PurgePort

Rambling re-post.

2009-01-20T14:51:00.001-05:00

On your birthday!

Stand still…I whisper to myself, staring…
You are in MY world

I can feel your heart from here
The rise of your beautiful chest

My stomach flutters
I wonder if you might Ever…. love me as I do you

We have never met, you and I, but ……. you could love me
I see my arms wrapped around your bare torso
The heat from your body makes me feel……Safe
Your touch brings……Clarity

You are probably an artist…sensitive, caring and passionate

I imagine holding onto you for life.
Will you ever see me as I see you; permit me, as I permit you
Long, for me…. as I, you

We walk hand in hand
Heads up, strong in stride.. Confident, ready to conquer
Slow up, I say, wanting to see our reflection in the window as we pass
Your palm sweats in mine

from your soft lips… “WHAT?”

I... only see your green eyes and imagine looking into them as an old man
On your birthday, while bringing you a cup of coffee...

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

I hear you...but you are still in my world
Leaving me... a list of things you’d like from the store
Leaving me... a note, “You and me, dinner, tonight, can’t wait to see you!”
Leaving me... hoping that I fulfill your life as you do mine

My eyes open again...

Leaving me, the tears fall from cheek to pavement, I hear them land
Absorbed into earth, into life

Leaving me, the blood drops from the corner of my mouth
The heat from the blood makes me feel……Vulnerable
Your touch brings……Gravity

Leaving me, alone in YOUR world.

Methodical Chaos

2009-01-05T15:17:00.000-05:00

Methodical Chaos

Piercing through the blinds, the bars of moonlight weigh heavy on my chest, pinning me in thought.

A tapestry in my mind, the traffic is methodically chaotic,
always coming full circle but never going anywhere.

My chest rises, bending the light and tightening it’s hold.

My eyes fix on nothing, but drill through the ceiling and gaze into space,
I see everything.

Blood squeezes by where veins are tight to bones, bringing physical perspective to my motionless body.

Occasionally accompanied with pleasure, these still moments are more often
scarring reality.

My chest rises again and amid chaos I visualize pure freedom as
eternal darkness.

- EAH

The Age of anitReason

2008-09-08T11:10:00.003-04:00

The Age of anitReason

The end of another relationship. Never an easy time. Interesting how we fall into the same traps over and over, no matter how much our gut tells us, NO!! DON’T DO IT, our hearts say, GO FOR IT! It’s a catch 22, to say the least. The age difference between my ex and I, is 12 years. This is the largest difference in age than in any other relationship of mine thus far, and ever, if I may foreshadow.
What is it about a gay guy in his mid twenties that makes him say, ‘I’m mature for my age’? Thirty somethings beware, this the biggest and most dangerous cliché out there. Seriously, I’ve fallen for it twice, with the same consequence. I’d like to try and give him credit, but I just can’t. The other inherent trait of a 20 something gay male is and underdeveloped ability to communicate. Guised as a shield of protection for their other halfs, the reality is fear. Don’t try to protect me at the cost of lying, it’s a huge rationalization and one that is just going to bite you in the ass. Grab your balls and say what you feel. The very nature of the twenty something gay male makes saying this moot, they can’t hear it. Call it selective hearing, call it stubborn anvils, or call it just plain narcissism, which is something else that comes inherent in twenty something year old gay men. Reminds me of that country song, ‘ I wanna talk about me”.
As communication fails and balls remain dangling, somewhere down in the depths of the twenty somethings mind, he manages to justify seeking out physical companionship elsewhere. When caught, ‘ I have my reasons’ is a typical retort. OK, here is a clue, there is NO justification whatsoever for cheating. GRAB those balls before you jump in bed with someone else and say.. babe, this is not working and I’m gone. Easy concept right? Not for the twenty something gay male.
So, live and learn, again. Fooled me thrice, guess I’m the fool x 3. As I approach forty, I really have to say, companionship is just not that important. Live for your family and friends and yourself.

Cowboy

2007-08-20T15:08:00.003-04:00

When I was about 9 years old, my parents told me we were moving from N.Y. and going out west!.. and, although I didn’t come out of the closet till I was 21, I must have been on my way. I told my folks how excited I was about moving and that I’d like to be a cowboy when we get there. I can remember thinking about the hat, boots, jeans etc. I don’t remember thinking about roping cattle or pitching hay; just the clothes. This is how I pictured myself…

I’d still like to be that guy…or, at least, know that guy, or perhaps, KNOW that guy!

My baby is done.... save a few bugs to work out.

2007-08-08T23:08:00.000-04:00

Click on the photo for a larger version.

She's finished. I'm working out a couple small bugs.. a brake fluid leak and an oil leak. Also, I need to change the diff gear from the 2.79 that is in it, to a 3.55 gear. Strangely enough at 340hp and the posi locker rear, the car won't do a burn out. The cam is pretty tall and I'm told the cam and rear gear combo are robbing all the bottom end.. I said bottom.. hehe. ;0) So, I'm switching to the 3.55 gear, which should still give me some good highway speed but also restore the off the line torque and power.. or so I hope!!

The brake fluid leak is at the proportioning valve which is not part of the larger combo valve on this model. I'm going to replace it with and adjustable valve and hope that is the only fluid leak I'm having with the brake system.

