Back when

Our hospital visit lasted just over a week, though while there we were being warned to expect Big Brother to be there for at least two weeks. Treating him with antibiotics ran the two weeks, but we were able to finish that at home. Remind me to tell you sometime about the grenades. Slices of brain would also be a good story from the stay.

And now it's been nearly four weeks since the ordal began, and I'm still taken aback at the suddeness of it all, from his becoming so damn sick to being back to normal.

Similar episodes have a way of sometimes causing some of us to ask those questions, life, the universe, and everything sort of questions.

For many it's a combination of a test of faith as well as a proof of the faith in the existence of a supreme being.

I didn't really go either of those directions for the most part. The whole thing did cause me to think, but more than anything I felt the need to question myself. I had to look at some of the value sytems I've allowed to run the state, and I've had to admit that I haven't been doing the best job.

In truth I've known all of this. This is why I finally made resolutions to start the year when it was still new. And I failed within a week. And then extenuating circumstances gave me something else to think about for a while.

As for great questions of life and the eternal mysteries I have to say that my resolution I've done best with is to make a big cut in overall alcohol intake, and aren't these questions best discussed over a series of pints? I feel like my priorities are letting me down right when I've gotten some good ones.

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Not quite certain

When I promised more regular posting I wasn't lying or didn't intend to. I was certain I'd have that laptop working and would have time and would get stuff moving. It didn't quite work out that easily, and I blame the laptop.

It didn't work worth shit is what I'm going to say about it. It's old and didn't like to stay on the connection I had at the hospital and doesn't have a usb port that fits modernity.

And now weeks have passed and we're back to the daily grind and I'm no better about posting than ever. So I downloaded a new app

That might help me post more.

I tried posting from regular ol' blogger, but then I remembered why I gave up on that so long ago. It looks neat and clean on my screen but sucks as far as the parts that are supposed to do what you tell them. And I looked up the actual google app for blogger and remembered hating it too. I even found the old app that I also didn't like and installed so long ago.

Will this new app be the thing to get my game back, or will it give me yet another excuse to not post?

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a return of sorts

It's been just over four months since the last time I posted, and that also means that I haven't been near a computer that wasn't my phone for nearly four months.  My phone is mostly a good enough computer, but I've let the blog wither rather than attempt to post from the tiny keyboard.  I don't care how easy Swype makes texting and tweeting, I'm not going to deal with a blog post.  And if you had any idea what sort of beast I become at the editing stage you'd understand.

I imagine most anyone that visits here is a Facebook friend, so you're likely aware that I'm likely posting from the hospital, East Tennessee Children's Hospital to be exact. And if you are aware of that then you probably know at least a bit of what's been happening in my life recently.

Before I go too much into that I'm going to wander around some of the things that are on my mind right now.   Being able to get back to the blog is a new and exciting thing and something I've been wanting and wishing for. I truly miss my episodes of getting to air my brain out.  I miss the writing of course, but I also miss when I had a bit of readership and, dare I say, a fanbase.

I can't go too much farther into this post without thanking the lovely young lady who  loaned us her laptop and the whole Wolf family for being great friends/family to me and my family.  I'm not sure how long we'll actually be at the hospital, but I may have the laptop and the time to fire off a few posts.  One of my hopes for 2012 is to regain regular computer access and to revive the clutter filled desk, or lap as the case may be.

A lot has happened in the last five (or so) days, and I have a lot to process.  My brain is filled with thinking about things, and I've got several directions I'd like to move toward and write about.  As long as I can get online with more than my phone I plan to delve into all this, and I'm sure I'll have the time.

This post is mostly for me to get back into the habit and for any reader to have an introduction into what to expect over the next few days.  Big Brother is likely to be cooped up for at least a few days, and Momma and I will be taking turns being here.  I'll easily have so time to fill.

For now I'll post this so that I can walk outside and take care of my dirty habit.  I might even get myself a caffeinated beverage.  I won't be sleeping anytime soon, and the time that I might get some sleep  will be a busy time for Big Brother, and I'll be awake for that.  Eventually we will all be away from the hospital, and I'll get back to normal sleeping then.

i'll getchayer money ya sumbitch

The options were cash or cashier's check.  I didn't really question his nonacceptance of my personal check, but I also can very easily see that this isn't the kind of place where it's a concern.  I accepted his answer and started to decide whether to get the cash or cashier's check.

I've decided on cash.  My bank is a credit union with no Saturday hours.  And it's a holiday weekend, Boomsday if you live near enough to where I live, so Tuesday is the soonest I could get to the bank.  The problem there is that I have to be at work at nine Tuesday which is when the credit union opens that day.  And I'm on bike.

