he's talking about his . . .

It's time for one of my self concious in/out of the closet moments.  It's not new to me, but I don't think I've quite shared with anyone else.  Momma's probably seen and noticed it, but I haven't actually discussed it with her, so I can't be sure.  But she is somewhat astute.  She catches stuff sometimes.

And it has to do with my hair.  I'm going to tell you about it.

You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head.  I even have my own clippers.  I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.

The worst was around my ears.  I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew.  And I don't know how I always missed that bit.  Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.

Hair is damn fine insulator.  It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless  you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy.  Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months.  Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.

If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.

And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter.  I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter.  I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.

And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing.  I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone.  For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.

But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow.  I was never allowed that luxury as a child.  My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night.  Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut.  He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.

And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.

I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does.  I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl.  When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.

And now I just hate the sides.  I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now.  My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.

Am I in a better place with my hair?  When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it.  I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower.  There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.

I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors.  I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.

But I don't wanna.  I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't.  There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post.  I'll write about that another day.

we'll see bout this

a) I can give every single child the same chances, choices, options

b) I can put your kid where I want them and train them to do that job so that we can win games

There's been a lot of soccer in my life lately, and currently the t.v. behind me is showing what I'm assuming is this year's ACC women's championship between the Tarheels and the Seminoles.  I'm kind of assuming the game is being played in the spring. 

And I'm loving it!  This week I watched part of the men's version of the same ACC championship, UNC vs. UNV, and I watched the US women's national team tie at one with Sweden.  Earlier tonight I watched Manchester United beat Celtic three to nothing, and last night was MLS action, DC United versus Seattle Sounders with Seattle getting that win.

While the kids' soccer sign ups usually sneak up on me I got an email this time around to confirm whether I planned to coach at the U12 level again.  So it's been on my mind a bit.  You might even say that I've been thinking about it.

I may not have shared anything about last season, and I hate to have to say it, but we had an entirely losing season in the spring.  I had a great group of kids that I'd love to coach again, and I think that we could have a totally different season this time around, partly because they'd go in knowing each other.

That was one of my complaints, and it's a complaint I had with my U8's as well.  I was given teams of kids that didn't even know each other for the most part, though a couple kids did know each other, and there were a couple of pairs of kids that were friends with each other.  And I recognized larger groups of kids on other teams as having been those same large groups before. I feel that left my kids at a bit of a disadvantage going into the season, and due to that and other random nonsense toward the end of the season really messed with their heads.  They never got the chance to see themselves as the team that I saw, and I remain proud of what they were able to do.

But I'm not here to bitch about that.  I think that having heard from the coach coordinator is an attempt to address a problem that's been recognized by more people than me.

I do want a winning team, but more than that I recognize that these kids are ten and eleven years old.  My goal has always been to help them develop a love for and understanding of the game, to help them learn skills that will make them better players and to give them access to different positions.  I don't want for a kid to think he belongs in a position without his agreement. 

The key is to find the balance between a and b from the beginning of this literary journey.  I doubt I'll be coaching U8 as we're going to find something else for The Boy.  Soccer is so not his thing, and the only time he really wants to play is before the season actually starts.  Once he's out having to actually run and play soccer he changes his mind. 

And that's fine. 

I'm curious to attend the preseason coach meeting, to find what players I have from last season and to see them again at our first practice as well as to meet the new guys.  I'm excited to start working with them, to try this thing about balance where I push them to greatness.

And now for something sort of along the same lines and not entirely something different, and I get that it's a pipe dream, but I love the idea. Read on.

I may have another trick up my sleeve in addition to balancing the whole things I said, and it gets to my goals as a coach, and it gets to a concern I have always had with how I think I assume the parents see me as a coach.  I could totally be wrong about their opinions I assume for them.

See, we live in a football town.  I know already that, come fall, our soccer Saturdays will be a sea of orange in support of the local college team.  Some of the families only watch soccer when it's their kids, but they sure as hell are going to watch the sports they grew up with and know and understand.

They just don't get soccer . . . yet.  I'm going to attempt to give the families homework, though I'm not sure it will work.  I'm going to give them watching soccer homework, and I'm going to request that the parents and kids watch as many game as is reasonable for them, assuming we can still get some soccer on the t.v.  I want them to get it, to know what's happening, to understand why it's beautiful and why people love it.

I have a few weeks before I really have to worry about any of this, but those weeks are going to go by quickly while I'm not really paying attention because it seems so far away still.  And then suddenly it'll be time.  I'm excited.

example of thing I said

Did you read my last post?  Go HERE and read the comments to see what I was talking about.  It's at Advocate.com which is less like a news site and more like a typical newspaper.  They cover all sorts of stuff and tend for the most part to feature news that has an obvious gay angle, but sometimes it's just not that way. 

And it's gay enough news for me.  Enrique Iglesias promised to water ski naked in Biscayne Bay if his Spanish team won the World Cup, which they did.  I'm gay and a soccer fan and willing to be a fan of Spain, though it's not a deep fandom as much as they have some pretty players, and the hot singer has agreed to keep his promise.  Like I said, gay enough for me.

torn

I don't know what to think in this story and have almost cried over it too many times since it first began. 

A young boy who knew he was gay from a young age tried to just be.

He had to go to school and was mistreated from such an early age.

Eventually he fought back the only way he could.

And then he got shot in the head.

It was apparently a hate crime, but a fourteen year old boy shot a fifteen year old boy.

Is it right to try him as an adult?

And I'm going to cry over this story even more before it comes to an end, and I may never know how I feel.

Larry will never get another chance to anything, and Brandon, so young, may never anything worthwhile ever too.

And I don't know what to think or where to even start.

go HERE as a start

they eat their own

It's a popular question found often in the comments at the three main gay news blogs that I read and likely any site that is mainly gay news oriented, and though it's basically the same question, it's often worded in one of two different ways.  The commenter often will ask, "What is this doing on where-ever-it-is.com?" or they'll ask, "How is this gay news?"

Sometimes it's sort of understandable, especially when it's some sort of celebrity fluff bullshit. But that's usually at only one of the sites, and they tend toward just throwing anything out there.  It's like a typical local news show where anything is considered news because it fills space and shows up in your reader and keeps you coming back.  So while I understand the question and also don't really care about the celebrity fluff bullshit I also want to yell into the computer that gay boys tend to give a shit, and so this particular news outlet should be expected to sometimes include some things that aren't entirely gay specific.

But then there's that other time.  The story was basically a link magazine site and a photo spread done for that magazine.  The spread included top soccer players from various national teams wearing nothing but underwear based on their country's flag. This was all before the World Cup began and was leading up to the tournament and was in a magazine that has absolutely nothing to do with sports.

I usually don't comment on this site as I seldom have anything to add, but this time I had to.  The person asked about the photo spread, "How is this gay news?"  And while I wanted to point out the half naked hot dudes angle, I knew that this wasn't the right answer this time.

The photographer that had taken the pictures is a fairly well known person, but more than that, her pictures and images are popular to an unknowable number of people.  She's one of those photographers that, no matter who you are, you've seen and are very familiar with any number of her pictures, and you may not even know her name. 

She's also a lesbian, so that alone makes it gay news, which is the answer I went with.  I even tried to be a bit snarky about it without being an asshole.
 
Of the other two sites that provide me with news about gay news I only make a point of reading the comments at one.  This site has news but adds commentary along with the news.  And no matter what the story is, there really always is a gay angle.  They don't add the celebrity fluff bullshit and don't need to.  They cover stories that have bearing on the community, and they add commentary that is actually well thought out, whether or not you agree with their opinion.

Here more than ever I have to wonder why commenters ask these questions as you often have to wonder if they really read the article.  If you've read the article you should generally be able to keep up, but sometimes you need the back story, and too often people just don't.  It's like they only read the headlines and have to fire off a comment.

And in the end it's just all about how the gays seem to be more judgmental of each other than straight people.  We constantly have to worry about our own feelings based on all the outside noise that treats us like shit, but we then internalize it and feed on it.  So we then turn around and give it back out.  None of us are ever quite good enough, don't represent well or whatever.

I hate the question when I see it.  It's so unnecessary, but I'm never surprised when I read it.  I always want to yell at the person.  I want to ask them how they have time to bother asking.  I want to figure why it's so important to them that they only get news that is specifically and entirely gay when they visit these sites.

I want my gay to stay gay.  I understand the need and desire to have a separation between gay and not gay, and this could easily be a whole other post, because at the same time I know that I'm normal and just like anyone and want to be treated as such.  At the same time I get how I'm different.

Have I mentioned that I'm the only gay I know that loves Motorhead?  Have I mentioned that I can check out girls without being a douche?  Have I . . . ? 

