on my way to work

So, I know where he works. I'm a semi regular there, and was just there yesterday for the awesome local milk we've been buying lately.

I'm so tempted to stop in, my excuse being to buy a tea, one of the best iced teas ever, while my real reason would of course be to see him for just a moment, to say hi, to see his beautiful eyes and smile.

But I'm not going to. I'll see him soon enough. Though I'm sure of that I don't actually know when, but I can wait.

like like maybe

Have you ever found yourself trying not to like a boy too much? I've only hung out with him a couple of times not counting that first night months ago when I met him, and that barely counts because that's the nature of things.

We've texted some and talked on the phone a bit and hung out over beers, and I can almost still feel the feel of his beard on my cheeks. And then there's his eyes and his laugh, and there's me trying not to like him too much.

Because I do like him. I like how plain ol' nice it is to just sit and talk to him. I like how little and how much we seem to have in common. I like when my phone makes a noise and I look and see his name.

And now I've said too much, but I want to give you the soundtrack for the evening. We're doing two different Faith No More songs, Just a Man and I Started a Joke. Check them both out, whether or not your a fan of this amazing band.

smooth criminal

Perhaps I've mentioned here, though I don't remember, but I'm having some minor car issues lately. My front, driver side window refuses to roll up. It will roll down, and it did actually roll up a couple of times last week, but no more. I have a big orange garbage bag that rides around and acts as my window when I have to park my car outside.

After work last night I met up with a nice and very attractive young man, and we went to a couple of bars and drank a couple of beers. I rode in his truck to one of the bars, and he drove me back to my car at the end of the night.

As he parked next to my car I noticed my doors were unlocked. Yes, even though it's useless to do so, I find myself locking the doors. It was parked in the garage nearest the square, and since it's inside basically I didn't bother to put my orange window up. It seems like that might make my issue more noticeable and more attractive to would be thieves.

I exited the truck of the nice and attractive guy to get into my car and noticed that the ash tray had been pulled out and dumped on the passenger seat. I should add that I've removed anything of value from the car, and I've even begun carrying a bag so that I can carry my cd's and my stereo front with me when the car is parked in public.

I should also point out that the ash tray was probably open and that I roll my own cigarettes. I'm guessing that someone noticed the open window and then noticed what looked like roaches, marijuana cigarette butts for those not down with drug lingo.

So they found nothing of value. I have to almost laugh a little, but at the same time there's also some amount of violation involved. Someone thinks it's okay to mess with my stuff and try to steal my stuff. I'm sure a working and rolled up window would have dissuaded them, but I don't know. Someone's car was apparently broken into near mine as there was glass on the ground.

And this is why we just can't have nice things. Some asshole is always on the lookout for your stuff. So, to the douchebag who got in my car, HAHA you prick! You got shit, motherfucker!

Oh, and the guy in the truck? He's nice, and he's cute, and he seems to like me. I think I seems to like him as well, and that's all the info you're getting right now.

in a good way

Last night wasn't horrid. I was on the line with the guy that bugs me, or should I say one of the guys that bugs me. And he didn't annoy the piss out of me last night.

The kid is in his very early twenties and is a college student who apparently doesn't need the money nearly as much as I do. He was an infant when I bussed my first table, a small child when I was scrubbing off the drive through lane, not even in middle school when I sliced open the two middle fingers on my left hand, leaving a scar that is still there.

I wouldn't hold any of this against him but for the attitude that he tends to have. He's tried to tell me how to cook things I've cooked thousands of. He caught me at a downtime, but I'm coming back, and I own that line when he's not there.

For reasons of seniority I tend to have to take the lesser role on the line, and to some extent that's undertandable, but no more. I'm going to take the captain's seat from him, and I'm going to show him how it works when it works right.

But none of that was even the point. I started out to discuss why last night was nice in the best possible way. It could well not have been, but I managed to save my share and have the end saved for me.

There's a guy that I met through a friend, a friend I don't see nearly often enough, and a guy that I thought was kind of cool the first time I met him. I've run into him here and there, and he's remembered me and greeted me, though it never really got past that point. I sent him a message after one of our random encounters and was probably too myself. He messaged me back in a nice way but was seeing someone. He recently sent me an IM on Facebook, and we talked for a nice long while. We seemed to have some cool things in common.

Last night at work went well. We had a nice flow of customers for graduation weekend, and we served them good food, at least mine was good, and they likely left fat and happy. I did my share of cleaning at the end of the night but didn't have to close. I'd hoped to get off work earlier than I did, but I did insist on doing more cleaning than the closer asked. It was already late enough I reasoned.

