zero percent

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 15% Conservative, 85% Liberal Social Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal Personal Responsibility: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal Fiscal Issues: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal Ethics: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal Defense and Crime: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

How Liberal Or Conservative Are You?

It's not that this silly thing is not indicative to some extent, but some of the questions were really poorly worded, while all the questions offered no more than two options as answers. There really has to be room for the various shades between yes and no.

So on Social Issues and Ethics I'm zero percent conservative? And I get twenty five percent conservative on fiscal issues and personal responsibility? Again, the wording of the questions and the available options don't really allow one to explore the issues very much.

Seems though I may have done this one before. This time it's thanks to Meg at Get In, Hang On.

the dreams post

Momma has dreams, things that she really wants to do. I have things that seem impossible, so why should I bother.

A line that's run through my head so often lately, a line I've typed into posts I've begun and deleted, I was not raised to follow dreams; I was raised to do what god told me to do.

I don't intend to blame my parents for where I am now, but I can't help sometimes but wonder, the whole nature versus nurture argument tag teaming with the absurdity of my insular childhood and youth. Keener minds than mine have wrestled with this, and I'd love to think they've gotten closer than I have, but part of me doubts very much.

Who doesn't want to write the great American novel? And I'm so sure I'm the guy to do it. What story could be more American? Ultra religious childhood, rebellious teen years, acceptance of at least bisexuality coupled with some amount of experimentation, decade plus heterosexual relationship with attendant children with the first volume published ending in the early coming out years. Seriously, find more American than that. I'd like to see you try.

As a child I was sure I was going to be either a missionary or that I would work in advertising. How the advertising part came in I can only imagine due to some childhood fixation with the show Thirtysomething. I'm not sure exactly how that works in, but it's a memory and the only logical conclusion I can draw. That I ever watched the show is possibly linked with a youthful attempt to emulate the cool brother. That those were my childhood ideas of my possible future says something.

At some point I started writing, lots of real crap for the most part, most of which I currently have in a tucked away and ignored stack of Mead composition notebooks. I don't know that I ever got to a point where I wasn't writing crap, but I did spend a few years not really writing anything. I finally discovered the joy of blogging, thanks to the coolest of homeschoolers and homeschooling families all across our bit of the continent, and at least on occasion practice writing. Writing has always been there, hanging in the background of things that I can sometimes enjoy and might not suck at.

Cooking I discovered quite by accident. As a child I helped in the kitchen by staying out of the way. At the same time, my best childhood memories of my mother involve watching Julia Child and Martha Stewart and Jeff Smith and Justin Wilson. This was when Martha was a cook and not some clenched ass lifestyle expert. Jeff Smith you'll remember from The Frugal Gourmet, while Justin Wilson brought us cajun cooking and the phrases "oooooeee" as well as "I guarawntee."(yes pronounced like that) Julia, of course, needs no introduction.

I held a number of restaurant jobs before the one I consider to be the first real one, the one that led me to a life in the kitchen, a giant whore of a place in Charlotte NC which is not so sadly no longer there. Some other idiots have bought the building by now. I washed dishes. I did a lot of LSD around this time and sometimes dreamed of squadrons of the various dishes flying in formation. I hated it and quit, swearing I'd never work in another restaurant ever again.

My next job was in a large national chain as was my next job. From there I did some work as a general laborer with a drywall contractor. It sucked, and the first chance I got I was back in a kitchen. I've done local stand alones, local chains, national chains, sports bars and once worked in a place where I cooked so many wings that we dumped cases (one case equals forty pounds) of wings into large drip pan, and I scooped them into the fryer with a two quart scoop.

I can write anytime, but the nightmare years of kitchen work made me grow a new dream. I really want to open my own restaurant. I have more ideas for places I think would work in my town, and I'm not telling you any of them. Now that I'm not in the closet I have room to hide my ideas, because I know bitches will steal my ideas.