But I can visit the ATM over the weekend until I fill my envelope with a deposit and first (is it months or month's) rent.  And I totally get how that sounds, but I'm okay with this.  I'm quitting this house cold turkey, sort of.  I've put it off for far too long, and the apartment is nearly everything I need in an apartment, and it's at least a great jumping off point for throwing off the heavy comfort that this house has come to represent for me.

The computer from which I write these little nuggets of joy will most likely find it's way to Momma's, and I'll hope to find the money soon for my own computer.  Anyone have a spare laptop they don't want?  I'll have wifi included in the rent.  My phone gets the wifi too, but it's a bitch to blog from, especially when you make the sorts of mistakes I make along with the fussy editor I tend to be in spite of those mishaps and the tiny little keyboard.

And it's halfway between work and Momma's house.  It might technically be closer to Momma's than to work, but it's just off my usual path between Momma's and downtown that the ridge between the two actually comes into play, and the ridges and hills in this town are not to be scoffed at.  Also, I will now have no good reason not to tackle the hill that is Sixth, and I'm scared.  I should be.

I'm excited kind of, but that part of me that is just always negative and ready to lash out with its nasty whip of despair wants me to feel like something is going to happen, and then I won't be able to move, and then I'll have failed at something else.  The thing is, this is the moment I've prepared for by failing to grab it.  And when I speak of grabbing it I totally get that I should have just done this.  I should have done it years ago, and writing that makes me want to highlight this whole post and delete it and get drunk.  But that, as I've finally realized, doesn't make the problem go away, it just makes thinking about it go away, and I've done enough of that.

Now the next pressing problem will involve figuring out which friends have trucks and feel like moving the little bit of furniture I need a truck for.  And add to that the scheduling required for all this to fall together exactly as I want considering how impatient I'm already slowly becoming.  I should be looking into packing right now, but I've decided to put that off for the night.  Plus I have to work at eight in the morning.

By the time anyone bothers to read this I will already be or have been at work since eight, but it's still tonight to me, so ya'll can all suck it.

Not really.  That wasn't nice.  But I really am excited to get moving moving.  It's a nice feeling.  Do they have laptops at pawn shops?  I'm sure there are some.  I wonder if they get wiped and how much shit shows up on a pawn shop laptop?  That would be a cool band name, fwiw.

bleah

It's late, I'm tired, and while I'm certain there are things I could write about, I'm in no fit shape to do it.  I'm tired.

I'm tired, and I'm just now going into my weekend.  And when I say "my weekend," I'm not referring to those two days in a row that I get to not work like everyone else.  No, my weekend in this instance is my Saturday and Sunday shifts.

I don't like working Sunday.  I'll get that out of the way now.  I really hate it.  Sunday means brunch, and I just hate it.  I don't want to do it anymore.  Actually, I'd be happy with just every other Sunday off, but that's been impossible for too long.

For too long we had cooks that weren't available Sunday's for valid reasons, one only had his kids on the weekend, and one was in a halfway house and only had Sundays as a relatively free day.  But there are the other cooks that can work Sundays that do sometimes get one off but aren't at the level one needs to be to be able to work certain stations.

And it's not that they can't.  I know they can, but no one has wanted to, and because I'm a sort of pushover sometimes I've been doing it with little complaint.

Actually there's lots of complaint Sunday.  I wage war on people's aural senses with my bitching, but I also make them great eggs and frittatas, so they can't really complain.

Sunday would be less hellish if I didn't have to be there at eight in the morning, and that would be slightly less onerous if I didn't just leave the damn place at ten the night before.  My usual Saturday shift is noon to ten with usually about an hour break somewhere near the middle.

Last Saturday I rode from downtown to another part of town to get my fancy tobaccy, and with plenty of time left in my hour circled a small section of downtown blocks for a few minutes.  There's your obligatory bicycle reference.  Actually, I plan on spending my next Saturday break riding to the downtown library.  Now that I'm paid up with them I can once again raid the wonderful cd collection.

So, yeah, my weekend, which is your weekend, sees me working noon to ten Saturday and eight to sometime between three and four Sunday.  And those can be the busiest shifts of our week.  And as you can see I really do need to get to bed.  There has to be something else to write about, but honestly my brain has turned itself off to prepare for my Sat/Sun overload.

So far today I've mostly cleaned a bathroom and partly cleaned a kitchen.  I've gone through the stuff I've been pulling out of my pockets for most of 2011 and throwing on the floor of my bedroom as well.

I've pulled this house in around me like moldering blanket that I can't seem to replace with a fresh new blanket.  I've lived here since shortly before The Boy was born, and that's the longest I've lived any one place since I hightailed it out of Georgia so many years ago.