We have a great patio where I work, and I was happy to enjoy my first beer of the evening in the outdoors with some decent people to chat with. Half way through that beer I got a text from a number not in my phone book inviting me for a drink. I remembered having given the guy mentioned above my phone number, but I had no way to know that it was him till I asked.

I'd have been content last night to enjoy a beer or two on the patio and proceed homeward, but the text inviting me out for a drink and the guy won the night. I soon tossed my empty can into the recycling bin and was off for the gay bar.

And we sat and talked. I didn't drink a bunch and didn't get any. I had a nice conversation. It was nice, and in the best possible way.

And that's pretty much it.

book meme

A certain Ms. Contemplator did this meme, and it's been ages since anyone else in my little segment of my venn diagram of the blogosphere did one. It's almost like we all did all the good ones and then quit. If you're so inclined I suggest THIS song opened in another tab as your soundtrack for reading. It's Leonard Cohen, and you're welcome.

1. To mark your page you: use a bookmark, bend the page corner, leave the book open face down?
Only book marks ever! I even have favorite bookmarks. My top fave is actually a piece of brown paper that came wrapped around Momma's first and fanciest sushi knife.

2. Do you lend your books?
I hate to. I've lost too many books that way, and I'm probably a bit selfish with my books, but I love all my babies.

3. You find an interesting passage: you write in your book or NO WRITING IN BOOKS!
It's not that I'm against writing in books, though I am, and I don't do it.

4. Dust jackets - leave it on or take it off.
I take it off when I'm reading the book. It gets in the way, and it's too easy to tear it up. When I'm done reading the book I try to remember to put the dust jacket back on.

5. Hard cover, paperback, skip it and get the audio book?
I prefer hard covers because they last better, but really the book is the thing in the end. I don't do audio books, though I'm not against them, but really books are meant to be read and held and smelled. Audio is for music, and audio book listening is music listening time wasted.

6. Do you shelve your books by subject, author, or size and color of the book spines?
Currently I shelve them by author and by suitability for children versus unsuitability for children. Of course shelving also involves shelves, so we won't go into the fact that none of the stacks of unshelved books are unshelved.

7. Buy it or borrow it from the library later?
I usually do the library thing because I'm broke, but if I had money just falling out of my ass you can believe I'd be boring the kids at the bookstore and hitting up some dot coms. I love having books. I love having entire book cases full of books in my house.

8. Do you put your name on your books - scribble your name in the cover, fancy bookplate, or stamp?
I don't even put the kids names in books they are given as gifts. I just don't write in them at all. It's not that I'm against it as such, but I kind of am.

9. Most of the books you own are rare and out of print books or recent publications?
I own books for a variety of reasons. I have random text books and books that were gifts. I have huge piles of books that were bought used so that we could give the boys a big pile of books for Christmas. I have some old and likely out of print books. I have some books that I'll never read and should just get rid of.

10. Page edges - deckled or straight?
Does deckling mean that uneven edges thing? or the sparkly gold thing? Either way I find it hard to do straight stuff, so I'd choose to think of the other kind as not deckled thank you very much.

11. How many books do you read at one time?
One, because more than that means I'm not giving the book its due. Also I'm easily confused.

12. Be honest, ever tear a page from a book?
no, I'd never deface one of my own books, and if I wanted a page bad enough I'd just steal the whole damn book, or buy it. Yeah, buy it! That's what I'd do.

If you choose to do the meme, let me know.

the fun, does it ever

I'm certainly not the first person to contend that with the solution to one problem comes the very next problem. Often the problem gives us a break, a pretend respite between issues, a lull that we can pretend to fall asleep because we feel so safe.

Just about a month ago my car was repaired and no longer leaks quarts of oil onto the ground. I tallied some of the figures of some of the purchases made during the leaking days and found that I spent just over three hundred dollars on oil to replace the leaked oil, an oil pan and gasket, replacing tools that I broke, and the actual repair job itself. Add in the couple of meals between me and the boys on the couple of days when it was so much easier to just eat somewhere, and the total climbs ever higher.

And then I had a few weeks to enjoy my car. Now I have a great big orange garbage bag for a window on my front, driver side door.

From the moment we bought this car this window was slow to roll up. It wasn't bad, but it was noticeably slower than the rest. It progressively got worse, and on cold days it worked even more slowly.

Now it doesn't work. It will roll down, and it's almost all the way down now, but it won't roll up. It won't even try, and it won't even make a noise that would indicate an attempt. It doesn't even make any clicking noises, though whether or not that matters is not something I can claim to know, but the absence of even clicking noises does seem indicative of something.

Oh, and the seat belt. The seat belt in the rear on the driver's side won't come out. That's historically been Big Brother's seat, but sadly he is forced to sit in the middle. I remember as a child that we wouldn't ever have known if a seat belt worked or not because we never used them. They were pretty much just those things we crammed down into the seat, and we only pulled them out to look for a lost quarter or pencil that had been eaten by the seat.

