more tales of balance

As Momma has continued to mention, and as I've come to realize has more merit than I've given credit, there is a certain beauty in striving for balance. I can't say it's always easy, because it's actually seldom easy. It's . . . well . . . it's a balancing act.

There is a certain balancing act that I face a certain five days of the week. I call these work days. There are myriad semi-battles with balance I face that don't occur each work day, and honestly those semi-battles could easily hinge on which particular server happens to be working that particular shift and whether or not it's that one guy I can't make myself not have a crush on, but that's a whole other story for a different day and a different blog.

My underwear of choice has been boxers for everyday wear and boxer briefs for soccer. Not finding ourselves in soccer season, I've worn only boxers for quite some time. I have two choices of them, one slightly thicker/heavier than the other, and I have an equal number of pairs from which to choose between the two different fabrics. When I took my shower yesterday, I found that my only clean option was the last of the thicker fabric pair.

On a whim I chose to go with the boxer briefs that I tend to save for soccer. They are snug fitting though thicker than the less thick boxers. I hoped that perhaps the boxer briefs might be more comfortable for work.

Work . . . unless you've done the job you can't really appreciate what I have in mind when I think of choosing underwear based on work. It's a hot and sweaty job, and if you are even close to as anal retentive as I am then it only makes sense.

We finally get to discussing balance with my anal need to have my clothes fit just so. I have to wear pants with a belt, and if you are familiar with typical chef's pants then you know you don't get that. I wear jeans, not the wisest choice, but I'm okay with it. Add to this the chef's coat and the apron. I'm not comfortable unless my apron is tied below my belt. For this to work I have to give myself plenty of space in the chef's coat.

Plenty of room in the chef's coat means that I raise my arms and shoulders, stretching and pulling the chef's coat up. The apron goes in somewhere above the tail of the chef's coat but below the belt. If I get everything right the apron keeps everything in place while the stretching gives me enough extra space to reach as far as I might need to without pulling the chef's coat out of the apron string.

Add to all of this the fact that underwear never tends to ride down. Boxers are the worst for riding up. When the waste of your boxers are approaching your ribs and your apron strings are slipping past the belt, you realize you've lost your balance, and everything is riding up and away from where you(I) really want it. You can try to ease everything back down, or you can accept that you don't have time to fix anything and there's food that needs to go out. Finally, at some point, I'm just too anal to deal with it. I have to take the apron all the way off and settle the chef's coat and the boxers and reapply the apron.

But with the soccer underwear, the boxer briefs, the underwear doesn't really quite ride up. It is nice to run your thumbs around the waste band at the end of the night when you finally get a chance to pee, loosen up the sweat stick. But that's the same anytime you finally get a chance to pee. The point is they didn't ride up. I can more slightly easily deal with the rest of my gear riding up if my underwear isn't in my armpits.

I might have just sold myself on my soccer britches being my new work britches too. I don't know just yet as I'll have to experiment more, but we'll know soon enough.

ouchie

My chest hurts, and I know why. I washed my hair in the bathtub, and the rolled up beach towel on the edge of the tub wasn't enough padding. Or maybe it's just a bad idea to lean over the side of the tub. It's easier than the sink though.

I worked yesterday(Saturday) and actually worked later than I generally would have on a Saturday, but Momma was really busy Friday night, and she and the rest of the kitchen used up nearly everything we'd prepped for them.

Yesterday was also the day of Ska Weekend, an annual, local ska music festival I've blogged about before. It's even had its own tag for maybe a couple of years. Last year even saw me posting videos of some of the bands I was looking forward to seeing. I wasn't that good about it this year, but as an excuse I'll offer that it happened about a month earlier than usual. Also I wasn't horribly interested in most of the bands playing.

As it turns out, the new venue that hosted Ska Weekend this year is truly one of my least favorite of all the venues I've visited in this town. I'm just not a huge fan of the south lawn of World's Fair Park, especially when you sit in the middle of the sun baked field and remember past shows in the Old City.

I imagine having worked nearly nine hours before rushing home to wash my hair and change clothes before rushing back out to stand in more heat didn't help. Having friends in from out of town helped, and it was nice to be able to sit back on the lawn while the boys had plenty of space to run around. Really the only thing missing from WFP is some nice big trees to make some shade.

And now, my chest hurts. It was all that leaning over the side of the tub. And really, the blame goes to me for not having gotten a haircut. It's still growing, though that part really isn't a surprise. I even have to pull my hair back at work because I can't stand the feel of it sticking to my sweaty neck, and then I leave it tied up. And it really is a tiny pony tail and most ridiculous looking I'm sure. I can't actually see it, but I'm quite certain it's at the very least ridiculous.

I've said this to Momma many times, but I'm about ready to cut it all off and end the stupid experiment once and for all. It's crazy and gets big kinks in it and half the time is like a cloud floating around my head. It looks okay right after a shower when it's almost all the way dry. The rest of time it's just . . .

I don't know. It isn't really that long yet, and summer is almost over, so the heat thing won't be a factor. I don't know.

insert classic monty python line about not beind dead yet here

This blog is not dead. Yes, I haven't posted in about ten days, and it was probably about ten days before that that I posted last before that, or something.

I have in fact had quite a bit on my mind, stuff that I should probably post about, get it out of my head a little bit. Sunshine is a great disinfectant, and airing out my consciousness would probably help me think through things a bit. I might save all that for the gay blog, because I want to get this one back to what it was when I was happiest with it.

What do I need to get back there?
-mindless rants with lots of cussing
-word of the day? what ever happened to that little fucker?
-book sort-of-reviews-nothing but gay fiction lately and an autobiography of Edmund White (totally gay)
-videos of awesome music that you probably ignore
-mindless rants about things other people post that I should read more deeply into so I don't rant and sound like a douche

Yeah, that about wraps up all the stuff I miss doing. It just feels so often that my head is filled to overflowing with thoughts of things I can't quite control, so instead of placing them in a place where I don't obsess, I let those thoughts take over and push aside all the things I should be doing and/or thinking about.

And that's where we find ourselves as of now. I'm working on getting back to this. I'm needing more than ever to just get my thoughts out of my head. That's what writing is to me, and that's what I need.

That and a tall dark hair/eyed boy, but that's a whole 'nother post for another day.

two songs in my head

I became aware of Webb Pierce as a person a few short years ago. A local radio station would play songs he'd written being performed by other people from a tribute album title Caught in the Webb. They played a very few of the songs, and I happened to catch them randomly as I so seldom listen to the actual radio.

Caught in the Webb was one of our recent library finds, and as soon as I saw it I knew I was checking it out. Momma and I have both fallen in love with the album. The very first time I listened to I realized how many of Webb Pierce's songs I've known and how few of those songs I'd known he'd written.

One of the songs that jumped out from the very first listen is the song that's been stuck in my head ever since. The song is Wondering and is performed on the album by Emmylou Harris. I've been aware of her as well, but I never really paid a lot of attention. I know I've heard her. I know I've enjoyed her, but I just didn't bother doing anything about.

Then the album was there at the library, and then it was in the cd player of the car as we drove away from the library. Then Wondering came on, Emmylou Harris singing in her voice that I can't even attempt to describe.

A quick search around the dusty corners of YouTube proved that I would not be able to share Emmylou Harris's version of the song, but I did so want to share her voice. So I present two videos, the first being Webb Pierce singing Wondering and the second is Emmylou Harris singing the song Making Believe, another song I love, written by Kitty Wells.

if it was . . .

Sometimes I catch myself almost saying things to the kids that I would have no problem saying to any of my grown up friends but that are fairly inappropriate to say to children.

An example:

"I'm trying to find that Spiderman book that Momma used to decorate that cake," Big Brother said.

And the thing I would have said to a grown up friend but caught myself in time not to say to him:

"If it was up your butt you'd know."

the fight

Okay, so it never actually ended up in a real fight, but the negativity swirling around between me and the guy we'll call Jim was at a level that no one could have missed. It wasn't something I wanted or looked for, and I completely failed several times to follow up on the request from Jim to, "Go ahead. Hit me."

I'm calling him Jim because, lately, this guy looks like fat, stoned and nearly dead Jim Morrison from the end of The Doors movie.

When I first met Jim he was dating a girl we'll call M. I had hired her at the pizza place I worked at the time, and she turned out to be one of the people I was most happy to have hired. She worked hard, learned fast, had a good enough attitude in general. While I don't currently see her very often she remains a friend and someone I'm always happy to run into. Jim not so much, but I've never disliked him so much. It's that he just tends to come across as a bit of a prick. They haven't actually dated or been a couple for a few years, and some of what I know he's done in terms of relationships with others tends to lower my opinion of him, though honestly the majority of it is none of my business. Sometimes people have a way of making their business become your business as you shall soon see.

Last night saw me attend a going away party for a friend who is all too soon leaving our fair city to move to the west coast. I arrived late to find that nearly everyone else was already well into the keg of beer. I'd had a few beers spread throughout the day, but I was in no way intoxicated as of the point when I arrived.

Jim and M talked throughout the night, and I could tell from the attitudes they displayed that it wasn't a pleasant sort of conversation. She would talk to him until he got annoying at which point she would try to move away. At some point, when the two of them were not talking, I was talking with M and a friend of hers who pointed out M's need to move to a different part of the house in an attempt to avoid Jim who was becoming increasingly belligerent.