But even so, it's hard for me to think of it as a dream, as something worth pursuing. There's a certain petulant "why can't I?" but beyond that I just don't do anything. There are also random measures of guilt and laziness and fear mixed in along with other feelings. Fucking feelings!

updatey sort of thing

I feel as if I should post some sort of update, an answer to my most recent post in which I channeled my angsty and confused sixteen year old self and wrote something I would have called poetry roughly twenty years ago.

It's often hard not to feel guilty about having kept my sexuality some sort of secret for so long. It wasn't that it was a secret between Momma and me, because she knew. I, however, convinced myself I was bisexual and just accepted it as true. I should have known better, and on some level I did know better.

So we find ourselves in the here and now, and by letting the genie out and confronting it I've put a swift stop to the relationship we thought we had for so long. And it's all those years that I find myself having to figure out, except that there doesn't seem to be a lot of figuring out going on.

As one would, Momma has asked me about those years, and my best explanation is to accept that I can't explain anything. I can't help either of us make sense out of it. I have to wonder if it's just that I don't want to delve into it as opposed to not being able to make sense of the tough questions.

Momma and I had this conversation months ago. It really is settled, but like picking a scab, my brain doesn't want to let it go. I don't really know if I need those answers or if it's something to just let go of. I want to just let it go, accept that we don't always get answers, but the part of my brain that can't let go of guilt is holding onto this, demanding that I feel bad about this.

And that's where I too often end up lately. It's the stupid things that make me feel bad, and as depression does, it grows from there, sucking in anything that can add to the mix. It never takes long from there for me to slap together some overwrought post full of poor sad me sorts of themes. The difference is that this time I didn't delete it immediately.

And finally, to the people who commented to that post, I really appreciate it. It was all stuff I should and do know, but we silly humans sometimes need to hear things repeated.

just click away while you can

Times I want to just dump the bucket that is my head out, just empty it and start all over. I think sometimes I should sit down and write. I think sometimes I just need a shoulder to cry on.

I even think some times that I'll be able one day to make sense out of everything. It's never happened yet, so I've got no reason to believe it one day will, but I can't stop wishing or hoping or whatever it is I'm doing.

I'm a master of the talking without so much of the walking. I'm good at putting together strings of words that make me look more a master of my domain than I really am. I'm mostly a guy in his mid thirties whose brain is stuck at a much younger place. I have a great wife and great kids and want nothing more than for a handsome prince to sweep me off my feet.

Princes aren't just ambling down the street these days. I have to accept that I am where I am and on some level give consideration to making sense of myself. Last time I set out to do that I had not only the drugs but also the time. I don't think it worked so well that time, so I'll have to find a different route.

I feel currently like I'm wasting time in a hallway lined with doors. Entering any one of the doors represents having to sink myself into and make sense of any number of questions. I don't want to do the work that involves, so I loiter in the hall a bit more, pretend I'm thinking about something important. I keep myself in a place that is safe but is stagnant.

uuuummmmmmmm. . .

I'm sorely in need of dumping my brain into a bunch of stupid words on your computer screen. But what to write about? Do I go with the softball and write about how long my hair is? Honestly, pictures of me from over thirty years ago show the only other time it's been this long, and it's a totally new experience made more so by over a decade of voluntary head shaving. It's just weird, and it's not really thaaaat long.

I looked through my reader to learn that the number of gay specific blogs and news sources is nearly equal to the total of homeschool related feeds. I find that a lot of the gay blogs I'm most drawn to are guys discussing coming out, though most of them are a bit younger than me with a bit less of the history.

I could tell the story about going to see a local rock band and the guitar player of the other band that played, the band from halfway across the state, the guitar player that couldn't not be gay. He had to be. And I kind of think I may have made an ass out of myself I realized walking away with the seven inch and t shirt for ten dollars. For what it's worth they really were good live, and he threw in their cd for free, so . . .

We also have soccer sign ups this weekend.

more vendaloo?

If you'd like, play the following song and scroll down for more vendaloo news. Visit Molly and tell her thanks for, not only getting this song stuck in my head, but also for this attempt I'm making to lodge it even more in your head. If you aren't sure what the hell I'm talking about then by all means listen to the song. It's great.