Oh, our modern world. I'm not against seat belts and do trust that they work to keep my family safer. I'm not sure about the air bags, and that's the reason neither of the boys can sit in the front. I'd be more than happy for Big Brother to sit up front with me and not have to worry about that back seat belt, but the safety device I'm not sure about can be deadly to a guy his size, so he's stuck in the middle of the back till I get the seat belt issue resolved.

And this has been a typically east TN rainy as hell spring, and today, my day off, my day for errands and whatnot, it's raining. It's been pretty much nonstop all day varying from downpour to drizzle and all points in between. I need to run these errands, and I'm sure I should just suck it up and go, but I don't want to get wet.

I'm not really sure what to do about the window. I can call my friend to bring her meter, and we could test things to narrow down the issue, and I'm sure in the end I'll end up replacing a motor or regulator or something else I don't understand. I could get estimates for just getting it fixed and not attempt a home repair at all, and this idea seems nice given the issues I had with my most recent repair attempt, but the cheap/broke part of me doesn't want to blow the money. The not-a-repair-type-person part of me doesn't even want to bother. I've taken the inside panel off the door and peered uselessly into the frame, and I don't even want to have to do that again.

So maybe I'll make some calls, and maybe I won't. Maybe I'll run my errands and have a soggy ass, and maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just feed the boys pizza and ramen so I can take a nap and not worry about anything.

is so much fun

Last night saw me have a couple of interesting encounters. The first you won't get to hear the story of, but the second is at least worthy of a post, though I can't truthfully say it shows me in the best light.

I suppose this morning is a more apt description of the timing as I'd been out fairly late. I had had a bit to drink in the night part and ended up at someone's house. This is a someone I know, so be happy knowing that it wasn't an anonymous hookup.

"Mr. Hull, I pulled you over for speeding, and the light that illuminates your license plate is out. Also your tags are expired. Can I see your license and registration?"

"uh . . ." makes digging for wallet sound as I dig for wallet. "Here's my license. My registration is at home because my window won't roll up, so I took everything out of my car."

"Have you been drinking tonight?"

"Earlier."

"Well you smell like a . . ." I forget what I smelled like, but all I actually smelled was ass and lube, and I wondered if he could smell it and wondered if he too recognized it as the smell of gay sex, but I digress.

He went back to his car for a minute while I tried not to be blinded by the lights. He returned and first asked me why I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. I pointed out that I had been when he pulled me over, and I didn't point out that he watched me take it off to get my wallet out of my back pocket.

I watched his finger go back and forth, trying to move my eyes, feeling as if my head were turning though I tried to keep it still. I was sort of fixated on a nearly healed cut on his finger. He tried to trick me after what seemed like ten minutes worth of over extending my eye muscles by suddenly going up, but I was game for his attempt. Next I did the ten steps of heel to toe walk, turned in a small space at the end, and walked back ten more heel to toe steps. My favorite was the lifting my foot six inches off the ground and counting, one-one thousand, two-one thousand, etc. I actually made it to about fifteen before my balance required I put my foot down, and I actually said something along the lines of, "Fourteen-one thousand, fifteen-one thousand, and eventually I have to put my foot down." I may have laughed a little on the inside where the officer couldn't see.

I sat for a minute waiting, and he finally came back again and explained my charges, one of which was no insurance. I didn't point out that he'd asked for registration and not insurance, but I did show him my insurance card, and he was nice enough to scribble that charge out.

So went my second field sobriety test. The first time was a few years back, and I did it with two pulled hamstrings, injuries incurred earlier that same day while playing soccer. I passed then too.

I can't claim this as the greatest story, but it is a story, and now I have better things to do. But do take a warning. Don't drink and drive, and not just because you might spill your drink.

If you want to hear a band called The Business sing about drinking and driving go HERE. It's actually a fun song.

fave song totally?

As kids we often have favorite things, songs or foods or whatever, and sometimes this carries into adulthood, though I do find as I'm older that I can less easily narrow down a group of anything into a single favorite.

The idea of a favorite song especially is difficult as there are just so many good songs out there. In addition when you deal with songs you realize that there are so many versions of good songs, and often the different versions are good for different reasons.

Our recent library trip found us picking up a two cd set of June Carter songs. She plays and sings with everyone from her sisters to Johnny Cash and so many more. One of the songs is a song that's come to be a personal favorite, Foggy Mountain Top or Some Foggy Mountain Top or Foggy Mountaintop, depending on where you read it.