I did finally get the exhaust finished. Long tube headers with 3" collectors, bolted to 3" dual pipes all the way out the back and single chamber racing flowmaster mufflers.. SHE IS LOUD. A bit too loud, but damn.. it sure sounds nice.

2007-08-08T15:20:00.000-04:00

Sticky verbiage causes pause

Subtle subconscious expectations uttered

Leaving scars to wrap in gauze

Ears hear only words that are stuttered

Acceptance implies conditions and limits

Biased questions inject doubt into the open mind

Posturing, posing, hoping for accepting climates

The shortsighted quickly turn blind

Negation of inquires expresses so much

Guilt carefully guided to gestate

Afraid of the unknown thus never to touch

Festering thoughts which drive hurt and hate

Pouch and Puss

2007-08-07T13:31:00.003-04:00

I went to visit my aunt this past week in Myrtle Beach..There’s a honky tonk if I've ever been to one. Tattoo shops, airbrush stands, beachwear outlets and mini-golf. Home of the Grand 'Ol Oprey wannabe. Interesting town.. it's saving grace(s) are the northern and southern beach away from the main drag. Very north it feels more like Nagshead and south to the Myrtle Beach State Park is without the glam and glitter. Murrells inlet is also a fun area.. tons of great restaurants and home of the Marsh Walk.

Lynn's cats were not so happy to meet me.. She's got 5, yes 5, cats that stay out back in the florida room.. I stepped out there and you would have thought I was the devil.. These cats started launching themselves at the windows at a full run, running in circles like an oval track race.. all five, sailing through the mini blinds and bouncing off of glass windows. I swear, I thought I was in a Stephen King story... very bizarre. One ripped a claw out and was bleeding everywhere.. it was really kind of shocking to say the least. Poor things, I think the smell of my dog on my clothes must have spooked them.

I'm putting on weight. Something MUST be done. I'll have to stop playing poker and drinking beer every Tues and Thursday.. perhaps replace it with biking.. Something.. damn! Last thing I want is to develop a gut. Call me vain if you must, but the gut must be avoided!!!

Anyone ever been to Floydfest in Floyd VA? I just went to this festival.. What a blast! Mix of hippies and hipsters, 4 days of great music.. good times.

Adios amigos. I hope to hear from some of my old blogging friends... and, hopefully I'll be doing a little more blogging these days.

Whistler

2007-03-15T10:44:00.000-04:00

Behold the beautiful Whistler B.C. Just back from another great ski trip. A little rainy, but once over 4,000 feet on the mountain, nothing but snow!

More soon on this trip.. just wanted to get a picture up.

Bump on the head.

2007-01-26T14:23:00.000-05:00

Ever watch someone casting stones, only to have one hit you in the head?

Having had a reasonably long, few years, and relatively normal friendship with a particular person, I find myself frustrated with him over his becoming the very thing he despised and bemoaned with the frequency of good piss.

It seems my friend who wrote so eloquently about those who hide rather than address that which may be difficult to say, has turned to hiding. So intellectually he belittled those who define the meaning of a relationship as a lesser relationship when it began on-line. Yet, when lost for words to express his frustration in our friendship, he turns to the very same behavior by blocking me on AIM. As if to say our friendship goes not beyond the buddy list, regardless of time, shared experiences, emotion and all that a traditional friendship carries with it. At least tie a note to the stones you throw, so that I might have some clue as to the nature of your behavior.

This friend was a true friend in the traditional sense of the word.. kind, caring, genuine, and accepting. Yet, he often hid some of his true feelings and those bottled up feelings would come out every so often as hostile accusations that I failed to reciprocate the energy he put into the friendship. I didn’t call enough, make enough time, and eventually this meant I didn’t “care” enough.

I’m guessing that because we didn’t talk for two or three weeks over the holidays, that I once again betrayed our friendship in his mind. So much for unconditional friendship.

Simply asking where and how you’ve been over the holidays? Nah, let’s just axe him off our buddy list and that should take care of it. That is the same right?

Or maybe since he has found love, so I’ve read on his blog, he’s decided to lighten his load of perceived friendship responsibility. My steady as she goes approach to friendship is lost on some. I can go a month easy without talking to a friend who lives 2.5 miles away.. and we don’t hold it against each other. It’s not a declaration of disgust or a sign of friendship apathy… it’s just life. And life is way to short to have to put in overtime keeping friendships going.. friendships just are.

30 Minutes to go.

2006-11-28T15:28:00.000-05:00

Ever sit at work and ponder just what in the hell you are doing working where you are working? That David Burns song keeps ringing in my head... "Letting the days go by"... "how did I get here?, this is not my beautiful job." If I had the skills, I'd put a sound clip here. Perhaps if you have the skills, you might share that knowledge with me.

Once again, I've not written in quite some time. Not here, not in any of my two dozen paper journals, nor anywhere else. It's a sad story…actually it's not. I just have a compulsion to say "it's a sad story", it sometimes comes out at rather in appropriate times... like the time I said it with much sarcasm to a homeless man asking me for some change. Oh well…perhaps it's a subconscious way for me express my closeted conservatism. Being an out gay male, I had to stuff my conservatism in back in the closet as I stepped out.