Momma came over today to look at some of the repair work we have to do.  We looked at the holes in the drywall and didn't get past the one I kicked when we fought shortly after telling her that I had to come out.  That was the same night she broke the French press, though to be honest she's broken more than one, though only one in anger.  I also kicked a dent in the oven that night, but we aren't keeping score anyway.  A good relationship is not a competition, even when it is.

I've sat on the back porch of this house in that same white chair and read so many books late at night, smoking too many cigarettes, always of course drinking just enough beer.  The blogging I miss so much all happened in the exact same five square feet of space that will soon see an end to such.

We've eaten so many meals at the table directly to my left, the table is never clean for very long.  I have pictures of that table full of Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy all engrossed in their own lunch and their own book.

I don't approach new very well.  I always seem to get in in my own way and find a place for myself, but getting to that point is hard for me.  Starting the ball rolling has always been one of those talents I lack.

And this house is not the place I need to be.  The deal we've had here is unbeatable in a monetary sense, but I can't continue to accept that deal.  I have to move on, and I really should have done this a long time ago, much like the cleaning.  It's hard to cast off comfort, or maybe it's just hard for me.

It's time, and I'm making ready.  It's time for me to grow up a little bit more and to cast off this place.  It offers a kind of comfort, but it's leaden with problem.  I can imagine how that sounds, but if you were privy to all my own info, and if I really went into the issues inherent in living here and the situation and family, and if you don't get the point . . .

And so begins my journey out of the suburbs finally.

aaahhhh sweet, sweet books

Part of what I need to do with myself is to find those things that I've forgotten about.  I've let the tumult of the last few years get the better of me, and I feel I've let too many things go away.  Essentially I need to look at habits and ways I accomplish or fail to accomplish things.  I have less good habits that need adjustment, and I've stopped a lot of things that are just good for me.

There are of course other things like the bike.  I am truly in love with that machine, though right now I still need to look at his rear derailleur so that we can get those two gears back, and his chain needs to be looked at.  Having been in a bit of rain lately we might need to look into some oil, and a general wipe down would be nice.

In speaking of those old habit that were good I have to get to my real story.  I finally paid the library off and found the two "lost" books.  When I've read books lately they've been rereads, and while I have no problem with reading a book again, there's nothing quite like reading a book you've never read before, and to make it even better add a new author to that list as well.

Or add an old friend like J.R.R. Tolkien when you discover his The Book of Lost Tales.  I'm only a couple of pages into his son's foreword in which he's spoken about The Silmarillion more than not and has even discussed other people's discussion of it.  I'm not sure why I bother with forewords sometimes, and sometimes while reading I won't get why I bother.  Either way I'm a fan of Tolkien, and better yet I'm sure Big Brother will be happy to get his hands on it also.

He's certainly happy to have the library back.  He's rereread so many books lately.  The Boy has yet to finish a chapter book on his own, but I know the day is coming.  I feel like I hate that he doesn't love reading as much as his brother and I do, but I also get that his interest just doesn't right now and may never.  Or maybe he just needs to find the right book.

He happened upon Shiloh which is about a boy and a dog if the cover has any truth to it.  I feel like it might be one of those books I should have read by now, and I do plan to read it before it's due back.  The Boy picked it up because his teacher is reading it to the class, and he happened to see it.  He likes his teacher and loves dogs, so perhaps this culmination of influence will be that catalyst.  or not.

I've already finished The Wanderer by Sharon Creech.  Sophie is a young girl about to sail across the ocean with three uncles and two male cousins to visit their grandfather.  It's a story about a girl getting to make her own decisions though not without having to put up a fight.  It's about the family and about the idea of family as Sophie's story comes out.  It's about the power in the act of fixing up the boat and setting sail to test people especially as this family is thrown together to actually perform this feat.

The Wanderer is also about the sea.  Sophie is drawn to the sea in a way I can almost feel I understand.  I've never spent that much time near the sea, and I've never been in it on a boat.  All my sea experience involves freshwater.  But seafaring adventures tend to make some of the best books in my opinion, and this one has become a favorite.  It is a kid's book, ages whenever they can read on up to well past my few years.  There's nothing questionable or violent or sexy in this book, and I may be wrong, but I kinda feel like Cody might be gay.

And speaking of Cody, he's the second narrator.   Most of the book is Sophie's journal about the voyage.  Throughout the book though we also get to read Cody's "dog-log."  I enjoyed having the second point of view as well as a bit more of the family background.  Even with Cody's dog-log the story is still Sophie's.