I went poking around YouTube last night with this song in mind and found several versions. Each is good for different reasons though they are essentially the same. I don't know how many verses there are in the song as each version features different verses as well as slightly differing versions in wording. The boys sing about girls, while the girls sing about boys. It may not come as a surprise, but I like the versions sung about boys.

We'll start with a slightly more modern version, Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner with some really nice electric guitar HERE. I do like this version, and beyond it being Dolly it is a great rollicking kind of thing.

Next we'll check out Bill Monroe and Doc Watson. If you know good music then you are familiar with these gentlemen. Listen HERE to their version, two masters of the musical form.

And finally the ladies that started all this, June Carter and her sisters HERE. If you aren't familiar with the Carter family that's a shame. Acquaint yourself as soon as is reasonable.

As always with the YouTube, I can't be held accountable for the quality of any of the videos. I found videos with good music, and really that's what we're here for, so play and enjoy.

Dear Perez Hilton . . .

. . . or whatever your real name is, please shut the fuck up already.

Really, I didn't want to blog about this, and I'm sure we've all heard the story enough times. Miss California, as part of the Miss America pageant for girls who can walk and look pretty at the same time, was asked by celebrity slander blogger Perez Hilton for her opinion on same sex marriage. Miss CA bumbled her way through an attempt at an answer and only managed to give us a new term "opposite marriage" to describe those unions of heterosexuals. The gist of it was she's unsupportive of marriage equality.

Mr. Hilton, the blogger famous for . . . uh . . . mmm . . . drawing on pictures of young media starlets? I think? decided to call Miss CA some less than nice names. The right leaning media picked up on it, and suddenly the mouthy douche blogger is the voice of gay America?

We have Joe Solmonese and Michelangelo Signorile and many more intelligent and thoughtful people who are willing and have been willing to speak for us in an intelligent and thoughtful manner. We have blogs like Good As You and Box Turtle Bulletin to give us gay related news stories and present our side in, you guessed it, an intelligent and thoughtful manner.

So, for all our sakes, Perez Hilton won't you please go back to whatever you were doing before? Go on The View and snark about barely adult girls in too little clothing, or maybe go on some celebrity "news" shows and badmouth boy bands. Honestly, I haven't thought as much about you in the couple of years I've known of you as I've been forced to in the past week, and I'm about sick of it.

Yes, I know I'm foul mouthed and say rude things, but I do it on my blog. If I was somehow on national television, I'd like to think I could better represent my people, and I'd damn well do my best to do it in a manner that is both intelligent and thoughtful. Wow, those two words again.

So, in closing, please, if you have any respect for equality and the idea of gays being seen as equal and deserving, please, Perez Hilton, shut the ever loving fuck up already. Please?

it's called a joke

I hope that a thousand years from now mankind is still so stupid and deluded that when they stumble across my blog they suddenly have a new reason to kill each other over vague attempts to decipher just what the fuck I was saying in that archaic twenty first century brogue that I spoke way back then.

It would fucking well serve us right with our damn thumbs and chairs and art.

did they all move away?

Of the gay guys I seem to meet in this town I have found that they seem to fit into one of two camps. The random gays are generally much younger than me, what I'll call college age. I might see them anywhere, and all too often my broken gaydar doesn't really help with giving me any actual knowledge as to their actual sexuality.

Next on the list would be the guys at the gay bar. I don't hate hanging out there, at least not until the one overly large, creepy guy keeps staring at me. He won't even talk any more than a grunted greeting, staring at me as if transfixed. There are the two bartenders with whom I'm now on a first name basis. They even know to get me a High Life when I come in, though one of them does often bring me just about any other Miller product, forgetting somehow that it's High Life I want.

But really the thing that stands out about the second group, much like the first, is the general age range, though here it's at the other end of the spectrum. These are the guys enough older than me that I'm again just not interested. These are the guys who've been out for years, who see me and think of me as very young. Often that's part of the point when they talk to me, because who doesn't want to sleep with a young man?

A lot of the copliments I might pay myself are things I can prove. I do make good biscuits, and I am a fairly decent cook. The crap that I write seems often to interest people, and I even laugh again at my jokes as I reread occasionaly. I'm a decent speller most of the time, and I can take a cut on the hand or a smack to the knee while working and endure the pain pretty well, sometimes. And apparently, though I never really realized before, I'm at least not unattractive. I've had more than a few guys point it out at the bar, and though it may all be in my head, I seem to be noticing girls checking me out lately.

The point of all of this really is that middle group that I can't seem to find. There are the older than me and younger than me gays that I spot or meet or have a drink next to, but the guys my age are nowhere to be found, and don't even get me started on gays into the sorts of things I'm into. I've mentioned it before, noting that Motorhead and homosexual males don't seem a pair one often finds. The sad but oddly uplifting songs of Mr. Leonard Cohen seem a perfect gay fit, but again I have to wonder in the gay man's world of dancable pop music where I and my love for the morose fit.

