schools night

Tonight was conference night at The Boy's school. Momma was at work, and Big Brother stayed after school to watch a movie. More on that later.

I have to brag about The Boy. In our town kids begin their standardized testing in third grade, so The Boy has that to look forward to. They've recently taken a practice test, and apparently The Boy is the smartest kid in his class. While that may not really be what his teacher said, what she did say was that the only thing she could really think of would be for him to read out loud more often.  It's on the test.

Apparently when he reads aloud he seems to read at third grade level, but his teacher knows he does better reading by himself.

I love that he's reading. He took his own time about it and only consented to read when he started school. Keep in mind that both boys were homeschooled up till January 2011, and while I'm not going into that right now, to many of the people at school he seemed to start from a disadvantage.

And it wasn't that he wasn't reading then,he just wasn't at school standard level. We never really pushed it much, but we did always provided enough help and maybe some coaxing. But he was approaching it and being given some time to get to it. And he was figuring it out.

Our other example, Big Brother, with much the same offers of help and much the same, if not more, coaxing, very rapidly figured out reading almost entirely on his own. 

From the elementary we went to the middle school to meet Big Brother. His school was hosting a group from the local university. It was kind of like a science fair for grownups trying to lure in the kids. The different booths all had something to do with alternative energy, mainly biofuel. We built plant cells and looked at switch grass and used both light and wind to power cars.

We also had chicken sandwiches. I didn't have any hot sauce, and I'm not convinced suggesting they provide some next time would be polite.

His teachers all seem to like him well enough, and his grades are fine.  But he doesnt seem to really like school, and he makes me miss homeschooling. I really wish we were still able to do it.

We did have a fun night hanging out, and we also have some beans and dirt. The beans are supposed to sprout, and the dirt is of course for planting. Tonight wasn't all biofuel apparently, and assuming these guys sprout they will very likely go in the ground soon enough.

Totally off topic, but our daffodils started blooming about a week ago, months early, all over town.

And now I'm at Momma's house waiting for her to get off work so I can go home. I borrowed her car to tote us around and have to pick her up and give the car back.

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had bitten the dust

The shoes really could have ben retired, and they once had been. They came out of retirement with the cold weather and a rainy spell.

As a rule I tend to wear my shoes plumb out. That's the correct wording where I live, by the way. And yet another pair has finaly become too destroyed to wear.

Because I make bad shoe purchases sometimes, I have a backup pair, a pair of Nike indoor soccer shoes in which I've never played soccer indoors. Because I so seldom wear them they are in very good condition. They are a bit wider than the shoes I'm having to part with but still fit in my toe clips, so I can ride my bike.

The shoes I'm having to part with have parted with themselves. The sole on the right shoe was, till a few short hours ago, still mostly attached, though I had noticed that hold becoming more tenuous lately.

Indoor soccer shoes will never again be on my shoping list. I don't hate hem, and I did in fact choose them intentionally as some sort of fashion statement. They do have nice lines, but they aren't especially comfortable and don't have great traction. I should imagine they'd be better in some sort of soccer setting, though outside and on real grass is not that setting. I did try them there and can be quite frank about this.

Perhaps a trip to Target is in order. Or perhaps I will accept these damn shoes as my fate for the time being. I could certainly stand not to spend money on shoes at the moment, and I do have a few miles left in them after all.

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ugh doesnt even

As of recently enough I have second job. Starting next week I will be picking up a couple of nights at the pub. It's been one of my favorite places to drink a beer, and I did work there many years ago.

When I worked there I didn't even have a kitchen. I used the end of the bar and set up a panini grill. I made great use of that grill. I actually sold a fair amount of food in what was, at least at the time, a fairly brilliant idea and great menu.

I won't discuss any of what they're up to right now. I plan to both hate and love working some there, and I won't be working more than one night a week at the main job. I do hope not to lose any hours at the main. I have plenty of availability, I've just narrowed it a little.

