can't shake it

My head is all kinds of full of something today. I don't think I drank that much last night, but maybe it was more than I realized coupled with getting a late start and cramming in more beer in too short a time.

Last night started with a trip to a friend's house so she could cart me around for a bit. We began by going to the wrong place, the coliseum, when we should have gone to the arena. There was hockey at the coliseum, but we were looking for bull riding.

Yes, you read that right, bull riding. I can't say it was the most enjoyable thing ever, and this is coming from someone who like guys in Wranglers and boots. A cowboy hat never hurts as well, assuming you don't look like a douche, and seriously, too many people that do wear them do also look like douches.

We weren't sitting close enough to really see the cowboys, and the jumbotron wasn't working, though it really should have been on to give us some close ups. Even without really knowing how sexy they are or aren't, there's still something hot about cowboys riding bulls, or at least trying to as was more often the case. There was the one guy who rode the bull to a stand still. As the eight second buzzer sounded the bull fell onto his side. In my opinion, if you ride the bull to the point it can't continue and it falls, you should probably win automatically.

Following the rodeo I found myself at the square for a couple of beers and running into very few people, and from the square it was off to the strip. From there it was on to a friend's house and a last minute run to the gay bar. The friend got a call from a coworker asking her to meet, but in the end it was just the friend and Momma trying to dance.

There was a cute and freakishly skinny boy at the gay bar that I sort of tried to talk to, but when you pick up your beer and walk away without a word, well even I'm not so dense I don't get that.

Last call, beers were being taken away and it was off to revisit the friend's house along with Momma and her boyfriend. I'm not sure what happened after I left, but Momma and the friend were turning each other lesbian and Momma's boyfriend . . . I don't know what the hell he was doing at that point, but I left. I felt once again as if I were being told without words that my presence wasn't welcome.

I should have just been cool, knowing this particular place and time wasn't for me, but I couldn't help being a little pissed, and I woke this morning to a much lighter version of the same feeling. I'm sure I shouldn't be pissed, but if you aren't welcome somewhere, the people that are welcome should at least try to find a nice way to tell you, especially when they are your friends.

Now I'm drinking coffee and am going to roll a cigarette and stand out in the cold and fume. I think there's supposed to be brunch, and maybe lots of people will show for that. If it's mostly just Momma and her boyfriend I might bale and do something else. There isn't really anything else to do on a Sunday early in the afternoon, but . . .

run for the hills

The day approaches ever more quickly, the day I've warned you about in this very blog, the day when the gays marry legally and the nazi tyranosaurs with laser eye and the killing everyone and total annihilation and stuff.

The following video, and a tip of the hat to Good As You, will help us defeat us pesky gays and our marriage craving ways.

Okay, I don't plan on marrying anyone any time soon, for what it's worth. I've got bigger cats to fry and fish to skin, but the video is great, worth a couple minutes and a couple laughs.

special stomach slices

First let me say that, in my opinion, bacon is special. I've heard the idea that everything is better with bacon, and I have to say that I disagree. At work last night the GM mentioned the idea of bacon powder, a substance introduced through the new magic of molecular gastronomy.

I have no real or major issues with molecular gastronomy though I do believe that the nature of food and eating isn't going to drastically change because a few wild and crazy chefs love to play with their food. I can appreciate the peaks they attempt, the zany ideas they bring to life, and I can especially appreciate the truly good ideas (sou vide) that actually add to the whole of our range of cooking repertoire.

But bacon is special. Bacon should be left alone or will suffer, as will we all, from an over saturation of the market, in this case our palate and stomach. If everything has bacon in or on it, and if everything tastes like bacon, then eventually bacon is not special, is not the treat it currently is.

Bacon cheeseburger? Hell yes please! BLT? Fuck yeah and a half! Bacon mat? Oh sweet baby Jesus on a trampoline I can only imagine!

Really I think my feeling is this, that if you want bacon, you should cook some up and find a way to add it reasonably to your food. Not all salads are better with bacon bits. Not all soups need a sprinkle of rough chopped bacon floating on the top.

Bacon is special. Let's not over extend our dear friend bacon in the short term and ruin it like yesterday's hypercolor shirts. Anything can become a trend, but once everyone is wearing the same thing it's not different anymore. Once everything tastes like bacon then bacon becomes bleah.

And really? what beats a hot and chewy slice of bacon, fresh from the paper towel covered plate, not all the grease having drained off?

crate walk

Have I mentioned the crate walk? If so then feel free to completely disregard this post, and if you want to avoid hearing me bitch, then by all means scoot away. Keep in mind it's a relatively minor bitch, and at least is not about feelings of woe and dark thoughts.

You'll remember the weeks of rain I bitched about recently, and just so you know, the tiny window of nice weather is gone yet again. We are back in the grip of seemingly constant rain. I'm mostly tired of it, but being the gloomy puss that I am, I can't say it effects me quite as much as it could.

Beneath our little house is a little basement. It's not in any way attached to the house really so much as it's a hole over which the house was built. If I could stand upright in this hole then it would be concrete and cinder block to about the level of my chest, and today, a crate walk day, I can stand even less upright.

Rain in abundance and the basement too often combine in some minor flooding issues. I keep thinking I'll clean the basement on a dry day, but like so many things, once the problem is out of sight it is as quickly out of mind.