I hope Big Brother reads it.  I'll definitely suggest it to him, and if I put off our next library visit just long enough he'll have read all his own and may be willing to give it a try.  He picked four books total.  He was already reading The Wizard of Oz, not a library book, as that's the book he was reading most recently at my house and is the one still on the dining table.  He's also reading whichever Artemis Fowl book he's up to, and I had to go look next to his bed to remember that.  Along with that Artemis Fowl he grabbed The 39 Clues, How to Cheat a Dragon's Curse, and The Land of the Silver Apples.

I won't bore you with all his books, but The Land of the Silver Apples is a sequel to a book that we actually own, Sea of Trolls, written by Nancy Farmer, and as I google I see that both books are part of a trilogy.  Big Brother and I both enjoyed Sea of Trolls, so it looks like I have yet another option of reading material for the next three weeks.

I'm so happy to have paid off the library.  I love going there.  I love the librarians.  I don't know about the people on the computers, though they do make me appreciate having one.  This is not only one of the best things I've done for myself in a while, but it's also one of those habits that was always a good one.  It's honestly been at least a year since we've been regular library users, and I'd say it may have been a good bit longer.  I'm not delving into the story right now, but the main point is that I sucked in my pride and blew out whatever shame I'd built up in letting the situation get out of hand.  The librarians, though shocked, were not mean when I humbly approached to find out exactly what I needed to do as the computer told them the full weight of my transgressions.

And just now, rereading and editing, that last paragraph has me forming a plan.  Working my Saturday split shift I usually get about an hour break in the middle.  I can ride to the downtown library for music and set whatever mood I want for the ensuing Saturday night shift.  This is gonna be fun.

round back

Alleys are suddenly THE cool place to have someone take pictures of your.  They're so gritty and urban, and people I imagine come from the palatial and seriously suburban west side of town have been showing up in my alley lately.  I kind of don't like all of them.

The particular alley I claim as my own is behind where I work.  There is another alley we walk to daily to retrieve the rolling trash cans into which we put our trash.  We then return them to their alley, and the trucks come by whenever and dump all the cans.  Sometimes you show up between trucks and find all the cans full.  Sometimes you can empty one or two less full cans into others and get what you need.

Our alley is very narrow.  Toward one end is a bar that has bands most nights, so at some point most days there is some sort of vehicle disgorging the various equipment a band needs.  Toward the other end of the alley are more restaurants.  Counting my own place of employment there are two ice cream places and four restaurants with servers and sitting down with a menu.

Because of all the restaurants you'll often find people smoking in the alley.  I don't know if the percentage of smokers among restaurant staff members is higher than the average for other businesses, but I can see it being entirely possible.  A cigarette provides an occasional small break in a job not know for too horribly many breaks of any length.

Any number of homeless people sometimes use the alley as their bathroom, and during large enough events on the square I've seen not homeless people pee in the alley.  I've also seen what I'm mostly sure was dog shit one day in the alley, and one day it smelled remarkably zoo like.  It wasn't even that horrid a smell because it had more an animal sort of odor than just gross shit stink.  Fairly recently someone changed a bandage in the alley and were nice enough to leave their potentially hazardous bio waste for us.

And one day a family or two was down there taking pictures.  The large and lumpy dad was dutifully hauling strollers and bags of props and trying to keep the kids not in the current photo busy.  And they had bags of props, clothes, hats, big letters.  I'm sure there were favorite stuffed animals as well.

And of course you have the happy smiling couples.  They all look so stupid being lined up against the graffiti just so.  And of course they don't think to confirm outfits and color schemes till they get there.

Then there are the random single people.  You can't ever really know what they're doing or why.  They're digging the gritty, urban landscape and standing in front of a door of course, but what's their motivation.

I missed the day that a bunch of girls were having pictures made.  They had bags of clothes and were blocking doors and being in the way, and they were changing right there in the alley.  OMG, ya'll.  Again, I didn't witness this, so . . .

And when you do drive west through the land of stripmalls to the homes of these people, you can see those pictures on the mantelpiece.  It's so gritty and urban tucked away here in a several acre subdivision named after an English sounding word that doesn't in any way describe the actual place.

I wonder if the ironic hipster kids are going to start taking couples photos in front of big box retail stores?

phoning it in

After far to much time and money I've finally paid off the library and returned the books that kept getting misplaced only to turn up randomly to haunt me with my misdeed.  I admire the grace of the three librarians I dealt with today in our return to being respectable users of the library.

I do feel like an ass, and have, for letting this thing get so bad, but at some point fines piled up to a point, and the two books were misplaced, and the fines got worse, and feeling at the time as if I just couldn't afford it.  With school about to start again I know that the library will come in handy soon enough, and I'm just tired of not having a book to read.