Do I believe in the Death penalty? YES, in fact, if its use increased 5 fold in the next two years, it still would not be used enough. Wait, who is asking? We need population control, especially in the prisons. We could feed and clothe every cold and hungry child in this country with the money we spend feeding, clothing, housing and guarding prisoners sentenced to death. What about drug use conviction? Why do these people spend time in jail? What a waste of money. Hit ‘em where it hurts, slap them with a $1,000 dollar ticket or some other appropriate amount. Sure beats spending money to house them while they miss work and neglect family. Switching gears…

The heads should be back from Arizona for my 302 tomorrow. I can’t wait to get that motor back together, fire it up, work out any bugs and take it for a drive. Emmm, the smell and sound of 340hp while your neck is whipped back in the seat.. Can you say WOOD. I feel rather juvenile by the enjoyment this brings me. The sound of a loping cam and headers.. emmm.. Yes, I’m a motor head, I can admit that. I have no problem with it whatsoever! Back to 2^nd gear..

So, I’ve probably wasted enough state time showing you the spinning of my mind.. This is what happens when I get overwhelmed at work. Humm 30 minutes left. Can I find something else to keep me from the madness that is work right now? Certainly… a phone call or two and the day is done. I hope tomorrow I can focus more.

MONTANA

2006-01-19T19:31:00.001-05:00

“Welcome to Bozeman, you may now use your cell phones. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the plane comes to a complete stop at the gate”.

As we deplaned in Bozeman, two things ran through my head… Will we make it to a nice place for a drink before the stroke of the New Year? And, please don’t let the next 7 days go by too quickly or without enough appreciation.

The first day in Montana, I forget about the last 2 in Virginia, and the previous 7 in Florida. I forget two days spent with Cliff, never enough time. I forget; spending three days flying my nephew’s new remote control helicopter through a hoola hoop and timing whose quicker from kitchen counter to dinning room table, table football and poker with my sister and father, mom’s hot apple pie and Cheryl’s midnight wrapping on Christmas eve, Christmas parties with high school friends I’ve not seen in over fifteen years, walking on the beach in board shorts and a green wool pullover with cold sand spreading my toes, spending time nurturing an old relationship and reacquainting myself with lost feelings, taking care of the yard work for Dad, a chore guised as an act of boredom but borne out of empathy for his ailing lower back. It takes time and effort to recall these memories, should the influence and impact they leave not have a more readily detectable impact on my perspective, especially in the days soon after?

“The Hud Home?, is that us?” Bad name, great cabin! After missing the New Year’s celebration the evening before, getting to the cabin is a real treat. Hot tub, loft, views of Lone Peak, Moose walking through the yard.. I even saw a long horned sheep on the way in…could it get much better? Good start to a great vacation. A day of skiing at Big Sky, a day of snowmobiling in the town of West Yellowstone, poker by the wood stove watching the snow come down in the evening.. then into the hot tub again. A day of snowboarding at Big Sky and a snow-cat tour of the Yellowstone park finish the week off. Steaks on the bbq in negative degree weather, beers at the Half Moon Saloon where the locals bring their dogs in and the bartender buys pitchers for new faces.. southern hospitality my ass, these mid westerners have cornered the hospitality market. On the drive home from the Half Moon, we stop and scout Elk as they cross the road and disappear onto the hillside.

SCAGS!

The day on snowmobiles is pure candy for me. 65+ mph, floating on the snow through beautiful mountain trails. There are five of us on the “sleds”, 700cc Polaris machines. We are like a bunch of 16 year olds driving for the first time. We line them up single file when parking at the restaurant after a 35 mile trek through the woods and across the Idaho boarder. A snow covered, modern day easy rider…ok, that may be exaggerating a bit, but there certainly is a feeling of freedom that comes with traveling at high speeds with your best friends through such beautiful country side. No where that you have to be, no one that you have to meet, just ridding to ride. Snow covered Lodge Pole Pines flying by, a cloud of powder from the sled in front keeps me on the look out in case the brake light in front of me comes on.. Anti lock brakes and sleds, no such combination. We tear off into some bowls and Bob carves through some untouched powder. Slowing to turn, his knee and body hang over the side of the bike… but the powder is too deep and he comes to a sinking halt. We climb to the rescue and sink chest deep into the dry powder. Packing and packing trying to firm up some ground onto which we can pull the bike…we need just a few feet of “take off strip”, point it in the right direction and give it just enough grip to launch back up onto the powder, a shot in a straight line to the packed trail. It’s a struggle; every pull on the sled is reduced in force by 10 fold as we sink in the opposite direction into snow. Eventually, the sled snatches itself up and out and we head for harder ground. Back on the trail, the deep powder bowl incident adds another memorable moment to the day.

Wildlife is as common in Montana as mosquitoes are in Virginia.. Bison by the hundreds, Eagles, Moose, Elk, Long Horn Sheep, Coyotes, Swans….. what else.. lots of Canadian geese.. and a lesson about them from our snow cat driver Jay.. "Do you know why, when the Canadian Geese are flying in the V formation, one side of the V is always longer"? the Nine of us in the snowcoach scratch our heads.. Jay, whose delivery is much like that of Bob Newhart, says “Because there are more geese on one side.” - Thanks Jay. A day without learning something new is a day in the dark.