Please feel free, if you think you know better, to tell me in the comments what a vedaloo actually should be. Keep in mind that I'm making it from our beloved friend Ms. Joy.

Vinegar, olive oil, garlic, ginger, curry powder, mustard seeds, cumin, cardamom, cloves, crushed red pepper all go into the blender and come out a thick and smelly and yellow mess. It then gets tossed with two pounds of pork, cut into one inch cubes, for one to eight hours. When you're ready too cook the pork you cook some sliced onions in a pot, add your pork, a can of diced tomatoes and a cinnomon stick. Cook it till the pork is at is tastiest, stir in some more mustard seeds, let it thicken and add some cilantro.

So, even with my almost need to follow a recipe at least the first time, I used rice vinegar though the recipe called for white wine. The (preferably black) that followed each mention of mustard seeds translated to brown being the darkest mustard seed we had, and I wasn't going all the way to the coop for mustard seeds. And instead of pork loin or shoulder as requested I went with a cheaper cut thinking the stewing would work fine on this particular cut, and all the loins and/or shoulders were twice as big as I needed. Also I forgot to add the cilantro at the end, which I realized as I was finishing eating and wondering how I could make it better. Finally, we didn't have the rice we should have had, and I used sushi rice. I just didn't like it in this.

What made it better? Coconut milk and not sushi rice and not forgetting the cilantro. After I looked a little more I realized that we did indeed have a long grain white rice, which was better than sushi rice but not nearly as perfect for this as jasmine rice, which we don't currently have.

I'm sure the addition of coconut milk made is so not vendaloo anymore, and I really don't care. And that's the end of of this round. One begs me to make vendaloo again and to write about it again. That's how these things go. But really, we just can't know. I'll definitely mess around with curries, but will I attempt the vendaloo again? Actually yes, because the more I think about it the more I really do care. What is this dish, this vendaloo? I'm afraid I might have to actually bother looking around. I mean, it has a song not not about it for fuck sakes.

who's an idiot?

We'll know later for sure how big an idiot I am, and I'll try to remember to update this post to let you know. Why am I demeaning myself so?

Tonight's supper is pork vendaloo, or what the Joy of Cooking tells me is pork vendaloo. It smells good, it's done according to the recipe with one minor change. I do not have white wine vinegar, but I do have rice vinegar. That should make a mostly unnoticeable difference and is not why I'm an idiot.

So what happens if you set up your rice steamer almost correctly and let it run for ten minutes without the cooking water? There is water in the bottom, so I wasn't tearing it up and letting it run while dry. But I set it up as the vendaloo went to it's cover and simmer for one hour stage, leaving the cooking water out because I didn't know what effect it would have for the rice to sit in water for thirty minutes waiting to cook.

The thirty minutes elapsed meaning the steamer needed to start with the addition of the water. I'd even measured out the water when setting up the steamer. Turn the knob to thirty five minutes and walk away. Thankfully, ten minutes later, I decided to smoke a cigarette and on my way outside noticed the measuring cup of water next to, as opposed to in, the steamer. I added the water to what had become more clump than pile of rice, stirred, swore a couple more times.

So, twenty five minutes from now the steamer timer will ding, and I will go and inspect what I fully expect to be absolute hell. Will the rice be okay? Will it need to cook a little longer? Will it be a gross and soggy mess? Am I really an idiot? Can you expect good ethnic dishes from Joy of Cooking?

update on the rice: it was fine, maybe a tiny bit overcooked if anything, but certainly not in a bad way. Vendaloo? not bad as such, but not good. The pork wasn't especially tender, and the sauce was a bit lacking. I'm not sure yet what I'd do different, but I'm sure I'll make this again after fixing the recipe.

old and new

My very first post of 2007 was a bit of history about Hank Williams as well as a video of him doing his song Cold, Cold Heart. I'm posting another version of the song, this time without the history. In fact, this is about all you're getting in terms of words other than to say, enjoy Cold, Cold Heart performed by Norah Jones.

that new years post

Somewhere inside of me is a part that wants to write the "out with the old, in with the new" post that so many people have been able to throw together. I've honestly tried to think about this, measuring my life in terms of where I've been, where I am and where I want to go.

