon Donovan, striker for both the US mens national team and MLS team LA Galaxy.

I should point out that I've hated him for years. He has his moments, but so often his moments seem only to happen during those MLS games. I should also admit that I don't watch nearly as many MLS games as I would if I had more t.v. in my life to enrich my moments, so I'm sure I've missed whatever the hell else people see in him.

I should also admit that I don't want to imagine my US team as unable to win more games because we just aren't that good. I get that we don't have the history so much of the world has, and that lack of history means that we don't have the ingrown traditions of soccer. Our kids, till recently, didn't really grow up playing soccer, though for whatever reasons it does seem to be growing more popular.

I wonder sometimes if it's growing more popular because so many kids that would love to play something don't play football or baseball for whatever reasons. Perhaps the kids are finally realizing that football is kinda stupid, and baseball is soooo boooooring. Or maybe in the fall the kids' mommies don't want them hurting themselves playing football, and baseball is soooooo boooooring.

Either way, it's growing, and as it does we'll begin to produce more of those players that would be good at any sport along with those kids that are only good at soccer or will only ever be good at soccer, and eventually we'll have a system that can overpay spoiled assholes to the point where the dual sport kid sees basketball as the sport to help him keep in shape for soccer while he awaits that lucrative pro deal. Then we'll win the World Cup.

But watching part of the game tonight reminded me that I used to hate Landon Donovan, and now it's back. Within twenty minutes of beginning to watch the game all the old animus rolled right back around. And I should now admit that I didn't even watch the first half. I only started watching somewhere in the vicinity of the fifty fifth minute.

I watched him dive twice and intentionally handle the ball once. And the moral purist in me that loves the beauty of the beautiful game just hates seeing that shit. Seriously? Diving? And this from the guy that's supposed to be our best hope? our best player?

A hand I can almost get. At least then it's . . . NO! Fuck that guy. It's part of the game that you don't touch the fucking ball with your hand. It's not even that it's against the rules so much as it's just fucking wrong, and fuck it being strategic and a good move, and there's nothing noble about taking the yellow to help your team. It's just not how it goes. I'd almost rather see a good dive.

But fuck a dive too! I get when you're running full speed that sometimes it really doesn't take a hard blow to send you spinning. I get a hard shot that just totally knocks you stupid that really was a fair tackle but you got the foul because maybe you rolled a tiny bit more than inertia might have really caused. And I don't even like those, because it's still kinda like a dive, and I hate diving. The thing is, you got beat, and instead of just dealing you're going to try and get a foul called by pretending you didn't get beat? Man up, motherfucker.

Maybe I still just want too much to be valiant and pure of heart and actually earn my wins. It's so infuriating to know that you didn't get beaten but lost to some bullshit. And when it happens you just have to suck it up or be the sour grapes guy bitching about what he knows happened.

Sometimes you get beat, and sometimes you beat yourselves, and sometimes you don't start fast enough and have to clean up your mess. But that should never mean that you handle the ball and fake fouls. Sometimes you just have to deal, to climb back on the horse, to pull yourself by your boot straps, to refuse to keep getting beaten. And maybe sometimes you just don't get to do those things. Sometimes you just aren't going to win, and sometimes the other team is going to be better.

But for fuck sake, we're Americans. We wear the white hats and save the day. We wipe the blood out of our eyes and rescue the maiden. And we don't go for the nut punch unless we're actually fighting some sort of demon creature that eats babies.

he's talking about his . . .

2010-07-17T02:38:00.000-05:00

It's time for one of my self concious in/out of the closet moments. It's not new to me, but I don't think I've quite shared with anyone else. Momma's probably seen and noticed it, but I haven't actually discussed it with her, so I can't be sure. But she is somewhat astute. She catches stuff sometimes.

And it has to do with my hair. I'm going to tell you about it.

You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head. I even have my own clippers. I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.

The worst was around my ears. I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew. And I don't know how I always missed that bit. Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.

Hair is damn fine insulator. It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy. Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months. Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.

If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.

And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter. I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter. I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.

And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing. I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone. For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.

But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow. I was never allowed that luxury as a child. My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night. Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut. He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.

And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.

I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does. I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl. When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.

And now I just hate the sides. I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now. My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.