Maybe I'm currently at fault, doing the thing I'm bitching about.  That's a conundrum I suppose.

neither here or where

Remember back when I would post links to interesting things and would sometimes provide comentary?  Yeah?  I barely do, but let's see if we can do it again.

The article HERE at the soccer blog No Short Corners is about nationalism and soccer.  Or is it about national identity and the fact that here in the Oh Ten nations are slowly beginning to look more and more like each other and even to act more and more like each other till eventually there isn't really that much that you can say makes the nations different?

Basically we are in the future.  In the past there may or may not have been actual differences in different nations/states.  I can see that, and I don't necessarily think we're necessarily past that point.  In the battle between nature and nurture I see both of them having their own place, and I see the place you're from having some effect as well.

I have to admit to having never been outside the US, and what discussion I've had with non Americans is very limited.  I did once ask a Scottish guy and and English guy who were in town for business about the drink we know as an Irish car bomb, and they said that they too have that drink, but they certainly don't refer to it as such.  I'm not sure if that's true.  Perhaps they were humoring the honky.

Either way the article is worth reading.

thing I'm trying to think I might do

I read a line recently that may have been about food, but I feel it contains a truth that I'd like to incorporate more fully into my life in general.  It just seems like a great way to go about living.

The line is near the end of the following paragraph which I borrowed from a blog post by David Lebovitz.  If you don't read his blog you should.  He talks about cooking and eating and traveling, and he's an American living in France.  Some of his more amusing posts are about dealing with the French mentality from an American point of view.  Read the post HERE and the excerpt below.

One thing I've learned about traveling is that you should just enjoy what you have right then and there, and not worry about buying more, stocking up, bringing some home, or whatever. Just eat it there. As my friend Susan Loomis says, "You don't need to own it, just enjoy it." And I agree.

We often want to own, and I'm reminded of a story I heard on NPR recently that included an interview of a book collecter.  He was discussing a book he wanted and was asked about his collection at which point he mentioned that he wasn't much of a reader but loved to own books.

I was astouonded.  I too love to own books, and many of the ones I own are books I've read and loved.  Others are books I will read at some point.  I don't understand owning a book that I haven't read, don't plan to read or read and didn't enjoy.  I'm sure I actually have books that fall into any one or all of those categories, so maybe I shouldn't talk, but then that's what I do.

You don't need to own it, just enjoy it.  Of the many things I've heard/read, that's one I want to embrace and to implement more fully.  I'm not against owning, but maybe sometimes just to not care and to let myself enjoy is more important.

I do enjoy books, by the way.  I love old books, and one of my pleasures is to bury my nose in an old book and breathe in that old book smell.  Hell, I might just go and smell some books right now.

and another thing

At some point I stopped commenting on blogs as much as I had.  I'm going to fix that as well.  My ridiculously rapier sharp wit has been missing from the internets for far too long.  I'd like to say I'm back, but I'll probably forget by sometime tomorrow.


Vive la sarcasm!

should just deal

Was I more outspoken a blogger about gay issues when I was in the closet?  I sometimes think so.  I'm not sure why, but I have some possible reasons.

Admittedly one can never know who is reading when they throw things out into the blogosphere.  I certainly never meant to open myself to family reading, but I did accidentally.  And at first that wasn't a problem because I was still hiding.

But soon after that I wasn't in the closet anymore, and the whatever I said about teh gay was somewhat about me.  Even if what I said wasn't about me, if it was gay, it was just because.

So I began to censor myself a bit.  Of course I've said some outrageous things in the past both pre and post closet.  I thought about those things, but I was likely at least a little bit tipsy, so at the moment my fingers told you those things I didn't care.  I don't often go back and reread what I've posted, though I have a couple of times, and one post in particular stands out, though I'm not revisiting or searching to link to it.  I just don't care that much.

And now I really want to pull that censor back out of the mix, but I've let him have his say so often that it's become a habit.  I'm bad about developing bad habits that I stick with out of not wanting to deal.  I do or don't do too many things out of a desire to not have to deal, and that's a habit I should really work on breaking, smashing into tiny little pieces that I can sweep up and toss aside.

That doesn't mean I'm going to write something crazy right now, because I'm not.  But I am going to try harder.

impasse

The idea of having my own place is nice, and the actual having of a place is not entirely horrible, but the actuality of the place I have is somewhat problematic.

There are various reasons I rushed into getting the place that I have. The landlord didn't require a deposit, which was nice as I had no money for such. He didn't require much at all other than money, and a tiny red flag went up as I handed him that first check and he asked if I didn't have cash.

Other red flags had gone up previous to this, but they were tiny and I ignored them. I wanted this place, and I wanted the location. I'm still not as unhappy as I could be with the general location, this area known as The Fort and my location just a mile from downtown. That first time that I walked from the apartment to downtown and I realized it had only taken me twenty easy minutes were nice.

But as the two months between then and now have passed I've realized how bad a decision I made, and some of those tiny red flags have become the problems I overlooked. I won't even mention that no one around here seems to understand why/that there is a city law requiring them to clean up their dog's shits.

One problem is the tiny-ness of the unit and the fact that there is no real room for the boys when they are there. I hate even to bring them over. The layout of the unit and the single wall unit air conditioner combine to make a place that, coupled with the Tennessee summer and humidity, make it nearly impossible for them to get a decent night sleep. Add in that it's a block from two different hospitals and then imagine being serenaded nightly, several times a night, by the ambulances screaming past about fifty feet away, and that adds to the issue. Adding on even more is that outside of the inside of the unit there is nowhere for the boys to play, and there's no room inside either.

The swimming pool was supposed to be an amenity, but I still haven't gotten a key to the gate. The landlord assumes the maintenance guy has it, while the maintenance guy suggests that the owners of the units should have them to give to their tenants.

That last paragraph probably needs some clarification. The building was built in the '60's as a hotel. At some point in the ensuing years it became apartments, but there is no single owner of the units which are owned by various landlords. I have a friend four two floors above me, and we have different landlords.

While I was working and then watching soccer this past Saturday there was an open house in my building. My unit was one of those up for sale, and my landlord did some work, painting, caulking, steam cleaning, to prepare the building. In the process he moved all my stuff around, understandable, and he also broke a clipboard and a cd tower, not understandable. I haven't discussed this with him. I could also mention that his painting job absolutely sucks, and he doesn't know how to smooth caulk. I could then mention that he leaves dried chunks of caulk in the sinks and that the kitchen sink was clogged last I looked. I could go even farther and mention that I can't visually see that the carpet has even been vacuumed, much less cleaned, but perhaps that's just piling on.

Back to the pool, I've now decided that I'd prefer my kids to not swim in it, so it's no longer an amenity, and I'm not sure that I want to explain to them why I don't want them in it. Any number of mornings that I've left the building via the stairs that overlook the pool I've seen beer cans and chairs floating in the water. I've known a few people who've admitted to having been in the pool as it seems that nearly everyone in this town knows or has known someone that lives/lived in this building, and apparently the majority of late night pool partiers are swimming, as we say in the south, butt ass nekkid. As if all that weren't bad enough I left the building one day in time to see the maintenance guy having to close the pool because there was broken glass in the area.

And in the end I just can't afford the place. I'm spending nearly half my measly monthly income on the place, and it's not a place I like or that I want to be. I had to move a fair amount of stuff out of the unit for the open house because, as the landlord said, we don't want anything walking out and then have to deal with he-said-she-said. I haven't actually been back in a couple days. Saturday night saw us ending our pride festivities at a friends house, swimming till late at night. Several of us just crashed and then began our Sunday with more swimming. Sunday night I was with the kids at Momma's, and then Monday night ended the same. Some of that was wanting to get up early so that the family (minus The Boy who just doesn't care) could watch the World Cup together. Some of the crashing here might have been more staying up late and some drinking of beer. Momma and I are still really good at being friends and hanging out and sitting up late.

My financial situation could be a whole 'nother post, so in the interest of not boring you THAT much I'll not include that bitch fest here. I just needed to rant for a minute. And now that that's out of the way, I need to figure out where to go from here. I can barely afford to pay half this month's rent now and hand over the other half when I get paid in a week and a half. I did this last month and promised profusely that it wouldn't happen again.

I hate going back on my word. I had the best intentions, but I didn't realize then that, because of a normal summer time lull in business where I work that our labor would take a cut over the next two weeks as we saw some amount of business fall off, and I couldn't have foreseen how much smaller this check was going to be than the last.

All I can do now is explain to the landlord my situation and let him know that I'm planning to be gone in thirty days. I feel like a douche, but I tend to feel like that more often than is really necessary. Now to figure out where I'm going to be in thirty days and how the fuck I plan to swing it.

technology vs. human face

If you've watched any of the action in the currently occurring World Cup and if you also know anything about soccer then you've no doubt seen at least one missed call by a referee. If you haven't seen a bad call then you haven't been watching.