Between the books at Momma's and those I still have left I've read nearly all of what we have that I want to read.  There are a few of the boys' books I may or may not read, and most of what I have I've definitely read.  I've even reread.  I  even almost read the Whoopie Goldberg book that I think might have come from Momma's grandmother.  I got stuck on the fart chapter.

Box Turtle Bulletin has been posting a Daily Agenda featuring current news as well as bits of LGBT history.  For instance, I learned a few days ago that James Baldwin was born on August 2, 1924.  I should mention that I also learned then of James Baldwin, and though he isn't the reason I so suddenly decided to finally take care of my library tab his first book, Go Tell It on the Mountain, is my own welcome back gift from them.

So far Big Brother has read two of his three books.  He too has been rereading books, so I can only imagine how much he's wanted something new.  I'm sometimes jealous of his ability to find time to read until I realize that's sometimes all I see him doing, and still I don't mind.  He's now taken to having at least two books going, one at Momma's house and one here.

The Boy has long had two books going, but these have always been the books that Momma or I are reading as his bedtime book.  There it's Farmer Boy, while here we're on to A Horse and his Boy at mine.  Having begun to slowly start reading more on his own The Boy has a couple of books with bookmarks sticking out of them between here and Momma's, and he got two more books today, both of which he's read some of.  They're also both about dogs.  He also got a library card.  Yay him!

I also depopsited my check, bought stamps, failed to find a wallet at the one store I bothered to visit, and did not even think about bicycle tires till too late to do anything.  I definitely need to get into action about the tire.  I've got a spot on my front tire that's ripped down to the bead, and though I think I'm okay for the most part, in reality I know that it won't take much to get through that.

I also took the boys for Mexican.  We went to a local favorite and filled ourselves with all sorts of beef and tortillas and beans and cheese and salsa, and Big Brother even got a ceviche tostada but didn't eat the tortilla.  I don't know what's wrong with that kid sometimes.  Also I don't care for ceviche.

Then we came home and were lazy, and I've suddenly remembered that I was supposed to go to the store for cereal.  It's now too late to bother with that, so I'll just have to get up in the morning and do something about it.

That's been my day so far.  The boys have been quiet enough for long enough that I have to assume they're asleep.  They should be, though they didn't do anything more today than ride around and wish I'd buy them something.

they (maybe) should

It's one of those things people tend to say, people who aren't especially supportive of LGBT people, when they are discussing gay pride events.  They might suggest that there should also be a straight pride event, and it probably draws chuckles of approval, though of course it doesn't happen.

It is even arguable that pretty much every day is straight pride.  The few images we see of gay people in a positive light are the couple of sitcoms that have openly gay characters, but then those aren't people I admire or look to for affirmation.  I don't watch Glee, though I have.  It's not really that good a show, and it's not really that accurate for most gay kids.  Also, if I want to hear actors singing Foreigner songs I'll . . . um,  yeah, never want for that ever.

So what would happen if someone did in fact host/sponsor a straight pride event?  We've never known because it's always been mentioned in an off the cuff joking sort of way.

Until now.  According to Towleroad, religious leaders in Sao Paolo Brazil have decided to petition the government for just such an event, and the legislation has made it as far as the mayor.  Will he sign it, or won't he?

Of more concern might be what would this event actually look like?  I can't help but feel that part of the idea behind this would be to exclude gay people and to make a show of this exclusion.  Gay pride, while possibly seeming to exclude people does just the opposite.  An idea behind gay pride is simply increasing visibility of LGBT people, but another idea is to provide an outlet for all people to show their support for the equal rights of their gay friends and family members.

The few pride events I've attended have mostly been here in Knoxville, and they don't seem to feature a huge amount of straight people, but everyone who is open and fair minded is welcome.  It's an inclusive gathering of people wanting to stand proudly and proclaim that everyone deserves fairness and equality.  It's also a  party and the only time outside of a gay bar that we can feel like we are in the majority.  It does wonders to think of yourself surrounded by your community, and for so many it's a first.

So what could possibly be the point of hetero pride?  It can't be welcoming and openness.  It can't be support for a minority that is often mistreated and maligned.

But still I say go for it.  What can it hurt?  What do they hope to accomplish?  Whatever their goals it's better that they are aired in the sunshine rather that to continue to grow in the malicious darkness.

uppity fags

All signs point to the likelihood that Lawrence King was gay.  At fifteen he seemed pretty sure of it, and he seemed secure enough in himself to do what all teenagers do, play with self expression.  But probably because he was gay his self expression led to playing with gender based expressions such as high heeled boots, scarves, pink nail polish.