Am I in a better place with my hair? When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it. I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower. There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.

I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors. I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.

But I don't wanna. I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't. There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post. I'll write about that another day.

we'll see bout this

2010-07-17T00:05:00.000-05:00

a) I can give every single child the same chances, choices, options

b) I can put your kid where I want them and train them to do that job so that we can win games

There's been a lot of soccer in my life lately, and currently the t.v. behind me is showing what I'm assuming is this year's ACC women's championship between the Tarheels and the Seminoles. I'm kind of assuming the game is being played in the spring.

And I'm loving it! This week I watched part of the men's version of the same ACC championship, UNC vs. UNV, and I watched the US women's national team tie at one with Sweden. Earlier tonight I watched Manchester United beat Celtic three to nothing, and last night was MLS action, DC United versus Seattle Sounders with Seattle getting that win.

While the kids' soccer sign ups usually sneak up on me I got an email this time around to confirm whether I planned to coach at the U12 level again. So it's been on my mind a bit. You might even say that I've been thinking about it.

I may not have shared anything about last season, and I hate to have to say it, but we had an entirely losing season in the spring. I had a great group of kids that I'd love to coach again, and I think that we could have a totally different season this time around, partly because they'd go in knowing each other.

That was one of my complaints, and it's a complaint I had with my U8's as well. I was given teams of kids that didn't even know each other for the most part, though a couple kids did know each other, and there were a couple of pairs of kids that were friends with each other. And I recognized larger groups of kids on other teams as having been those same large groups before. I feel that left my kids at a bit of a disadvantage going into the season, and due to that and other random nonsense toward the end of the season really messed with their heads. They never got the chance to see themselves as the team that I saw, and I remain proud of what they were able to do.

But I'm not here to bitch about that. I think that having heard from the coach coordinator is an attempt to address a problem that's been recognized by more people than me.

I do want a winning team, but more than that I recognize that these kids are ten and eleven years old. My goal has always been to help them develop a love for and understanding of the game, to help them learn skills that will make them better players and to give them access to different positions. I don't want for a kid to think he belongs in a position without his agreement.

The key is to find the balance between a and b from the beginning of this literary journey. I doubt I'll be coaching U8 as we're going to find something else for The Boy. Soccer is so not his thing, and the only time he really wants to play is before the season actually starts. Once he's out having to actually run and play soccer he changes his mind.

And that's fine.

I'm curious to attend the preseason coach meeting, to find what players I have from last season and to see them again at our first practice as well as to meet the new guys. I'm excited to start working with them, to try this thing about balance where I push them to greatness.

And now for something sort of along the same lines and not entirely something different, and I get that it's a pipe dream, but I love the idea. Read on.

I may have another trick up my sleeve in addition to balancing the whole things I said, and it gets to my goals as a coach, and it gets to a concern I have always had with how I think I assume the parents see me as a coach. I could totally be wrong about their opinions I assume for them.

See, we live in a football town. I know already that, come fall, our soccer Saturdays will be a sea of orange in support of the local college team. Some of the families only watch soccer when it's their kids, but they sure as hell are going to watch the sports they grew up with and know and understand.

They just don't get soccer . . . yet. I'm going to attempt to give the families homework, though I'm not sure it will work. I'm going to give them watching soccer homework, and I'm going to request that the parents and kids watch as many game as is reasonable for them, assuming we can still get some soccer on the t.v. I want them to get it, to know what's happening, to understand why it's beautiful and why people love it.

I have a few weeks before I really have to worry about any of this, but those weeks are going to go by quickly while I'm not really paying attention because it seems so far away still. And then suddenly it'll be time. I'm excited.

example of thing I said

2010-07-15T20:16:00.000-05:00

Did you read my last post? Go HERE and read the comments to see what I was talking about. It's at Advocate.com which is less like a news site and more like a typical newspaper. They cover all sorts of stuff and tend for the most part to feature news that has an obvious gay angle, but sometimes it's just not that way.

And it's gay enough news for me. Enrique Iglesias promised to water ski naked in Biscayne Bay if his Spanish team won the World Cup, which they did. I'm gay and a soccer fan and willing to be a fan of Spain, though it's not a deep fandom as much as they have some pretty players, and the hot singer has agreed to keep his promise. Like I said, gay enough for me.

torn

2010-07-15T03:46:00.000-05:00

I don't know what to think in this story and have almost cried over it too many times since it first began.