The party was mainly in the back of the house and on the back deck, so I suggested that M and I go sit on the front porch. We took our beers and made our way outside to sit on the porch swing where we were having a fine time. She was a bit drunk, and I was on my way as we discussed the most random things. It wasn't long however until Jim again inserted himself into what should have been a fun and peaceful moment.

I could tell that M was in no mood or state to be left alone with Jim who was unwilling to leave her alone. She really needed to not have to deal with his shit, but she also still cares for him very much. I could also tell that my presence at this time was preferable to his, so I stayed in place, trying to allow Jim his space to talk while not allowing him to push me away or make M feel any worse than she did.

And that was really Jim's problem at this point that he was badgering M, trying to guilt her into agreeing with his point, quite likely trying to get her to come home with him. It wasn't going to happen, and I could tell just from M's body language that she was growing more and more upset. Jim was growing frustrated and angry especially when I pointed out how nice a time M and I had been having before he fumbled his way over. He of course tried to use this to further batter M with the suggestion that she obviously loved me more than him. He was acting quite disturbed by this point, especially when he grabbed my shirt in an attempt to forcibly remove me from the porch swing and the conversation he was failing to have.

I jumped quickly to my feet, removing his hands from me and shoving him away from me which only served, in Jim's mind, to prove his accusations. The conversation devolved quickly from that point, though Jim did walk away for the fewest of seconds. I was trying to make sure that M knew I would stay with her or walk away and let her talk to Jim as she wanted, when he came back around the corner in time to hear just enough of the conversation to know that he was the subject. That caused even more drama, though it did almost get rid of him. He had his backpack and actually made it to the street before turning back to once more plead in the most drunken and ridiculous manner for M to please do what he wanted and for me to please leave.

I wanted so bad at different points to just have it out, to hit him, to beat his ass, to fuck his whole world up, but I also am not the kind of person who generally feels that way. I don't fight. I don't want to be pushed to the point where I feel as if I'm being forced to fight, partly because I know precisely what sort of fighter I would be. The rage switch would flip on and someone, either me or him is anyone's guess, would be completely beaten senseless. I'm not saying this as a brag or to sound like some sort of bad ass, but of the few things I know about myself, the flipping the fuck out thing is one that secretly scares me sometimes.

The closest it actually came to a fight I had finally had enough of Jim's shit. We were back in the house, and everyone there, the people who'd been ignoring Jim's shit, were finally seeing it in its full shitty glory. I'd had enough and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and back him forcibly against a wall. I was in his face explaining angrily exactly why what he was doing made him a douche bag and telling him just how much he really did finally need to get his shit and fucking go. He just kept pointing to his face and asking me to hit him. I almost wanted to so much.

The not fight was quickly broken up as various people finally jumped in and pulled us apart. A friend of Jim's went with him as they left, and I followed them to the door, watching to be sure they actually left this time. They were actually nice enough, as they reached the street, to remind me that, in their opinion, I'm no more than a fucking faggot, and I had to point out how easy that was to say with the whole yard and the fence between them and me. They reiterated their opinion about me and continued to walk away.

Then I went in the bathroom and cried, but just a little.

And now I've got a whole new subject to brood and obsess over, at least for the day. My brain has to over think everything in order to process it, and that's where I've been stuck.

So, how's your day?

update=boring post fodder

Here's a bit of a post to prove I'm still alive. I'm stuck in the same rut as ever, go to work, come home, drink some beer, go to bed, go to work, come home, rinse, repeat.

I've been really restless lately, wanting to do . . . something . . . not sure what.

I did quite enjoy watching what I was able to of the Euro 2008 tournament. For anyone unfamiliar with European soccer, please google it and get your own idea of what happened over the past couple of weeks. Basically the national teams of the different countries in Europe all got together at some point in the last year or so and played to find out who would actually go on to the tournament. The final game was played today between Germany and Spain.

In general, because I have a bit of a crush on one of the German players I'd have maybe leaned slightly toward them as far as fandom goes, but today I was a huge Spain fan. They haven't won in something like forty to fifty years (have more hot players.) They were also assumed to be the underdog, and that always gets me. They were certainly no underdog, controlling the ball and the entire game in my opinion, and they walked away with a one to zero win.

Before that I got to watch DC United beat the ever loving shit out of LA, a team I will nearly always cheer against. I don't like Landon Donovan very much, though the episode of Cribs that he was on helped me dislike him slightly less. If he ever decidedes to use his skill for the US men's team then I might change my mind, but his ass turns puss in international games, and I'm tired of seeing that.

I'm having truck problems again. It decided a couple weeks after getting a new battery to just stop working. I discovered one problem was a worn out battery cable clamp and replaced that to learn that there is still something wrong. No amount of attempting to jump start it will help, so we're a one car family again.

Speaking of one car, the one car needs some tender loving maintainence. It's a tiny (lot) bit past due for an oil change which I keep insisting I'm going to do myself, and I will. The brakes are a little soft as I've still not found the time to bleed the brake lines, so we play chicken with our mortality every time we drive (though not really.)

Not sure if I mentioned it, but Momma has rejoined her roller derby sisters and is working hard to get back in shape, hoping to bout as soon as possible. She was sorely missed by both derby girls as well as fans, and her reappearance on the rink will be truly exciting.

I've really run out of anything I'm willing to talk about here. You've got an update out of me, and soon I hope to get back to some reasonable facsimile of my old blogging self. And that's all you get.

is it secret? is it safe?

The scene, Big Brother and The Boy are playing The Lord of the Rings. I'm not sure which characters either are pretending to be, but what I do know is that there, on The Boy's finger rests the One Ring. You know, . . . one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. Yeah, that ring.

I don't question, and I don't nose around any more than is healthy. You'd have to have been living under a rock not to know of this ring and the power it has, not to know the true owner is ever watching for his ring. We won't mention that other fellow searching for his precious.

No, tonight is no night for worrying with that ring. I've got a chicken in the oven and a timer set. Fifteen minutes at 450 and up to an hour more at 350. I've got vegetables to cut and toss in halfway through. I've got sitting on my ass on the sofa to do.

I have a cigarette to smoke as soon as the chicken is in the oven, and The Boy is right there, light saber . . . err, I mean battle sword in hand.

"Do you still have the ring of power?" I ask, settling back in the plastic chair.

"No, I ate it," he answers.

Whew! It really was just a pretzel.

mildly unamusing anecdote

Supper last night was polenta with a sausage and tomato sauce. To add a vegetable Momma stirred in a bag of spinach. All in all it was a very tasty meal, and both the boys ate their share. The Boy did pick his spinach out, and he did only eat a bit over half what we served him, but it was nice that he ate what he did. Big Brother, as usual, disliked nothing about the meal and got himself seconds.

Momma cooked most of the meal. While she was getting the sausage and tomato sauce working I started the polenta. Polenta is easy if a bit of work. We use a version of the Joy recipe, three cups of water on to boil, one cup of water mixed with one cup of corn meal stirred into the boiling water.

The alternative method would be to bring four cups water to a boil and slowly sprinkle in the dry corn meal stirring contstantly to prevent lumps. Lumps in polenta are not entirely impossible to get rid of, but they do became a rather large pain in the ass.

Either version works, but more important to keep in mind is to maintain the merest boil at the lowest heat reasonable. Polenta boils like nothing else I've cooked so far. Before it really has a chance to thicken it tends to boil hugely in that it bubbles big and may just shoot you in the arm with a blast of scalding corn meal. So get the heat turned down quick.

I stirred the polenta for a while then let Momma have a turn before taking it back over so that she could do other things. The polenta finished cooking enough for our taste and got a bit of salt, pepper and some parmesan cheese. A nice spoonful of the polenta topped by a lovely spoonful of sausage, tomato and spinach sauce and finished with a bit more parmesan all went into the bowl.

Momma prepared The Boy's bowl while I fixed a bowl for Big Brother at which point I did the thing. I caught myself wiping a bit of sauce drip off the side of the bowl, much as I would do at work, though not something I usually do at home. It was a mildly humorous moment, but I must admit the bowl of food was beautiful, and the kids deserve great service.

visiting the outlet

Any regular reader I have can attest to the steep decline in posts to this here blog. I think a lot of that has to do with some amount of gayness that I finally accepted. I've posted some of my thoughts recently, but somehow this never quite seemed the place to really be as open about things as I might have liked.

I easily accepted when the blog didn't become a homeschooling blog way back in the beginning, though I did orignally think that that was what I was doing. It was an amazing pile of homeshoolers who also blog that prompted me to begin blogging, and I loved it from the beginning. Time passed and things happened, but the blog mostly remained the same. I was getting into a groove that I quite liked.

Then some other things happened and the gayness, and suddenly I just didn't feel that the thing I'd built was the place to share. Only recently did I realize that I could just start a new blog. It's not that I don't want the gay to infect the desk full of clutter I never seem to clean, but I just never was comfortable sharing quite as much as I feel I need to write.