Regardless of how 2007 may have started, we couldn't have known then what the year would present, the explosions that would occur, the tears shed and the truths bared.

I feel as if so much of what I held or believed or pretended was true this time three hundred sixty five-ish days ago has been proved untrue in some cases and as the lies they were in other cases. It hasn't been fun, but the year represented a lot of hard truths coming out between Momma and me, not to mention beginning coming out for at least one of us.

The biggest change has been the difference in secretly knowing that I am gay versus accepting and admitting that I am gay. I almost completely accepted it many years ago, and I can't know or explain or understand the circumstances that pushed me back into the closet. Those circumstances, for all the shit one goes through pretending not to be gay, gave me a very supporting and loving wife and friend as well as a wonderful pair of kids I don't appreciate nearly enough.

And I expect a lot of changes going into the new year, that one that's already aging as I type these words. I've already spent too much of my new years day watching shows involving mixed martial arts events and Iron Chefs from last year than is prudent.

So what is it I need in the consistently less new new year? The same shit as anyone, better diet and more exercise, less smoking and tv watching, more money, my vote to count, comfort with my sexuality, support and love from and for my wife, honesty, my kids to be happy and learning and knowing they are loved and supported, money, less debt, friends. You know, the basics.

And this is where I find myself going into oh eight. I've lived years that have collected around me, sometimes feeling like walking through mud that clings and weighs me down. There are elements that counteract all of that somewhat, trying to reach down and pull me up, and I love my wife for being the element that keeps pulling me up while all of this tears at her in ways I can not even imagine.

More than anything, this year needs to be the one when I start acting in ways that back up the things I say. I say a lot, but I don't often quite live up to those things I espouse. I need to look into that along with doing things that make me a better and happier person. I've never really given those things much thought, and I think I kind of need to. Those sort of thoughts always seem so selfish to me, and that makes it hard.

A couple of days in I honestly expect good things this year. I hope your year is good, free of the bad stuff that we can't avoid, full of the good stuff we never seem to quite track down. I wish for honesty. I want to figure out what that thing is I'm supposed to be doing when I grow up and to grow up finally.

in case I wasn't lazy enough

Sue Doe Nim was kind enough to suggest I join Stumble Upon, probably because she knows I don't spend nearly enough time at the computer.

I sat on the invite for a while, not sure if the too much I already do was quite enough, until today. I took the plunge and stumbled on over.

I'll be honest and say right now that I'm not what it is I'm supposed to do there. It mostly seems like a fancier option than my little shared items window from Google reader which you can see right there to the left.

So we'll see how it works. Is it better than shared items? Did you ever notice my shared items? It's really right there on the left. Go look at it. It's where I can share the best of the blogs that I read. There's some cool stuff in there, and you know that I'm the smartest sumbitch you ever laid eyes on, so of course if I like you'll love it.

If you already stumble upon stuff you can find me there. I'm samuelfunkypants, which isn't to say my pants are especially funky, and they aren't really that cool either, basic Wrangler regular fit, run about fifteen bucks at Target and last just long enough. The knees usually wear out about the same time my hard pack cigarette pack starts to wear corners in my pocket.

christmas full of books

This, assuming I haven't forgotten any, is the pile of books that made up our Christmas book gifts. Most of these were from Momma and me to the boys. Four of them were gifts from my family to Momma and me. The one book that wasn't actually a Christmas present was purchased within a day or two of the actual day as I finished shopping for my family, so I've included it, that one being the The New Encyclopedia of American Animals.