A young boy who knew he was gay from a young age tried to just be.

He had to go to school and was mistreated from such an early age.

Eventually he fought back the only way he could.

And then he got shot in the head.

It was apparently a hate crime, but a fourteen year old boy shot a fifteen year old boy.

Is it right to try him as an adult?

And I'm going to cry over this story even more before it comes to an end, and I may never know how I feel.

Larry will never get another chance to anything, and Brandon, so young, may never anything worthwhile ever too.

And I don't know what to think or where to even start.

go HERE as a start

they eat their own

2010-07-15T03:34:00.000-05:00

It's a popular question found often in the comments at the three main gay news blogs that I read and likely any site that is mainly gay news oriented, and though it's basically the same question, it's often worded in one of two different ways. The commenter often will ask, "What is this doing on where-ever-it-is.com?" or they'll ask, "How is this gay news?"

Sometimes it's sort of understandable, especially when it's some sort of celebrity fluff bullshit. But that's usually at only one of the sites, and they tend toward just throwing anything out there. It's like a typical local news show where anything is considered news because it fills space and shows up in your reader and keeps you coming back. So while I understand the question and also don't really care about the celebrity fluff bullshit I also want to yell into the computer that gay boys tend to give a shit, and so this particular news outlet should be expected to sometimes include some things that aren't entirely gay specific.

But then there's that other time. The story was basically a link magazine site and a photo spread done for that magazine. The spread included top soccer players from various national teams wearing nothing but underwear based on their country's flag. This was all before the World Cup began and was leading up to the tournament and was in a magazine that has absolutely nothing to do with sports.

I usually don't comment on this site as I seldom have anything to add, but this time I had to. The person asked about the photo spread, "How is this gay news?" And while I wanted to point out the half naked hot dudes angle, I knew that this wasn't the right answer this time.

The photographer that had taken the pictures is a fairly well known person, but more than that, her pictures and images are popular to an unknowable number of people. She's one of those photographers that, no matter who you are, you've seen and are very familiar with any number of her pictures, and you may not even know her name.

She's also a lesbian, so that alone makes it gay news, which is the answer I went with. I even tried to be a bit snarky about it without being an asshole.

Of the other two sites that provide me with news about gay news I only make a point of reading the comments at one. This site has news but adds commentary along with the news. And no matter what the story is, there really always is a gay angle. They don't add the celebrity fluff bullshit and don't need to. They cover stories that have bearing on the community, and they add commentary that is actually well thought out, whether or not you agree with their opinion.

Here more than ever I have to wonder why commenters ask these questions as you often have to wonder if they really read the article. If you've read the article you should generally be able to keep up, but sometimes you need the back story, and too often people just don't. It's like they only read the headlines and have to fire off a comment.

And in the end it's just all about how the gays seem to be more judgmental of each other than straight people. We constantly have to worry about our own feelings based on all the outside noise that treats us like shit, but we then internalize it and feed on it. So we then turn around and give it back out. None of us are ever quite good enough, don't represent well or whatever.

I hate the question when I see it. It's so unnecessary, but I'm never surprised when I read it. I always want to yell at the person. I want to ask them how they have time to bother asking. I want to figure why it's so important to them that they only get news that is specifically and entirely gay when they visit these sites.

I want my gay to stay gay. I understand the need and desire to have a separation between gay and not gay, and this could easily be a whole other post, because at the same time I know that I'm normal and just like anyone and want to be treated as such. At the same time I get how I'm different.

Have I mentioned that I'm the only gay I know that loves Motorhead? Have I mentioned that I can check out girls without being a douche? Have I . . . ?

Maybe I'm currently at fault, doing the thing I'm bitching about. That's a conundrum I suppose.

neither here or where

2010-07-10T00:11:00.000-05:00

Remember back when I would post links to interesting things and would sometimes provide comentary? Yeah? I barely do, but let's see if we can do it again.

The article HERE at the soccer blog No Short Corners is about nationalism and soccer. Or is it about national identity and the fact that here in the Oh Ten nations are slowly beginning to look more and more like each other and even to act more and more like each other till eventually there isn't really that much that you can say makes the nations different?