Lone Bison

2006-01-19T19:29:00.000-05:00

Sunset in West Yellowstone

2006-01-19T19:24:00.000-05:00

random

2005-05-23T12:31:00.000-04:00

Ok.. So.. I've not written in forever. Well, not here anyway.

My friend Katie just had a baby. Joshua Logan. I got off the phone with her and I cried, like a child. Although I would like to believe it was in pure joy for them, I realize it was, for a large part, a reaction to the feeling of not having a real purpose in life. I mean, how can you measure anything up to raising a child? I imagine it must feel like your life takes on an entire new dimension, where every single decision you make has a new basis for negotiation and a whole different scheme of priorities . There must be both anxiety and joy in knowing you will pass on all the wisdom you have and hope that this person will be happy and make some contribution to the world.

Sir, Yes Sir!!

2005-02-11T15:09:00.000-05:00

At 17 years of age I signed up for the Army, against my parent's urging but with their signature of approval. At 18, I was at the reception station in Miami, Florida, standing in line with 50 other 18 year old boys in our army issue o.d. green boxers and t-shirts, staring out a streaked window and trying to take control of our future. Still staring out a streaked window, I’ll turn 36 years old this March, still trying to take control of my future.

Although this blog is about aging, I’m finding it difficult to not get side tracked into a blog about being in the Army and gay but not knowing it; about having a crush I couldn’t understand on another soldier; about rooming with a bunch of awesome guys during basic and AIT whom I felt closer too than I probably should have, but being too exhausted and busy to let my mind wander; about wishing I could go back and do that all over again. However, since time travel is not an option and as I don’t want to relive broken hearts, lonely days and all of life’s tests that have brought me to the present, I’ll just enjoy the memory. Oh, and get back to blogging about age.

Short as it was the day I left the army, high and tight!... my hair remains ”high speed and low drag”. I can still remember sitting in the chair to have my hair cut that first time, at the reception center in Ft. Leonard, Missouri ( or as we called it “Ft. Lost in the Woods, Misery ). “One eighth or one quarter”, the man asked. I was daring, “Give me an eighth of an inch.” As my shoulder length hair hit the floor, so did all of my high school innocence, uncovering a stark white skull against a Florida tanned face. I was tagged (literally with an armband) a frost bite risk ( insert symbolism here). I’ve not been able to let my hair grow to any appreciable length since being in the military. Strange, considering that in high school I was a motor head punk with long hair, sporting blue jeans and the requisite black concert t-shirt. Recently however, I keep it truly high and tight. "Why", you might ask...have you ever noticed that gray hair gets exceedingly kinky as it grows longer?

Friends tell me I’m too concerned with age…most tell me I look young for my age… I sometimes feel old for my age…I sometimes look in the mirror and think I’m very old for my age. However, when I look at other 35 year olds, I never see myself as their age; they always look older to me. My typical dating interest seems to fall at least 5, often more years my junior. Hummm, is there a Dr. in the house? Paging Dr. Freud, Dr. Freud to the psychoanalysis couch. As I write the Simple Minds are on the radio, something about vanity and insecurity, coincidence? “Would you walk on by... La, La la la la”.

It seems everyday and with each passing year, I’m referred to as Sir more often. My comfort level with this leaves much to the imagination. Not only because as an enlisted Army soldier it was considered an insult to be equated with the commissioned officers whom must be called Sir...“don’t call me sir, I work for a living”!, (half meant as a joke but with a hint of serious connotation) but also because we never used it out of respect growing up (which is not to say we didn’t have respect). It was only after moving to Florida from NY as a child that I heard friends call their fathers sir. This was really foreign to me and I saw it as placing their fathers on this plane of formality that just seemed inconsistent with trying to be an open and communicating family. So, in my mind, being called sir by the younger generation separates me from them; putting me on a plane unable to communicate on an equal level, making me feel older.

I’ve been to the great divide, and there I stood and looked up, tweezers in hand and pulled stray black hairs from my inner ear! “Ouch, mother fucker!”…I blurted. Yes, it hurt’s to get older; ripping hairs out of sensitive areas which have never been touched much less plucked.

So, I was getting my high and tight at the barber yesterday….

“Hello Sir”, she said. “ Same Same?”, in her strong Czech accent.

Hi, yes, same same.

On a side note… There are two female barbers where I get my hair cut. I used to get my hair cut by Sylvia and had been for a couple years, but one day Sylvia was not there and I let Anne cut it. Anne and Sylvia are both Czech, but strangely enough not related. Which seems odd given that they are the only two Czechs I know in all of Richmond and they both cut hair and at the same place. Spies maybe? Perhaps trying to infiltrate the underground trade of illegal comb sanitizers led by the east coast American barbers know in the trade as the Ecab cartel?” Oh…back to my tangent. So, Anne did a bang up job and I was left with a dilemma. Do I come in and let Anne cut my hair, right under Sylvia’s nose? Feels like infidelity. So… instead, I query the boss via phone as to each one's work schedule. Sylvia is off on Thursdays while Anne is working. Problem solved!! I’ll never see Sylvia again; it’s like a bad break up. Uggg.