I'll accept that my US team didn't play nearly as well as Ghana in the game we lost that sent us home. The US couldn't hold onto a ball, couldn't seem to get on the end of passes, and looked frightened at the speed with which Ghana ran at whoever had the ball. I saw what looked like a lot of panicking and getting rid of the ball with far too many passes going to a man in red as opposed to a teammate.

It's arguable that the US was tired, having only two days between games, though Ghana only had half a day more of rest than did the US. It's also worth noting that in each of the previous three games the US played our guys were cheated out of a goal and possibly the win. Why does this matter?

In soccer the team that scores first certainly puts themselves at an advantage. In a sense all you need to do is keep the ball for your side the rest of the game while your opponents need not only to score to tie the game but score a second time to get the win.

So given that that the US had pivotal goals disallowed they found themselves having to work that much harder than they should have. They had an uphill battle over and over that they should not have faced, and it's worth noting because this tiredness from having to work harder than they should have certainly set them up for a rough game against Ghana.

I hope none of this seems like sour grapes because it's also worth noting that our guys gave up an early goal in each game and set themselves up for the uphill battle. Couple that with FIFA hiring degenerates to ref games and the fact that the assistant refs apparently just don't know their job, and you get a recipe that cooks up a big pot of US out in the first stage of the knock out round.

And having all this to ruminate, I still think that there's no room for replays in soccer. I don't want to see the game ruined by constantly stopping to check a ref's call. I don't want my beloved soccer to turn into Americanized crap in which the sponsors rule the field by stopping the game for commercials every few minutes. I love soccer because a ninety minute game takes slightly more than ninety minutes versus American football in which a sixty minute time clock takes between two and three hours to actually tick all the way to zero.

One of my greatest fears regarding replays in soccer is the insidious nature of advertising. All it takes is fifteen seconds to cut away for a quick reminder that Buick sells cars or that Coca Cola may be a refreshing beverage. And once you allow that first little ad to sneak in you've set yourself up for soccer played in quarters because some dink thinks you should be reminded about how easy it is to gamble on Ameritrade and has the money to convince the powers that be that they too could line their pockets if only.

And for the record I also hate that American football players sometimes don't even play the last few minutes versus soccer teams who are losing and know that they can't overcome the goal deficit yet continue to fight till the very last blast of the whistle.

soccer and pride in one day?

Tomorrow I work at nine in the morning and hope to be off in time to watch the US continue their climb to World Cup victory. They play Ghana, the team that sent us home four years ago, and I hope to see our guys send them home this year.

Following work, as I assume I won't actually be off till after the game, I'm going to change into the jeans people have told my I look good in and a shirt that is clean, and then I'm going into the heat of the square for our town's gay pride event.

And then I don't know what to expect. I neglected to take the day off the past two years and have only seen pride from afar or when passing through on a smoke break. I asked specifically to work a day shift this year. I don't want to lose any hours, but I do want to enjoy being surrounded by gay people. That doesn't happen nearly often enough, especially lately as I've not been to any of our town's gay bars in several months.

Thinking about it now I may have avoided the gay bars this entire year up to now.

While I often get somewhat drunk at whatever bar I go to, the gay bars are nearly always worse. Not only is the beer more expensive for the same crap, but I am not good at meeting people. I'm really good at sitting at the bar, and I'm good at making conversation if someone starts, but the other homos never seem to get my jokes. And too often I seem to get that bit drunker than I wanted to, and then I feel sorry for myself because I'm awkward and don't get it.

And I'm really bad about making stupid jokes as I try to allay my own nervousness, and I'm sure that tends to push people away. Also I don't take compliments well. They make me feel really weird, and when the compliments all seem a precursor to an attempt to remove my pants at some later point in the evening I get even more nervous and act even more stupid and tell even lamer jokes that no one but me gets.

Or maybe gay men just don't get my sense of humor. Of course most people don't get my sense of humor, but I'm used to straight people not getting it, and I'm used to people not really liking me that much until they're forced, for whatever reason, to actually get to know me.

And so I'll go to pride, and I'll see my lesbians, and I'll see the staff at what used to be my regular gay bar, and they'll wonder what I've been doing and where I've been going, and I'll point to the pub which has been getting some of the business the gay bar used to get.

And hopefully I'll pull my head out of my ass and just have a good time. With an extra dose of luck I'll meet people who might become friends once they get that my jokes aren't all stupid and I'm not always a nervous heap of dumbass.

Also, USA USA!

I like stories

My feed reader is not always in a state of flux, but I do sometimes recognize the need to plow through all the blogs and news-ish sites that clutter the place up. I add things haphazardly, often only to find soon after that it wasn't what I'd expected or that I'm not nearly as interested as I thought.

Many of the blogs that I've held onto are dormant, sites that I once liked and hope one day to see a new post show up from.

I may have mentioned I'm From Driftwood before, though I don't really remember. It isn't especially new to my reader, but it's recent enough that it still feels sorta new, and I'm totally in love with it.

IFD describes itself as "true stories by gay people from all over," and the posts are often about coming out. I've considered putting together a nice little something to submit, but my writing isn't coming often enough, though I have to admit that whatever reason I give is going to be an excuse. Part of me hesitates because I know I'll be opening myself to that much more of an audience, and even though I don't know 99.9999% of the people who would read it, I still have opening up issues. Sure, you might not suspect that of me if you've ever read my blog here, but it's true to an extent.

All that being said, today's story reminded me ever so slightly of my own story. Much of what the writer says does not parallel with my own story, but there are little things that he mentioned that I could relate to, and I wanted to share.

Maybe it's time to just go ahead and start a new post and start babbling and editing until I whittle a nice something that I can post. But then I'll just make up an excuse. I'm sure the kids need something from me, and I'm sure we're all approaching hungry enough to bother with food, and I don't really want to spend my whole evening in front of the computer, and it's not really as good a story as those of other people, and who really cares anyway, and blah and more blah and more blah, blah, blah.

this post is almost as boring as the over long drives it's about

Trips to Atlanta always seem to be a series of hours spent driving, and it doesn't make me miss the town of my birth and upbringing. This weekend was no different.

There was one major difference but one that wasn't obvious to those around us. Momma was part of the trip, and that was bittersweet in that I have to wonder when we'll take another road trip together. I'm looking forward to Christmas, but I don't assume she'll be part of it. My family is always willing to accept her, and that's one of many great things about them all, but our relationship is of course different, and we are still, years later, still working out our separating our lives.

I won't belabor this point, but we have made our break under such odd circumstances, and we remain such great friends. There isn't much we won't do for each other, but as time passes we do find a greater distance between us on some level while maintaining such closeness on other levels. It's a puzzle I'm not concerned with solving.

All things considered it was a good trip. We were there ostensibly to witness the marriage of my oldest niece, but as important was seeing the vast majority of my family, loved ones I haven't seen in far too long.

The niece was a beautiful bride in a LOTR inspired dress (in a good way) though she and her groom both looked much, much too young to be making a lifetime commitment, though this should not be seen as me doubting their good intentions or the seriousness of their decision, and I wish them great happiness in their life together.

I couldn't help but notice the male chauvinism I feel is inherent in christian marriages inspired by biblically based marriage vows, but I will also accept that it isn't my place to worry too much about it. Really my true complaint and only concern was the driving.

One of my brothers was nice enough to offer us the use of his home for the weekend, and we were happy to take him up on the offer. We expected to reach his house at a reasonable time Friday night, but we also chose to plug his address into Google maps and accepted the recommendations given without bothering to look to closely.

We spent some amount of time on I75 driving south before the directions led us to a state route and then onto a series of other state routes. At some point, in the nearing lateness and serious darkness near some lake in north Georgia we approached a stop sign behind a truck towing a boat. A man approached us from the truck, apologized for bothering us, explained he was "not from around here" and asked if we could direct him to a hotel or gas station. We were also not from around there and were of no help. It was an odd moment.

We did some amount of missing signs and having to turn around due to the ass backward nature of the directions (sucks to your assmar Google btw) coupled with the darkness of being in the middle of not quite anywhere. This was a portent of too much of the trip as you'll soon learn.

Nearing very late we finally did arrive north of Atlanta and finally found ourselves in my brother's driveway. We carried our stuff in, put Big Brother and The Boy to bed and were finally able to settle down with a beer and take our shoes off.

We were awake Saturday in time for breakfast and an almost relaxing hour to get ready for even more driving. The wedding was to take place farther south of Atlanta than we were to the north, a nearly two hour drive down to the church. I ironed clothes and looked nice if I do say so myself. The wedding went well and there were pictures and smoked wings and some sort of drink that was really good if lacking in any alcohol.