Basically we are in the future. In the past there may or may not have been actual differences in different nations/states. I can see that, and I don't necessarily think we're necessarily past that point. In the battle between nature and nurture I see both of them having their own place, and I see the place you're from having some effect as well.

I have to admit to having never been outside the US, and what discussion I've had with non Americans is very limited. I did once ask a Scottish guy and and English guy who were in town for business about the drink we know as an Irish car bomb, and they said that they too have that drink, but they certainly don't refer to it as such. I'm not sure if that's true. Perhaps they were humoring the honky.

Either way the article is worth reading.

thing I'm trying to think I might do

2010-07-08T01:59:00.001-05:00

I read a line recently that may have been about food, but I feel it contains a truth that I'd like to incorporate more fully into my life in general. It just seems like a great way to go about living.

The line is near the end of the following paragraph which I borrowed from a blog post by David Lebovitz. If you don't read his blog you should. He talks about cooking and eating and traveling, and he's an American living in France. Some of his more amusing posts are about dealing with the French mentality from an American point of view. Read the post HERE and the excerpt below.

One thing I've learned about traveling is that you should just enjoy what you have right then and there, and not worry about buying more, stocking up, bringing some home, or whatever. Just eat it there. As my friend Susan Loomis says, "You don't need to own it, just enjoy it." And I agree.

We often want to own, and I'm reminded of a story I heard on NPR recently that included an interview of a book collecter. He was discussing a book he wanted and was asked about his collection at which point he mentioned that he wasn't much of a reader but loved to own books.

I was astouonded. I too love to own books, and many of the ones I own are books I've read and loved. Others are books I will read at some point. I don't understand owning a book that I haven't read, don't plan to read or read and didn't enjoy. I'm sure I actually have books that fall into any one or all of those categories, so maybe I shouldn't talk, but then that's what I do.

You don't need to own it, just enjoy it. Of the many things I've heard/read, that's one I want to embrace and to implement more fully. I'm not against owning, but maybe sometimes just to not care and to let myself enjoy is more important.

I do enjoy books, by the way. I love old books, and one of my pleasures is to bury my nose in an old book and breathe in that old book smell. Hell, I might just go and smell some books right now.

and another thing

2010-07-06T01:52:00.000-05:00

At some point I stopped commenting on blogs as much as I had. I'm going to fix that as well. My ridiculously rapier sharp wit has been missing from the internets for far too long. I'd like to say I'm back, but I'll probably forget by sometime tomorrow.

Vive la sarcasm!

should just deal

2010-07-06T01:47:00.000-05:00

Was I more outspoken a blogger about gay issues when I was in the closet? I sometimes think so. I'm not sure why, but I have some possible reasons.

Admittedly one can never know who is reading when they throw things out into the blogosphere. I certainly never meant to open myself to family reading, but I did accidentally. And at first that wasn't a problem because I was still hiding.

But soon after that I wasn't in the closet anymore, and the whatever I said about teh gay was somewhat about me. Even if what I said wasn't about me, if it was gay, it was just because.

So I began to censor myself a bit. Of course I've said some outrageous things in the past both pre and post closet. I thought about those things, but I was likely at least a little bit tipsy, so at the moment my fingers told you those things I didn't care. I don't often go back and reread what I've posted, though I have a couple of times, and one post in particular stands out, though I'm not revisiting or searching to link to it. I just don't care that much.

And now I really want to pull that censor back out of the mix, but I've let him have his say so often that it's become a habit. I'm bad about developing bad habits that I stick with out of not wanting to deal. I do or don't do too many things out of a desire to not have to deal, and that's a habit I should really work on breaking, smashing into tiny little pieces that I can sweep up and toss aside.

That doesn't mean I'm going to write something crazy right now, because I'm not. But I am going to try harder.

impasse

2010-06-29T20:05:00.002-05:00

The idea of having my own place is nice, and the actual having of a place is not entirely horrible, but the actuality of the place I have is somewhat problematic.

There are various reasons I rushed into getting the place that I have. The landlord didn't require a deposit, which was nice as I had no money for such. He didn't require much at all other than money, and a tiny red flag went up as I handed him that first check and he asked if I didn't have cash.