In the corner of the basement farthest from the door is pump sunk into a hole in the floor. The pump works, but because the basement is so dirty and because so much dirt washes in on those rainy days it sometimes needs to be jiggled a little.

And here we get to the crate walk. I have two old milk crates sitting in the basement, both turned upside down. To keep my dainty tootsies out of the water, I step from the basement stairs onto the first crate and then put my front foot onto the next crate. Depending on what's managed to float into my path to the pump I can move in one of two ways. Either I can slide the crates, first one, then catch up with the other, or I can stand on one, lift and move the other forward then step to it. In this way I can reach the pump to give it its jiggle and start its work removing the water from the basement.

In no (or quite some) time at all, the basement will be free of water. Soon enough I'll be able to go back in with my box of matches and a list of curse words. The matches are to light the water heater pilot, and the curse words are for all the times it doesn't work and the match goes out.

And did I tell you that I think the heater may have gone out? That's a new one on me, and I'm not sure how it would have. Its pilot is at least a couple of feet above the average water line.

Now I'm off to fix a cup of coffee and check on the pump's progress. I was hoping for a shower today. Also, the sky is a nasty white/gray, and the wind is whipping our plastic chairs into a fury. Today is a good day for downed branches and creepy wind in the window noises. I have to admit thought that considering how bad some have it, my crate walk and delayed shower are absolutely nothing. I hope your weather is good and your loved ones are safe.

forward

As I may have mentioned, Sunday night was the employee Christmas party for the place I work. Enough fun was had by everyone that I saw. My own night was a little odd, all things considered, but quite fun nonetheless.

Momma needed the car as she had derby practice, so about halfway through my evening I got the call from her that she was on her way. I got to take her and the boys home and then head back out for a tiny bit more fun.

Much of my night was a tiny bit of bar hopping. From the place I work, as the party shut down, I went with a couple friends/coworkers to another bar. They were heading from there back downtown to a burlesque show as I was getting the car and leaving Momma and the boys at home. I met back up with them downtown only to find they were going back to the bar we'd gone to earlier.

So, back to the bar where I hung out with not only the friends/coworkers, but I also ran into even more friends, one of whom I'll quite likely be seeing a bit more of. Turns out she has recently been dumped and kicked out of her house. She's staying with yet another mutual friend but needs a new place to live.

So, if all goes well, I will soon have a new roommate, but first we need to find a place to live. Well, as these things sometimes go, yet another friend is living in a half empty house. She rents the top floor of a large-ish, older house, the bottom floor having been recently vacated. She hopes someone without kids or someone with cool kids like me moves in. And since we are good friends, she's hoping it's me.

First, this whole situation is almost too good to be true, and second, nothing is even close to worked out as of yet. To add to the too good to be true element is the part of town in which the house is located. It's within easy walking distance to some cool new things happening. It's also within just as easy walking distance to a gay bar and a sweet little down home, local flavor kind of bar. It's also mere minutes drive from my and Momma's job as well as being as few minutes by bus, and this only means it's that close to all the places I usually hang out.

This situation would be an extremely awesome beginning to the new year, and in keeping with my goal of being in a new home by the end of the month would go that much farther to making me feel like an awesome and happy person. The potential roommate and house mate are both awesome people with whom I'd be more than happy to share space.

So, vibes, well wishes, crossed extremities, prayers, whatever the fuck you've got would be in order, unless of course you want my to fail, in which case do whatever you feel causes that.

sore hips

Yesterday was quite a day. I started by sleeping later than I meant to even though Big Brother actually woke me up at what would have been a perfectly reasonable time to wake up.

I did eventually wake up enough to actually get up, and I began the day with some lovely laziness. After the boys ate enough, and after I'd eaten a little, we finally got ourselves dressed and motivated ourselves out of the house.

As of yesterday, the ice skating on the square is over until the end of this year and the return of the holiday season. Our day continued there, on the square, enjoying the ice rink one last time.

That's when I got my first sore hip. I can feel the pain inside the joint, and though I don't know exactly how it happened, it was the skating. I'm not in great shape really, and I didn't do any stretching other than that required to bend over and cram my feet into skates.

It was fun, as always, and The Boy is absolutely adorable shuffling around on the ice. Big Brother is a decent skater, and thankfully, this time, he didn't let his new found ability on the ice make him over confident. He didn't go crazy and try to do all the cool things he saw more capable skaters doing.

We got to watch the ice resurfacing, and we got to skate on the freshly less scarred ice. Soon enough it was time to go and pick up Momma from work. She and the boys then turned arouond and dropped me back off at the square for the christmas party my job threw for the employees. One of the managers talked nice to the ice rink people, and they were nice enough to let us skate for a bit, so for the second time, I was back on the ice.

Sore hip number two happened, I'm certain, during a fall. I only fell twice, both times coming out of turns. I overestimated my ability and paid the price. This soreness is on the outside in the form of a lovely if nearly invisible bruise. It doesn't hurt any less because of its near invisibility.

And that's the story of my two sore hips. There was much more to the evening. There was the part when I realized again why I love this town. It really is a great size, and I love when I see that two different groups of friends actually know each other already proving that it really is one big group of friends.

not feeling resolute

New years, a time when many people discuss resolutions. It's the beginning of a brand new year, so what better time to make a decision to change your life for the better?