One of my many brothers had to work and missed the wedding, and our plan was to retreat back to the house we stayed at and relax and hang out with family until we were able to figure out some plans to hang out with the working brother. Instead we attempted an alternate route that ended up adding two hours to the two hours it should have taken us to get back to north of Atlanta. It didn't help that there was bumper to bumper traffic on I75 that allowed us to average a speed somewhat comparable to a grandparent taking a dump after overindulging at world o' cheese.

We did get to hang out with that brother and enjoy some enjoyable food. It was yet another nice time with family and made the trip and the driving as worth it as any of the seeing family, which, all combined, made it all worthwhile.

Sunday was also spent doing too much driving, and we missed visiting the mall that has the Lego store. The boys were looking forward to the Lego store, but because of that even more driving we weren't able. We didn't really get lost this time, but we did forget that traveling in metro Atlanta is such a giant pain in the ass that we'd all probably rather have to spend the day combing chickens for bugs.

But Sunday did see us spending even more time with family, namely my parents and yet another brother and his wife and kids. We got to enjoy some mediocre Mexican food and watch most of the Brazil versus Ivory Coast game. I hate to admit, but Brazil's second goal should have been disallowed because of two handballs, but the play looked so great as the player beat what seemed like all of Cote d'Ivoire's team within the penalty area.

We finally made our way back to the interstate. We encountered yet more traffic that we have yet to imagine an explanation for. What clogs the interstate south of Atlanta on a Saturday or Sunday early evening? And honestly it's happened before, and I've never figured out what happened any of those past times.

And with all of that, home is so nice to see. I suppose that's part of what makes it home. Ticking off all those familiar junctions as we speed through them on the interstate is a really nice feeling as is that sight of the one your looking for. Pulling into your own driveway and finally walking into your own house, smelling your own place washes over you, and though you don't want to, you go ahead and drag everything out of the car to be unpacked and sorted later. It really is a great feeling.

thinking or not thinking about not thinking about thinking

The following post was written and edited, probably poorly, before this paragraph. I can't decide if all that follows sounds familiar because I've posted about it before or because I've written and deleted similar posts before. If it all sounds to familiar you are more than welcome to find the little red square with the x in it. Clicking it makes me go away.

There's no sense pretending that I'm in a great place right now, but I'm not as badly off as I could be or as badly off as I have been. It's arguable that I'm as likely as not to be worse off in the future, but I'm at least thinking I'm digging my way out of this.

One thing that's working in my favor is that I'm not depressing myself much by thinking about those things that depress me, mainly my seeming lack of money and my definite lack of a love life. I'm not going to even bother mentioning the complete nonexistence of a sex life, but that is by design as I'm not trying to get any and of course am therefore not getting any.

If I think about money I'll drag myself into a pit where all I can think about will be money. Right now I owe my landlord just over half the rent he was due for the month, but I have the money. I'm kind of surprised I haven't heard from since I got paid Friday, as that's the day I told him I'd have the rest. I'm also going to send my next student loan payment about a week early so that I can get that money out of my account where I am too likely to accidentally drink my way into it.

That's not entirely as likely as it has been in the past. I do have a history of spending the bulk of my money at the bar, but I'm working on that, and the biggest help here is always going to be keeping tabs on my bank account instead of running up tabs at the local.

Anyway, I've got those two monetary exits, and this time I'm not going to forget about them when I look online at my balance and don't see them having gone through yet. I do fully expect about 80% of my next check, just over a week from now, to be an in full payment of my next month's rent.

I also owe Momma somewhere in the realm of five hundred dollars for bills we still share, most of which is a bank loan we took to pay off a credit card that had begun to eat us alive. She's been cool about letting me slack in getting money to her, and while I fully expect her to continue to be cool I fully expect the weight of the knowledge of this debt to continue to weigh on my own mind. But I try not to think about it.

I haven't mentioned my phone bill yet, and I can't for the life of me figure how AT&T justifies charging nearly twenty dollars for removing Momma from the deal and putting me entirely in charge of it. It's highway robbery, but my option is to spend even more money to end my commitment eleven months early. Chances are though that near the middle of 2011 I'll be shopping for a new service provider. For what it's worth, AT&T isn't likely to get more than half of their bill from me before I next get paid.

And speaking of pay, that's a whole other depressing thing that I'm trying not to think about, but my role as a cook for hire and my feelings about my place in this business are fodder for a whole other post.

Hoping we've entirely covered how much money I owe random people and how not thinking about it is not depressing me with it we can move to love/sex/relationship issues that I've mentioned I'm also not thinking of.

To say I'm not thinking about any of it is a bit of a lie. I'm not allowing myself to dwell on it, and I'm contenting myself with telling myself I'm being patient about it. I don't run across that many gay men in my normal daily life, and I don't actually have any close friends that are gay that aren't lesbians. I love my lesbians, and they are great friends, but there's still only so much that we have in common.

Not working toward or looking for a relationship is driven by two reasons. One is that I have a bad habit of rushing into sex when given the chance. Because my chance encounters are so random, when the idea seems to present itself I, by habit, rush it like kids around the pinata that just hit the ground. I want to not do that in part because when things don't work out I can't not think of that later, and any chance of a normal ol' friendship with that person is negated. And I do need to find friends of the gay male variety. It would help me to not feel the aloneness that I also don't think about. It would be nice to actually feel like there were other people like me out there.

A second reason for the avoidance is that I don't really think I'm in a place to be a good partner. Some of this gets back to the cooking for a living issue mentioned above. Being in the closet for so long gave me a view of who I am and what I like that is wrongly colored by being in the closet. I'm learning that my love of the kitchen is different than I thought, though I have yet to figure out how I most want to approach food and cooking.

I've mentioned in the post previous to my most recent overly long blog silence my writing. I'm not sure what I want to do with it, but I'm falling back into some amount of habit of doing some amount of writing. And this isn't the only thing that interests me, but the other interests are things I'm worried to approach. I never allowed myself to even consider so many things as interests from inside the closet that I'm now almost overwhelmed with ideas and stuff and things that are like ideas.

A sad fact here is that I'm spending too much time not thinking about some things and not enough times thinking about other things. While I'm not really doing that much, my life seems to be moving quickly through too many days of the same ol' thing.

Momma discusses the idea of working toward finding balance, and that's what I need to do. But I keep not thinking, so I keep not doing. But even when I'm not thinking I'm still thinking. Now I just need to really think and work toward focus.

i love the vuvuzela

And other reasons I love soccer/football/futbol. And yes, I get that the vuvuzela is kind of obnoxious, but it's part of South African soccer tradition, and music and noise is part of soccer around the world with all corners of the globe contributing their own thing. Go HERE to see nearly ten minutes of a raucous crowd loving their team and the game with horns and drums and chanting.

Right now I'm on a bit of a kick regarding music and soccer. Part of the fussing of World Cup 2010 is people griping about the vuvuzela. I get a little irritated hearing people bitch about them and even suggesting that they be banned. The English love to sing/chant for their team, and sometimes they love even more to sing to/at the opposition, in the most loving of ways of course. Go HERE for a Wikipedia article about chants in soccer. It's bit of a read, but it's interesting, and in my opinion puts the whole issue in some context, and from there you can do your own googling to find videos of soccer fans singing their club songs. I have to admit to loving Liverpool's fans singing, "You'll Never Walk Alone." Go HERE for a great version.

Another reason I love the game is stoppage time. Yes, I said that I love stoppage time. The referees have the option of extending the game past the ninety minutes to make up for times that play stopped for injuries, whether fake or real, as well as time wasted by either team that the ref felt was unnecessary. And speaking of ninety minutes, that's how long a game lasts. In American football a sixty minute game lasts two to three hours because someone has to make money by showing a string of seeming never ending ads for crap. But soccer doesn't stop except in the middle of the game for half time. There will of course be a few minutes there for ads, but you better get them in quick around the talking heads, because as soon as it's time for the game to restart your ass better be back on the pitch.

Advantage is another advantage. In other sports, whenever a foul is committed, the entire game has to stop to deal with it. In soccer there's this awesome thing called advantage. If I foul you but do not gain any benefit (advantage) for my team, the ref has the option of allowing the game to proceed. He/she even has the option of coming back to the foul later when play has stopped naturally if it's felt that I deserve to be warned about my behaviour. If the foul is flagrant enough or if I gain some advantage for my team, then the ref will stop the game and allow the effected team to restart play with control of the ball, and if I foul you inside my penalty area then I might as well have given you a goal most of the time.

The uniforms are yet another reason to love the game. How can you go wrong with basic shorts and a shirt? How can you not love the huge array of colors and patterns that teams have come up with over the years? Go HERE and scroll down the page for a very tiny sample. I'll add here that soccer players are probably also the hottest, but that's probably just my bias shining through, and this whole reason sounds kinda gay to me, but then . . .