Another kid around the same age, Brandon McInerney, had a big enough problem with Lawrence King that he eventually took a gun to school and shot him in the back of the head two times.  And now a couple of years later he's finally being tried.

I've avoided this subject for the last couple of years because too often when I consider my opinion I can't help but think of them both as children when this happened.  They both had a rough childhood with significant family issues.  I'm no expert on this situation, though I'll also admit that I could never give all the links to all the posts I've read about this since it happened.  I can't imagine at fifteen you don't know what a gunshot to the back of the head means, but I can't accept that a fifteen year old has the same mental competency as an adult who one can argue at least has grown up enough to understand consequences, and I can't imagine the input of the people around him to bring him to where he was.

McInerney's lawyers have already introduced the gay panic defense.  Gay panic, for anyone unsure, is what happens when a hapless heterosexual is preyed upon by a perverse homosexual, and because gay=awful, they couldn't help but react by beating the crap out of said homosexual.  I think it has a cousin in the idea that women dressed inappropriately invite rape.  See also, "If he hadna been all faggoty and shit I wouldna had to whoop his ass.  He's askin fer it being all faggoty."

Which brings me, in a long and winding sort of fashion, to this article from Ventura County Star.  Several teachers have admitted to having done nothing to stop this other than to make Lawrence King stop being so faggoty.  He was told to remove a scarf, makeup, and nail polish at different times, and a teacher worried that he was going to be dragged behind a shed and beaten to death.

They complain that the lesbian principle made it all okay and didn't listen to them when they tried to warn her that Lawrence King was asking for a whoopin'.  They blame her for not being aware of the problems.

I blame them all for letting the students be bullies and especially bullies to someone who was obviously struggling.  This poor little boy who so obviously needed for the people around him to stop chasing him and hitting and pushing him wanted what every other fifteen year old wants, to make sense of an increasingly peculiar world, or maybe that's just us gays.

The article ends in a very telling fashion with this question and answer between a teacher and the DA:

Brown said she once saw a group of boys chasing King, which she described as a potentially unpleasant situation. Fox asked her if she stepped in to stop the chasing.
"No," Brown said.

 

not like the other . . . yet again

Moments ago, The Boy put his book down and asked if his bath was ready.  He apparently didn't actually make it to the bath.  I can hear him playing with Big Brother.

I'm going to step away for a moment and remind him of his cooling bath water and will take up right there when I get back.

And I return, several hours later, having washed hair, allowed computer time, and texted Big Brother.  I thought he was in his room, and I wanted to tell him his brother was out of the bath and that he needed to get into the shower.  He was already in the bathroom though occupied in other pursuits at the time.

And all of that is finally done, they are in bed, yet I can still hear them talking.  I'm not even a little worried, but we do need to start soon getting ourselves back to school hours.

I mentioned earlier that The Boy's bath was ready, and I came back into the living room and told him so.  He was sprawled on the sofa reading an Akiko book.

Big Brother is a somewhat self taught devourer of books and words.  He's been reading since he was four and with little prodding on the part of me or Momma.  We have always been available and willing, but we've always tried, in that true unschooling spirit, to not help when it wasn't wanted or helpful.

With The Boy we wanted to be the same, but like so many kids he just wasn't into it in the same way.  He really didn't want help unless he did and then only on his sometimes (always) strict and difficult to understand terms, so all the lessons we thought we'd learned with his brother were of no use.  We remained available and willing, but he always seemed as if he knew he could put it off and that we'd continue to help him.

With the boys' transition last winter from unschool to public school, lots of things changed, and one of those changes was that The Boy, so far a slightly interested, beginning reader was having to read and to learn to read very suddenly.  And he took to it like a pirate to booty.  He brought the books home that he'd worked on at school, and he sat and worked on them and read them to us.

He still sometimes would prefer to have some reading done for him, but he's been doing it for himself as well.  He attempted to read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea recently and didn't get very far.  I'd playfully suggested it one day, knowing that he'd likely enjoy the story but that the language would likely be a bit much for him.  He did ask me to read the first chapter for him.

He also spent some time reading the Frog and Toad books recently, but I don't know that he ever really read them.  They went from one house to the other a couple of times, but each time they seemed to sit in the same place until they traveled again.

I've suggested he read any number of books over the past few weeks.  I don't want him to have to relearn anything as he enters school again, but as importantly I want him to realize joy in reading.  Mostly I suggest books when the code words "I'm bored" actually mean, "it sure would be nice to play some video games."

Also, he does love a good story.  His bed time reading is The Silver Chair at my house, and at Momma's house they're reading Farmer Boy.  The Silver Chair is one of the Narnia books, while Farmer Boy is Almonzo Wilder's childhood before he goes west and meets Laura Ingalls.