As I sit, falling asleep to Anne cutting my hair. I feel the comb touch my face. At first I thought she just brushed up against my brow. To my horror…she had in fact intentionally put the comb into my eyebrow and proceeded to trim it. THATS IT!, it is now official… game over! I am old, and yes you can call me SIR!. In fact, it’s SIR, yes SIR when responding damnit, I’ve earned it!

WTF?

2005-02-09T19:53:00.000-05:00

.
A freind of mine sent me this picture in an e-mail titled "Get Your Uncle".

Ok, a couple of questions...

1) W"hy" TF - is this e-mail called "Get Your Uncle"?
2) There are a dozen things beyond the wet spot in the crotch of "it", that need a "WTF" ...

a. eyebrows
b. orange leg flotation devices
c. teal spandex pants
d. the Happy Days “Fonzy” thumbs up,
e. the facial cheek implants
f. the teal vest that matches the teal shirt and teal spandex pants
g. It that hair real?
h. teal spandex pants
i. the deer in the headlight eyes
j. those black plastic Jerusalem Cruisers
k. person in the background with a box for a hand and duct tape wrapped around the wrist
l. those fucking teal spandex pants
m. m. stands for.. say it with me… Man tits!

Beating my head against the wall!

2005-01-26T13:44:00.000-05:00

“I’m not sure what it is, but our friendship is not the same anymore”, said my friend.. I could hear him slur a bit as he sipped a drink on the other side of the phone. “When I moved away, I knew it would change but I didn’t expect this.”

Of course our friendship has changed, he moved a 12 hours drive away. As I told him that he can still count on me to talk to, the wall started coming back down. He had hinted and told me of random drug use before, but I didn’t expect a problem. He proceeded to tell me how he had to give his credit and bank cards to a friend over the holidays and lock himself in as to not wind up in a crystal meth den. He had gone from coke to crystal in the last few weeks and had spent all his savings.

I tried to give him every bit of support I could and assured him that I was not being judgmental… that I saw his calling and telling me as him reaching out for help and that I would help however I could. I suggested a program and some counseling which he took offence to. Worried about his job and military career, he thought it would be suicide to do so. I assured him if either found out it would be seen as admirable and proactive. You can’t be convicted for seeking help nor can you be convicted (in the military) without coming up “hot” on a piss test. None the less, in his mind that gap in our friendship was getting wider very quickly.

Silence… “Are you there”, I said. I heard him swallow and knew he taken another shot of whatever he was drinking. I thought I’d tone down the call to action and try to win his confidence back. “Maybe just see a counselor, talk to someone”, I said. He doesn’t believe that his actions could be tied to some underlying unresolved issues, driving him to self medicate. Certainly neither his brother having taking his own life as a teenager nor his fag hating mother has anything to do with it.

He said he had to end the conversation, then silence, then bye and hung-up. I’m not one for praying, but I’m certainly hoping he makes through to get some help before something of serious consequence happens. I may as well beat my head against the wall instead of trying to help. It would be more productive.

Pit Sniffers!

2005-01-11T19:41:00.000-05:00

Do they get paid for this?

So, I'm thinking it is career change time. Job change at the very least, I've been looking at the Baltimore area. I may grab my nuts and move, job or not. Just say fuck it and go. Rent or sell my house, start a new chapter in my life. I keep coming up with reasons not to.. But really, there are no good ones; except of course that I've lived here in Richmond longer than anywhere else in my life. I've got roots, as they say, and long time friends. I know the city inside and out. Best coffee spots, poetry nights, where I can walk and where I can’t. Sigh.. Change can be unnerving (sp?).

But, I'm 35, single, have almost 0 debt (no savings either, but hey) no dependants and no family here in Richmond. My parents are contemplating moving from FL back to NY. Baltimore would put me about 4 hours from all of my extended family (and possibly my parents) in NY.

Oh great pit sniffers, worshipers of the odiferous, marauders of the musky, shed some wisdom on thee.

NF!!!

2005-01-07T11:13:00.000-05:00

I’ve mentioned the phrase “Bless his heart” before; it’s used in the south as a pre emptive strike against damnation resultant from being on the table about how you feel about someone. In the north we just call it brutal honesty and find no need for preemptive strikes; however, in the south descriptions usually include dramatic and sometimes colorized depictions of the truth. I mention the phrase now, as I’m about to tell you a story about a “date” I had the other night and I don’t want to go to hell for putting the cards on the table just as it was. I assure you there will be no gross exaggerations and no additions for dramatic expression.. Just the facts!!

I’ll begin by mentioning that I was recently told by the person whom I’m quite enamored with, that I need to “date more”. Given that our (his and my) situation is helpless geographically. None the less it was a bit of a knife to the chest to hear it from him. I don’t make any attempt to NOT date. In fact, I asked some guy out that I met at a printing shop a few weeks ago, to no avail, seems he’s straight. My gaydar is so far from working it should be collecting welfare. I also asked another guy (known gay) out perhaps a week before that. Usual song and dance there; sure, let’s gets together, maybe after the holidays. Now it’s; maybe I’ll see you at so and so’s, or we should “all “do something sometime. You know what, enjoy yourself and grow the fucking nads to just say no if your not interested. Uggg.

