She served me up a softball, threw me the easiest of bones, and I failed for over ten days to craft my response. Sadly, I've failed to blog often enough that I may actually be forgetting how to type. My WPM is lower than frog balls.

First we thanks Molly for the meme tag, because even though I sat on it for over a week, I am using the post fodder she gave me. I'm going to answer the questions, though I won't post or follow the rules. It doesn't seem right to tag others when I've been so lax in posting myself.

So on with the questions. I'm given the option of changing any quesions I want, but along with not posting or following the rules I'm going to not give myself the option of making it easier for me.

1. How many songs are on your ipod?
I don't have an ipod, but I do use itunes when I listen to music using my computer, and for me that's close enough. I'd love an ipod, but I'm not yet willing to pay for one myself. Since I do have isomething I'll admit that I have 1072 songs in itunes, and that translates to 2.4 days of music. That's somehow different though mostly the same.

2. What music would you want played at your funeral?
I don't know. I'd much prefer that the people at my funeral after party would listen to music that helped them remember good things about me, but more importantly for my funeral is the full body bong I want my funeral attendees to be sucking at.

Full body bong equals having a pothead taxidermist make my body into a bong. Believe me, I've thought of this, and here's the proof. You will hit me (suck the intoxicating smoke) through my mouth. The head of my erect penis will be the bowl (the place you put the pot.) The carb (the part that, when released, allows outside air to force the intoxicating fumes into your ready face) will be my butthole, properly sealed with your thumb until you are ready to inhale the sweet reefer.

I really do want the full body bong to happen. I've dreamed and schemed of this for many years. Please promise that you will smoke weed through me if you are able. Also please wait till I'm dead.

3. What magazines do you have subscriptions to?
At one time Popular Science, National Geographic, but sadly I believe we've let them run out. There were more at one time, but the other ones were allowed to run out. I don't even remember anymore, and that seems sad. We really did used to get a couple of good magazines.

4. What is your favorite scent?
There are a few. Roasting meat and vanilla are a couple of food based scents. There's a certain combination of cow, landfill and wastewater treatment that smells like the place I grew up. There's a certain musky something that guys' balls get that drives me crazy. But perhaps my favorite scent is old books and old pages.

5. If you had a million dollars that you could only spend on yourself what would you do?
I'd buy myself a car and a restaurant and then I'd travel somewhere with my favorite boys. I'd buy up a bunch of cd's I've wanted as well and probably a new pair of black leather Converse.

6. What is your theme song?


7. Do you trust easily?
I do, and I get fucked over pretty easily. I also have great things happen pretty easily when I can stop not trusting long enough to get fucked over. It's a fine line between gullible and cynical with more good than not when it happens.

8. Do you generally act before you think or think before you act?
I feel as if I'm doomed to act first and think/question later, but I'm also more than likely to put way too much thought into anything I stumble across.

9. Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days?
Smallish petty things are messing with me differently these day. Not seeing a certain cute boy is not fun. My job isn't the worst thing I've dealt with even when it seems like it. I could make lists of how not bad it is or how bad it isn't, but it still isn't and is respectively.

10. Do you have a good body image?
I'm realizing lately that I just might have a body image. I don't know how much that concept has really occurred to me in the past. I think I'm okay, but my problem isn't my body so much as it is that I just don't do shit to be more healthy. Maybe I do have a skewed body image.

11. Is being tagged fun?
It really is. It's proof that at least one person you sort of know thinks you suck at least a little less than you feel you do.

12. How do you spend your social networking (i.e. Facebook, etc.) time?
My Myspace account is basically for anyone who knows me and is a place I'm out. I usually just skim a couple of bulletins, maybe check out some bands, try to keep in touch with friends who aren't as close as I'd like.

Facebook is a place where I'm not yet out and is filled with family (with whom I'm also not out) a couple of blog friends and lately lots of old friends from the christian school at which I spent my younger years.

13. What have you been seriously addicted to lately?
There are no new addictions to speak of, though I've been on a bit of an energy drink bender if a bit of a tiny bender. It's all because I've suddenly not gotten as much sleep as I was, and when you consider how little sleep I get anyway. I don't generally like the nasty flavor of energy drinks, so it was nice to see that they are being made in coffee like flavors. So far, Monster Java is my favorite with Rockstar being the least.

14. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Molly? She makes pretty babies, and she writes. She talks about red wine once in a while, though I'm personally a beer and tequila type. I'm sure she's funny and often self deprecating. She seems like an all 'round swell gal, and I'm never wrong about this sort of thing. Never!

15. What was the last song that got stuck in your head?
Right now there's a snippet of bluegrass, but I can't remember enough of the song to call it stuck in my head. Webb Peirce's Slowly and/or Wondering are the two that get stuck in my head most often lately.

16. What are your favorite items of clothing?
Probably my jeans because they are so comfortable. As it's beginning to be cooler, especially at night, I can wear another favorite, an Old Navy fleece jacket, mostly black with gray shoulders and gray stripes down the sleeves. The gray and black are separated by a bit of white something I don't know the name of. They aren't clothes as such, but I have a new to me pair of ear rings that I "stole" from the boyfriend. They are bigger than my old earrings increasing my ear hole size up a gauge to four and reminding me that, once upon a time, I was going to stretch the bastards. That was the original plan, but I fell in love with a pair of six gauge captive ball hoops and couldn't stand to part with them. I recently remembered the stretching and decided it was time.

17. Do you think Rice Krispies are yummy?
I must say that I don't. They may be second only to puffed wheat in terms of unpleasant cereals. I might pick them over Fruity Pebbles or anything with those dried up little marshmallow turds, but that doesn't really say much for the Rice Krispies.

18. What would you do if you saw $100 lying on the ground?
Maybe buy some weed, but certainly I'd buy some nice beer for the house, and most importantly I'd do something nice for or with the boyfriend.

19. What items could you not go without during the day?
I'm trying like hell not to answer this question with cigarettes, but that may be the single thing I really "can't" do without. The sweet answer involves my phone and texts from a certain cute boy I know, but his phone was off for a couple days, and the one way texts from me didn't kill me, so, though I'd prefer not, I suppose I can live without.

20. What should you be doing right now?
I've got my coffee, and there's a load of pants in the washing machine. Momma is at work and all my favorite boys are sleeping. There's not much I should be doing that I'm not right now. Oh, sure, I could be making breakfast to surprise all those favorite boys, or I could be cleaning something around the house. I could go so far as to . . . no . . . I'm doing what I should at the moment.

Because Molly ended her meme post with a video I feel it's only fair that I do the same. The problem here is that I'm just not sure what or who. The only band/song that really comes to mind is Los Straitjackets' Tempest. I hope you like rockabilly and luchador masks, 'cuz they are the shit, and so is this.

more or less still not an update

This is so the wrong time to try to write a blog post, mostly because I'm supposed to be getting ready for work, but it's been an entire week since the last time I didn't really give you an update, so I'm using this wrong time to attempt to not not do so again. Also, I have to wait for a chef's coat to dry, and I can't do shit till then anyway.

I'm not looking at the calendar or doing the math in my head, so I will have to be vague with the timeline. I met a really cool guy between three and four weeks ago. A mutual friend had invited Momma and me and the boys to her house for a wee bit of a party. She also invited the cool guy to whom I've referred.

We seemed to hit it off pretty much immediately, though it may have actually taken a couple more minutes than that. I ended the night at his apartment (up the hill from the friend's party in the same apartment complex) to enjoy a certain combustible intoxicant. As I left, he walked me to the outside door of the building for an awkward moment of are we going to hug and kiss or just hug or just hit our heads together trying to make sense.

Fast forward a week from that night, the cute boy and I have at this time spent nearly every night hanging out together. There's some certain something that neither of us can deny or avoid, and he points this out and asks if I'd like to be his boyfriend.

Thankfully there wasn't a lot of traffic as we were driving when he asked this. Momma, at the time, felt as if things were moving a little quickly. I quite agreed, to an extent, but I tried to help her understand that it wasn't a bad quickly. It does indeed seem quick, but there's that undeniable and also unexplainable something.

Since then we've hung out nearly every night. He lays in the floor with my kids and builds Lego cities. They sprawl on the sofa and watch cartoons. He went to the fair with us, and while Momma and Big Brother wandered toward some of the bigger rides, he hung out with The Boy and me and even rode some of the kiddie rides with us. He even took me and the boys out to dinner last night for a late birthday dinner for me. Even Momma likes him and enjoys hanging out with him.