The problem is that it so seldom happens. We start with a grand idea, perhaps we decide to quite smoking, not one I'm personally going with just yet, or perhaps we decide we need to lose X number of pounds. All too often, our grand ideas of change amount to little as we find ourselves back on the roller coaster or back to the humdrum, however we see our daily life.

One of my favorite newish to me blogs is Line Cook, and I found him through a button that suddenly disappeared from my Google reader page, the discover button. I could click on discover and Google would give me a list of blogs that were somehow related to the feeds already in reader.

There are a few cooking related blogs in my reader, and from my first read at Line Cook I liked his writing, enjoyed reading about his view of this business we are both in. He works at a higher end place than I, but it's still the same business, and it's nice to know that our comrades deal with similar issues.

He's posted something of a new year's resolution post, but unlike so many straightforward resolutions, unlike those big life changing decisions that we never can get a handle on, his ideas are completely doable. It seems to me less a huge change in direction and more a slight change in outlook.

As he states, there is a fair amount of self doubt in the field of cooking that can lead us astray, cause us to forget what we're doing, cause us to lose confidence in our ability, and that lack of confidence can be as slight as to cause us to stumble or so great that it paralyzes us.

His resolution rings true for me not just in the kitchen but in my daily life. For all the change I've forced and faced the last year, there has been a constant thorn in my side, something I've carried with me for years, and his attitude is one I need to adopt. I need to:

stop listening to the static and bullshit and let ourselves feel confident . . . let's take risks . . . ignore the voices in your head. Let yourself feel confident . . . Let yourself move forward in 2009--no excuses and no holding (yourself) back.

I'll add for myself, stop making excuses for why X didn't work or why I let Y depress me and stop me in my tracks. I won't pretend that I'm going to go out and be different tomorrow. I'm not saying that I'll actually do better every single day. I just want to keep this attitude in mind, to start acting in such a way that makes confidence and moving foward such a habit that I'm eventually doing so because I am confident and because I do move forward. I've got a lot to learn and a lot of steps to take just to begin this journey, but I have to start.

first o' year bs

I worked nonstop from the moment I arrived at work last night, clocking in one minute after four in the afternoon. We weren't yet busy, but as the night progressed the square filled up with people and so did the place I work.

We had reservations lined up all night and were seating till eleven thirty, though we ended up taking our last table before that. I did a little prep at the beginning of the night but soon ended up back in the dish pit. I wasn't at all concerned with this, as per usual, though I am going to work my way out of there soon.

I have a tiny bit of an almost burn on my left thumb from holding dirty sautee pans to scrub them out. One of our hot line cooks is really good at scorching them making my job especially fun. Most nights I have a few minutes to let them soak, but last night they didn't even sit in the soak sink long enough to cool off. If anything the steady rotation of still hot pans seemed to keep the soak water hot.

There's a bruise on my leg from running into the walk in door or having it opened into me. I'm not really sure which. I think I was fortunate in not wounding myself any more than that.

In time for the last countdown of the year I walked outside and smoked a cigarette, not the least interested in anything happening on the square, wanting to get back inside to my dishes and hopefully getting the hell out of there early. As it turned out I had another hour and a half of srubbing and spraying and shoving things into and out of the dish machine.

There were a couple of beers, some Bakers bourbon that ended up in my nose from laughing just as I took a shot combined with the fact that I really don't like whiskey for the most part. There was some actual champagne, better than what most of the actual revelers got to drink.

A beer later I walked a few doors down to the pub and had another beer was accosted by a girl, a pretty girl, but a girl nonetheless. Some of her hair caught in one of my earrings, and she was grossed out when I twisted my ear lobe to prove that I was fine. Her hair had actually stuck in my earring and had been pulled out, so my concern was her hair. I couldn't convince her that my ears were in fact fine.

I ran into a friend there and ended up back at the hotel room he'd gotten for the night, a nice late night walk through town. I woke this morning having had too little sleep and came home. I sat here a very few minutes before getting a text from Momma to go pick up the boys, and it was there that I realized I'd not even changed out of my work clothes. Even my filthy boots were still on, and those are generally the first thing I get rid of work related.

Now I'm home, have the last of a cup of coffee and am clean. The house is still a mess from Christmas stuff. Someone needs to cook supper, or we need to decide somewhere cheap to eat, and it needs to happen soon. Since noon yesterday I've eaten very little.

I'm fucking hungry, and Momma and I are both off today. I'm done with this pointless post. Hell of a way to start the year, by boring both my readers, but it's how I roll.

I hope this one is better than the last, because the last one, while it didn't suck the whole way through, just seemed more suck than not. Let's see where this new one will take us. Hope yours is happy.

end o' year bs

So once more we come to the end of a year. What does it really mean, this forcing of time constraints that we allow ourselves? It really does seem a lot of bullshit, but as humans we seem to like to be able to note beginnings and ends.

What have we seen and done this year? Some bloggers like to look back at their old posts and remember, perhaps by month, what the past year looked like based on what they wrote. Some people like to use news stories to remind us of where we've been and what we've seen.