So did all the gay guys my age leave town? So many of the people I meet seem to be from somewhere else, and I sometimes get a feeling as if these guys are from towns so much smaller than this town, that this town must have seemed like the big city, the welcoming lights you see from you little farming community, that this place is so big and bright and welcoming they need never move on from here. The young gays are just now getting old enough to get out and get a taste, and perhaps many of them are just here for college, or they came to school and haven't quite managed to grow up enough yet to know to leave.

The guys my age must have tired of this town and its sometimes small town feel. They must have all moved on to bigger and better and less homo insensitive places. I'll admit to having met maybe two guys my age that seem even a little interesting, and both of them are attractive and seem likely to be cool in a way that I could enjoy hanging out with them. They are also both in relationships, which should make me feel that maybe there are at least a very few gays, but why I don't seem to meet them I can't fathom.

I do love this town, but I do sometimes yearn for a bigger place, a place with more people, a place I stand a chance of meeting someone. It's more than an age issue or a compatibility issue or a musical taste issue, but it's at least those three things, and it's more.

Of course, the chance I'll get to leave this town are nearly nonexistent, and my actual desire isn't necessarily to leave or to stay. As usual, what I really want is not something I can so easily tease out of the murky swirl of thoughts inside my head, that layer upon layer of ideas and possibility.

I'm sure there's great advice, unhelpful things one could say about being myself, being patient, work on being the person I want to be, take care of my own needs, don't rely on a guy for happiness or some such shit. I'm sure I'm doing those things to some extent. Whatever, I just want to meet these guys that I know have to still be here somewhere.

grrr!

In the last two weeks, two young boys, boys very near the age of Big Brother (my oldest son for any new readers) have committed suicide. These two children killed themselves because they were tired of being bullied and harassed.

They were tired of other kids being mean to them, and they had dealt with it so much that, at eleven years old, the only solution they could come up with was suicide.

What was the majority of the slander they dealt with? They were being called gay and were referred to as faggots. Were they faggots? Were they gay? Does it fucking matter when you are eleven years old?

How is this okay?

To anyone who thinks that homosexuality is a sin or is wrong, how can you possibly explain away the sort of bias that would drive an eleven year old child to kill himself? I don't care what you think at this point. I don't care what you think about me. I'm gay. I'm a faggot. Condemn me all you want. If your god really loved I think there's a good chance that he would take it a little easier on children who don't even know what sex is but are being damned anyway.

Read your fucking gospels already. Read your blessed are the meek. Read your blessed are the peacemakers, and then show me where the verse is that reads blessed are those that drive children to kill themselves.

Enough already.

P.S. if you don't know about the stories to which I refer at the beginning of this post then try using Google. Seriously, google the words "gay suicide" and see what you come up with. Hell, you don't even have to google it yourself. I made you a handy link. It's as easy as clicking.

omg is that guy still alive?

Somewhere behind me the television is on, muted so that I can listen to The Cure and Rufus Wainwright on YouTube. I never got into Joy Division, but HERE is The Cure doing the song of theirs that I did like.

I have flannel pajama pants and a dirty shirt, a sofa and a quilt awaiting me. On the t.v. is Richard Lewis, his same weird ass mullet like thing of a hair do and that creepy "stop laughing at me" overcoat. I don't know if it's a "classic" performance or something new. He looked old and raggedy when the '80's taught us that all stand up comedians are not created equal, and a sitcom does not a funny person make.

I'd for reals rather be here with you listening to sad and/or gay ass music. Speaking of which, and actually happy instead of sad, how about some Judy Garland HERE? Yeah, I thought about Rufus, but I went Judy.

If you wanna, go HERE to hear Sara Vaughan do yet another song I considered giving you the Rufus version of.

Do I sound fixated by a certain Mr. Wainwright? I'll admit he's hot, and some of us remember my swooning because of him. That was soooo long ago in blog history. Things are so different now, or are they so much? So much of my life feels back to normal while so much still feels in a state of turgid agitation.

Turgid agitation sucks donkey dick. But it's not so bad. What makes things better would be some more good music, and if you like Emmylou Harris and Dwight Yoakam then you will love THIS.

Know who else makes me swoon? A certain Leonard Cohen. We end with him doing a song I hear done live recently, but first, the guy that did the song we're going to hear Mr. Cohen doing. HERE is Chris Scruggs doing a different song, and HERE is Leonard Cohen doing the song that is the point of all this. It's just some music I like by artists I like.

It may seem odd to have thrown in Chris Scruggs above, but I saw him live recently, and he kind of makes me swoon a little(a lot) and he did the song I ended with. His version was much better, but since we can't find that on the YouTubes we'll just settle for the other version.