Oh, and he's given me flowers on two different occasions, though one of those occasions the flowers were perhaps not legally attained.

Momma has also very recently befriended a cute boy of her own. My own cute boyfriend and I have discussed him briefly and have decided that he is okay. We'll see where that goes and hope for the best.

Now you know the newest reason I'm having trouble getting to the computer. As more proof of the little time I have lately my unread Google reader items are now approaching the five hundred mark which for me is nearly twice the old record. I keep trying to check in, and I certainly miss all the blogs I love. Perhaps soon the whirlwind will slow down a tiny bit, and I can get back to some of the old drudge I miss.

more not not an update

It hasn't been that long that I actually had Blogger open and looked at how long it had been since I'd posted. I found myself posting so sporadically, and I felt as if each post was at least slightly whinier than the previous post, and I think I subconsciously forced myself to quit posting for a while.

Things have gotten better for me in general, and I'm once more gaining some sense of life not having some sort of grudge against me. The universe doesn't hate me any more than it hates anyone else. Life has a way of doing stuff, and sometimes that stuff is better than other times. Sometimes it matters what you do, while other times it doesn't. The ol' weltschmerz just aint what she used to be.

At the same time, just as I seem to have found something, Momma finds herself thinking about things she hadn't considered quite as she suddenly is. It's all really more than I'll get into at the moment, but it does add fuel to whatever is going on, adding to the weirdness that our family has become lately. It's a good weird, and we are working to maintain good weirdness given that some amount of weird is inherent in our situation.

And now I've got supper cooking. Momma made a roast with the requisite vegetables. I in turn have taken those leftovers and am turning them into beef stew. It's bubbling away happily and I'm returning to a blog post I actually began yesterday. It still says what I'm willing to give away right now, and that's fine.

I'm sure I've claimed numerous times lately that I was going to attend to this blog more often than has been my habit lately. It's something I really miss, but as I've said, I was at a point where the blog was the last thing I needed bothering me.

The road to some bad place is paved with the very best intentions as we all well know, so any claims toward more blogging should be taken with the very best grain of the very coarsest of sea salts.

busy-ness

There are so many things in Google reader because I haven't checked it in a couple of days. I honestly haven't had time, and given how easily I get sucked into the computer, for me not to have time means I must have been very busy. Given the whirlwind that last week was in general and add to that a weekend of roller derby and I'm surprised there are as few things there as there are.

Speaking of roller derby, the team from the western end of the state won all their bouts while the team from the eastern end of the state won only one. The team from the middle of the state lost both their A team bouts, but they won against a team of mostly rookies from the eastern end combined with some skaters from the northeast corner who don't quite have enough skaters to form a team, essentially rookies.

A scrimmage bout that was part of the weekend saw me cheering on some girls I'd only cheered against as well as sitting and cheering with some girls I'd only cheered against. As part of the weekend we had several scrimmage games with the teams made up of a mixture of girls from all teams. We had tattooed girls versus clean slates, for example, but the game I cheered the most was gay versus straight. I think you can imagine who I cheered for, and when family won I declared it a moment of proof of gay cultural superiority, whether or not it really was.

To my credit, I drank a lot less this weekend that I would have in the past. For some reason, hanging out with a hot boy who just doesn't drink anywhere close to what I do has prodded me toward drinking less. That's so not a bad thing and one more reason to like this new boy.

And speaking of that, he's the other reason I've been a bit busy this past week. At some point I'm assuming we can all settle into some reasonable pattern, but just now I sort of like being caught up in all of this. It's a great kind of crazy.

aggravation

The neighbor who hates my grass is calling the city again, or so I assume, and I don't know exactly which neighbor, though I have an idea. This time there's a twist.

Momma's grandfather got a letter very recently saying that he had till tomorrow to mow the grass. It's been mowed, though it did once again grow over long because, once again, the mower didn't want to work.

Grandfather came over recently and got the mower working and the next day was on his way to Texas to visit family. The letter from the city had to have arrived at his house during the time he was away, and by the time he got to it, his ten days to rectify the situation had become two.