I could talk about this for hours, but I won't. I'll end with one last reason, that the only thing you need to play the game is a ball. I've played games that used a pair of backpacks, strategically placed, to stand in for a goal. I've seen kids play using a spot on a wall as a goal. This is one thing that American football shares, the need for no more than a ball to play the game, and like American football, you don't even have to play a game to have fun. Just hanging out with friends and passing the ball and chasing the ball is a great way to blow off steam and waste a couple or more minutes.

I do love the game. I love the World Cup. And most of all I love my home team. I may not always be happy with the results, and I may rather make out with 90% of Spain's team , but it's USMNT all the way for me.

three plus hour drive

Blogger is offering me some new templates with which I could change the look of this here blog, but I think I'm going to mostly not do so for now.

As it happens currently, that I'm on a computer and attempting anything means that I'm at Momma's house. She's at work at the moment though will soon enough be heading here, and then I'll go home myself. I picked up an early shift tomorrow and would like to get to bed soon and get up and to work on time.

I may offer to pick up another shift Tuesday as I need the hours, but it would be nice to have a break. My last day off was last Tuesday, and my next days off will be this weekend. That's right, like normal people I'll have Saturday and Sunday off.

I'm taking the weekend off in order to drive to Atlanta for the wedding of my oldest niece. Perhaps by the time we're there and I'm seeing her as an adult my mortality will flash full in my face, but I'm surrounded regularly at work by people, on average, ten years younger than me. There is one server a few months younger than me, and the owner and his wife are at least in their 60's I assume, though I've never asked them. But for the most part I'm very much the oldest person employed there.

I'm looking forward to the trip this weekend. Of my growing family I've seen two brothers in the last three years, and I've seen zero of the rest of them in three years.

Of course it can't help but be a little odd. The last I saw the bulk of the fam I was not gay as far as they knew. The two brothers who've visited me knew and were kind enough to leave me to make my own schedule of coming out. Soon enough after that last visit I sent the bulk email in which I told them all the news, and that had something to do with my choice to refrain from visiting.

I could make lots of excuses as to why I avoided the family for far too long, yet I can't help but feel that those excuses are just that and lame as well. At the same time I think I can justify somewhat reasonably my choice. I don't expect anything but happiness to see and be seen, but I can't know, and I have this habit of avoidance when it comes to even a chance of discomfort or having to talk about stuff.

Of course I'm also pretty much opener than all hell when it comes to being out here in my current hometown to the point where I go out of my way to let people know fairly quickly. I'm just not willing to hide.

A good example happened recently at work. The kitchen was closed, and I was off work and at the bar enjoying a beer before heading home. We'd hosted a rather obnoxious bachelorette party, and one of the attendees was in the bar for some reason about which I didn't care. The only other person at that moment in the bar not a coworker was a customer that I didn't know, and he was happy to flirt with the party goer. Somehow the suggestion came up that he would be willing to marry the partier, and I was asked if I'd be willing to marry her.

I shook my head and explained matter of factly that I'm not into girls. He then asked if I'd marry him. Have I mentioned before that I'm kind of an ass sometimes. I looked him over, gave a look that I'm sure was more than a little disdainful and answered that no I would not.

Friends tend to learn quickly what they can and can not get by with when it comes to discussing the gay and my own the gay. It's certainly not a taboo subject, and I'm even willing to answer stupid questions that people have. I'm sure to them the questions aren't stupid, and I believe it's best to be open and out and answer those stupid questions. It's really the best way for people to release their stereotypes and learn that we homos are pretty much not any different from them. At the same time I'm not willing to stand for shit. I'm not willing to allow people around me to use the idea of gay as an insult.

So my point, as I dance around it for an hour or two, is that I'm, as mentioned, out and open. It's not even a thing anymore for the vast majority of people that I know. I even post gay stuff on Facebook sometimes, and I'm friends with all my brothers and my parents and the sisters in law. They at least have the chance to see the stuff I post, though they never comment on it. They didn't even mention when I posted the thing about Christiano Ronaldo and mentioned my belief that he's a rather attractive man.

And whether we ever get to my point doesn't even matter now. I've jabbered for long enough that most of you probably forgot where I was going. Part of my point is that I really don't care what anyone in the family thinks. What I do care about is how they act.

Chances are that it won't even come up. Perhaps they all will avoid the subject so as to not mar the sacred occasion of the matrimonial joining of my niece and that guy that I don't know but who she's marrying. I'm not going to be the douche in this instance. I want as much as most anybody for this to be a wonderful day for her, untainted with nonsense.

What do I expect? Lots of hugs and smiles and happiness at the reunion after too long. I expect to be amazed at the height and growth and ages of all the nieces and nephews. I'm sure my own kids will get tired of the "You're so big I can't believe it OMG ya'll." The Boy will freak out the first time someone tries to kiss him, and I'll do my damnedest to explain to people that they should just not try. I'll warn him ahead of time that people will attempt to plant smooches on him, and I'll hope that he'll at least be hugable and return hugs, and I'll hope that people can respect his wishes about contact.

What else do I expect? I'm sure I'll have a moment of sadness/depression as I convince myself that I'll never get married and can't legally anyway. Momma might have a moment as well. We'll remember our own wedding twelve years back and then the sudden change our relationship saw so not so long ago.

And what more might I expect? I can't know, but I can't let it keep me away anymore. I'm pretty sure I still love my family, and I'm pretty sure I'm tired of not seeing them for far too long.

bemoan the fate

Okay, don't really bemoan the fate; I just like ominous titles.

Is there still anyone out there even? I know I haven't posted in a while, but this blog is not dead. I'm certain I've made similar pronouncements in the past, and they've probably been followed, for the most part, by dry spells.

I nearly began this paragraph with the phrase, "Not having regular computer access . . ." until I realized that I'm still at Momma's house often enough that I'm at least still able to nearly keep up with my reader, and I do still get more Fb than is really necessary.

And as usual, I'm not even approaching any sort of a point.

A fun part of moving has been revisiting my very own early-mid '90's via the journals I kept at the time. There's a sad arc of journaling that I'm able to follow from the early '90's that began with me, much older than most people at this stage, ranting and moaning and being depressed with my lot in life. This is followed by a stage at which I made my very first friends outside of the church/school that I grew up in.

Perhaps a brother will come up with an earlier friend that was somehow unrelated to either the church or school we all remember so well, but I think it's highly doubtful. And that really says something, because I think I was very late teens by the time of the first of the journals, and I'm pretty sure I've got all of them I ever scribbled in.

I keep managing to, in a general sort of way, not do something sensible for myself. I need reorienting, and while I'm not looking to my self recorded history as an example of how stagnant I can really be, I have once again begun to keep a journal. This time it's a three ring binder and notebook paper. It was a recipe book for the last place I worked at in Charlotte, so that would have been early '98, shortly before the big move and months before the birth of Big Brother. I mention this because I have a nice stack, about half of them the classic black and white Mead composition notebooks and the other half being spiral notebooks.

And for what it's worth, I have now self referenced the blog as well as referencing the journal, but the beauty of all this is that I've done the same in the journal. And that gets us back to the blog.

I've always needed to make better sense of my computer time, and since reading other people's blogs and Fb seem neither to want to give up their share of time, and since I no longer actually live within the same space as a computer, and because I know that some amount of writing nonsense seems to help me maintain a certain balance of something, I'm going to make sense of the two in a way that makes some amount of sense.

Doesn't that sound fun?

seasonally speaking

It may just be that Momma and I are twins, she being the light to my dark.

She is the flowers and sunshine to my moonlight and desolation. It struck me tonight to hear her talk about doom and gloom which is my usual forte, and I thought of the song HERE.

The song represents me well. I know the darkness, and I work so much and so often to find my way and defeat that darkness. When Momma spoke to me tonight of her recent problems, I couldn't help but think of this song and hurt for her. She is in a place, somewhat new to her, that I find myself fighting all too often.

But that's not where I choose to leave it. I have a better song in mind. The band, Fastbacks, is certainly less well known than Johnny Cash, but it's a band that's been a longstanding favorite of mine. The song HERE is the song I choose to move on with. This is my current power anthem, the song that I dedicate to me and to Momma as we rise up and move forward.

about a mile or so

Sometimes I use something and realize a new to me feature that was probably there all along. I've used Google maps plenty of times, and lately, while looking for a house, Momma has used it many more times.

The Google mapping I did was to search the route between where I work and where I'll soon be living. I actually knew exactly what my search would tell me in regard to the route, but I was curious about the distance. It's definitely walkable which was part of my curiosity.

The feature I mentioned above is in a small drop down menu. When you search a route you can choose how you plan to traverse that route, whether you are driving, walking, using public transit or riding a bike.

It only makes sense, and I wasn't amazingly surprised that it existed, but I was a wee bit pleasantly surprised. Now let's work on pleasantly surprising myself with an affordable bike in the near future.

so many words say so little

Given my fairly strong agnostic tendencies one might be surprised to know that I live in some amount of fear of jinxing myself. Mine is probably not that peculiar. And perhaps it's somewhat a self esteem issue. I feel that argument could be made.