So.. In an attempt to “get myself out there” even more, I talked to some guy on line the other day. Seemed OK, picture was a blurry headshot leaving much to the imagination but the conversation was easy and he seemed harmless. I agreed to swing by his place and grab a bite to eat. I hesitate to call this a date.. Is there some minimum time you must spend with someone in order to classify the experience as a date?

He mentioned that he lives with his ex, but that they had not dated in a few years and that they were now very good friends. OK, a little odd , but not beyond my realm of acceptable.

I pulled up, he walked up to meet me.. (Before I continue, if you are weak in the stomach, you may want to skip the next part) The point I’m about to make can be truly punctuated by the fact that I’m a fan of the odiferous. Fresh sweat good, old ripe sweat, BAD!! It’s the whole masculine musky gym appeal, but it’s a very fine line. The guy, I shall name him NF for now (use your imagination and I’ll define later), was no where near that fine line. In fact, If the line were drawn on a map, and he was standing in Va, it would be on the California coast. The stench could not have been masked by gasoline and sulfur. It took every bit of courage I could muster to follow him up that stairs and not just be an ass and walk away.

So, Inside now. There sits the ex, in this efficiency apartment, with the bed being the center of the room, watching the golden girls in his boxer briefs and flannel shirt, scratching at parts of his body that should not be exposed. Introductions are made and NF smiles.. his lips pull back and expose the largest set of horse teeth I’ve ever seen. “They must be fake!” I thought, and stared. “Wow”! was all I could think. “WOW!!!!”

I smell the cancer in the air and there is a grey haze that I’m looking through. The windows are propped open in an attempt to clear the room. I sit down on this folding metal chair that’s been adorned with a pillow from the bed and try to not look miffed. I have one thing on my mind now and it’s the only thing I can focus on.. “Run Forrest Run”!!!

NF suggests making hamburger helper, all the while scratching himself. He walks behind me and touches the back of my head. I immediately wonder what his hand may have deposited on my scalp. At this point I figured I should hold out for 15 minutes and see if someone jumps out with a hundred bucks and declares me the winner of on this week’s edition of MTV’s Boiling Point. NF, who declared himself a non-smoker, lights a cigarette. I decline the hamburger helper and suggest getting something to eat. I also suggest driving separately, “since I live on the other side of town”.

His vehicle is minus a front grill and back window. I follow NF and as he stops and pulls in somewhere, I seize the opportunity to drive on and on and on. If it was “Boiling Point”, I’m a proud loser!

Bless his little heart. Nasty Fucker!

So… I’m dating more. And life is… “Colorful”.

Post Holiday Monday Morning Blues

2005-01-03T22:05:00.000-05:00

OK, my Monday didn't hurt like I imagine the bull horn up this guy's ass did... but a Monday morning after a two week holiday isn't far "behind".

Happy New Year!

Disturbing U.S. Media Ethnocentricity

2004-12-29T11:18:00.000-05:00

Sunday, 26 December. Even if not celebrating Christmas, the vast majority of people in the U.S. is off and celebrating the holidays. Across the world in Indonesia, Sir Lanka, India, Thailand and elsewhere, tens upon tens of thousands are drowning to death in the wake of a Tsunami precipitated by an Earthquake off the coast of Thailand. In Iraq, thousands of innocent Iraqis have been killed in our attempt to stabilize that country..

Monday, 27 December. I’m visiting my parents in Jensen Beach, Florida and reading the local newspaper. The front page of the “Stuart News” announces the 50^th Anniversary of a local Garden Store; 50 years of fresh flowers and baby spruces, 50 years of providing the locals with beautiful garden plants. The story covers ¾ of the front page. In ½ of the remaining ¼ of the front page, one sentence… Death toll rises in Tsunami aftermath.. see page A4.

I sit in the airport, waiting to head home to Virginia and watch CNN. The picture of U.S. soldier is shown along with a short biography…22 years Old, from OH, two siblings, played baseball, liked family events. Anther report says that 12 Americans died in the Tsunami… then breaks for the national weather.

Sigh… I find it very disturbing how the U.S. media seems to rank lives lost by nationality. Being an editor, producer, or any position which decides what the public (in mass) will read, see or hear, should require an interdisciplinary Master’s degree in media ethics, social psych, cultural diversity, empathetic and sympathetic communication, and a six month internship reporting on life in an country unknown to that individual.

On another ethnocentric note, “W” shows his true colors once again: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6763683/

But I don't like to Dance!

2004-12-01T13:06:00.000-05:00

Here is a brand new rambling. I know most of you will say, ewww.. too dark. But I hope you enjoy it anyway.
_________________________________________________________

But I don't like to Dance!

I refuse to give in, to ignite the fuse and blow myself into that which I disdain. Instead, I remain lonely and idealistic. Watching the vast majority of “my community” as it dances:

Hey man, how goes it?

Brandished insincerities take malignant bites from souls, leaving holes that are filled with socially correct rhetoric, verbal epoxy that holds together that which is exposed to the world.

Good thanks, you? You look good, as usual. I haven’t seen you in like, six months.