I'm just going to take a couple of minutes and try to remember. I have a bit of coffee left, and I really need to take a shower. I have to be at work in about an hour and a half. I have no idea what comes after that, hopefully me on the torso of a hot young man.

But seriously folks, let's try to remember. Last new year's eve saw me and Momma and the boys sitting at home, sampling a bit of sparkling wine, watching television, waiting for the ball or the apple or the peach or whatever to drop.

Soon into the year it became painfully obvious that I needed to find work. I was still announcing for the roller girls. I wanted desperately to find a man, and I did find a couple, but nothing lasted there beyond a couple of hours.

I found a job at the sushi bar days before Momma was fired, and I didn't return for more than a check after that, three days pay was nice to have. Shortly thereafter I took a job for three weeks cooking at my default bar. The hours were shit and the pay was equally shit, so when Momma talked to the boss at the gpub where she is still employed I jumped at the chance.

Nothing of note happened for some time until at a friend's girlfriend's party late in the summer I met a nice young man, much younger than I, but really that's neither here nor there. We seemingly couldn't get enough of each other, and within a week he asked if we could be boyfriends.

I jumped at that as we seemed such a great fit. I'd never had a boyfriend before, and the next couple of months were full of wonderfulness and weirdness. My kids thought he was great, and he was willing to hang out and enjoy my kid's company. He still has a Paper Mario game saved that he will never finish. Then suddenly, while I was still a great boyfriend and a great guy, he was just not into me, and that quick it was over.

In the meantime, Momma met a guy, another friend of a friend, and they seem to have hit it off. I have mixed feelings about the guy, but he's not my boyfriend, and my only real concern is Momma and what is best for her.

In the middle of all of the above I lost my job at the gpub and spent nearly two months searching for another. I finally did find one, making slightly less than at the gpub, but I'm infinitely happier with this place. I like nearly everyone I work with. I like the food mostly, and even though I seem to seldom leave the dish room, I am happy.

And now we are at the end of the year, and I have to go to work, and then I don't know what I'll do next. I have an invitation to a party from a friend of a friend. Momma has been invited to this same party by the girlfriend of the guy who invited me. She'll be their with her boyfriend, and I'm of two minds about my own attendance. I want to do something not with Momma and her boyfriend, but at the same time I'm sure I'll know lots of people at this party, and I do love hanging out with Momma. Chances are I'll end my night near where I work, possibly with workmates, probably not with a cute young man.

And we'll ring in the new year with shouts and cheers and drinks and I'll try to kiss someone who won't want me to as they will likely not be into boys. I'll deal with it, I'll come home drunk and depressed, and I don't have to work tomorrow.

That's really all I have for now, so I'll proofread this beast of a post, and then it's off to take a dump and a shower, though not at exactly the same time. Also I still need to brush my teeth.

So, from the deepest and warmest nether regions of my stone cold heart I wish each and every one of you exactly what you deserve. I hope you all find twenty dollars on the street and send it to me. I hope you all can come to my town for a visit and bring me all your gays. I need a car and a place to live, and that's how I'll begin my new year, searching yet again.

is seven the lonliest number? meh

Suddenly I'm just not sure what to think. At this moment I'm thinking it would be nice if the boys would actually pick up some of this crap left over from our busy Christmas time. Yes, there is still some trash and lots of toys and toy parts laying around. If not a hugely extravagant Christmas, it was still a messy one, as usual.

Next on the thinking about agenda would be my new reader. In the line of brothers I am number five of seven. Number two has been a reader for some time, but I learned last week that number six is now reading, having gotten my info from number two.

Number six found himself mentioned in a recent post, probably the one in which I referred to my family's still pending Christmas celebration as a possible nest of vipers. He emailed me to explain a bit of new family history among other things. I was immensely happy to hear from and a bit disconcerted to learn that he was my newest reader. Then I grew to find myself less anxious as I replied and soon enough got a reply in return.

So it seems like another brother will be willing to discuss things in a reasonable manner. Did I mention he's read both blogs? I'm certain I haven't included anything too lurid at the other place, though that was a huge reason for having another place, but even with the other place, I find I personally am not comfortable with too much lurid.

It's good that I learned of his presence after he'd been around for a bit. I can't imagine how far back he has yet read, and he's quite welcome, of course, to read as far back as he wants. I'm just happy that I don't feel too great a need to cover my ass or to change what and how I go about blogging since he's bound to see me as glorious as I tend to get. This of course brings up the lurid blog, because if he's going there then my tales of all the sexual misadventures I'm not actually having any of may not ever see the light of day.

So, welcome to the ol' deskfull number six. It's good to have you. Feel free at any time to throw a comment this way, especially if it might add to the discussion. Also, I will be emailing you soon enough, but I have workshirts and socks in the need-to-do laundry, a measly pay check to deposit, and a headlight to purchase followed by work. I'm also hoping to get out tonight and see the band of a couple of friends as they have their our-guitar-player-is-in-town-for-three-days-let's-rock reunion show.

shelled nuts

I almost wrote a post about this being the eight hundredth post, and then I wrote some nonsense about my last post, and I couldn't remember when that was. There have been interesting incidence of things happening since late on the eve of Christmas eve, and then there's been a variety of whatnot since then.