The thing is that I often feel like I ruin things by enjoying them. That's really not exactly how it goes. Let's try this. If I get too excited about a prospect, no matter what I put into making it work, it will fail. And even that doesn't fully describe it.

And when this sort of thing happens, as it so often seems to, it's easy to pretend that it's not of my own making, that my own prejudices and habits don't guide me all too often. No, perish the very thought.

But then I find myself working my magic and pulling my strings, and things start coming together. I get excited because my minimal effort is paying off. And if I give no more than a minimal effort I should probably expect minimal reward. At the same time, I'm still letting myself be a defeated hump, so any progress should naturally be seen as a huge step, regardless of the minuscule nature of what I seem to come up with.

All of this must be sooooo cryptic, mostly because I planned for it to be. I feel like I'm finally making my move. And it feels freeing and like the start of something new. I've finally made an effort, and I wonder if it wasn't all meant to be, like I was coiling my springs, waiting cat like for that moment when I finally knew it was time to pounce.

And then I remember that I should have jumped some time ago, and I've succeeded in grabbing the lowest fruit.

But dammit! right now is my time. I'm sure I said that one at least once before, but it was followed by another turn at the wheel, wearing my rut ever deeper. This time it's for reals. I've lined shit up in rows, and though it may really only be one row, I'm quite prepared to knock down the pins.

And with that I take my bag of cliches and wander away from all of this. Actually, I'm not really wandering away. I'm really just gonna slap some tags and a title on it and post. But first I'll proof read it, and I'll miss something.

it could be worser

My place of employment is a fairly attractive place in what I find to be an attractive part of town. We are staffed with a fair amount of attractive people, though the girls are much moreso than the boys if we were to make a chart.

The last round of hiring in the front of house was almost all girls. There was this one guy who is pretty cool especially since he started getting my jokes, and all the girls get so moist when he's working. I could see it if it weren't all too much, and I just realized my issue. He's too manly, and I'm just not into the whole bear thing as such. I'm not saying no automatically however, but that's really not the point. Or maybe it's just his hair, or perhaps it's the all black outfit with brown shoes.

His brother is actually in the round of new hires and one of two very cute and of course straight guys. And it's the other guy that is at issue.

I get along great with most girls. I probably always have more than I realized, but I always assumed (lied to myself) that it was because I was such a great and open minded guy. I realize now how very gay and probably normal it is for me to get along better with girls. None of them are options in the buffet of people I'm going to want to either get dirty or act all grown up with, in both the dirtiest and maturest states those ideas can cover. Unless they're homophobic, then they're safe, and I can let down my guard a little bit.

I think sometimes I have a type, and then there's guys that don't really fit that that still sort of put my brakes on, and it's the other guy that's at issue in this latest round of hiring. He seems sort of like a tool, maybe a bit of a frat boy wannabe. I can't really say as I've not really spoken to him. I did sort of talk to him one night about the hat he'd chosen to wear when he clocked out and changed out of his work clothes. And honestly, that's sort of a sign there that he isn't a team player, and the other foh people will likely start to get that, but that isn't really the point.

The hat came down over his eyes, and his beautiful blue eyes are a huge part of his appeal. And I, without really thinking about it, said something negative about the hat. I was accidentally flirting.

And I don't do that. Really.

And what if he does figure out that I have a purely carnal crush on him? Just from the few shifts I've worked with him I can pretty much guarantee he isn't the coolest cucumber in the walk in. But then we squeeze past each other in the tight confines of the dish room in the middle of a busy shift where you might bump hips in passing but a clear "coming through" or a firm "hot pans" are all the courtesy anyone gets or expects, and you smell his cologne in the brief moment as you reach around the ill placed I beam to slip those pans into the sink full of water and grease and noodles.

I mentioned the other new server, the brother of the more veteran that the girls think about with their hand held shower heads. The girls all like the big, tall brother, and I like the less tall one. I don't think any of them would toss him out of bed on a cold winter night, but they'd wish for the other. I likely wouldn't toss either of them out, but I would get freaked out if they approached me together.

Because I don't really dig on the taller brother I can talk to him. Because none of the guys in the kitchen other than me are what I'd consider even drunkenly doable I can very easily talk to them. Most of them are actually much farther down the food chain than me, and I hope it burns them up to know that the girls wish they were all gay and me not so much.

And when we finally get two hot guys at once I remember my problem, that I can't act normal around them. I could be fifteen in the '80's, straight and trying to hit on Molly Ringwald for all the sane I'm able to muster.

it's that time in where I live

Tomorrow is my turn to get up early for the testing. Big Brother has reached that point of homeschool life when we take him to be tested.

We printed up a copy of the test, though I must admit we could have paid more attention to what we were looking at. We did want the test on paper to better simulate the testing environment, though I can't say we sanitized the place and put in buzzing lights to truly get the feel.

As mentioned we copied the test, and we could have thought more about, maybe looked at the totality of options available when printing a multi page document. One might ask themselves if they really need those several mostly gray pages with only the words, "DO NOT MARK ON THIS PAGE." We certainly didn't, but apparently The Boy needed drawing paper, so he got some, and he certainly marked on those pages. Hope the law don't get after us.

We didn't print the answer pages, so that was paper saved . . . oh, wait. We got lucky and ran out of paper just as the last actual test page was printed. I actually had to find a random still blank sheet to feed into the printer at the last moment.

After this week we'll certainly have plenty of scrap paper. I imagine it will be perfect for drawing on the back of, and Momma has used some amount of paper in her ongoing home search, so she can now print the information about her possible soon to be dream home on the backs of the testing pages, though that may at times not leave her with a lot of room on the back to write any notes, though there are plenty of test pages with a single question occupying about one quarter of the paper to go along with the red stripe at the bottom holding both the page number and either the arrow or the stop sign.

They didn't offer the answer sheet that the kids get with the little bubbles to fill in, so he just circled his answers.

And that's that. Now I get to wake much too early and take the boys and go . . .

And if anyone reading this knows what local phrase I've parodied sorta to get the title of this post they will win a prize. It's a line I often tweak, but that likely won't help most anyone, so I can't say it's a clue, but it's something.

is friended a word?

Another wrinkle has worked its way into my ongoing internal discussion about the two halves of my life, the out here but not there thing. A mother of one of The Boy's team mates has sent me a friend request on that social networking site we all love so well.

It's that damn internet's fault, making me searchable. I'm certain she could do more searching, and I've realized much before this that I am in fact more out than I can now have any control over. This was a deciding factor in my decision to stop coaching those three-ish short years ago. Okay it was one of any number of equally important factors at the time. Sadly, other coaches proved to me that, at least in my opinion, the league would be better served having me there.

I'm not sure exactly how to go about ignoring the friend request. I can't say that I have any real reason not to accept friendship from someone, but it's Facebook for fuck sake. I've gotta be able to be myself there.

Now I have to admit that I still haven't checked my privacy settings in quite a while and don't know what they're set to. I do remember the big to do that Fb was selling our children or something, and I got a message from someone on the inside explaining what they did and that I could go to this page and set it myself if I damn well wanted to. It was actually a nice message, or nice enough at least. And I did go and at least review my settings, but I don't know as of this moment which package I chose to go with.

I do know about my pictures. I may not be able to tell you without looking what all is there, but I've seen them all, and I know. There are a couple that other people might choose not to include. And it certainly makes me seem as though I drink more than I want most people to think. And there's that one from the birthday party and more than a couple in which I might look kinda gay.

And that's the thing, the information that gets out. I can only control it so much, and I only want so much to control it. I don't want to live a lie ever again. I don't want to have to be in the closet, and I don't want to have to have a sign over my head flashing HOMO whenever people see me. It's an essential element, and I can't know for certain how it informs and influences my choices and my approach to people and situations, but that's not really the question. I want to just be me with the homo part just that, a part of the whole.

And I'm left with not really knowing what to do. I'm going to tend toward my original plan of ignoring this person's likely well intended request. I mean, how do you tell someone, "I'm sorry, but I can't be your friend. You've stumbled on a part of my life where I'm able to be out and open, and since I don't really know you, even though I'm your child's very first ever soccer coach, I must respectfully ignore your request because of things I'd rather not discuss with you that, depending on your sociopolitical leanings and/or religious beliefs, may cause you to abruptly and distinctly change your opinion of me. I hope you understand."

two don'ts

Soccer practice today was an easy one. Practice tends to start with the kids passing the ball. We don't all arrive at the exact same time, and of course I usually try to be there early. I need to set the field up both with whatever cones I'll need as well as doing the pencil check.

The field we are currently using is just a big, mostly crappy rectangle of mostly grass and pencils and is part of a local middle school. As kids walk across the grass to and from school they lose a variety of items. I do sometimes find a pen, but for the most part I can count on finding five to ten pencils, most of them broken.