So I've begun a new blog. Because I am a gay full of clutter I've chosen that as the name for the new blog. It's all gay all the time. It's the dumping ground for the things that don't go here. It hopefully gives me the outlet I need for the gay so that the desk can once more become the bright shiny thing that captured your little eyes in the beginning.

So click over and add the feed or don't. I don't care. But if things work as planned I'll have two different outlets for the nonsense I try to pass off as thought. By giving vent to the gay I'll make room for the other stuff that I used to write about and amuse you with.

Just think, you could be moments away from me finally posting another rant about a commercial that pissed me off just now. And before you know it there will be another quote of the day. Shit, I might even find a music video that you won't watch.

mouth meet soap

Be warned now that at some point while reading this there is some fair amount of chance that you will read something that you can never unread. I'm not saying, you know, I'm just saying.

I really just want right now to share with you the the horrible thing I said today. It isn't the most horrible thing that I said today, a day filled, it seems, with me saying horrible things. The most horrible thing was an extremely horrid yet funny joke involving a minor shaking hands with a good friend for a long time. It finds less notoriety than the other horrible thing I said solely because of the volume at which each were said relative to time and place. The horrible joke was only told to a few people, and if you want to know, ask in the comments and I might share. The other horrible thing had more audience than I intended.

One of the servers who worked lunch today actually approached the window within a couple minutes of the horrible thing I said and pointed out that perhaps my voice carries farther than I realize. Sadly, my voice does in fact carry, and I've know this since getting in trouble during church youth groups type activities when I never failed to get caught saying whatever horrible thing I said.

As a bit of a side note, I decided to learn how to say, "Hago las cosas que hacen que grita el bebé Jesús," a thing that some may consider horrible, after a Mexican coworker asked me if I went to church. I'm sure the news has gotten to her, though I can't be certain, concerning my interest in the fairer(as far as I'm concerned) sex and that was my immediate response, but I only know the English, having waited till just now to go to Babel Fish and get it translated. I add this only as a blatant attempt to raise my horrible-things-said score.

As we re-approach the main story I have to introduce you to Gruff. He's typical kitchen if not a little more punk than most. Our families have a little something in common though a different parent turned out to be the gay in their situation, and their outcome was somewhat different. I love working the line with him because he's great to talk shit to. He's a regular kitchen type, perhaps a little more punk than most. We say some crazy/stupid shit to each other.

Basically I told Gruff that I was going to rip his head off and douche my ass with the blood that gushed out of his neck.

And we were both on the line directly in front of the window looking out onto the dining room.

And my voice carries farther than I sometimes remember. Or maybe I'm just not bright enough to figure it out.

wild abandon

Hat tip to Todd X at Iced Tea & Sarcasm for the following video. I'm a little jealous that he actually got to see this up close and personal as the closest I'll get will most likely involve the song Rocky Top and absolutely no dancing, or at least nothing that should be called such.

It's a must see, so without further ado, dancing with wild abandon to Bjork's It's Oh So Quiet in San Francisco's Union Square. And I really love the random people that dance past the camera.


And because I couldn't stand not to hear that song again in better quality I give you the video.

should've just shut his ass up

Of the widgets on my Google homepage, a couple are news feeds about soccer. I get the little headlines about international soccer and sometimes a tidbit about our own Major League Soccer. I rarely actually click on any of them, only skimming the headlines often enough to know when they change.

HERE is a story I did click on, and I'm curious as to what people think about it. A fan captured on video another fan yelling a racial slur at a player who had just scored. The filming fan posted the video on YouTube, and the racial slur somehow got the attention of MLS. They claim that the racist fan will be barred for life from all league games as soon as they can learn his identity.

Racism has no place in sports (or anywhere else for what it's worth) and it's especially ugly in a sport that can be argued to have brought more of the world's people together than anything else.

So, is a lifetime ban taking away the rights of the fans to express themselves, or is it completely justifiable in the attempt to stamp out the ugliness of racism?

P.S. Maybe soon we'll see more people willing to stand up against homophobia in sports as well as players finally start to come out and admit they are gay.

because you need to know

Hard Knox Roller Girls site is finally up and looks for real awesome. Go visit, check out all the cool things, buy some merchandise and most importantly, check out the schedule and start making plans to attend each and every bout. It's really the least you can do.

And because you need to know, someone is back. Momma attended practice last Wednesday and is so back that the derby world felt a bit of a tremor and still doesn't know if it was an earthquake or the return of one amazing jammer.

thirty seconds for your candidate

There's no way I can do this in thirty seconds, partly because I don't get anything said in thirty seconds, partly because I have to be contrary. It's who I am.

I'm getting to the Thinking Parents question a little early this time around, and I'm a little curious as to who actually decided that this time around we are to write a thirty second pitch for our presidential candidate of choice.

My candidate of choice, Mike Gravel, is running as an independent and will obviously not become president. However, of all the candidates, I feel that he speaks more to the larger variety of issues that concern me, and I feel that his ideas are what we need to really turn our country from the direction we are headed currently. I don't see either of the two likelier nominees as distancing themselves nearly enough from the status quo other than to lean it slightly more toward the progressive ideals that I have. Of course why ideals such as equality for all people should seem progressive as opposed to overdue is beyond me.

As for Hillary versus Barack, I still lean toward Hillary. I can't help myself. I like her stance on gay issues and on health care a fraction more than his, and I feel that she's gotten shit on by the media throughout the race. I don't dislike Obama. I just like Hillary more. I'm sure I'll end up voting for him in the end.

I really wish people would take more chances early on in the process. I wish more that the media didn't get to decide for us who our final choices are going to be. I wish Clinton's and Obama's supporters had been less shitty to each other, and I wish the candidates would both have kept the voters in mind, had given thought (rather than paid lip service) to the idea of uniting the country around the ideals that Democrats are supposed to believe in. I wish that, for once in my life, as I say every four years, I was given options that made me want to vote.

So, Gravel for president in a better world, likely Obama in the reality that I have.

my mouth on t.v.

As mentioned, Hard Knox Roller Girls played a bout this past Saturday night. Unbeknownst to me, we had some fine folks from one of our local channel's news, and they featured roller derby where it belongs, with the rest of the sports.

Follow THIS LINK to see WATE feature barely any of me, just a little mouth in the beginning. You'll also see Momma and a friend cheering on our girls, Momma in the light green shirt matching our girls' Goblynn Green theme.

Also of note in the video, Tank Her A knocking down a jammer and Drop Dead Gorgeous easing effortlessly through the pack.

Also worth mentioning, look for more derby to make a comeback in the blog as Momma plans her own comeback to derby. Hard Knox is getting the Skull back! HIP! HIP! Fuck Yeah! HIP! HIP! Fuck Yeah!

irksome ads makes a return

Easily one of the worst things I've ever seen in a commercial and a perfect example of why I so loathe commercials and advertising.

The ad is for Dixie Ultra paper plates. Sorry, but I can't bother to link. Look and see if your computer machine has Google and use that if you must know.

"I deserve a paper plate that's as strong as I am," she says in some sort of backward feminist home maker rhetoric that serves more to devalue her as a woman as opposed to something or other. I don't know exactly why it bothers me in the whole women-as-equals thing, but I'm sure it's there.

On top of that, the whole idea of being deserving of a paper plate of any caliber just doesn't seem to be anywhere close to widest narrow part of the hierarchy of needs.

Seriously? Paper plates as need? You just failed at life.

pissing people off . . . again

As seems to happen often enough, I pissed off at least three different people last night, though to their credit, two of them apologized for what was clearly their problem and not my own.

I'm not getting into too many specifics, but last night saw me behind the microphone once again announcing what was one hell of a roller derby bout. Though unable to gain the lead our much loved Hard Knox Roller Girls played amazingly.

So on to the pissing people off.

Apparently plenty of people seem to think I do a good job as announcer. I, in my typical pessimistic and cynical and self deprecating sort of way assume that they mean to say I do a good enough job or that I'm okay till they find someone at least as competent as me. It's this sort of thing I do where I have trouble having nice thoughts about myself and my abilities, but that's been covered often enough throughout the recent postings.

I've long had a problem with the reffing in roller derby bouts. I don't want to be the sour grapes guy and suggest anything other than that too many refs just don't seem to quite get the rules, and in any sport, if you give the athletes too much space, there will always be some that jump at the chance to take any advantage they can.

Many penalties were missed last night, and many attempts at rule breaking were missed. If you see someone attempt a trip but not succeed do you still punish the attempt? Is a baseball slide into someone's ankles as bad as trying but failing to baseball slide into someone's ankles?

Over the time I've been announcing for HKRG I've gotten more comfortable with what I'm doing, and sometimes I see things that the refs apparently missed, like the cheap shot into the back while the skater getting hit was already out of bounds. Yeah, the ref completely missed two fouls at once, but I didn't, and I told our fans about it.

Part of announcing for me is to inform the fans as much as possible about roller derby. It is new to so many of them, and if you are not familiar with the sport you may well see it as a huge nearly free for all of speed and skates and cute girls and hits. But it's my job to set you straight, to let you know that it is a sport, that there are rules, that regardless of what the refs do we can inform ourselves of the rules and demand better.