I hope you enjoyed this musical journey, and if you didn't then you just don't have any tast whatsoever. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do to help. I tried my best.

arguing with arguing

One of my brothers, on his blog, is discussing freedom of speech being used in arguments. His suggestion is that we too often do not allow the same freedom that we demand. Go HERE at Chris is Searching to read his point, then come back for mine. I almost commented last night when I saw this, but I was a little woozy and maybe somewhat goofy from the combined efforts of antihistamine and a couple of beers. I hate Tennessee allergies!

So, we've decided there are any number of arguments one could have, and we know that there must be at least two opinions in contradiction to each other. We've also pointed out that communication can only happen when both sides listen and attempt to understand. That may not have been verbatim from the post, but it's there.

So what do we do when we feel that there is no argument other than the one an opposing opinion tries to force? I'll continue using Chris's example of gay versus straight, because, in my opinion, there is no actual argument here. What there is of an argument involves not mere straight people but a religiously motivated point of view that refuses to accept the vast majority of points I and other gay people might make.

If we argue about sports teams then we can actually have some sort of argument. Perhaps my team has better attacking and a solid defense but tends to lose it in the midfield. Perhaps your team has a great midfield and a great front line, and perhaps they can serve balls into the box all day, but your attackers just aren't getting shots on goal.

Arguments as to which team is better or more likely to win are valid to a point. There are points on each side that one should consider. But getting back to Chris's example, what if I just can't accept that the arguments from the other side are valid? I can say that I don't believe biblical restrictions should apply when discussing civil law which isn't the same as reminding you that your team has drawn or lost as many games as they've won.

My argument as a gay person is that before and more importantly than my orientation is that I'm a human and a US citizen which should be all I need to demand equality. I should have the same rights and responsibilities under civil law as any other person. The only possible counter to this is going to be derived from a religious point of view that somehow wants to demand that everyone follow their pov/code/laws regardless of personal beliefs.

So, giving you your freedom of speech is one thing, but we also have to take into account the argument itself. I'm willing to allow you freedom of speech as well as freedom of thought, but if you are going to argue any point of view then we have to start from similar places.

I'd like to ask anyone willing to indulge in freedom of speech with me. I'd like to hear an argument that could be seen as gay versus straight that doesn't involve religious views or the Bible or any other text that any group considers as their sacred code. I want to hear from a civil point of view that involves us living here and now in 2009. I don't want "that's how we've always done it" or "god said it so it must be true." I don't want Leviticus, though if Thomas Jefferson or Thomas Payne mentioned gays I'd be interested.

an eleventh and a first

One more has passed, another anniversary of the day Momma and I got married. Little did either of us know what all we were in for even given the couple of years before that.

We didn't celebrate, though I did joke about it in passing. We actually both worked. I'm finally being given Saturday a.m. shifts and arrived this lovely morning at nine-ish and dove straight into the work. I quickly had the line set back up having put up so many of these items a mere ten hours earlier.

I opted not to do a prep list as I waited for the boss to come in. Whatever time I spent doing it would be wasted as he would just redo it anyway, so I began making bread. I know this has to be done, and I know it's one of the main things a day shift has to focus on here.

Meanwhile, later in the evening, I've agreed to help work a catering event, an event I was offered days earlier. After a barely frantic couple of texts, I had secured the services of a friend and her kid, a most lovely pair. There was most of a day wait in between the request for services and the actual agreement, a wait I felt each interminable moment of.

There was some amount of rushing around between the two halves of my working day, mostly to purchase frozen pizzas for the babysitter to feed the kids and of course home to shower and change. I rushed back downtown to pick up food then headed east to the event.

I missed the ceremony, and I don't know what the couple whose celebration I helped cater prefer to call it, but for all intents and purposes and as close as we can get right now a lesbian couple got married, and I fed them pasta. Did they know they had even more gay at their wedding/union/pairing/swearing thingy than they bargained for? Of the two male bartenders plying their trade I would bet that one of them is also gay. We have discussed my broken garday I'm sure, so I can never be too certain.

My night ended back at work, with the same person with whom I'd so recently been catering, bent over the triple sink scrubbing dishes. It so shouldn't have been our job, and I was two beers into my needing to go home, and I had my nice clothes on, and my shoes are still dirty, but thankfully the shadows are being nice right now, because I just looked, and it kind of feels better that I can't see it. But some of the dishes were ours from the event, even though we basically bailed the dishwasher out of his own self imposed dilemma.

I ended up making the agreed upon amount for my services as well as an extra tip that was half as much as what we knew we were making. I gave it all to the babysitter, especially considering the bad habit of coming home late again.