Anthony Bourdain's The Nasty Bits as well as Alton Brown's book, I'm Just Here for the Food, were gifts to me, visible in the two lower corners. Next to Alton Brown are the gifts to Momma, Michael Ruhlman's The Soul of a Chef and The Reach of a Chef.

I'm well into The Nasty Bits and am a big fan of Bourdain's work. This makes the third of his books that I own. The two Ruhlman books are firsts for us as is Alton Brown. Momma and I have become fans of Ruhlman through his appearances with Bourdain, while the entire family loves Alton Brown. Big Brother and I have enjoyed his show Good Eats for a while, and though Momma also enjoys the show, she generally seems to be at work when we get a chance to watch it.

Among the other books, one notable is The Golden Compass, Phillip Pullman's ode to making your baby hate Jesus (sarcasm) which Big Brother seems to be enjoying. I've mentioned this book before as one that we loaned out never to see again. I've wanted to replace it for some time, and we finally did. You can see the top of a book mark peeking out. In addition we picked up three other Pullman books, I Was a Rat, Clockwork and The Fireworks Maker's Daughter. These are all delightful stories and fairly quick reads, and I've read two of the three already.

One really cool book that I was unfamiliar with is Abarat, by Clive Barker. It's the second kid's book of his that we have, and I've also already read it in the week since Christmas. Now we have to hunt down a copy of the next of his Abarat books so I can read the rest of the adventures of Candy Quackenbush. It's an odd story in the best possible way and exactly what a fan of Clive Barker would expect. In addition to a great story the book is full of illustrations painted by Barker, beautiful work that really pulls one deeper into the story.

A couple of notables that I've barely flipped through but look forward to diving fully into are The Dangerous Book for Boys, mentioned variously and randomly by a few homeschooling bloggers I enjoy, though I can't think now who. It was with their mentions in mind that I snatched this up as soon as I saw it, though it wasn't technically on any list when I did see it. Next to it, the bright red book at the top of the picture, is Characters from Tolkien by David Day, the purple book with the giant TOLKIEN. This was a score from the used book store, one that I wasn't looking for but again had to snatch up as soon as I saw it. Having flipped through it a bit I've been awed by the art, not to mention the further immersion into Middle Earth.

There are, as one can see, a number of books not getting a mention in this post. I didn't set out to write an obnoxious list of gifts and books, but there are a few I'm proud and happy to finally own as well as some new discoveries. My parents were kind of enough to give us two new bookcases, so I know that as soon as they're put together our new books will have a home. We'll also need to sort through all our books and arrange them somewhat sensibly. I still won't put all my foodie books and cookbooks together, but at least the kids books can all go on a bookcase together, removing several of them from my foodie bookcase.

Apart from some really good ham and the joy of seeing family, the pile of books might be my favorite part of Christmas. Some people fantasize about rolling around in piles of cash, while I dream of the day I can wallow in a big pile of books, or maybe just have a huge room with built in book cases lining the walls, each full with a variety of friends and neighbors of the written persuasion. And no, you can't borrow any of them, because I've learned that lesson a few times. But you are welcome to come by and hang out and read.

start the new year with what?

It's late, and I should be in bed. Momma is dozing. The boys are both in bed and asleep. I should also be in bed and asleep.

Checking my stats the last few days I've found some of my posts showing up HERE. I don't know exactly who these cunts are stealing my rambling, but I'd really like to know what's going on. I wrote that stuff, and I don't like them pilfering. Who are they, and how can I stop them?

If you have any news or info about this type of thing, please comment or email me. I'd like for them to not only be stopped but also to be caught and busted. They are not writing this material, and they have a blog based on other people's work. I'm not the only person having their content stolen, and it is beyond uncool.

last oh seven post, see you in the future

I haven't posted much the last couple of days. I have plenty to discuss, but for whatever reasons, I'm doing all reading and no writing. 'Rithmatic can suck it, by the way.

First, don't let the song below give you delusions of seeing the end of me. The song is Closing Time by Leonard Cohen. The only closing is the whole out with the old, in with the new of New Years Eve. I love the song and don't know or care if it's especially appropriate. It is what it is.