The grass is mowed and should be short enough, but he's convinced that he needs to mow it more. And that's just what he is doing. Momma tried to explain to him that we will happily mow again, but he insisted that he had to come mow. I took Momma to work, and now, when I should be adding a couple hours to the couple hours of sleep I got, I'm sitting here not sleeping and not doing shit else.

I only got two hours of sleep because I went to visit a boy after work last night. Nothing happened but lots of talking. I didn't even drink beer. None of that's the point, but it is why I need to be asleep right now and why I got only two hours of the precious stuff.

There are a few maintenance issues that we've overlooked around the house, things that very much need to be taken care of as well as some minor issues that are really more aesthetic. The grass is the main irritant in that I just don't care. There, I've said it. I really don't care about the grass. I'm more than willing to keep it short enough for the kids to be able to play, but the very back part where the rabbits live, well I'd just as soon let that part grow a little. It's not hurting anyone for my grass to be slightly longer than theirs.

There's the big pisser for me, that someone has so little to do that they can take the time to be upset that I'm less concerned about the appearance of my yard than they are. Someone who doesn't have to live my life or raise my children or whatever is forcing their ideals of proper lawn maintenance onto me. And yes I do realize that there are other concerns and that I'm somewhat simplifying the issue. Trust me, I don't give a shit.

switching lanes

In derby related news we have a story that isn't nearly as new as it could be. My own place in the beautiful thing that is Hard Knox Roller Girls is changing. I've considered some different options lately, trying to decide what or even if I wanted in terms of derby.

Announcing derby has been fun, and I'm glad I got to do it. It will be interesting to see what the new guys have to say. I hope they take the time to think about it. I hope they know the game and can help people understand and appreciate derby. I think fan's ability to get the game is so important in making derby something that will be around.

Instead of a microphone I get a microphone and a camera. I get the camera either tonight or tomorrow or Wednesday. There's old(srsly old) bout footage on it now. The person who has the camera is uploading it and will get it to me tonight if it's done in time for the meeting at which she'll see and give it to Momma. If not then the camera may or may not show up by tomorrow, and if it's not, Wednesday is the key day. I have to figure out how to operate it, and with my techno slow style that takes time.

Also I have to figure out what I'm gonna do. I get a camera and get to walk around making video. We're going to post what I record on YouTube and possibly on the local version KnoxTube. There are much more professional people concerned with getting bout footage, so my job will be to find things worth watching, interview skaters and family and fans and refs. I hope it doesn't suck, and I hope the sound of my voice doesn't make me any more mental than I already am lately.

Whatever happens I'll try to post as I know more.

aaahhh Paris

Isn't it amazing how the least little thing can elevate one's opinion of another? Take the pointlessly famous Paris Hilton for example. Only in the US can someone so seemingly vapid actually find that she has a chance at the White House. Okay, not really, but when John McCain decided to use her in an ad, she fought back with her own ad, presented below. I might have to vote for her instead.

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

Just for the heckuvit I'm sticking a video in here. A friend of mine likes to spend his days searching music on YouTube so that he can send thousands of Myspace bulletins per day(okay, maybe just several-ish) containing those same videos. Much of my Myspace time is spent opening then ignoring his bulletins as I just don't have time in my life for the doom filled black metal he too often enjoys.

One of today's video offerings was New Bomb Turks Leaving Town

As soon as the song began playing, okay after the little piano sort of sound, The Boy immediately began dancing. The thought suddenly occurred that the friend responsible would enjoy seeing what his video offering had caused. I filmed The Boy, nearly thirty seconds worth, and now I share with you.

finally

Remember this post from just over a week ago in which I complained about a pain in my chest from hanging halfway into the bath tub so I could wash my hair? If you don't remember feel free to go back and look. It's easily one of my more recent posts. Seriously.

Okay, the point here is the picture of the hair. I swore then something about cutting it, and I finally did. It's not as short as I originally thought I might go, but it's also not bad.

Yes, I also agree that this isn't the greatest picture. I took it myself, and this is the best of the four. The only one that doesn't have the light in the background is also the very worst one of the four, and this is the one in which you can best see the hair while also best seeing me in a somewhat less than greenish cast.