And tonight, even though it was bath time, and even though I worried I'd have a cold bath to rewarm, I let him read.  It took him a while to read through the first chapter, but he did, and maybe he'll remember tomorrow that Akiko has just set out on an adventure, and maybe he'll be interested enough to continue the story.

I don't care if he becomes the reader his brother is, but I want him to read.  It really is the best thing since whatever was before sliced bread.  But then I'd argue that sliced bread isn't that great an invention, but that just opens the door for all sorts of nonsense about expediency versus quality along with the increasing pace of our lives.  And I'm just not doing that one right now.

My point is that he sat (sprawled, knees and elbows everywhere) and read the kind of book you need a bookmark for.  I'll rewarm a bath for that.

p.s. I hate using the phrase "worked on" along with the word "reading," but it really is apt.  It just makes it sound so . . . and has connotations of all the evil gschool stuff one might have heard me preach not so long ago.

Bike and test

If this works you can see a pic of my bike. I've published a test post using my mobile device before, but I'm now testing an app that I hope makes this easier. Also I'm working on getting his blog back to some kinda something again.

fights in fridges

Yes, it's noon here in beautiful (if humid) east TN, and yes, I've been up for about an hour.  I have made coffee, pooped, smoked, checked my phone, cleaned the two refrigerator shelves I've been ignoring for far too long, wiped out inside same refrigerator, and found a small sword stuck into part of the vent system.

Relax, it's a Playmobile sword, so the danger is minimal, but still . . .

I asked the boys about it, but neither of them remembers playing with Playmobile toys in there, and certainly neither remembers leaving a sword.  It may well remain a mystery for the ages, but I would like to know who's been fighting in the fridge.

like a something doing something

I've always edited for content those things I've sent out into the world before.  I may have not always edited or chosen as well as I could, but I've also set myself up as being better than I really am in real life.

I'm not nearly as soft spoken or as well thought out.  There isn't much of a filter out with friends or even at work.  Work is easy because we're all a bunch of losers on our way to hell anyway.  Actually we're a fairly random sampling sort of place with too many people who are in bands.  It'll be hell night at work if they all played a show together.

I also talk a lot at work, and probably you can't really imagine what a lot means in this little story, but it's a near constant aural barrage on my coworkers running the gamut from t.v. theme songs from my childhood to a constant dissing of any music playing that I don't like which is tempered by my witty way of sometimes singing with rather bawdy false lyrics replacing the actual ones.  I also might sometimes be a little forward with some of the male servers.

In all these instances my desire is to amuse, to give a worthy laughing dialogue to a sometimes monotonous yet often horrific duty in our kitchen and dining areas.  And as for being sometimes too friendly to the boys, I must say I think it's part of my job to let them actually know a homo and to be forced to deal with me on my terms so that they are nudged toward the realization that gay people are just as obnoxious and normal as they are and to get over any lingering nonsense.

I include nearly anyone in my joking and say things that are often over the line of decency, but my intent is never to hurt anyone, and when people realize that I'm really a decent guy they tend to cut me more slack than I deserve probably.  On some level I like to make sure that as many people take the fall as I can possibly squeeze in.  We all have some stereotype we can fit, and it's my job to remind everyone that it's only funny if anyone can fit into it.  Or I'm just making that up to pump myself up.

So we finally get to the point of my meandering.  Bob Vander Plaats runs a "family" group in Iowa that thinks that gay people are really not good at all.  He's a far right social conservative that led a campaign to have judges removed from office because they voted to allow marriage equality in Iowa.  He's on a mission from god to be as big a douche as he's capable of to gay people.  

He was caught on video reacting to a joke that suggested that in Iowa one is unable to enjoy a cigarette but that loving gay couples are allowed to marry.  I'm lifting the story from Box Turtle Bulletin, so click on their name for their take on the matter and more of the story plus links to why this guy Bob is an ass and why they hate the joke and his laughter.  They also have video.

I don't get the joke at all.  I'm not from Iowa, though I do have an aunt and uncle and possibly some cousins there.  I met them once many years ago, and they seemed like decent people.

To be honest the actual joke goes as such, in Iowa you can't smoke a fag, but you can marry one.  And perhaps my not being of Iowan heritage I'm unaware of some nuance that renders this joke unfunny to me.  And that's why I hate it.

Oh, I also hate that the guy laughing at the joke isn't getting it either.  I'm sure you can still smoke cigarettes in Iowa . . .

. . . unless the meaning of the joke is that it's unlawful to use a firearm to shoot a homosexual.  That might be another nuance of the joke as "to smoke" is popular parlance for shooting someone or something with a firearm.  That totally moves the joke along, because then you're suggesting that actually shooting someone for being gay is cleverly juxtaposed against basic human dignity and equality.