Play the song, enjoy, and I'll see you next year.

gay flesh eating rats

Hat tip to the fine folks at TN Guerilla Women for a great video on why we should vote for Romney. If you want to avoid gay flesh eating rats, then you will vote Romney. I have tried to clue people in to the problems with gay marriage in the past, think nazi tyrannosaurs with laser eyes, and think November of oh six.

timely quote

I believe this one could just as well be applied to every single person serving at the federal level, especially at this moment in time. Quotation from Theodore Roosevelt via The Quotations Page.

When they call the roll in the Senate, the Senators do not know whether to answer 'Present' or 'Not guilty.'

should actually be doing something

Another gray and drizzly day here,. Momma is at work till five-ish after which we drop off the dog for her brothers to watch while we haul ass south. My family celebrates Christmas Saturday this year.

I have six brothers. They are all married with children, and as the years pass, we've learned as a family that it's so much easier to let our Christmas happen at another date. Last year, if I remember correctly, our Christmas didn't actually happen till after the new year, and that's okay. It really is just easier. We're still getting to see each other and eat too much even if the actual calendar holiday was a week or so prior.

For a few years, the brothers and wives would all draw names for gift giving, but at some point, as the number of our children hit the teens, we decided to just put everyone that isn't our mother and father into the hat. Now we all draw names.

So my family of four has four names. That means that I get to do shopping for them as Momma has already done as much of that as she can handle. At least when she went she didn't have Big Brother and The Boy with her, but I also got to do mine after Christmas. So I can't really complain, but that's never stopped me before.

In addition to all the post Christmas mess that we really should have cleaned by now, we also have a small pile of wrapped gifts waiting to drive down to Atlanta with us tonight. I need a shower and to pack clothes for me and the boys. I'm putting that off while I get enough coffee in me to face the day, the cold, wet, dreary day.

I love seeing my family and wish we could head south more than once a year. I do have to admit that this may be the last truly comfortable trip. I fully expect to continue keeping my secret from them for a little while at least, but as we look toward the new year and wonder what it holds, I must admit that I just don't know.

And now the time has come. I'm near the bottom of my cup, that point where there is no more coffee floating brown and tasty above the black, gritty silt at the bottom. I'm sure there are some horrid cartoons just waiting for the boys eager eyes.

no good approach

Momma has asthma. It is very seldom a problem, though we will finally finish paying off an asthma related emergency room visit from just over a year ago some time in February of '08. That's the thing. While it isn't usually a problem, when it does act up it can get bad fast.

There are a couple of triggers that we know of that will cause some minor problems, and we can't ever know when the minor problem will get worse. It's a whole separate rant that the US medical system is so fucked that we can't afford the insurance that would allow her to have a regular doctor to help her better understand and control her particular asthma issues. We won't go into that here.

One of the triggers is perfumes. That's right. If you wear perfume and Momma spends even a little time near you, she will begin to have some trouble breathing. Another trigger, and the real reason for this particular rant, are the various products currently available to introduce scents into the home. Scented candles, anything from Glade, whatever the hell her mother uses that sit on little electric warmers, all these things or even any one of these things will make her asthma kick in, and she will begin to have trouble breathing.

And the sad fact is that this isn't even the real problem. The real issue here is the attitude of other people. A coworker of hers once got angry because Momma mentioned to this person that she was growing nauseous and having trouble breathing because of this person's perfume. She got mad at Momma for getting sick, not concerned, mad.

But we are only now getting to the real rant. Momma's mother and grandmother are fans of the products mentioned above, candles and such, often having several different products in use at one time. They refuse to believe that their desire to create fake odors in their homes creates an unhealthy environment for their child and grandchild. They honestly believe that we are lying to them when we explain this problem.

I have gotten into the habit, whenever we visit either of these homes, of going through the house to the usual places where these devices are being used. I blow out all the candles and turn off all the electric devices. I always miss one or two, and within a couple of hours of arriving I can hear Momma's breathing growing labored. When she has to walk outside to get some fresh air I know that it's getting serious.