The evening ended with some perusal of the internets. It was its ever lame thing, the glow in the night that drags us to it, that constant drip of water that no amount of attention ever seems to stop, those internets.

And now it's a day later. I'm sore from toting food and dishes and from falling on slick tiles and hurting my hip. I'm tired just because I am. I'm just generally in a mood anyway lately, so there's always that.

whaddaya hidin'

According to Sean Braisted at Nashville for the 21st Century, Nashville's Metro Council has a bill that would require restaurants to post nutritional information for their food. As is to be expected, restuarants and their flunkies are fighting the bill, arguing that it would be too unwieldy and/or expensive and/or . . .

I've worked in restaurants for years and expect I will continue to do so, and I've considered this issue before. I don't really dwell on the idea, but I am sometimes surprised that more people don't seem interested in nutrition data in restaurants. Sure, if there's an actual need, allergies for example, they will ask appropriate questions, but people don't very often ask beyond that.

Fighting this sort of bill is a lose/lose situation for restaurants in my opinion. As restaurateurs we should have nothing to hide, and we should be willing to admit what we've done to your food. As people we should be willing to share the information because it's the right thing to do.

But there are considerations, things that should not give our representatives and lobbyists reason to fight the bill but should give us all a reason to work together. You don't want an extra fifteen feet of drive through signage, and you don't want to look for the walking fingers on the front of your suddenly book thick menu.

I would personally want the information available if I owned or managed a restaurant, but I don't know how I'd post it. How big would a menu need to be to contain all the info the customers should be privy to? How would you put that on a drive through menu? Would it be good enough to have this info available online, or could we just have printouts for customers?

So, I'm a cook, and Metro Council bill or not I'll tell you what I put in your food. Of course considering what the politicians from my end of the state cook up on a regular basis, nutrition info is only so important here in the east. We're more likely to get bills that ban things that make the menu sound gay or potentially gay.

omg five things that somethinged

Of the cars I've driven more than a few times, or semi regularly, over the years I'd have to say I probably owned as many as not. One of these cars was a certain green thing that certain friends or family might well remember.

Of the people I think of as friends there is really only one person I knew from this time with whom I'm still friends. I'm still related to most of the people I was related to then, but there are a shit ton more than then, but that isn't the point. I'm as friends with my relatives as I am, and the less said about that this moment the better, in a good way, seriously.

That one friend will remember this car, and there's a good chance that we were in it the first time I told someone that I thought I was gay. He was cool then, and he's cool today. Another guy I knew very briefly who gave me my first beginning to end, all the way blow job, the kind with no expectation at the moment of reciprocation, might also remember the car. So began my love of the blow job, but again, that's so not the point.

The point is the car, this particular thing that was in my family for a number of years. The last car my grandmother owned, the car I took over when she passed it on when she could no longer drive, the car that my oldest sister in law learned as a young adult to drive to work in, was a singular car in my mind. It boasted all the electrical amenities available in the very late seventies, was large and American made. There was an extra pillowy layer of cushion on top of the seat cushions that made it extra soft.

I hadn't thought of the dirty story from above for a number of years, but the damn Facebook did me in. Anyone there has seen the five cars quiz going around. If you know me there you may well have wasted some small amount of time looking at tiny pictures that fail to accurately represent what these cars truly represent for me. One could even imagine them as little time capsules of memories of times. This car certainly represents a certain time for me.

As mentioned a couple of fairly gay moments came to me in this car. What's gayer than coming out and sucking dick? And again, I hadn't really considered this car in a number of years till that damn Facebook quiz. I saw a friend had done it, and it looked cool. I've come close enough to owning the cars or had some share of ownership in them.

And then one of my brothers did the same quiz, and there among his five cars he's owned is the same car. The car in the picture is so far from the same color, but just seeing that shape and imaging that car, the nonsense and fun of being young, I was taken back in time to a moment so long ago. Such young, carefree days as only happen when we are too young to know better.

And years later, remembering this car, the trickle of ownership it saw for such a long time. Grandchildren rode in this car to eat at the cafeteria, then young gay man explores sexuality in a strip mall parking lot, while years later a young wife and mother goes about her day, all the above in style and luxury.

Don't get me started on the sofa in the garage that was left by a different grandparent in the house in which I currently reside. It was only recently that the sofa reached the garage, replaced by another sofa from my mother in law. Don't get me started on that sofa either.

can't take the mess

This house has been one of America's top ten biggest residential messes for what seems like months now. I'd take a picture, but that would be too depressing to show anyone.

I have made a start in making a dent in the mess.