Wow, now I get why it's funny.  Man do I feel silly.

oooh, weather

Our fifty percent chance of thunderstorms is fast becoming one hundred percent.  At two thirty in the afternoon the clouds outside make it look more like seven thirty.

The rain is falling as heavily as it likely soon will be, and the wind is strong but only in short bursts as of yet.

Even so you can almost hear, somewhere in the distance, the worst that is yet to come.

(2/2) e a good motivator.

(1/2) There's a point at which I just have to do something, and I'm starting to get that maybe. I really think that providing myself with proof really should b

This is a test. This is only a test. In the event of a real emergency please feel free to consider yourself screwed.

gonna bitch about it

I almost don't wanna even bother.  I haven't posted in ages, and I haven't even been online on the ol' trusty desktop in days.  I even turned the damn thing off a few days ago knowing I wouldn't see it for at least most of two days, and then I managed to add at least a day to that.

I do have my fancy new phone, however the battery life has left something to be desired.  Finally getting near the desktop however may have fixed all that for me.  I googled my problem and visited some forums and went via the phone to the Android market for what I hope is a fix.

I also took the boys out for dinner tonight, and this why I actually sat down to write.  The experience was one of the worst and the best I've had out in a long time.

It was the worst because my food was ruined.  The server put our food down, I didn't quite look at it, though I did make sure we had everything and it was all in its proper place.

And then I looked at the plate in front of me.  Immediately I saw that my sweet potato chips looked mostly burnt, though picking through them later I realized that not more than about thirty percent were REALLY burnt.  Most of the rest were merely overdone.

I pointed this out to the server, and he brought me a new unburned order as quickly as he was able.  And here's a little sidetrack that's sorta helpful.

Over the years I've taken part in a useless battle that occurs in far too many restaurants, a battle that pits the front and back of house against each other.  It's usually the kitchen that makes this battle ever happen at all, but then the servers are forced to deal with it the best they can.

And often this might mean that the server would rather face an unhappy customer with food that's obviously not right than mention to the kitchen what he/she can too easily see.  Or maybe they're used to seeing the food that way and don't get that it's burnt, or maybe they see it and don't give a shit.

Worse is that someone in the kitchen was willing to send this out.  They cooked food for too long and made it suck, but rather than throw it away and do it right, they tossed it on the plate and sent it out.  They couldn't have not know that they made bad food.

I put my chicken sandwich together and cut it in half.  It was a whole boneless, skinless breast, both lobes, and they were still attached via the bit of cartilege between them.  That bothers me, but I'm not going to be a dick about that.  It's a matter of taste.

I bit into the sandwich and once again knew immediately that it too was over done.  I hoped that it was just a little tough because I started at the thinner end, but too soon I was into the thicker meat and was having to rip bites out, and the chicken was pulling out of the bun, and the sandwich was essentially inedible.  If I'd cooked it for myself, and if I suddenly forgot how to cook and made it this bad, I'd have eaten it.  I'm not really one to waste food.

But I'm not paying for food that is so poorly done.  I couldn't eat the sandwich, and I really tried.  After not catching the server's eye for far too long I was finally able to lodge my complaint.  He took the plate of over done food away and spoke with the manager who was kind enough to not make me pay.

He didn't talk to me.  He didn't offer to do anything to make me feel better, and I don't really know what I would have wanted of him.  I didn't eat the food, and he didn't make me pay for the bad parts.  I left the store unsatisfied, having not gotten anywhere close to what I wanted despite my willingness as a customer.

And now I'm hungry, and I shouldn't be, and because I haven't been at the house much for a couple of days or so there really isn't anything here to eat.  That's entirely my fault.

By this point the kids were done eating.  I wasn't going to make them sit and wait for me to get and eat a new entree, and I wasn't willing to sit and wait and then pay for food when my experience had been so marred.

But then we sat at the table.  I munched on the bowl of not burned chips and the extra side of fries I let The Boy get since we were out for his birthday.  He didn't like his other side, black beans, but because it wasn't what he expected, but I enjoyed them and brought them with the other leftovers.

We had a really nice time as we sat and waited.  I had to pay the bill and finish a beer, and they were both not quite impatient and sooo ready to go just yet.  And it was a really nice time.  The munching had taken the edge off my hunger, so my mood had been helped by that, and the boys were both full and happy.

And we just hung out for a little bit.  We chatted.  I saw pictures that Big Brother took with his phone at his school's cultural fair.  I even got to see a picture of some kid's rendition of Abraham Lincoln leading the Hebrew people out of Egypt.

It was cool in the end.