Chosen with surgical precision, empty words are full of intent and hope. Personalities are facades of innocence held up by shiny un-truths and smooth non-disclosures. Sarcastic wit and banter lay naked over a sour dish of insecurity.

Looks like you’re hittin’ the gym pretty hard!
Thanks, but hard would be trying not to look at you, you’ve been in the gym yourself.
No, “HARD” would be looking at you.
Wanna grab a beer.
Sounds Cool.

Niceties are forsaken as is the beer. Scared souls fuck themselves into a warm refuge, climaxing onto an icy reality where blankets of clichés attempt to rationalize irrational behavior.

Call me, we’ll hang out sometime! I’m in the book.
Don’t be a stranger!

Dark complacency carries the soul only a short distance. Scars to the character are not healed by time alone and the thought of introspection and reflection are more tiring and less appealing than instant gratification.

Hey Man, how goes it?

Over the River and Through the woods.

2004-11-24T16:11:00.000-05:00

I’ve been feeling frustrated lately, not sure why. Frustrated with work, frustrated socially, not content with my house, asking those big questions.. What’s the purpose etc. I went through this turning thirty but it was easily quelled by running away to Miami for a week with a significantly younger guy, after that week, I didn’t care much what the purpose of it all was.. We wound up dating for a year. But that is yet another story. Keep you eyes open for a blog called Geoff aka Transition Boy and the 30 yr itch.

We all come to crossroads in our lives form time to time, driving us to seek truth, guidance, understanding and happiness. Sometimes it is an event, the death of friend or a loved one, sometimes it is a chronological milestone, turning 30 or 40, sometimes it's an event that happened to someone close to us and sometimes it's a break up or the loss of a job that drive us on these soul seeking quests. The reasons are many, needless to say, and it seems that no matter what a person's economic, relationship, legal or other status is, we all reach these increments of inconsistency .

There we stand, feeling as if the ground has vaporized under our feet, looking over our shoulder for what is next... is there some scheduled rescue cued up in a mystical scheme that we can just wait for? A small fire in the stomach reminds us it's time to eat again. Some of us seek understanding through personal growth, stretching out our fears in tae-bo or yoga, reading away this transitional time with Oprah, Dr. Wayne Dyer and this week’s NYT Bestseller. Some go for a temporary addiction, shopping, alcohol, drugs... A temporary bridge over our seemingly non-existent foundation. The lack of which provides a grand rationalization for any consequence of such actions once we feel "solid" again. I've seen few doozies recently.. not my own mind you, but eye openers none the less.

These are lonely moment in our lives, standing on these bridges. Life’s transitions as some call them. Some will tell you that it is in these moments, alone and struggling, that we define our character. I seem to live in a flux state, where I'm almost always questioning these things, always looking over my shoulder and always testing my character. It's not a bad place to be. Fortunately, any harmful addictions have only amounted to caffeine and one of the past… nicotine.

I think it’s this flux state of mind that drives my thrill seeking personality – my bridge if you will, for it's only during those moments when the adrenaline flows heavily and my heart races, that I'm 100% forced to be in the moment, appreciating right here, right now! Love can also bring me into the here and now, but love can be fickle and fragile to say the least.

Here's to Bridges! May there carry us over that which needs to be crossed, deliver us to a new, and may the next bridge of love carry us all the way to the end.

Chain from Pest

2004-11-22T23:50:00.000-05:00

Pest - Buda Bridge

2004-11-22T23:44:00.000-05:00

Chain at night

2004-11-22T23:09:00.000-05:00

Looking down on the Chain Bridge from the Castle district of Budapest, Hungary.

The Chain Bridge has a different "personality" if you will, in the rain, in the sun, at night. The Charles Bridge in Prague is also quite amazing, it's a "people only" bridge, with artists, vendors, musicians and tourists covering it form side to side. The statues along the Charles bridge are a mix of blackened stone and gilded gold. I think I've developed a bridge fetish. I wonder what Freud would say.

TFEE II

2004-11-22T01:41:00.000-05:00

TFEE II - The drunken Bellhop.

After a very long trip via car from Budapest to Prague ( the car broke down but that's another story) we (Akos and I) arrived in Prauge around 10:30 p.m. and found our guest house, the Arco. The guy behind the counter spoke pretty good english. He gave us a garage door opener and sent us with a very intoxicated gentleman, who spoke only Czech, to find our room. We walked down a pitch dark hall big enough to drive a truck through and out into a court yard that was very overgrown and dimly lit. Our "guide", took the key and started in on a door. He was having very little luck, even after he managed to connect the key to the lock. After maybe 4 or 5 minutes, I held out my hand in a motion to ask for the key. Holding it up to what little light there was, I could make out a "5", on the door "3" was inches from our nose. I pointed to the key and then the door which showing it to our guide who proceeded to fall to his knees laughing.

At this point we were all laughing, Akos and I drunk from the fumes coming from this guy. I walked back to the front office and the other gentleman apologized and walked me to the proper room. From one end of the courtyard, some fairly psychedelic music was resonating from behind a steel door at the bottom of a flight of steps. After asking, we were told that is was a "dope den" / marijuana den. Having never been to Europe before, this was extremely novel to me and I liked that it was nothing, so far, like home.