Two different refs and one of the opposing skaters, at different times, demanded that I stop calling penalties. I informed the refs that I was just doing my job of announcing and went so far as to tell one of the refs that if they weren't going to call the fouls then not to get mad at me when I did. I'm personally sick of seeing derby being degraded by teams/skaters flaunting the rules and making it unfair and unsafe.

The third person to demand I halt my calls was the skater from the other team. The irony of this is that she was in the penalty box when she shouted at me. My answer was quite simple. I told her that if she wanted me to stop calling fouls then maybe she should stop committing them. She was one of the three to apologize after the bout was finally over. We hugged and commiserated and had some laughs together at the after party. She's an amazing skater and one of her team's best, so it really sucks that she can't manage to stay within twenty feet of the pack.

And that's my story. I roll through life in a pissing-people-off sort of way. Or so it seems. Maybe that's part of me coming off as an asshole. Maybe I'll look into that one day.

or not

birfday greetin'

Happy birthday to one of my favorite blogs, Ugly Sheet Cake. The name pretty much says it all. If you love getting to see some truly ugly cakes and the occasional less ugly cake, then pay Collidah a visit.

without children

The newest topic for the Thinking Parents wiki asks what we would be doing if we'd not had kids. I hadn't really considered one aspect that I've only seen with Doc and Molly, and it was the latter who mentioned it, but I add myself to those that didn't necessarily intend to have kids before doing so.

Okay, admitting right now that I attempted a couple times last night to write this post and didn't quite like the direction it turned any of those times. I'm trying yet again, and we'll wait to see how this one turns out. It's partly the entrance of personal history that I didn't really consider when considering how to approach this topic..

What would I be doing if I didn't have kids? Where would I be?

I can't imagine where I'd have ended up living. Hailing from Atlanta, I moved to Charlotte in the mid '90's, happily and often loudly proclaiming myself bisexual, though I really did know better. I'm somewhat certain that, considering Big Brother's approaching arrival prompted our move to Knoxville, I'd not have moved here, though I'm equally certain I'd have moved or at least attempted to leave Charlotte.

There was a summer, my first in Charlotte, of sort of breaking away from the old person I'd been, though I can't claim I did a great job of that. We could also accurately call it the summer that I began drinking in earnest and sold enough acid to pay for the acid I ate or shared with friends. I spent days at a time tripping wherever I was. I dropped alone and even dropped alone when I had other things to do. I was high at work. I tripped so often that summer that people often didn't know whether or not I was on any given day.

I met Momma at this time. There was no interest between either of us, in fact quite the opposite. We both eventually went through a bit of trouble separately, and life pulled me in new directions and pulled us closer to each other. I had no concept of future and certainly no concern. In fact, her becoming pregnant was what really pushed me to a point where I was finally thinking about things outside of how high or drunk I was or was soon going to become.

I'd likely still be in kitchens as far as work goes. I'd be drinking a lot. I'd probably be a fairly slutty person but in a totally good way. If possible, I can see myself even more cynical than I find myself now.

I can't honestly say that any scenario is certainly what would have occured. I can imagine lots of things as well as give a best case scenario. I'd probably be a bit more of the punk I was. I'd have come out much sooner. I'd be that anomaly, the gay punk, as opposed to the married with kids gay I became instead. Perhaps I'd have controlled my drug/drink intake and have climbed a corporate ladder at any of the chain restaurants I worked around the time, though one must admit that drug/drink control will likely never be a trait featured by most of us in the business.

yesterday

Yesterday's day at work actually began the night before. I was one of the closers Tuesday night and pretty much ended my night taking out the trash.

I could hear a lovely sloshing sound at the bottom of the first can, so after I hefted the tied at the top garbage bag out I flipped the can over, upside down. I repeated this operation with the four remaining trash cans, leaving them in a row, half on the concrete slab behind the gpub and half off in the gravel next to the concrete.

I opened the next day, and after the owner, I was the first person in. My first job of course was to go and fetch those same four trash cans, line them and place them around the kitchen. The previous night ended weatherwise with a bang, showers and downpours leaving our town damp and my place of employment a muddy mess, at least in the back where I'd left my trash cans.

Each of the trash cans had picked up their share of mud and funk in the little turned edge at the top. I flipped each can upright and dragged them into the dish area. My idea was to quickly spray off the mess, but my plan wasn't quite what I ended up with.

The first couple of cans were easy enough if a bit unweildy. I think it was the third can that was the worst. Wrestling it into submission I lost control for a moment. It flipped upward to where the rack is that holds racks for dirty glasses. I knocked one off, an extra large one that is tall enough to hold our unusually tall wine glasses.

I think we lost four wine glasses, another miraculously not breaking as it landed. The glass rack itself bounced off my hand. In addition to the mud and gravel I knew I needed to clean I now had a mass of broken glass. Conscience dictates, or should, that one insure they've cleaned up all broken glass when one has an accident involving glass. I picked up the biggest pieces and squeegeed the remaining contents of the entire table into the trash can.

Adding insult to injury, my attempt to do right also resulted in a huge muddy trail running from the door to the dish area. Someone else was nice enough to clean that mess while I was busy cleaning glass and wondering how hurt my hand really was.

At some point later in the day two coworkers had a bit of a tiff over space issues. We really don't have a lot of room for prep, but when we work together (and certain of us can stop being pricks) it all works. Today, these two people just would not even bother.

At one point, the bitchiness involved one person banging dishes and foodstuffs around in anger. This brought the other to the tipping point as he began his own stomping and banging and bitching declaring that everything the other person was doing was, and I quote, "faggot ass shit."

I tried to ignore this and did for an hour or so, sort of, but the general shittiness of him saying such, with me standing right there a foot away, I was taken aback at the time. Beyond that, his anger was not worth inserting myself in the middle of. So I tried to forget it and put my head down and work. I do too much of that. Also, while he was bitching I somehow managed to accidentally bang my head on the corner of the wall.

Coworker finally realized that something was bothering me and asked. I asked him, considering the situation, what about it was exactly faggot ass shit? He didn't quite get it, so I reminded him what he'd said.

He laughed for a moment and tried to assure me that he hadn't been talking about me. I told him that I knew for a fact that he hadn't been talking about me, that I knew exactly what he was discussing at the time and asked again what it was about the situation that was faggot ass shit. He again tried to assure me that he hadn't meant me, but I had to make him understand my point.

I'll take a moment and provide the knowledge that this particular coworker is black. We have another black employee that was working at the moment, and adding to the nonwhite kitchen population we'll include the three Mexican coworkers.

"Look around the kitchen," I told him. "Do you see anyone here about whom I could think of words to use that, though I may not mean that person would still upset them?"

I'm pretty sure he understood what I meant. He ended the conversation basically laughing at himself for what he'd done.

The rest of the shift was uneventful.

I left work around three. Momma let me know when I got home what she'd done supper wise which included having almost everything ready for me to cook. I debated with myself whether to cook before or after my shower that I desparately needed. The decision, a surprise, was made for me as I washed the press pot and my cup for some coffee. The water was obviously not right, not hot enough and not staying hot.

I knew immediately it had been the previous night's rain. My basement had flooded because, most likely, the pump had gotten clogged, and the water heater's pilot had been extinguished. This was in fact the case, and while it was soon remedied as far as getting the pump working, I still had to wait, listening for the pump, making sure it kept working, staying ready to go back into the basement and tilt it or stir up the muck.

The boys got healthy enough snacks as I watched the clock. I needed to be somewhere, preferrably around sixish. I arrived at seven, insisting first on a shower once the water was hot enough.

The appointment was at the new venue for bouts for our derby bouts. We have a bout Saturday, and last night was last minute sort of dry run/practice so our girls would have as early a heads up as possible about the quality of the floor.

It turned out I didn't need to go in the end. It was good to see everyone again, as we don't see the derby girls often at all since Momma dropped it. Plenty of kids were there, even a couple that we don't know. As usual the boys immediately made friends with the kids and played well all night.

So the night didn't end as poorly as the majority of the day would have one think it must. And what seems especially sad as I consider it, this doesn't even seem like a bad day at all considering some of the asshole days I've had lately. It was full of annoyances and the smashed hand from the glass rack, but it wasn't (or was it?) as bad as it seemed at the time.

not entirely gone from blogville

In a comment to a recent post Molly of Red Molly's Picayune Democrat blog asked about my well being. I knew it had been a while since I'd posted, but I looked today to see that it's been a bit over two weeks since my last post, and it was a sort of weekend update.

I will say up front that I can't be in too bad a shape. I manage to wake up everyday, go to work, feed the kids. I do what I have to do, but I can't say that I'm in especially great shape either. Too many things just seem pointless too many days of too many weeks.

Throughout my life I've run up against any number of questions. I'm good at questions, but all too often I just can't figure out answers that seem to make any sense. Maybe one day soon I'll post a list of all the stupid questions that keep me flummoxed.

I'm just generally in a place where I feel very depressed and very discouraged, and that makes it difficult to want to post. I don't want to end up posting the same whiny drivel over and over. I don't want to keep wallowing in my bad feelings. I do want to find my way out of ending up here again.

And that's where I am. I keep wanting to post more, but life doesn't make it easy. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon as far as blogging goes, but there will sometimes be dead air when you tune in.