As my team slowly arrives around and about the start time they've learned to just go ahead and start passing the ball as we wait for me to actually start practice. Often they will tend to pair up, and often I'll put them in pairs or groups.

Big Brother and I were running late which means we arrived at five instead of ten till. There was one of my team on the field with his dad and younger brother, and between the three of them they were passing both a soccer ball and a football. Another player was in his car and came to the field as I arrived while a fourth player also soon arrived.

I knew this would be a lightly attended practice. The local kids are out of school on spring break, and it's the week before Easter. We don't even have a game this weekend. As I've done in the past I told the families that I'd be willing to have practice but knew not to expect them all. One kid's mom already told me he'd be at the beach.

So four kids out of twelve and one coach. We spent half of practice just passing the ball between each other in a big circle. I did my best to NOT coach as part of an idea I had for practice. It's arugable that more kids finding the joy in simply passing the soccer ball would increase soccer enjoyment in the US and would then lead to better plays in the US, and no I don't think it's a bit of a stretch, but it's also not why we're here right now. We were all finally thirsty, and when the water break turned into sitting around for an extra five minutes I let it. I picked one of the four team to play with me, and the rest of the practice was just playing soccer, me and the kid versus the other three kids. I told them specifically that it wasn't a scrimmage in fact, and I continued to do my best not to coach. My goal for today was to have fun playing soccer, and none of the kids really wanted to go when I told them we were don't, but I knew their parents were ready.

And now we get to the title of this post, two don'ts. When you are thirty seven, you really need to adjust how you play any sport with kids. If you are in good physical shape then you shouldn't really play your hardest. You need to dial it back a bit. When you are in less than good physical shape you might still want to ease up. In one instance it's not fair to the kids, and in the other you wind up nearly killing yourself.

I imagine we all know about kicking a soccer ball, but for those that don't there's one basic fact you should know. You do not kick with your toe. I would wager that most sports with any amount of kicking involved don't actually involve the toe in direct contact and for a variety of reasons. One reason is that it hurts your toe, and my toe hurts.

I do know how to kick a ball, but in my defense I was doing the other don't, and so I probably deserved the bit of toe pain.

A slide tackle is a desperation move, and in one of today's rare coaching moments I used my own bit of breaking a rule to explain to them the idea of a slide tackle as desperate and a last resort. What I didn't discuss with them is the idea of not slide tackling when you're the coach and supposed to be coaching and not slide tackling.

I let myself get a little too involved. It was all fun of course, and I didn't actually slide tackle a player. I and the ball were well ahead of him, and my team mate was open. What should have been a quick and neat move turned out really poorly. I hit the ground and didn't slide, landing on my calf and knee. The foot that was supposed to gracefully come around and contact the ball with the top ended up going straight on, toe first. The ball was moving pretty quickly as my momentum brought me into contact.

The wound is slight and won't effect anything, and I accept that it's entirely a product of poor decision making. The take away message, above and beyond the two don'ts, might be knowing when to dial it back. There's never a reason to not do your best, but there are valid reasons sometimes to not play your hardest.

in the closet? or just inside the shadow?

My Google reader has over two hundred unread items in it again. That isn't that many, but it does represent a couple of days of lessened computer time. Between Friday evening and Saturday late night lately I'm fairly busy.

Friday evening is soccer practice with the boys followed by attempts at feeding them healthy food, getting them into bed then obsessing over what I might have missed at their practices, what I can do to make the games go well and hoping none of that keeps me from getting to sleep.

And when I start cutting back computer time or just having less time for it, often my email is the first thing to get overlooked unless I'm expecting something. And I missed a comment recently to my most recent post as it came in just before the weekend mania.

The comment is from a blogger I enjoy who also happens to author one of two blogs hailing from Canada that I enjoy reading, Tossing Pebbles in the Stream and A Small Corner of Nowhere.

The comment was to my most recent post about the idea of deliberately outing closeted politicians who work against the interest of gay people. Sadly, when I saw that I had a comment, I had to go to the blog post to remember what I'd posted. I suppose it's been a while.

It's always interesting to have comparisons from people used to life in Canada but who are also well aware, through experience, of life in the US. I have to assume it's the subtle differences. And that's sorta what the comment made me think.

But then the idea of the closet crept back up.

There's some idea of levels of outness that I've considered before, quite possibly even thought about on occasion. There are so many variables that work into this equation when I really stop to think about it. One basic question to ask is Who Knows? The followup question is Are They Cool? Two distinct examples come to mind, work and soccer.

I'm pretty much completely out at work. There are a few new employees that I haven't told directly, but I can only imagine they'll figure it out soon enough. I work in a part of town that has a lot of cool places and hosts a lot of my friends, people I've met over the years of working and hanging out in the vacinity, some living in the area and some scattered throughout the city. Of the people living closest the demographic is young, hip, probably with more than a little money while the visitors are pretty much everybody in town for various events over the course of a year.

It's a safe place to be out, and it wouldn't matter anyway since enough people know that I have to assume that everyone knows. It's freeing to not give a shit. It's not nearly as gay as I'd like to see it, but even before I was out it was where I loved to be, where my two most regular bars are still. I'm accepted now just as I was before.

In this place, these several city blocks of this town, I feel like I'm just me. I can dream that I could meet someone and poetic nonsense will happen, and then a happy ending that involves growing old together with no wind chimes indoors.

And then there's soccer. Obviously, this is the place where it matters least. This is also one place I'd currently sorta most like it to not come up.

From the direction of our downtown you can follow the four directions to find somewhat different perspectives and opinions on life and politics. While downtown is a more liberal sort of place, driving north takes you into more conservative territory. We're currently in an in between but less lib sort of direction, and our soccer region is mostly the points farther out than us.

I don't want to judge the people who let me coach their children, and I can't know what they think because it doesn't come up. I do my thing, they cheer, maybe we'll win next week, and then the season is over.

I have a whole other complaint here that I feel needs to be somewhat addressed and actually will be in the fall. I'm not sure what happened, but someone noticed something I noticed. One of the ideals I learned from my earliest coaching days with this organization is the idea that complete and total fairness was the ideal. There would be now stacked teams, no all stars beating up the "others."

I've coached some great kids, though not all of them should have been playing soccer. I've seen so many that just didn't really want to be there, but they made the effort, and sometimes I got some really good playing out of them. Some kids just DID NOT need to be there. They hated it, they didn't like or appreciate being pushed to do things they had no interest in, and you never know what to do.

Is there a good way to tell someone to ask their child if they really want to play soccer? This is the first season that Big Brother's team has been full of kids who all seemed interested to be here. Okay, now that I think, I can name a couple that would rather do other, but I also see these kids as being willing to pull together and do something great if I can just . . . They do actually enjoy playing soccer, and I'm refusing now to get sidetracked into the discussion about how kids are different and there are the kids who like playing soccer as well as the kids who hate losing anything. That's a great idea for a blog post, but it's not where we are right now.

I never mean to, but thinking about soccer gets me into a certain groove, and this is a great year for that. I stopped coaching for a short time, part of the whole coming out thing. Soccer just seemed too much at the time. Coming back to it is weird because so many of the faces in the organization haven't changed. And it should be mentioned that our preseason coach's meeting is held in a Methodist church. And that's a crap segue to get us back to my point.

I'm making assumptions like Hank Aaron hitting home runs when it comes to the idea that these people might learn their kid's soccer coach is gay, but I don't think that I'm entirely off base when I assume that it could be, at best, uncomfortable to have to deal with it. And there's the point that it kind of doesn't matter at all in this lone place and time. And while I don't see it ever coming up, I can imagine it ending poorly for all interested parties.

I would prefer people know. If they are accepting then it makes my life easier, and it shouldn't change or effect anything for them, but that's the main variable here. You just can't know who's cool and who's not.

When I'm downtown, if someone learns that I'm gay and has an issue, I have back up. I have places I can go if I need to, and I have friends that will stand up with me. Among the soccer crowd I have a huge unknown. They don't realize it, but there's a gay amongst them. And he's doing his best to coach your kids, to make them better soccer players and better teammates.

And if we get back to some of those stereotypes of gay people, I have worn my sunglasses in front of them, and on me they're kinda gay, which I'm generally okay with, but I'm sure my "secret" was telegraphed somehow to someone. Also, I love those sunglasses. I saw them on someone else and actually went to WalMart to buy them because I loved them so much. That also might be kinda gay.

drat

where ever

The idea of being forcibly outed isn't new. I imagine that any group of people who find themselves with a general disdain for gay people has probably run across the concept at some point.

Without getting too complicated, considering I barely skimmed the news source, I give you a couple of links.