Also, please do not point out that the haircut gives me a certain big nosed Shirley Temple quality without the dancing or being annoying. I too have eyes.

tears and questions

My family has a message board that we use to keep in contact with each other, and if you know my family then you also know that they are Christian. I no longer claim any religion and in fact am quite agnostic in my lack of beliefs. Knowing this it should come as no surprise that I don't really believe in prayer. Sometimes however it doesn't hurt to ask for it anyway, so I'm posting my prayer request to my family here, though I'll add a bit at the end to help explain yet another reason that this has touched so many lives.

Sunday morning at Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church the main service was a play being performed by children. In addition to church members, several non member families with children were in attendance. A man entered the church with a shotgun and began shooting later revealing that his initial plan had been to shoot as many people as could before the police arrived and killed him.

Two men were able to subdue the gunman while other people were able to lead the children away to another church next door.

We have many friends who are members at this church and who were in attendance. We've also used some of the church facilities for homeschool meetings, bad weather days, potlucks, etc.

Everyone involved needs prayers at this time including the gunman as well as so many random people in this town. So many people who are not members of this church know and have friends who do attend. This church has quite a reach so that so many people have been affected without being directly involved.

Because it doesn't really have a place in my family's message board I didn't add that the shooter's motivation in picking this church had to do with the liberal leanings as well as the openness to and acceptance of the gay community. This is why it touches so many people, because this church is such a presence in our community in fighting for social justice, acceptance and equality.

Again, I'm not a person who prays or tends to believe in prayer, but if ever a community needs it I think now is that time.

This post is also posted HERE at my other blog.

get mom out cuz she like totally needs to get some

Below find the newest spam message I've recieved via Myspace. It's a new one on me. I love the way the writer/sender starts out, complementing my weapon grade eyes, but they what follows is sort of a dick-in-the-dirt kind of let down.

Heya there! Do you carry another weapon with you besides your eyes?

Well, I know, it's sweet. You'll have a great time but not with me, I'm just helping my mother find a nice guy to date. She's entirely new to online dating. So don..t be shy and write her back, but not directly to this address. Instead, send your reply to her e-mail address at perettefmarie at yahoo. I'm positively sure that you will enjoy talking with her. She's easy-going, friendly, loyal, outgoing, funny, smart and kickass. She enjoys relaxing, she loves listening to music from iTunes, trying new exotic recipes, reading, painting � she's very talented and when she has time, she likes taking leisurely bicycle rides around town. She loves guys who are smart, charming and adventurous. Surprise her with chocolate or with some flowers, she'd really be pleased with that!

I hope you write back, ask her for pictures. She's beautiful. I havta run, thanks for your time btw! Bye.

Yeah, that's awesome and totally the sort of thing that's going to lift someone's soul and let it fly free in a rain of joy and love and good feelingness. The ol' switcheroo. The ol' you're-cute-meet-my-mom. Yeah, just what one needs on a Sunday morning.

I actually slipped away from Myspace for a moment to post this, leaving another message that I was sure was spam, knowing I'd go and flag it as soon as I posted my funny. Wouldn't you know the next spam message was nearly the same thing. The message was worded differently, but it was the same. It began with the same claims toward my beauty and hawtness, but very quickly we get the bait and switch and it's all about getting mom a man. The mother in the secong message enjoys wine and tequila, so maybe I should . . . or likely . . . yeah, let's go with no.

more tales of balance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ouchie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

insert classic monty python line about not beind dead yet here

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

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

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

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

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

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

two songs in my head

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

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

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

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

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

if it was . . .

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

An example:

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

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

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

the fight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, how's your day?

update=boring post fodder

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

is it secret? is it safe?

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I ate it," he answers.

Whew! It really was just a pretzel.

mildly unamusing anecdote

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

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

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

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

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

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

visiting the outlet

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

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

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

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

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

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

mouth meet soap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wild abandon

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

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


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

should've just shut his ass up

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

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

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

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

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

because you need to know

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

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

thirty seconds for your candidate

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

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

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

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

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

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

my mouth on t.v.

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

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

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

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

irksome ads makes a return

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

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

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

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

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

pissing people off . . . again

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

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

So on to the pissing people off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

or not

birfday greetin'

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

without children

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yesterday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the shift was uneventful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

not entirely gone from blogville

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

meme-a-lamma-ding-dang

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

an art discussion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'd rather be

At the end of a recent post, Bigg said,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

true holy days

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

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

It's not going to pull itself.

who does stuff like that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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