I did end up looking and realized I'd added a couple of drafts and that I can actually just click on published posts if I really want to know. So if you care, that's why this isn't about being any sort of number representing something. Just so you know.

It's not as long and sordid a tale as it could be, but it certainly has it's moments. Christmas was fun enough. I won't mention that I got cash and some English Leather gift set sort of thing with four little bottles of cologne, most of which I never heard of and all entirely useless to me. Who wouldn't rather a man just smell like himself, preferrably a recently cleaned version?

We hung out with MIL on Christmas eve far later than we should have and then visited Momma's dad's family, showing up when most of us would have been leaving in past years, or so it felt. Momma and one aunt, then eventually the other aunt, ended up in the kitchen shrieking and laughing and being girls. I sat with the men and sort of tried to see the t.v. from where I really couldn't. I tried to be nice to everyone as usual, made what I felt were appropriate jokes at the appropriate times.

We came home and put the boys to bed. Momma and I drank beer and sat up late and wrapped Star Wars Lego and Littlest Pet Shop. We placed this year's haul of used books between the two meager piles. We drank what might have been the very best gift, Momma having brought home a bottle of Tanqueray, we had gin and tonic most of the night as we perfected the pint glass gin and tonic.

She's still my favorite person to sit up and drink perhaps a little too much with. I can't help as I think this but to consider 2009 and what it's going to be. But that's a whole other post.

Christmas day broke warm and sunny, the best we could hope for considering the rains we've had lately. I really shouldn't complain, as usually the worst some rain is going to do to me is make me do the crate walk across the basement to the pump so I can jiggle and/or stir it back to life. Then I wait to relight the water heater. I have to remember to show Momma this or get a rain soaked call sometime next year when someone's shower stopped being warm slowly.

It was my first Christmas waking on the couch, and all the coffee was shitty Eight O'Clock beans. Blech! But I soldiered on and greeted the day with at least a smirk, toning down my usual sneer. Our usual Christmas morning, the boys check out their stockings and anything not wrapped that they have reason to believe might be for them. Either Momma or I will be making coffee at this point, and as the coffee enters the room and is settled away from where it represents a danger, the boys finally look to the wrapped gifts.

We were lazy for the majority of the day. Eventually Momma decided that it was time to visit Grandmother, though we knew a set leaving time as we'd invited friends over after a certain time. Dinner at Grandmother's was fun. It was several of the people from the previous night minus one, plus four. And then it was back home.

A few friends stopped by, mostly families, the kind of people who know what BYOB means and don't care that you've obviously thrown some shit together as an offering to their kids when we realize at the last minute that they got our kids stuff. But it was cool. We drank beer. We stood outside and smoked. The kids behaved mostly, and now that her mom finally took her too cute little boots home we now have a darling child's too cute tiny pink glittery shoes when they finally turned up. Next year we'll save up all the shoes she leaves here and give that to her for Christmas.

And to make matters odder, there was a child's birhtday party at the place I work recently, the daughter of someone in the family for whom I work. After the party, as everyone was getting up to leave, I spied the birthday girl, and she wearing a pair of fuzzy pink butterfly wings, and a certain part of me saw those wings and fell in love. I kind of want my own butterfly wings.

And eventually I went to bed. I worked the next two days and was then off today. Very little happened between those two days for me. I went out for drinks one of those nights and had a very serious discussion with Momma that was not about me. There may or may not be news on that front soon enough, but that's all of that I've got for now.

finally this season's christmas song

Let's not pretend the spirit of the season ever did fully enrapture me, but I did spend a fair amount of the day on the youtubes finding Christmas music I thought the kids would like. I was playing The Nutcracker that we usually welcome the season with when one of the boys mentioned one of the songs and was remembering The Brian Setzer Orchestra's Nutcracker Suite from the Elf soundtrack.

That started the video-go-round, and eventually I settled on yet another top Christmas song to add the aforementioned (in another post) top favorite Christmas songs. The search for more wasn't hard, and I was reminded of another top favorite that I have posted about, but I don't think I've shared the other slightly funnier version. This is definitely not a list of the videos we found, but since most of you won't bother to listen to the songs anyway, I'm only adding two.



Starting with the new fave that's actually an older song we have Buck Owens singing Santa Looks A Lot Like Daddy. I love Buck.


Number next on our list is Rufus Wainwright doing his song Spotlight On Christmas. It's a good enough song by itself, but add in French and Saunders, and it's like a parade of awesome.

maybe more feeling?

This post is for Molly because I did something Christmasy with the kids, and she commented recently that I should. We had hot chocolate and popcorn and watched A Christmas Story, one of my all time favorite Christmas movies.

We are planning more holiday movie watching that will involve one of the other greatest of the genre, the almighty Elf. There will be more hot chocolate, but instead of popcorn, or maybe in addition to, there will be peppermint ice cream. Also Momma will be in attendance. Our schedules require that we plan a bit more than on the day of.

Also, while we will be visiting the part of the family that I really, really would prefer not to, we are making plans to bail early with some lame, possibly made up excuse. We might make cookies as well, though that might be pushing it a little for me. We also may attempt to invite friends over in which case there will be noise and beer and other children.

In light of her comment, I'm less sure how I should feel about this whole thing. I don't want to force myself to pretend things I don't, because I've done that for a long time. I get that making oneself smile can actually act to lighten one's mood, but this kind of goes beyond that.