Yesterday was mostly fun, birthday party and no soccer. The Boy's season is over. Big Brother should have played his second to last game yesterday, but late-ish Thursday night the opposing coach called to try to postpone our game to later in the day. That was not possible because we had The Boy's birthday party. We now have that game to make up as well as the first cancelled-due-to-weather game of the season, and then we have the last scheduled game which will likely actually be the second to last game.

The Boy is quite the child. The picture of him in my mind has longer hair than he has now, because Grandma decided to cut it for him. He didn't want it cut, we didn't want it cut. The only person that wanted it cut had to offer him a ride on the lawn mower to convince him to let her cut it. I'm still pissed, and Momma and I both mentioned it to Grandma, expressing a bit passively our frustration.

He got all sorts of gifts. Great Grandmother watched him for a bit Friday night while Big Brother and I quickly shopped for him, the day after his birthday I'm afraid. He watched Cartoon Network at her house and expressed interest in the Hot Wheels Speedracer race track. One of the things Grandma found for him is a t shirt that says, "First let's do it my way, then let's do it my way." Even if the shirt itself doesn't, the sentiment fits him, and whether or not he gets the joke that the rest of us do, he's been quoting it all day and laughing. Big Brother took his own money Friday night and bought him a couple of the smaller Playmobile sets, one just a pair of soldiers with pikes, swords, plumed helmets, and he also got him a Playmobile chariot complete with horses and rider. Momma and I got him the toy he's played with the most, the one he fawned over the most upon opening, The Littlest Pet Shop clubhouse. It only had a monkey and squirrel, so I grabbed a dog too to go with it. He's loved all his toys, but The Littlest Pet Shop is where I keep finding him.

Okay, I don't know or care what that says about him. He's a great kid. His favorite color right now is blue, and he has blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He loves sugar and crunching any candy he gets. He would eat cereal and oatmeal all day if we let him. He is teaching himself to write by copying things he sees. He asked me to spell out Momma's real name so he could write it in the Mothers Day card he made. He's been writing his own name lately. He wrote his name one day completely backwards, but the letters were also backward, so it's arguable that he was seeing it correctly. In Momma's card he wrote his name as well, and it's not backward.

He interrupts people constantly and complains the loudest when he is interrupted. He likes for Momma and I to do things for him, but he likes learning how to do things as well. He refuses to do what Big Brother tells him to do as often as he emulates Big Brother.

meme-a-lamma-ding-dang

Audrey was nice enough to tag me for a meme, and I need to stick a post out there anyway, forcing myself not to go an entire week of not posting again. I'm supposed to post the rules at the top, and I had highlighted and copied them to do just that when I decided to just not do it. I'm not going to tag anyone at the end anyway. I treat it more like a Myspace survey that all your friends get when you post it as a bulletin. They can do it or not, and so can you.

What was I doing ten years ago:
As of this date, ten years ago I'd lived in Knoxville and been married for about three weeks. I was working at a brewpub, now closed, though the original is still open in Clarksville. Momma was about four or five months pregnant with Big Brother.

Five snacks I enjoy:
In honor of the new job and the fact that it sadly makes up much of my diet these days, I will give you my five favorite things that I snack on there.
-grana padano-a hard Italian cheese similar to parmesan(sort of) though I'm not sure if ours is really Italian or the same thing produced elsewhere, though knowing the owners it'll be as close as they can get. I take the vegetable peeler and shave off a nice flat piece
-lamp chop-has to be rare. I've noticed a certain love/hate relationship I have with lamb and realized it most likely has to do with rareness. This is probably also the rarest snack as lamb is expensive, and we try not to overcook it, and when it is overcooked no one really wants it.
-haricot verts-thin French green beans. We steam them just a bit so that they're perfect for salads. I love them cold with nothing but bean, though a quick toss in a saute pan with some butter and salt would be nice too.
-bread pudding-ours has dried cranberries and is made with fairly big hunks of the baguettes we use. One day I grabbed what I thought was a bite of bread pudding and got a mouthful of chunk of sugar. It was a bit much, but I ate it anyway.
-prime rib-we cook off three or four a day, and at least one is sliced for sandwiches. We reheat them when we need to make a steak sandwich using a sautee pan and a little au jus and demi glace. Often there are little chunks of the steak still there after finishing the sandwich, or I could just admit that sometimes I save myself a bite.

In the real world I am:
way more neurotic than people realize

Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
My source for the tag doesn't say Five things, but Audrey put five. If someone would be kind enough to contact the meme authority regarding whether Five should be added to this line I would appreciate it.
-travel-probably the very first thing I would do is decide with Momma where we want to go as a family and then invite some friends with kids and go there and do stuff. If I had the money I would travel my ass off.
-help out some family and friends
-I want a loft downtown and a house just north of downtown, assuming after all the traveling we haven't decided to move elsewhere
-open a restaurant
-after setting up my children to be as financially independent as they want at a certain age I'd start finding good ways to get rid of the excess. No one needs that much money.

Five jobs that I've had-
-security guard-for three years, my personal record for length of time working for a single company, matched only by the pizza place
-dishwasher-do you have a Darryll's in your town? I hated that damn job. They use more random dishes than any place I've worked. So many plate sizes and bowl sizes and glasses for desserts and boats and crocks and ramekins, and the place was huge, and it turned out the general manager and the accountant were getting busy which has nothing to do with the story
-junior counselor-at a christian youth camp in western Wyoming. It was one summer and all I earned was the experience, but it was worth it, hearing people talk about driving over Gyp Crick, archways made of antlers, learning to drive stick shift driving up and down the driveway of the ranch family I spent weekends with
-kitchen manager-I thought I'd earned this job at the aforementioned brewpub, but as the GM had pointed out at some point, I was generally a bit of an ass and spoke my mind much too often. Those weren't her exact words by a long shot, but it is an accurate enough version. I was KM at the pizza place for quite a while.
-cook-the thing I do. I'm not a chef and don't generally like the title. I don't like the idea of referring to someone as "Chef" and don't plan to. I really just think it's silly, like people correcting you if you forget to refer to them as Dr. Douchely instead of Mr. Douchely

Three of my habits:
-chew my fingernails-I actually quit once, many years ago. I had nails for some time and even had to clip them on occasion. Then I started again for some unremembered reason.
-I still yell too much, though I'm really working on it and am doing it less and less
-smoke-I still enjoy smoking. I know how bad it is and that I should quit. I'm quite aware of all of that thank you very much.
-speaking of smoking, a fourth habit-when I finish writing a post I go out and smoke before coming back in to edit and post the post.

Five places I have lived:
story time childrens. This almost seems familiar, so if you've read it before you can read ahead in your book while the other children read along, or you can read along with everyone else, or you can just lay your head on your desk until we're done.
-Atlanta, GA-technically south Dekalb but the mail said Atlanta. Born and raised until one fateful evening when I got drunk at a boy's house and let a girl talk me into leaving for . . .
-Charlotte, NC-attended the pride parade within a week of moving there, had an apartment with mostly high school kids, washed dishes at Darryl's Restaurant and Bar
-Rock Hill, SC-after my "friends" sold and/or ate my stash of acid instead of selling it to get me out of jail I made new friends, one of whom was a cook at Darryl's and needed a roommate to live in a tiny shack
-Stockbridge, GA-back to Georgia for about three month and we were so ready to move back to Charlotte when a friend called needing a roommate
-Knoxville, TN-my favorite of the bunch. Ya'll come see us some time.

What do you want others to get from your blog:
I don't know quite what to say here. In some sense I blog for myself and write what I feel like. In some other sense I do understand that I'm presenting a certain something that is me to the world, and I even edit myself to a small degree out of some respect for the variety of readers I might have. I like the idea of making friends with people from hither and yon through the blog. Also, Robin Williams sucks.

And I changed my mind. I'll tag Franklin who in less than a week has gotten linked from me twice.

an art discussion

My slightly more clean than a week ago garage was home to an argument recently between me and a friend, Franklin. He decided to bring the argument onto the internet tubes which requires I answer in kind. Feel free to click over and pay Franklin a visit and read his misguided opinion as my post mostly answers his arguments with my own as opposed to a more normal presentation and discussion of ideas that I might go into were this one of my normal rants.

The argument is whether or not food is art. I will allow that foods can be used to create art, and I will even add that I feel food can be presented artistically, but I do not believe that food is art.

A main argument is that art can be created out of disparate elements, things that would not generally go together, and they can be put together in a way that tells the story the artist intends or to elicit some feeling or emotion. Food however, if one intends to create good and edible food, needs to be created with elements that go together.

The suggestion that anything edible appeals to someone is invalid in my opinion. Certainly we have to accept that certain cultures enjoy foods that other cultures wouldn't recognize as food, but that suggests that culture has less to do with it than familiarity.

The majority of foods people eat are rather old combinations. Over time, as people have experimented with food combinations, things that don't work were allowed to fall by the side. They don't work because the vast majority of people have agreed that they are not good combinations, that they don't produce good food.