I also haven't had a drink since Sunday. I'm not quitting drinking, but I'm still kinda pissed at myself. I blew more money than I needed and wanted, though I did then come home and did laundry and took a shower. That's worth something.

But I'm still unhappy with the evening, and I've known for a while that Sunday continues to be my downfall. I never have much in the way of plans, so I sit at the pub and slowly pickle my liver. And though I did take my nearly long ride, I did also proceed to let a quick beer turn into several. I even watched most of that damn football game.

And since I did a bad job of cutting myself off Sunday I've cut myself off til Saturday, which isn't to say I get to be an idiot if I just wait long enough. And I've already made plans Sunday to help a friend get ready to move. My long ride can easily be to her house, so I accomplish a pair of good things.

And today, my day off, I sort of did stuff. I ran a couple of errands and essentially confirmed I was taking the new old job by giving the current manager the new availability. I hope to go in tomorrow and see the new schedule, but I doubt he's finished with it yet. Can't possibly get it on the wall more than two days before it begins.

But that's a general restaurant rant, and tonight's post is all about kissing my own ass, and I'm pretty sure I covered that, so I'm out.

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something cold

Really what I need are some ear muffs. I would also like a hat made for cycling, one with ear flaps, because it's my ears that get the worst of it. But then I wouldn't need ear muffs.

I have a toboggan (it's a knit hat in the south) that tends to keep my head warm, but my cycling position means that the hat gets pushed up the back of my head and half way up my ears. At stops I can pul it back down, but as soon as I lean forward...

And I don't really have the money for that now. None of that nor the clear lens glasses that I'd like to think would keep the wind out of my eyes. The wind makes my eyes water, so my night rides involve tears running down my cheeks. I can dry with my gloves, but they just leak again and again.

Of course right this moment I'm warm and comfortable. I've ridden my ride for the night, the square to home, and it really isn't a very long ride.

I even have a nice, hot cup of coffee in front of me to help. The heater is roaring like a fire place that blows hot air instead of burning wood for heat. I'm listening to NPR so the classical music can make me smart and cultured. Actually it's becase the college station has shit for a signal over much of the town, but I don't dislike classical music.

And I do realize that I'm using the word classical as an umbrella term for numerous genres and subgenres. I don't really care so long as no one starts singing. None of that is even the point though.

There isn't a point at all. I just wanted to complain right at first, then my coffee was ready, and the smoke calmed me down as the chill lifted. Suddenly I didn't have that gripe, and from there this whole post just fell apart.

I really can't apologize enough. I really feel like I should get on to writing something truly awe inspiring. If you'll only give me a minute I'll get right to it. I'm sure I have a delightful nugget of grand eloquence just waiting to get at my thumbs.

P.s. I'm also sorry about not labelling my posts. I haven't bothered to figure that out, and this app doesn't seem to have found them.

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dig

New Belgium's new spring seasonal is called Dig and is a pale ale. Lately I can't seem to get enough hops.

It isn't as boldly hoppy as Sweetwater's IPA, but then it shouldn't be. It does have a nice hop quality about it assuming you aren't in it for a hop asault.

Admittedly I was kinda looking for more of the upfront and in your face hoppiness, so my first taste feels like a bit of a letdown. But let's not leave it there. 

Dig is a good beer. The more subdued hop flavor gives a more balanced approach to the flower. One can taste more of what it's fullly capable of. And if you taste  each sip you find each one showcases the hops a little differently, or maybe I'm giving the beer time to win me over and noticing the nuance.

And remembering that honesty thing I might have mentioned I can honestly say that enjoying beer in a sensible way feels really nice. When you average binge drinking more nights than not you get to where you don't really notice the things you realy like about beer. You get to where any old beer will do.

But then you start to wake yourself up and decide to stop drinking like a frat boy. It's still a thing I'm working on, and it's nice to be able to notice and consider the use of hops again.