And with every visit it seems we tell them all of this once again. I've even tried a few times to explain to them that they are basically creating fumes of unknown chemical compounds, and those compounds are harming someone they are supposed to care about and protect. And each time they are flippant and act unconcerned. They just don't believe it, and her mother has actually suggested that it's all in Momma's head. Seriously. Momma's mother has even argued that she used many of these products when Momma was a child and that they never bothered her then. I could argue that she also kept birds in the house (birds in the home are known to contribute to children developing asthma) and had cats (Momma has cat allergies) and that Momma hasn't taken nearly as much allergy medication as she did when we met those many years ago while she was still living at home. But that wouldn't matter. She would continue to belittle our issue, and she will continue to create harmful fumes of unknown chemical compounds to pollute the air of her house.

Is it ironic that Momma's mom wanted to burn the cookie scented candle on Christmas day? the day that sees more cooking and creating of natural and harmless odors that actually smell good? And she acted upset with me for trying to put out the two candles that she was burning while her daughter was obviously and audibly having a growing problem trying to breathe.

Merry fucking Christmas.

one last christmas song

I'm almost certain that two of my three readers are seeing this the day after Christmas, because they spent the actual holiday with someone other than me and my blog. For the one of you that is seeing this on actual Christmas day, you are loved even if you are reading blogs while the rest of us are eating ham and deviled eggs.

Part of me really is trying to keep from weighing the blog down with my love for Rufus, but another part of me is more than happy to tell you to suck it. He's awesome and dreamy and all kinds of other good things.

Anyway, here he is doing a lovely Christmas song, Spotlight on Christmas. As usual, click the linky part to go straight to YouTube and embiggen the video so that you can properly swoon.

I hope you are having or did have the most spectacular of holidays, whatever you call it, however you celebrate it, with whoever you coaxed close to you.

qotd

The Boy, walking past holding a soccer ball behind him, said, "I like my big butt."

drat those taggings

I've been tagged yet again, this time by Darryl for the seven random things about me meme. I'm not sitting down with a list of seven random things in mind, as I've been unable to come up with seven things by thinking about it and wanting to. So we'll discover all this together, just me and you, my blog reading buddies.

-I think Tim Gunn is really hot, though I have absolutely no interest in dressing women fashionably or any other way.

-On those extremely rare occasions that I wear a tie, I tie them so that they hang really long, like past my belt long, but not tacky long.

-I find the ideas behind Buddhism very interesting, but I fear I'm too big a puss to actually follow the teachings. Also, I know that if I tried meditation, that right as I was starting to achieve any sort of state beyond bored, my butt would start to itch, and then I'd focus my efforts on willing the itch away. I think we all know that that doesn't work.

-After over a decade of shaving my head I've been letting my hair grow. I last shaved it sometime last year and then just never got around to it again. At some point it became shaggy enough that I went to a little barber shop up the street and got it cut, but since then I've just let it go. I never realized how curly it is, and I'm becoming a little fixated with it.

-I use the boys' shampoo/conditioner in one stuff. I tried Momma's shampoo and conditioner (not all in one,) but I don't like the extra step involved, and I don't really like the smell.

-Whiskey gives me immediate heartburn. It doesn't even need time to get into the system like coffee does.

-All my mother's children are boys. Each of us now have children, and I am the only one with no daughters.

There we have seven random things about me. There are no great revelations here, no bright shining truths for the ages, nothing earth shattering. I'm fine with that. It's not like I let you into the dark recesses of my cold, black heart either. It is what it is.

I'm still not entirely comfortable with having tagged people for the last meme, and I've debated whether to do so for this one. That the meme suggest tagging seven people makes it especially difficult. I prefer to dose my discomfort in smaller batches.

If you feel inclined to share seven unimportant things about yourself, then consider yourself tagged. You can even link back to me under the pretense that I tagged you. Or don't. I can't say that I really care, but in a good way.