Art encompasses a variety of mediums, and it is possible to create work that some will call art while others see as not art. Food is created from a variety of elements and can be produced using a variety of tools, but in the end the food must taste good and be edible. Art can be either ugly or beautiful and need not even make sense. Food, along with being edible and good flavored needs also to be presented well. A diner presented the very finest dish of perfectly seared scallops atop a perfect portion of garlicky grits will indeed be happy, though if you place it under a dome covered in shit and vomit, even though the shit and vomit never touch or befoul the food, the same diner will likely move along to the next option.

It's really more about certain inherent rules. Art need not be pretty or attractive to be appreciated. Food must maintain a certain dynamic of attractive and flavorful in order to be acceptable as food.

p.s. a little edit to add that the great and mighty Wordpress apparently is neither as great nor as mighty as some would have us believe, otherwise they would let me sign in. I am registered there at least twice, one of my own and one via Franklin, and neither of them work.

I'd rather be

At the end of a recent post, Bigg said,

But that's the tragedy of being gay; not that we are so oppressed (because that's what makes you strong), but that there are so very few of us. Kinda makes me wish sometimes that we really could recruit the way the televangelists say we do, you know?

The first part of this quote has been stuck in my head since I read it, and it's been joined by another line that was said to me at work recently.

There's a guy there who is, while not especially fat, certainly contains a bonus share of girth. One of my first days I referred to him quite thoughtlessly as "biggun." I admit it was shitty, but to my lame credit, the moment he said something about it I stopped. I've even pointed out to another employee that it was sort of shitty to continue to refer to this person in terms of his weight issue.

This same large coworker was recently making jokes about my gayness. I truly don't want to be overly sensitive, and I don't expect the entire kitchen to restrain themselves. I understand fully that I work in a professional kitchen and that the norms of the environment require that we all be a bit thick skinned. But I also support the right of everyone to be able to feel safe and respected within that environment. I won't stand for racism or sexism at work, directed at me or at anyone else, and I also won't take homophobic comments.

I will remake the point regarding the environment. It's a kitchen. I understand and accept exactly what that means. I know the cucumber joke is going to come up, and I know I can either counter it with a snappy comeback neatly skewering the person making the joke, or I can fully agree with the comment and give them the shock that comes with that.

The large coworker, though I now don't recall what was said, was making comments that I felt were a little over the line. There was a certain intent in his voice that bothered me. I took a moment to remind him of the "biggun" day, pointing out that based on a single comment from him I had ceased making size based comments and had not made those comments since. If I thought that would help I was mistaken as his next comment proved . . .

The line that keeps running through my head much like a song that gets stuck, he said, "I'd rather be fat than gay." Of course I immediately told him I'd personally rather be gay, but how much can that really help when someone's opinion of you is automatically less based solely on such a minor detail as sexuality?

true holy days

Just learned another reason May is such a great month. I'll admit that I'd love to celebrate this with some friends, but at the moment, the only person I can guarantee would be involved is myself. I guess I'll start thinking about taking a shower soon.

However you do it, whether or not we join in personally or just through the knowledge that we are all doing it in private, perhaps at the same time, help celebrate National Masturbation Month.

It's not going to pull itself.

who does stuff like that?

One of the cool things about living in my town are the myriad recycling centers, most of which are located at a particular grocery store. It's so easy and convenient to know there are so many places to take that trunk full of empty beer bottles, though it doesn't mean I haul all that out nearly as often as I should. Too often my garage looks as if a recyclable shit bomb just exploded.

Weekends the recycling bins are often full. I haven't checked the schedule of when the company comes to tote away the full bins, but it's early in the week. I've had plenty of recycling weekends that saw full bins.

At least a couple of times, because of the bins being so full at one location, I've driven down Broadway to the next closest, usually finding those bins nearly as full. Either way, I've usually managed to get my shit in. If not I suck it up and take back home what I couldn't cram in. There's always another day.

Apparently not everyone sees things the way I do. It seems some people feel it's okay, if the bins are too full, to just leave their recycling laying on the ground next to the bin. I'm sure it's not their job to do anything any different, and certainly if the bins are full it's their right to leave their shit on the ground.

I kind of don't think this is okay, and I got to watch it happen recently while dropping off my recycling with a friend. He was shouldering other people's mixed paper back, holding the tide at bay so to speak, while I was cramming my own mixed paper in while simultaneously catching Game Informer magazines that were intent on escape.

I mentioned to my friend the piles of recycling littering the ground, vocalizing my point about it being not okay, wondering aloud what sort of douche would do such. As I asked these questions I realized the woman who was also dropping off her recycling had done the very thing I'd just questioned.

My point: when the bins are picked up, there is very likely one person driving a truck. His or her job is to pick up the full bin, possibly having just dropped an empty replacement bin, and repeat with each successive bin until they are all fresh and empty.

So now the problem of the lazy locals who felt it okay to dump their goods on the ground. Who do they think is going to come behind them and clean up their mess? Whose job is it really to make sure that their recycling makes it into a bin? Would that there was a way to contact them and make them come back and finish the job.

And to take it probably a little farther than makes sense, I'd say this is a sign of some why-Americans-are-dicks/selfish sort of thing. There are people doing this very thing, leaving their shit for someone else, and there are many of them doing it. They can't possibly think it's all right to leave their shit, can't possibly believe it's not their responsibility.

cheese with my whine

In the past couple of weeks I have rammed my head into the corner of something metal more times than I can remember. From dish racks to wall mounted food thawers, if it's metal and at the g-pub, I'm likely to have hit my head on it.

I have a small cut, almost paper cut size, on the knuckle of my right thumb and no memory of how I acquired it. I have a near puncture on a finger from a staple courtesy of helping break down boxes. I got the tiniest of cuts on my right arm, thanks to a tiny bit of metal left over from drilling into the door of a walk in cooler only to learn that the handle/latch needs to go somewhere else. I bumped the door open as it was closing one day and happened to hit the tiny barb. Later in the day I took a piece of gravel from next to it (it's an outdoor cooler) and ground the door back to safety. Dropping fish into the large fish fryer, I've felt the oil on the tips of my fingers, yet I have to noticeable burns to tell the tale.

I've been making my U10's run a lot more in practice. It's become evident that eight and nine year old boys may just end up beating the shit out of each other if some sense of order is not forced. Also, it's good for both them and me to just run, and I always run with them unless it's some sort of punishment. A couple of the kids just don't know when to stop, so I've sent them running when they get out of hand. I give warning, and I try to be fair. At some point though, too many kids just won't shut up, and everyone has to run. Also, I've just noticed that some of the kids just don't run in the games. I feel like I need to show them they can or that they're doing it all wrong or something.

So I'm sore from all that too. I've gone from not running before the season to some light jogging to sprints. I've never liked running for the sake of running, but give me a ball to kick and chase, and it's somehow suddenly different. The soreness is random and would be less of an issue if I exercised more often and got my body used to it and in shape. Seems like I've heard this story somewhere before.

And that's a whiny rundown of random irritants. I won't mention that any amount of head injuries I may have suffered at work may just be the fault of yet more too little sleep. I can't say for sure, but I think I was slightly asleep for half of my drive downtown this morning. Add to that the fact that I didn't really talk any shit till after lunch and snapped at almost everyone at least once, and today was just an all round . . . something bad? Leaving work was nice, and sitting around outside reading an article about a couple of local high schools actually making attempts to stop anti gay bullying while also smoking too many cigarettes and wishing either of the cups of coffee would work, listening for the boys two yards over to hopefully not get into any trouble.

I suppose today wasn't the worst day after all. It wasn't great by any means what with the repeated head bashing, but in the end, in the immortal words of one Ice Cube, "I didn't even have to use my A-K."

random update

Now a week and more has passed since my last post. I have to wonder what's going on. To some extent, I think having a job again is a little overwhelming. It doesn't help that the hours have suddenly started much earlier on one end, but at the other end, the one that sees me going to bed, the hours have not gotten any earlier to adjust for the earlier rise.

I did mow the grass recently, and it already needs it again. I neglected one part of the yard and have been complained about. Someone learned that if they go to the city, the city will send a man out to remind me that they can make me mow my grass. Also, I will now have to finally fix the truck, but considering the main problem with that has been lack of money, it won't be a problem suddenly.

Oh, there's also that, the fact that we got our income tax refund late yet just in time finally. In the same week we also got paid from the new jobs, and I'm still awaiting a check from the most recent of the short lived jobs. While we're certainly not suddenly wealthy, we can fix the truck.

Back to the grass for a moment, we may be out of our drought with all the rain we've gotten this spring. It seems to have rained two or three days a week on average the entire year, and our weather has continued to fluctuate insanely, possibly due somehow to this. We were supposed to be near freezing temperatures last night, though I didn't actually measure. I can agree that it was quite cool. Today is supposed to be low seventies, and while I'll agree it's still cool out, the sun is doing a superb job of warming.

I'm waiting now for that call/text from Momma alerting me that she's off work and that we'll soon be making the children/job exchange. While she's worked a number of days and nights, having started at the g-pub two weeks before I did, this is only my second night shift. Thankfully it's a Wednesday and likely to be slower than not, but my last night shift was sort of a pain in the ass.