Other red flags had gone up previous to this, but they were tiny and I ignored them. I wanted this place, and I wanted the location. I'm still not as unhappy as I could be with the general location, this area known as The Fort and my location just a mile from downtown. That first time that I walked from the apartment to downtown and I realized it had only taken me twenty easy minutes were nice.

But as the two months between then and now have passed I've realized how bad a decision I made, and some of those tiny red flags have become the problems I overlooked. I won't even mention that no one around here seems to understand why/that there is a city law requiring them to clean up their dog's shits.

One problem is the tiny-ness of the unit and the fact that there is no real room for the boys when they are there. I hate even to bring them over. The layout of the unit and the single wall unit air conditioner combine to make a place that, coupled with the Tennessee summer and humidity, make it nearly impossible for them to get a decent night sleep. Add in that it's a block from two different hospitals and then imagine being serenaded nightly, several times a night, by the ambulances screaming past about fifty feet away, and that adds to the issue. Adding on even more is that outside of the inside of the unit there is nowhere for the boys to play, and there's no room inside either.

The swimming pool was supposed to be an amenity, but I still haven't gotten a key to the gate. The landlord assumes the maintenance guy has it, while the maintenance guy suggests that the owners of the units should have them to give to their tenants.

That last paragraph probably needs some clarification. The building was built in the '60's as a hotel. At some point in the ensuing years it became apartments, but there is no single owner of the units which are owned by various landlords. I have a friend four two floors above me, and we have different landlords.

While I was working and then watching soccer this past Saturday there was an open house in my building. My unit was one of those up for sale, and my landlord did some work, painting, caulking, steam cleaning, to prepare the building. In the process he moved all my stuff around, understandable, and he also broke a clipboard and a cd tower, not understandable. I haven't discussed this with him. I could also mention that his painting job absolutely sucks, and he doesn't know how to smooth caulk. I could then mention that he leaves dried chunks of caulk in the sinks and that the kitchen sink was clogged last I looked. I could go even farther and mention that I can't visually see that the carpet has even been vacuumed, much less cleaned, but perhaps that's just piling on.

Back to the pool, I've now decided that I'd prefer my kids to not swim in it, so it's no longer an amenity, and I'm not sure that I want to explain to them why I don't want them in it. Any number of mornings that I've left the building via the stairs that overlook the pool I've seen beer cans and chairs floating in the water. I've known a few people who've admitted to having been in the pool as it seems that nearly everyone in this town knows or has known someone that lives/lived in this building, and apparently the majority of late night pool partiers are swimming, as we say in the south, butt ass nekkid. As if all that weren't bad enough I left the building one day in time to see the maintenance guy having to close the pool because there was broken glass in the area.

And in the end I just can't afford the place. I'm spending nearly half my measly monthly income on the place, and it's not a place I like or that I want to be. I had to move a fair amount of stuff out of the unit for the open house because, as the landlord said, we don't want anything walking out and then have to deal with he-said-she-said. I haven't actually been back in a couple days. Saturday night saw us ending our pride festivities at a friends house, swimming till late at night. Several of us just crashed and then began our Sunday with more swimming. Sunday night I was with the kids at Momma's, and then Monday night ended the same. Some of that was wanting to get up early so that the family (minus The Boy who just doesn't care) could watch the World Cup together. Some of the crashing here might have been more staying up late and some drinking of beer. Momma and I are still really good at being friends and hanging out and sitting up late.

My financial situation could be a whole 'nother post, so in the interest of not boring you THAT much I'll not include that bitch fest here. I just needed to rant for a minute. And now that that's out of the way, I need to figure out where to go from here. I can barely afford to pay half this month's rent now and hand over the other half when I get paid in a week and a half. I did this last month and promised profusely that it wouldn't happen again.

I hate going back on my word. I had the best intentions, but I didn't realize then that, because of a normal summer time lull in business where I work that our labor would take a cut over the next two weeks as we saw some amount of business fall off, and I couldn't have foreseen how much smaller this check was going to be than the last.

All I can do now is explain to the landlord my situation and let him know that I'm planning to be gone in thirty days. I feel like a douche, but I tend to feel like that more often than is really necessary. Now to figure out where I'm going to be in thirty days and how the fuck I plan to swing it.