In the interest of not liquefying the already beaten dead horse I'll end the post here. But I do want to make it known that, in my smallish and lame way I'm sort of trying. I'm at least trying to do what I feel is right.

Also, let me point out that my links are Christmas colors. I usually just make them all red, but in some amount of spirit of the season I've added green as well.

dreamz with wings

I met Zophia very recently, and I've only hung out with her once, at a Halloween party, but I already have some amount of respect for her, especially for the work she does.

I want to post about her because one of her current projects deserves to be highlighted, and she deserves any help that finds its way to her. Her medium is metal and fire, sculptures built with found and recycled metals through her studio, Burning Art.

Her website is HERE where one can see some of the amazing work she's done. But what I really want to tell you about is her Dreamz with Wings. I don't know the whole story, but if you go HERE you can learn more for yourself. I do know that she is creating sculptures and selling them to raise financial support for a friend who is battling cancer.

I've seen her work up close and am happy that, though I barely know her, I do know someone capable of this sort of thing. I hope that my brief mention here can bring her support as well as new admirers. It's a worthy cause, so please at least visit the links I've provided.

And when you visit the Dreamz page, make sure to check out the cat with wings. I was taken a tiny bit aback upon seeing it because it reminded me of a tattoo idea that's sort of in the back of my head

oh no he dituhn

Remember a few days ago when I explained the real problems with Anakin Skywalker's epic battle with Obi-Wan Kenobi? It was a great post, and it basically contained my arguments in regards to the fail that George Lucas created by allowing both these characters to live. The post came about due to a late night and possibly slightly drunken discussion/argument with my friend Franklin who you should by now be aware of.

This conversation was reenacted with slightly different points made a couple of evenings later, and Franklin has now posted on his own blog with his sorely misguided counteraregument. Yes, I do indeed intend to not let this die.

One mistake in Franklin's post is his contention that the younglings took no effort to kill in that they are in fact younglings and have not had the same training that a true Jedi or even a padawan would have had. He seems to miss my point in this instance, though in general I find that he and I have equally valid points assuming one accepts the difference in the Star Wars univers and reality.

I'll point out that I accept the difference in created fiction and reality, but at the same time, no matter how much suspension of disbelief one allows for, one also has to accept that, given the similarity in physical laws evident there are some things one has to accept.

First to the younglings argument. My point has nothing to do with their lack of skill and training. Of course they are young and weak and untrained, but it's just that innocence that Anakin so wantonly destroyed that, in my opinion, allowed his use of the dark side to grow. It's the difference between killing uniformed soldiers versus decimating a city block with anonymous bombs. The willingness to face the soldier versus the willingness to kill with no regard allows one side to accept that there are no limits to how low one will stoop. It's the difference between slapping a man in the face as opposed to sneaking a kick to the nuts from behind.

Now, on the the next bit of the debate, that raw power can never equal skill. Anakin was highly skilled and well trained to the point where he should have been given full Jedi Knight status instead of being held back. I'll use Franklin's judo argument. As he points out, one skilled in judo will easily be able to use his knowledge to defeat a much larger and powerful opponent. However, given the same amount of expertise and training in judo between the two opponents, the fight will most likely go the way of the larger and more powerful of the two. Add on to that skill and training the willingness to accept no limits and the larger opponent becomes that much more formidable especially if the weaker opponent is willing only to work within the set skillset percieved to be true judo.

I'm more than willing for any other points to be argued. I'll listen to anyone nerdy enough to join this exchange. I'm pretty sure that of my couple of readers I have some scifi fans with an opinion on this subject, and I welcome any points of view.

feel it or not, here it comes

There's every chance I've mentioned this by now, and perhaps over the past couple of years I've made similar points, but this is Christmas season, and I suppose I could make the point again.

This one is different though. I may have hated Christmas in the past, but the combined efforts of Momma's love of the season and my own desire to give my children some of the assumed magic of the season has worked to make me less of a Scrooge.

I'm not feeling the exact Scroogely leanings I may have in the past, but I'm just not feeling Christmas at all this year. I did take a couple of minutes earlier today and found the two songs that almost always work. And they basically failed. I could almost feel a little glimmer of the light as Little Elf sat down in Santa's chair, almost feel a spark of the joy as Run, DMC and Jay found Santa's wallet and returned home for Mom's chicken and greens, but even Christmas in Hollis wasn't enough. I'm not sure what I expected from The Ramones other than getting to hear one of the greatest bands ever, and really, Merry Christmas Baby isn't the most inspiring of songs when it's the cheer and joy of the season you're after.

We have a tree. I had no part in choosing or decorating it. Last week in my little town was warm enough to have gone out any day, but Momma worked most days, and it rained every day. She broke down and bought one from the hardware store to avoid missing out. It was decorated while I was at work.

The tree story doesn't really bother me. I wonder if I'd been part of the picking and putting and related decorating if I'd have begun to get the feeling, but I don't really regret not being part of it. It isn't really bothering me. On top of that, the remains of the decorating, the unused ornaments, the various baubles that are not tree bound decorations, still sit around in the floor, taking up space. The kitchen is a wreck and has been for days. The recycling is piling up, empty but rinsed beer cans, rinsed and flattened milk jugs, overflowing paper bin, roasting pan in the sink filled with disgusting grease water and various other dishes that have found their way onto the pile.