Momma is slightly more available than I am to work shifts, and she's ahead of me as well with that two weeks head start coupled with the variety of shifts she's worked. I still don't really know the dinner menu having only seen it once. I'm getting a handle on lunch, the shift I'm much more likely to work, so I'm approaching some amount of comfort in the daytime. I need to pick up more dinner shifts, but with soccer still taking up two nights I could get in, once more coupled with Momma's experience at the place, and you get the picture. Also, I'm a little nervous because that's apparently how I roll.

Speaking of the new job, my gaydar has so far been off at least once, and it isn't pointing at anyone else in the meantime. There was this Hispanic looking guy that I think was applying for a job, but I haven't seen him since, which is sad as he was definitely easy on the eyes. I thought till Sunday that one of the bartenders was gay, but he was out with a girl for brunch in a holding hands and obviously not gay sort of way.

I don't think there's much else to say. I'm quite sorry, both for you and for me, that I've failed at making time to blog lately. I really have quite too much to say, as any regulars know, especially when given the soft ball of a good rant topic. I had two such softballs this past week, but I failed to act in a blogging type way and let them go.

You should visit the Thinking Parents wiki and read what other people have to say. The topic this time around was a pick between two upcoming events, National Day of Prayer and National Spank Out Day.

I don't pray, so prayer day would have certainly been a fun baby seal to club, and taking the reference to violence to the other option, I also don't spank. I still don't feel I'm a great parent, but I do feel I'm trying. I never realized the lifetime of spankings I lived with would set me up to be such a bastard of a father, but the farther I step from the spanker I was, the more I'm able to fix these issues. I can confront the way I've allowed my childhood to continue to infest who I've become, and I can allow myself to give my children the sort of freedom I never had. As I do this, I still have to confront the sort of expectations that I don't need to dredge from my past and smother them with, and that's really hard, throwing away so much of what you learned about parenting and trying to reinvent who you are.

Update complete, we now rejoin our regular features already in progress.

in the like file

Thanks for this go to Matt at Debriefing the Boys. This video makes me happy.

the roof, the roof

The roof of my mouth, while not on fire, has a certain hurtiness about it. I'm quite sure I know why this is. I spent a large portion of yesterday yelling and or talking loudly.

As per usual for our eight week spring soccer season I was at the fields only slightly late. Along with The Boy one other of my U6's showed up for the game, and the opposing coach was happy to agree that we'd play two versus two. We made it through two thirds of the game before The Boy decided he'd had enough. No amount of urging would compel him to continue playing, and once again the opposing coach was obliging. His team was being absolutely creamed by my guys, though to be fair, The Boy never does really give an entire shit about playing soccer as opposed to just playing, so the other team was actually being quite handled by only one of my guys. I was doing everything in my power to slow him down, and by the end of the game he was doing everything in his power to get the ball to The Boy, however, as I've mentioned, The Boy just doesn't have it in him.

Game two, U10's. We had enough time between games yesterday to run to Burger King (no need to point out the ridiculousness of fast food on soccer day thank you very much) and speed back to the fields.

Where to start on this game? Most of the goals score by the other team were goals my guys should have stopped. How do you get eight and nine year olds to be more aggressive on defense? We certainly could have won this game if I could instill in my team the usefulness of working on passing and shooting with your left as well as right foot, and perhaps this game will be a good way to work on that in our practices this week. We missed at least three goals because the shot was from the left of the goal and taken with the right foot. The kid that missed them has an excellent foot on him and is the same kid that could have scored from the half line earlier in the season.

To their credit, my U10's mostly stayed nearly in position and bunched up much less than usual. They actually passed the ball a number of times and showed us some beautiful plays involving multiple passes. I was immensely proud of the work they did and the fact that they are slowly starting to learn.

We had a couple of hours between soccer and roller derby, too much of which I spent taking a nap. I may have mentioned in the past my disdain for naps as well as my need to not take them. I only ever wake up disoriented and slightly irritated, not exactly the purpose of a nap, and they never seem to be the least bit restful to me.

The bout was exciting even if Hard Knox lost to Memphis 110-55. I'll try to only say nice things, and this is generally my goal as an announcer, to only say nice things. Last night was just hard on a person who attempts to say only nice things.

The highlights of the evening-record ticket sales, record merchandise sales, new location proved we can bring a good crowd of mostly new fans. Word of mouth should make our next bout even bigger. The new location issues that were of concern seem to have been handled handily by support staff/volunteers/husbands and boyfriends and girlfriends of our derby girls. Several of our new skaters are a little less new, perhaps one could say even a little less virginal in that they've skated in a bout against a truly powerful team.

The not so highlights-someone didn't seem to have brought their B team to play our B team. I'm not sure exactly what makes ours a B team because we did have a few of our stronger skaters on the track, but for the most part we seemed to be giving some of the newer and less experienced skaters their chance. As someone pointed out at the after party though, no one drives six hours to lose.

A final highlight-derby is awesome, and I love the way it brings people together. As I mentioned at some point in my announcing, there's nothing like derby to bring the two ends of our lovely state together. And there's a certain something special when, during a timeout for the referees to huddle and discuss referee stuff, watching as the pack dances to the music, girls in Memphis red and Hard Knox green doing a family friendly bit of bump and grind. And they call it derby love.

And so I shouted and hollered and yelled and spoke loudly into a microphone all day. I'm sure I spent some amount of time at the after party being a vociferous bit of an ass. It's cool, but damn if the roof of my mouth isn't just a little hurty today. My throat is tiny bit raspy, but having been an announcer and slightly less a fan, at least I wasn't screaming then and voiceless now.

Oh, and the final, final highlight, the beefcake card. Being a boy, I'm obviously not allowed to join in the coo tag game our skaters so love to share, so when one of our skaters gave me my beefcake card I felt inclined to share. She had brought and was passing out a deck of playing cards which featured mostly nude male models. She was kind enough to let me pick my own, so I was lucky enough to end up with the one that wasn't wearing bondage apparel.

The trick is to not make a huge point of the card but to hold it just obviously and wait. Soon enough the victim looks over and aaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhhh they realize they've just seen a cock. Is it only gay men that enjoy seeing cock? Straight men and lesbians I can understand, and they are obviously the most fun targets of this game, but one would think at least a couple of the straight ladies would mind a little less.

feed me coffee

The last of my last cup of coffee for the day sits mostly finished in the kitchen. I'm on to beer now, though drinking slowly as I still have to get out and pick Momma up, hopefully soon.

This week that began so . . . less than spectacular, has ended with me feeling better than I have in ages, yet I'm physically worn down to a state we in the south refer to as plumb wore out. I tried to post earlier, while I was drinking number one of my evening cups of coffee, yet for all my effort, I was unable to stay awake while sitting at the computer, my attempt to blog completely in vain.

My two week notice at the bar was cut short by management. I secretly wonder if my tales of cooking glory at the gastropub had them concerned that their other cooks would revolt and leave the ship. Perhaps they really didn't need me anymore with their acquisition of two new cooks who would be quite able to fill out the schedule. Perhaps it's a bit grandiose of me to even imagine the former when the latter is quite likely the truth.

As it happened, one of the managers, on what became my second to last shift, informed me that, if I wanted, I could cut the two week notice in half, but she also admitted that if I needed the shifts I'd be welcome to them. The fact is, the g-pub coworkers had earlier suggested that I need not work out the full two weeks as they could very easily find shifts for me to pick up. My decision originally to work the two weeks was driven as much by my desire to act in an honorable manner as well as my complete lack of desire to anger the people that feed me my beer when I get that rare night out.

In an absolute orgy of work-Tuesday night, closed the bar, leaving at nearly four a.m. Arrived home for a couple of last winding down beers and two hours of sleep. Wednesday morning, popped out of bed manically, quite ready for my first g-pub shift, which I must admit I loved. Left the g-pub shortly before three, walked around the corner to the pizza place in which I used to be kitchen manager, ate a hamburger while downing two beers and walked back down the street to the bar where I was scheduled to work at four. That shift lasted till eight and was the shift during which I was informed that I could be quit of the place as an employee a week early. As the shift ended I drank my two shift beers and a third beer I happily paid for before walking back to the g-pub, both to enjoy yet another beer as well as to inform my new overlords of the change in my fate which allows them to work me to death beginning a week sooner than we'd previously thought. With that I was on my way home to Momma and a couple more beers and stupidly keeping myself up later than makes sense. Thursday was full of yard work, mowing the grass twice as it had already grown too tall to reasonably manage followed by soccer practice where I, contrary to what I'd promised myself, did run around, work up a sweat, tire myself, get my ankle stomped harder than a nine year old should be able to land. Practice ended at seven thrity giving me just enough time to make it back to my final shift at the bar ten minutes late, yet another closing shift, and yet another moment of finishing at nearly four in the morning. This morning was back to the g-pub at nine, a slightly late start, and non stop slicing and dicing and toting and mixing and done in time to run home in time to bring Momma back for her shift. That in turn was followed by a trip to the bank, the food co-op, the free air at the gas station and then the grocery store.

At some point in all this I have to tell you about the feeling, the thought that didn't occur to me till some random time between that first g-pub shift and earlier tonight. It's a moment that I tried to include in the ill fated posting from earlier, the post during which my chin couldn't seem to stop attempting to kiss my chest, my heavy eyelids dragging themselves and my head down into the sandman's own domain.