Keep in mind that it's ninety percent toys, and I seriously doubt I had a hand in making this toy mess. I have now put up a few, mostly just retaping the bottom of the Cootie box and putting the Cootie parts back in it, and I also picked up all the Battleship pegs that had gotten dumped out of both the red and the blue game boards, or whatever you call them. Battlegrounds maybe?

My next offer of help came in the form of separating toys by type or end location, meaning putting all the Legos in a pile and all the Transformers in a pile and . . .

I've done this in both the playroom and living room. It all happened yesterday, and magically the piles are still mostly separate and distinct.

Now I just need to motivate two boys to finish the job. I won't mention their bedroom, but the floor is invisible beneath a sea of Legos and Littlest Pet Shop and Playmobile. I sound like a really crappy ad for all these toys right now.

And it also just shows how we aren't hippy parents with primary colored, peaceful toys. We don't have large chunks of wood sitting around inviting imagination, and we don't have anything made out of foodstuffs that was both experiment and play. There's nothing wrong with any of that, but it's just not us. We have light sabers and toys that do unending battle with evil. We have monsters and pirates. We also have two naked Raggedy Andys, but that's neither here nor there.

Of course there is a pile for books, everyone from James Patterson to Richard Scarry to Bionicle instructions. I currently have a book pile in the bathroom, but we aren't worried about my tiny mess just now. It's the kids we're worried about.

And that's my day. I keep mentioning cleaning and how I've made it too easy, but we have as of yet failed to do any cleaning. I need to do one or two loads of laundry and put up some clothes I folded last night. I've emptied the dishwasher and need to reload it. I have beer cans to stomp for recycling and a few new ones to rinse. I also need a shower and to be at work by four. Maybe I'll remember to take my knife and sharpen it on the stone at work.

If nothing else gets done I'll definitely work. It's a Monday, and the weather report I checked last night indicated rain, and the sky outside looks as if it's promising a good dousing, but so far it isn't the one hundred percent chance of rain that NOAA suggested. That means I won't have a whole hell of a lot of work to do at work, but it is the one inescapable component of my day.

So, now my plan truly comes to fruition. I will now finish blogging and go find the boys. I'll share with them the news that I need a shower and remind them that video games are a good diversion for them while I'm in the shower. They will be offered the trade of picking up small piles of toys for video games. The older will take the bait quite readily, but the younger, still not able to quite put together the concept of future reward versus current dislike of work, may take some prodding.

And in the end the house will be less not clean. I'll be able to see more of the wretched carpet and will be reminded of the need to vaccuum. I'll put it off for a couple of days while the blanket of toys reforms throughout the house.

And then I've got my week planned.

not really parallels

Something came up in my reader in one of the blogs that I've only recently discovered, The Bygone Bureau. It has absolutely nothing to do with the German homeschool whatever, but it is about aspects of German education as seen by an American living in Germany and teaching.

If you aren't a homeschooler or into home education news then you may well have no idea why I even mention Germany and homeschooling together, but if you are aware of this particular not a news story then you can imagine I thought of it when I saw an article about Germany and education. I'm only aware of the story because as homeschoolers we can't help but at least know it exists as a story.

Unlike my usual m.o. I offer no opinion. I found the article interesting, but then this writer, Locke McKenzie and the particular blog The Rambling American were what coaxed me to look further at The Bygone Bureau in the first place.

driven to the brink

Via advocate.com today I read the story of an eleven year old boy committing suicide. According to his mother he was tired of being teased and bullied and called gay. The article doesn't tell us whether or not the child was or was not gay, but I don't really think it matters.

According to the mother she attempted to work with the school and tried to get them to stop the bullying, and according to her the school was entirely unresponsive.

And now for my anger.

1) what is so hard about not allowing school children to use discriminatory language? Are the kids also allowed to use racially based words to insult each other? Are they allowed to use religious based words to insult each other? When will it no longer be okay to use words that belittle based on an assumption of sexual orientation?

2) why would a parent continue to put their child in situations where they are terrorized in such a way? Why not stop sending the child to a place, even if it is school, where they are going to be antagonized and hurt on a daily basis?

I don't want to think about this story, because honestly I have enough on my mind. I can depress myself quite easily. And if I think about this poor little boy, this child so close in age to my oldest son, if I think about it I'm going to cry, and I'm going to be angry, and I'm going to wonder about the children who drove this child to take his own life. I'm going to wonder about the type of parents who raise children to treat others like this.

As long as there are people in this world willing to demonize me and other gay people then we are going to continue to see this sort of fallout. We are going to continue to see children taking their lives, and we are all poorer for having these hate mongering monsters still alive, still walking around, still screaming their homophobic epithets and claiming victim status when we demand they stop. The real victim is gone. He wrapped an extension cord around his neck and said, "no more." Why was this the only way to stop his hurt?