With the separation of Momma's and my finances I've been unable personally to purchase any more than one gift and that for The Boy. I did help Momma pick our usual pile of books, but she paid for them. The other gifts for them she went shopping for, and my only help there was reading off, over the phone, the list she'd made and forgotten.

I'm sure the financial situation is not helping. My first check from the new job was for most of a week, and my next check is due the day after Christmas, and I'm not really getting the hours I need to make it a reasonable size. Giving Momma money to cover some of the gift load will help me feel that I've helped purchase gifts for my children, but I was only actually present for those I've mentioned. She and I haven't discussed gifts between the two of us. I don't know what family plans there are, and I don't know how she plans to work her boyfriend into any of this.

So I'm back to the just not feeling it this year. That it's only days away doesn't have the same creeping yet suddenly there feeling of years past. I kind of just want it to be over. January promises to be the month of change as I look forward to moving out. My own family is getting together a week and a half into the new year for our annual family get together, and my mother would very much like for us all to be there. There's a whole nest of potential vipers in that one brother has a new wife this year, one brother apparently just left his girlfriend to return to his wife, and one brother (me) has finally told the family that he's gay. I almost don't want to bother with the possible situations and discussions I can only imagine. And will Momma and I be able to coordinate our schedules and money to be able to make the drive south?

I just want all of Christmas, every single last little bit of it, to go away. It's not so much that I want it to be over because that suggests getting through it. I don't want to bother with having to do the stuff that Christmas is so much as just want it to go away.

I'm not celebrating an interstellar entity coming to earth to fornicate with a human woman and recreate himself in human form who is both father and son in one divine package, and solstice, though it celebrates the return of the light and the growing day always just seems like another lie as we actually look forward to more winter and colder days and nights. I hate the cold, and I'm already tired of my feet being cold and my fingers being clumsy and stiff. I want spring and renewal and a new love.

But, as the time honored saying suggests, I can wish in one hand and shit in the other. I think we all know which one will find itself fullest quickest.

random killa-whatsis

There is no argument that will sway me. No matter what you bring to the table, and I like to think I've heard it all, but there is nothing you can say to change my mind. And I only mention this because it came up tonight, and I feel I must preserve my opinion in blog form for posterior's sake.

Simply put, once Anakin had opened himself up to the whole of the force that the dark side represents, he was operating on such a whole other playing field from Obi-Wan that nothing Obi-Wan could even have dreamed of doing with the force would have stopped Anakin from killing him.

The absolute and only reason that Obi-Wan lived was to provide continuity between the light and dark sides of George Lucas's Star Wars. We can all accept the originals for the brilliance they provided, but I personally find them overshadowed by the crap that eventually gave us the origins of the conflict.

And to cap it all off, we have to sit through that final battle scene. I'm sure I've had something to say about it, because I'm quite certain I covered these movies when I finally was bothered to see them. I really did put it off for a good long time. Again, it wouldn't come up except that it already came up once tonight. Posterior and all that.

Okay, you want my reasoning? You want more of my point? Because it always seems like people tend to disagree with me, and I have to bring up the younglings. Remember when we see the aftermath in the secret Jedi headquarters? Remember everyone being dead? Yeah, Anakin, fully embracing the entirety of the force.

Somewhere awaiting the epic battle we have Obi-Wan, eventual nearly hero. He does help Luke focus on the force, but now we know it's just a bunch of meta-chlori-someshits in the blood. I'm not even getting into the fail that this is in being instrumental in ruining a great story line.

The real point is that, Obi-Wan, being the good little Jedi, was trained to only accept some part of the force as being good. He's only willing to use a certain amount of this power. He spends a lot of time learning how to use this narrow bandwidth of force.

Anakin, on the other hand, has also been training in that one part and has proved himself adept. He also has been drawn to the greater power of the entire force, including the part that lies outside what his current associates are practicing.

I can see no reason for Obi-Wan to have survived. Anakin should quite successfully have killed him a number of times in the final battle. He has the reason that seems valid to him, and he's accepted the whole of the force by being willing to destroy entirely anyone he feels stands between him and his goal. If nothing else, his destruction of the whole of the Jedi temple, and especially in light of the younglings killed, he was willing to accept such power as to be unstoppable. The very limits Obi-Wan and all the Jedis accepted and forced on themselves were their downfall.

And really, that is my youngling argument. The power it took for him to destroy all the Jedis and allowed him to accept the destruction of the younglings was more than enough "dark" side for him to easily finish off Obi-Wan.

The only reason Obi-Wan survived, given all that, was, he had to. Which to me means some sort of George Lucas director fail. I don't want it to be that, and I don't wishe Obi-Wan dead, but given what I've seen, I just can accept the outcome. It's almost as bad as Jar-Jar. Period.