This isn't a feeling I had once in my three days at the sushi bar, if you remember that ill fated experiment. It never once came to me at the bar. It came to me at the g-pub but was unrecognized. I think it may have happened to have been in the air or was some sort of pheromone like thing I exuded but only to heighten my own senses as opposed to those around me. Perhaps it began as I tied the apron around myself, getting it just so in its old place below my belt while I tried to pinch my boxers through my jeans to ease them back down, getting that just right alignment of pants, apron and underwear that only lasts as long as I can avoid reaching the least bit upward. Perhaps it was the also familiar tucking of the towel into my back pocket. I'm not sure exactly when or where or even how, but I realized later what it was. It was a feeling I haven't had in all the years of attempting to be a stay at home dad. It was a feeling I didn't realize I missed till I realized it was back. It was a recognition of my place in a kitchen. It was a recognition in that kitchen that I was finally back home.

Home! I'm a lifer. The back aches for the feel of standing perched between keg and shelf as I finagle that box of bread off the top shelf just close enough to realize it's the wrong bread. It's the tap tap tap of my knife turning an onion into slivers. It's the feeling of the dressed salad not cooperating with my attempt to get just a little more height. The only feeling even close to this lately was my coming out not so long ago.

I think I'm finally unslumping myself, and it feels good. It also feels good to once more know that I've earned being this tired. I won't see the kitchen again till next week, and I think I might be getting a wee bit impatient.

proves how little i really understand taxes

Relative to the services that you receive from the government, do you feel you pay too much in taxes? Explain.

So begins the project known as Thinking Homeschoolers in which participants blog concerning the current question. You can read other entries HERE.

The following is my rambling, probably often disjointed, view of the question. I will admit openly and up front that I'm almost the last person to ask for an intelligent discourse on taxes, how they are collected and how they are spent. Where I lack in knowledge I overflow in opinion.

In a sense I don't feel that we are getting certain services that we should be getting that would be paid for by our taxes. In many areas I feel that we do get adequate services for the taxes we pay. At the same time, I feel that many of the services for which we pay through our tax dollars should be completely changed.

Many of the other posts that have already been added to the Thinking Homeschoolers project mention schools, a service for which most of us pay without getting any of the benefits. Some of the homeschoolers use online charter school options, so it's arguable that they are getting those benefits. The utopian ideal of school that festers in my brain would first of all not be mandatory. It would exist to provide education for those that choose to use the service, and it would be available for anyone at any age to use the service when they were ready for it. That's a system I would happily pay for.

Medical care in our country is a very unfunny joke, and I don't only mean for the people like my family who have no medical insurance. My ideas would certainly cause many people to scream socialism, but I don't understand why anyone could think we don't have a right to basic medical care. Just being born, to me, should provide the right to be able to have regular medical, dental and vision screenings giving us the ability to spot potential problems and fix them early enough to avoid the high prices we face when something is allowed to grow worse.

The continuously failing war on drugs is a sponge that can never be full of our money no matter how much we throw at it. The very idea that we are ever going to fully prohibit people from finding ways to self medicate and/or tilt their brain a little is laughable. Since the very first human first drank the intoxicating grain brew and liked the effect we have tried to duplicate it, and along the way we've found increasingly interesting ways to achieve a broad array of highs and drunks.

It would be stupid of me to not recognize that many of the drugs people choose to use are extremely dangerous and addictive, but I don't believe our government should be using our money to address this particular moral issue. By decriminalizing most drugs and legalizing others we would free up a huge cash resource that is currently being spent on more cops, more weapons used by the cops, more jails and would allow that money to flow into programs designed to study, understand and treat addiction and the people who become addicted. We make criminals of people who need help, and we incarcerate them, insuring that they will not only not get help but will exit the system in worse condition than when they entered, more likely than not to reoffend and reenter the system.

Legalizing certain drugs would also allow for their sale, much the same as with alcohol and tobacco. Taxing these would create new tax revenues that could help to fund medical care for all as well as our new school system.

Corporate subsidies just don't make sense to me and never have. If you have a solid business plan and run your business intelligently and provide a product or service that people want or need then you don't need the government holding your hand and slipping you money to stay afloat. Having said that I do feel that it is often a good idea for government to look at taxes and business and help when it's appropriate.

My town is in long range discussion of TIF's or Tax Increment Financing which basically allows certain businesses, usually developers, to temporarily hold onto some of what they would be paying in property taxes in order to feed that money back into the business. Because of well used TIF's our downtown has, in recent years, seen a number of new businesses open. We have several buildings that were once sitting empty and abandoned and are now newly remodeled as condos and stores and restaurants. We have a growing population downtown that is breathing new life into what was once a dead area, pretty to drive through with nothing to do. There is now excitement and reason to go downtown more than once a year. The TIF's were part of what helped all this to happen, but now other developers want a piece of the pie, and they want to do an end run around how business should operate in order to line their pockets and increase their own profit. I'm happy that my tax money can help revitalize our downtown, but I certainly have no interest in helping someone pave over a wetland or flatten yet another ridge in order to build yet another mall. I certainly am not interested in allowing yet another big box to abandon their big box in order to build a bigger big box down the street. We already have enough empty big boxes.

In the interest of keeping this from growing too much larger and keeping me from talking even more nonsense out my ass I'll try to bring all this into a tight little bundle. Do I think we are getting our money's worth? Sort of, but I also think that all too often the taxes flow into the wrong hands. It's not that we pay too much in taxes for too little service, it's that we are paying too much for all the wrong services and too little for what would really benefit your basic, average tax payer.

derby hits downtown k-town

This should have made it to the blog when I first learned about it, but negligent blogger that I've become, I'm just now finding my way to posting.

Hard Knox Roller Girls have had a couple of homes, each with their pros and cons. We're now looking forward to a bout this Saturday, April 19, and the ladies are hitting downtown, literally.

HKRG will be playing Memphis, I believe the B teams from both leagues, and it's happening in the old convention center under the Days Inn on Henley Street. You heard right, down-frickin-town.

Visit Brown Paper Tickets to preorder tickets for ten dollars or show up at the door for fifteen dollar tickets. Better yet, show up with five cans of food for Second Harvest Food Bank and get five bucks knocked off your ticket price and help feed some families that could use a little help. Kids under three are free, while kids three to five are only five dollars. Afterward, join the ladies at Sassy Anns to, hopefully, celebrate yet another win.

As usual, yours truly will be doing the announcing with a little help from Memphis' announcer. I haven't worked with another announcer before, so I look forward to meeting her, and I hope working with her can help me be a better announcer.

So, friends and neighbors, and anyone within the sound of this broadcast, put on your girdle, glue in your weave, pull out your big foam fingers and come on down.

keep on moving?

Momma has been raving about her new job almost non stop since her first shift. I've let it get to me a bit, not wanting to hear how happy she is when I've been feeling like such shit lately. I want to support her, but her joy ends up making my own lack seem more glaring.

It hasn't helped that, since day one, I've been pretty sure I wasn't going to like my new job. There's a distinct lack of morale among the cooks. Each shift has only one cook on the line, and the place opens at five pm. The opening/prep shift is four to eight while the closing shift is eight till whenever you finish cleaning, around two in the morning if you've been there long enough to have your tricks and techniques and assuming you don't bust your ass and do six hundred dollars in sales on your first solo shift.

A little brag here. Last night was my first solo shift and I did do around six hundred dollars in sales. After three years of being out of kitchens, I walked into that place and owned it. The worst crime I committed was burning bacon, but in my defense they use shitty precooked bacon that you basically warm and crisp on the flat top grill, and if you aren't hovering it burns very quickly.

Momma has mentioned the likelihood that I could get a job where she works, but I haven't really felt that I could do it. I should have known that I could, but the ol' self esteem has been lower than a caterpillar's balls lately, and I felt as if reaching too far or trying too much is going to see me getting knocked down yet again. It's an issue I'm trying to work on, and taking the job is just an early step.

So yeah, I'm already going to put in notice at my new job, after a week, and take another new job. I'll be working with Momma, though not quite with her as we will work opposing shifts as we always have. I'll be taking several steps up in terms of food quality, and I'll have a much better chance to learn and hone my technique. I'll also step a couple dollars up in hourly pay, which is definitely going to help.

And though I'm not sure exactly how it came about, Momma was nice enough to inform some amount of the staff that I'm gay. It seems kind of nice going in without having to wonder how to go about treating that bit of info, but again, it's not something you're ever sure people will take well. In the end I can only care/worry about that so much, and I don't intend to bother.

So we turn another page, this one a short one. I hope not to burn the bridge as the job I'm leaving remains my favorite bar to drink at and the bar at which I'm most likely to meet friends without planning to meet. I'll be working both places for a couple of weeks, and I'm certain that's bound to add to the thrills.

Finally, I'll link HERE to the website of a certain restaurant, but in the interest of blogging and working and not sure about how much info needs to be shared and not wanting to fuck up before I start, I won't share any more just now than that. I've been a stay at home dad the entire time that I've also been a blogger, so I've never blogged, before now, about a place I was employed at while writing. Again, in the interest of not fucking things up, I'll be sure to keep a sensible separation between the two. Any advice from fellow bloggers about this sort of thing is more than welcome.