Roy Ashburn, a Senator from California apparently has a voting record that tends to deny gay people equality. I honestly didn't read that much about the guy, so I'm taking The Advocate's word for it. That isn't really the point. The thing is, the guy's gay. He got himself a nice DUI while taking an anonymous male home from a gay bar. Days later he admitted that he's gay.

According to another article in The Advocate a blogger plans to out any number of politicians if they vote against something or other that also isn't the point. It's the idea of forced outing that is the whole point but sort of juxtaposed against the idea of anti gay politics coming from closeted gay people, which has happened before. Larry Craig would of course be a prime example.

With first hand experience I can tell you that the closet is a horrible place, but I can't for the life of me imagine a way that I could justify animosity toward gay people who were out.

That's a lie. On some level I can see a place where, from in the closet, my own jealousy might cause problems. Really it would depend on the reasons we find ourselves in the closet. We're all in for very personal reasons.

I also have to wonder how a closeted politician gets to a point where they are basically known, on some level in whatever town they spend most of their time, as gay, but they are able to remain closeted to the people who rely on them for political representation.

So, is it right or okay to out someone? That's really the basic question. Is it ever? Is it never? Are their circumstances that effect the decision?

Can we weight the question with factors such as the person's place in a political machine that often works to undermine efforts seen by many people as an attempt to achieve equality for a group of people that the person is also secretly a member of?

How do you weight for the what it does to a person and their family?

I want to argue that it's always for the best when a gay person comes out of the closet. It doesn't fix things really. It doesn't make your life immediately all it could have been. There's still miles uphill to slog, and we all have our own hill anyway. Throw in being secretly gay while casting votes in the senate to deprive gay people of the simple fact of being treated as equal, and you've created a whole new bunch of circumstances for yourself.

In the end, if you go out of your way to tell people not to do what you do in fact do then perhaps it's best that we all get to know that you do in fact do what you strike so forcefully against.

worst excuse in the world

Wanna hear what might me my tip top all time fave song by The Specials? You should wanna. It's not happy and full of blooming flowers, but it's HERE, and it's awesome. Just go listen. You've got fuck all else to do.

on standing

Of the people I consider friends is one young lady we'll call BK for short. We were at the same place recently, the old watering hole, and happened to exit the bathrooms at the same time. She being a woman and I being a man, we actually met in the hallway outside the loos and threw our arms around each other and made our way to where the bulk of our friends were congregated.

Our path took as past some of the pool tables and through the dart playing area. I don't know why the dartboards are where they are here, but then I've never known that. As we wended our way past the dartboards I overheard someone comment that he was having some difficulty, upon seeing BK and I, with ascertaining which of us was the boy and which the girl.

I should think it would have been obvious, but what if the two of us are so gay that one can't easily tell gender difference? I think that I look like a boy and that BK looks like a girl, but rather than bother with the like, I raised my hand behind BK, who didn't seem to have heard the exchange, and raised that time proven middle finger. I hoped this was the end of the situation and assumed so as no alarm was raised upon being shot the bird by the homosexual.

This fellow had a friend who witnessed the situation and approached BK a few moments later with an apology for his friend's behavior. I was willing to accept this gent's apology, but BK, upon hearing finally of the exchange, had other ideas.

She was suddenly tracing her steps back toward the dart players and wondering exactly who had, moments ago, expressed an opinion rooted in ignorance. I began to intercede, to attempt to bring BK back into the circle of our friends, but as I watched her ire grow, I began to enjoy what I was seeing. The obvious offender was suddenly unwilling to express his doubt when faced with an actual person he'd so easily demeaned moments ago. He ducked and pleaded ignorance, the guilt full in his face.

And I think that's the lesson to be learned. It's BK's lesson, and it's all about being willing to go back, to get in someone's face, and to ask that immortal question, "What did you say?"

grass roots healthcare

I wasn't as busy helping out as some people last week as we built up what may become our own grass roots health care, but in the end I like to think I did my part.

A good friend was recently diagnosed with cancer. Her husband is a good guy, and they have two young and lovely daughters. She does have health insurance, but the family doesn't make much money, and she won't be able to work during her chemo.

My contribution to helping has included watching her youngest daughter on chemo day or day after chemo day, and I've taken a couple of meals to them on chemo day or day after day. I also donated some food for the art auction that was held to raise money to help out.

There's two sides to this art auction. The one side is that it shouldn't be necessary to do this, that people who get sick should be able to get care and not worry about losing anything. They shouldn't have to worry about their kids' well being. The other side is that an amazing community has formed around this. So many people donated art to the fund raising auction. Momma and her employer donated a sushi party. A number of friends created clothing and fashion accessories. A number of services were donated such as spa treatments and a massage. People that don't even know my friend that well have given time and money to help. A number of local businesses donated gift certificates, and some lucky someone ended up paying exactly the amount of the tattoo that they won in the auction. Of course there were a number of boxes of wine and twelve packs of PBR donated because that's how we roll.

Even now, two days after the event, I can still feel everything I felt then, having ridden the emotional roller coaster, the sadness of the necessity and the joy of friends and community, really the creation of a family, all gathered around this amazing person.

But I still can't help but feel angry. I'm reasonably well as far as I know, but I haven't visited a doctor in longer than I can remember. My doctor's front door for the past decade and a half has had a red sign with the word "Emergency" over it. That's no way to live.

I really don't have any plan to put on the table. I don't have any answers as to how to make it work, but I think I know what we need. We need a medical system that includes every single person in this country, and I do mean every single. I don't care if you're brown and are here illegally. I don't care if you can afford to pay or not. I don't care. I just know that we should all be able to go to the doctor whenever we need, and we should never face the chance of losing anything because of a sudden illness or a previously undiscovered condition.

And to the right winger that inevitably tells me they won't damn well be forced to pay for someone else to get health care I say, "Fuck You!" If we really have to hold art auctions and benefit concerts to take care of a sick friend then something is wrong with our system. If your health insurance tries to tell you that you can't have the chemo that will hopefully make you well again then something is wrong.

In just over a month there's another local event designed to help raise money for someone else who has recently been diagnosed with cancer. Some of the people involved with that were at the auction, and many people involved with the auction are already planning to attend the next event and are figuring out what they can do to help. I don't know how far I can run in a pair of heels, but it might be worthwhile to find out. Who knows when it will be my turn to need some help.

but am I?

As usual I'm getting drunk for the big day.

Actually, the big day is tomorrow, and I'm not getting drunk for that. I'm getting drunk because it's what I do. I'm really good at it, and it's something I feel I know how to do, so I go with it. You are more than fucking welcome to come along, but I'm not saying shit. Do what you gotta do.

I have to get up at a decent hour tomorrow and make some semblance of good food happen. I was actually drunk when I took on this role, and now I'm less drunk and thinking about how I'm going to go about this.

I have to have horse doovers for any number of people in about three and seven hundredths of an hour or more or less. I don't even know anymore.

No, seriously . . . I have all day to plan for this thing that, had I taken it on earlier, I'd have a list down my arm. I'd be all kinds of Sarah Palin on this thing. I would so be . . .

I'm sorry, but I've ruined this whole post. It was going to be about how bad ass I am, about how I can kill with enough of a hardened look, how skin crawls off a salmon filet at my command, about how chicken wings mix the butter and Texas Pete before throwing themselves in the oil because I have such dominance over foodstuffs.

But then I got political about some dumb hair brained . . .

I'm sorry, but I've done it again. I'm walking away before it gets nasty. I really do have shit to do tomorrow, and this isn't getting me closer. I'm going to go inhale the fumes of the tobacco plant and then force myself to approach sleep.

Also, I'm not nearly as drunk as I said. Really! I mean, seriously, come on, right? Could I really do this otherwise?

Shit!

homeschool reason number something thousand

Yes, once in a while you just have to post because you stumble on or remember another reason that homeschooling is a great option.

We have a friend who is spending today recovering from a chemo treatment. She has two daughters, one of whom is at school. The other is here with us.

She's absolutely adorable as only a three year old girl can be, and my eleven and six year old boys have spent their day enjoying her company. Big Brother played go fish with her and didn't mind that he spent the entire game helping her understand what was going on. When she found a book she wanted read to her I had all three kids closing in on me to enjoy a book I haven't read since The Boy was as young as our visiting friend.

So, added to the reasons one might consider or choose to homeschool is, in my opinion, one that proves that the socialization question is only relevant when asked in a way that shows the actuality of socialization as hsers. I love that my boys don't have a problem playing with a much younger girl because they never learned that it's uncool to do so.

And now it's time to get my list together. Momma is running errands, and I need to text her a grocery list so that I can make food for the young lady we're hanging out with and her family. They're vegetarian which makes the job sort of a fun challenge. There's actually no challenge today because I've known for the last couple of days what I was cooking, but the idea of creating veg food is a fun challenge as I'm happily omnivorous.

Now, to work!