And seriously, this post wasn't part of my night a very short time ago. I really didn't mean to come home and blog. I haven't even taken my jacket off or even smoked since I've been home. It's all posterity. I had to record it for time imemorial. You'll thank me one day when you find yourself citing this blot post to justify your dissatisfaction once the Lucan canon somehow becomes scripture and we find ourselves justifying ourselves based on that, Luke and Indiana competing for our obeisance and offerings.

not to put too fina a point on it

Via Box Turtle Bulletin

Yes, the representation that gay people will have at the inauguration will be a gay marching band included among the couple dozen bands that will march down Pennsylvania Avenue after the swearing in ceremony.

Make sure you go to the Box Turtle Bulletin link, because they say it really well. Then put them in your blog reader. Pay attention to why we are not as gay(happy) as we could be.

I get a preacher who compares me to perverts given the privilege of representing those like himself, but to actually represent me? Yeah, a band, one of many bands.

I'm happy there will be fags, and I love marching bands, but seriously, once again, fuck you Obama.

And, not to hammer the point home, but this is pretty much what I've come to expect. If I want gay in my life I have to go out of my way to find it. I don't run across gay just living and being. I don't see me represented on t.v. or in movies unless it's to make a point, but I never seem to just see plain old people who happen to be gay and are represented as normal. Okay, there's Michael Chabon, an amazing author, and there's specifically gay stuff, but where am I represented as just plain ol' normal nondescript me?

Seriously, I'm getting fucking fed up. At this point I'm just trying to live and make sense of my world. I would be sooo fucking happy to think I had a chance at finding love, a chance to make some progress, a chance to just be me and be okay. And once again I'm tossed a hand full of shit and expected to choke it down with a smile.

I want this to end. I want this to stop being an issue. I want to be okay.

does it ever stop?

Here begins attempt number two to get my thoughts in order, to express the feelings swirling in my head right now.

If, like my other reader, you don't live under a rock, you probably know that Rick Warren has been invited to give the invocation during Obama's inauguration. If you know this, then you probably also know that, according to Warren, as a gay man, I am no better than a pedophile.

I'm not linking to all the sources I could. As a blogger I probably should, but as a blog reader you can very easily google that shit and find it. It's been covered by plenty of other people by now. I'm just not bothering.

I'm angry and I'm hurt and I'm sad. I've dealt with hurt and sad so much lately that it all turns back into anger, and I end up back where I started.

If you've been reading here then you know the story, you know the years I've spent denying myself that tiny bit of freedom that being gay is. I hid my truth for years, hid from you, from me, from my wife, from my friends. I finally gave myself that little bit of an opening and came out. It has caused hurt and sadness and anger. It has forced my life to change, and working through that change is yet more hurt and sadness and anger. And really it's all just one gay man's attempt to try to work toward making his/my life what it's supposed to be. It's just me trying like hell to find my way in this world.

And even when I think maybe I'm done, maybe I'm on my way to a better place, it feels like getting slapped in the face. I voted for Obama, and now he is willing to have a religious rite performed during his civil celebration by a man who compares my very existence as a gay man to being a pedophile.

Really, all the response I have right now is a middle finger and a "fuck you" to both Obama and Warren. I feel like I've been played. I feel like, once again, gay people are only worth what you are willing to take from us. Vote? sure you'll take that if it gets you where you want. Equality? Acceptance? Basic civility? Respect? Is it really so much to ask?

first book review-ish in ages

Moments ago, sitting in the garage to avoid the rain, mostly enjoying a cigarette, I finally finished reading Watchmen.

The version we currently have is the collection of the entire story borrowed from Momma's boyfriend. He loved it. She loved it. Friend Franklin loved it and has been waiting for me to finish so he can talk to me/us about it. COD read it recently and apparently loved it.

So where should I start? I suppose I should just go ahead and admit that Watchmen left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed, especially in light of all the praise the book has gotten. Apparently I'm the only one who read the book and failed to leak a little into my pants.

The story was decent. The characters were mostly cool, and I did really like Rorschach. I liked the idea behind the costumed adventurers. It was in parts a fun study of what the world might have seen had these old style heroes been real, or perhaps it was a fun study in the reality of the lives of those people had they existed.

The art never did capture me. In my pre-children days, when I could afford comics, I was very much into a title or two, but like every other art type thing in my life I tend to go more for individual artists than genres. As an example, I don't like most country music made since sometime in the sixties, but I will listen to anything Dwight Yoakam does. I like even less hip hop, but Tribe Called Quest can do no wrong (maybe a little) in my book. With comics I've always been a fan of Frank Miller even if the movie version of Sin City did almost quite suck a lot. Paul Pope is also worth checking out if you like that sort of thing.

I wanted to enjoy it. I wanted to get and to feel the hype. In the end, the story ended up being kind of a let down. The plot was non existent till the end, and the pirate story? I get how the survivor's mental demise works in, but it and the text only pages almost seemed to exist to make the series longer. The end of course was the doozy, and that really just pissed me off. It almost felt as if the artist and writer suddenly realized they were only getting paid to write so many of the funny books and theyn realized they could either figure out a way to end it or write a few more for free.

As mentioned, Watchmen left me underwhelmed, non plussed if you will. I would probably recomend it for fans of super hero comics, but for fans looking for a little more out of their comics I would suggest they keep looking.

Next on my reading list is a book pressed upon my by Franklin, a book COD may well have an opinion on. I'll be starting Ben Bova's Privateers, probably within the hour. I can't guarantee a review at the end, but I'll try.