The first Dig is already history. Was it that good, or did I just chug my first beer of the night much too quickly? Honestly, it's a little of both. I'll drink one more to test the theory, but then it's off to bed.

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wouldnt have guesed

My whole point I was trying to make in that last post is that I'm not even a bit sure what it is I'm supposed to be doing.  When I was in the closet I was so used to lying that I did it without even thinking about it.

I'm not doing that any more, and I sometimes still don't know how to talk to people without the lies of the closet. Honesty has made it hard to blog. But I want to and need to and need to be honest.

Maybe that's the hard part I wasn't willing to be able to recognize, that I used to lie a lot.

Truth-I'm closer to forty than I want to admit. I have two sons, thirteen and eight years old as of now, though one is closer to nine, while the other is going to be taller than me within a couple of years if not sooner.

I accept that I'm gay and am happy with that. I'm not really doing anything about it, not having sex for the most part. I'm not averse to getting busy, but I have figured out that I'm not happy with hooking up or random sex. Knowing that one of us will be rushing out the door soon after the deed is done leaves a bit of something to be desired. So I'm not doing that.

I'm under paid at my job and will probably always be, and I'm too old for the job. I can't do it forever but don't really feel like I've got any skill set that would take me into a better job.

There is some growing need in me, a feeling that I need to do something if only I could figure out what that is. I need to create something big.

Getting back into something like a habit writing this damn blog feels like the begining of moving myself forward. I do miss writing, and I definitely miss the feeling of knowing people are reading and sometimes commenting.

And now I feel like I've circled this thing enough. It's time to shit or get off the pot. Or maybe I'll just sit here a minute more to make sure I'm done.

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updating

My boss let me borrow his Willie Nelson cd. He has more, but the one he brought to work is obviously from a gas station somewhere between here and elsewhere on an exit from I40. I don't fault the cd its beginnings because it's a great bunch of tracks, Willie Nelson and other singers doing random songs.

I'm also thinking about my blog. I'm trying to post again, and even though I have to use my phone I'm bound to get the hang of it. Even though my mouth runsover with words, and even though the mouth has to speak through the thumbs . . .

I started the blog to air my own whatever when I was the stay-at-home-dad and homeschooler. Now I'm the working again father of the same kids who now attend public school and who now also have a mostly openly gay dad.

I say mostly openly because I'm not as out as I could be at their schools. But then it hasn't really come up. They probably assume Momma and I are together because at least half the time they see either of us they see both.

And blogging over the past couple of years has been, at least in my mind, somewhat fraught with perils. That those perils are all either imagined or non-problem-thinging hasn't seemed to get through to me.

So I've not blogged too often, and I've had a great excuse. Honestly I've always got great excuses.

I've written this same post any number of times, but I'm not sure how often I posted it. I want to hink that most posts about posting were left in the drafts-to-be-deleted bin. Not this one of course.

You're welcome to wonder how any of the preceeding relates to each other, and you'd be welcome to. The song on the cd with Dolly and Willie is on right now, and I kind of wish you'd just let me listen.

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momma's hill

I rode up Momma's hill today in third gear. That's a first for me I think, though I may have done it accidentaly once before.

Tomorrow is bike maintainence day, so maybe I'll straighten out that rear derailer finally, but until I do I don't have my first or seventh gears available.

I also need to wipe him down, clean off the last of the mud from when I rode where I shouldn't have, and the chain is in dire need of oil.

But back to my gearing, and this is just me bragging, but I've been riding in eighth gear for the most part lately until very recently. I'm now in ninth!

I have twelve available gears on my bike. Really I only have ten because of that whole derailer thing I've already mentioned. Of those ten I use only one for the vast majority of my riding. There are some hills that require a smaller high gear and some that make you go really low. But for the most part I don't really change gears a whole lot.

For me to now be more comfortable in the slightly higher gear can only further prove my own personal greatness.

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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.