After opening the room, he apologized for it's size and said another room would be available after the first night. Mind you, the room was about 15 by 20 with a bathroom that was another 10 by 15. The secure parking, room and full service b-fast every morning was $25. U.S. each per night!

Words or phrases the come to mind when I think of Prague: gothic, romantic, relaxed, inviting, black, blue, gold, charming, safe, growing, heavily touristy in areas, penis statues, castles, churches, cafes and beautiful guys.

On that note… I'm off to bed.

Church of Bones

2004-11-21T13:31:00.000-05:00

Stanidng on the krypt door in the All Saints Church, Kunta Hora, Czech Repulic.

2004-11-21T12:27:00.000-05:00

Anti Communism Poster - Prague

Slack!

2004-11-21T11:38:00.000-05:00

I've been terribly slack with not getting some things written, esp about my trip. Things have been pretty hectic at work.. blah blah blah. I'm going to post some of my favorite pics, in hope that the process will spark some memories and motivate me. In the meantime... I'll just babble..

I think I put on 50 lbs in 4 hours last night, my friend Julie had a friends pre Thanksgiving dinner party... a four course meal with a Latin theme for 14 people. I'm not sure which course did me in, however I remember having a conversation with my stomach during dessert. I heard the mumbles... "Stop, it hurts", to which I replied.. "Are you talkin' to me?" and proceeded to stuff my face with some sort of chocolate and crème roll which was smothered in fresh fruits, blue black and straw berries accompanied by a hunk of homemade tiramisu (a Latin twist on it's Italian roots). Needless to say I won't be eating for a week. I think we may make this a semi monthly tradition with alternating themes, by this time next year I should be plump as a Thanksgiving turkey!

Ok, I'm going to shut up, fill my coffee, get a donut ;-) and find a few more of my favorite pictures.

2004-11-21T11:36:00.000-05:00

Prague, from the Castle

2004-11-21T11:34:00.000-05:00

Prague Castle @ Night

2004-11-21T11:32:00.000-05:00

Under the Charles Bridge in Prague, Czech Republic

Moments in time.

2004-11-02T18:18:00.000-05:00

I'm standing in an elevator today; I push the button for my floor.

Then wait there for what feels like an eternity. Amazing how 20 seconds can feel like 20 minutes sometimes. What happens to cause this? I imagine a chemical reaction on the brain that steals only a fraction of a moment, but subconsciously we analyze the event and wonder how long it lasted and what has happened in that time. Then on a conscious level we feel like as if an eternity has passed, but the feeling arises from this accelerated subconscious dialog that would take us a 100 times as long to work through.

So I hit the "close door" button. Say it with me, "worthless as tits on a bull". Why do they spend the f*&#ing money to have this button on elevators if it has no actual function? I’ll bet if you pulled the panel down there would be no wire connected other than the light. In the five hundred thousand times I've hit a close door button in an elevator, it has never had a direct effect on when the door closes. You always have to stand there till the predetermined amount of time has passed and the door closes automatically. Notice in the 500,000 times, I still hit the damn button! Pavlov would have shot me in the head after 100 times.

I want to start a list of items that are truly pointless and just make us feel stupid for utilizing them when we know they are worthless. (Taking a mental note to make a list).

Another feeling of lapsed time that is equally as strange but much more frightening… You snap you head back up tensing every muscle in your face, neck and chest then realize you are ok, the car is still going forward on pavement and you haven’t hit anything. I won’t get into the stupidity of driving on when tired, but I can remember times when I was absolutely astounded with my own inability to keep my eyes open.. ..

I’m 2o years old driving to the community college some 3o minutes from home on interstate 95. It’s 6:30 a.m. and I’m flying in order to get to a BIO lecture on time. I start to nod off. My first plan of attack is rolling the windows down… again I nod off. Next I’m pinching myself… to no avail, I’m still nodding off. Now I’ve got the music all the way up and I’m trying to scream along with it, and I’ m not talking two Kraco coaxiles and a Roadmaster head unit. I’m talking 400 watts of Rockford Fosgate, 4 tweeters, 6 mid drivers and 4 sub woofers cranking some off the wall song by Ray Charles or B.B. King at 4,000 decibels and YES, still having my bass blurred eyes closing. Me screaming.. “When love comes to town, I’m gonna catch that train, when love come to town I’m gonna catch that plane!, maybe I was wrong to ever let you down, but I did what I did before love came to town”.

WHAT that hell was that. Was I narcoleptic? What ever I was, I’m deaf now!

Pigpen and the Butterfly

2004-11-01T11:49:00.000-05:00

I spent this Halloween working at a friend’s house. She bought the place about nine months ago and the face lift has begun. It’s a beautiful neighborhood and I’ve decided I’ll keep my eyes open for a place in that area.

The children were out in droves and the residents played up Halloween with true spirit. I could hear the death beat of bongo drums in the distance and the cries of werewolves.

At my place the only trick-or-treaters to come to the door are 16 years olds with plastic Food Lion shopping bags and no costumes. Not a word is spoken; they just stand there waiting for the candy to hit the bag. The kids that came to Julie’s door were decked out! It reminded me of my childhood and the lengths we would go to on Halloween.

Later that evening… I’d been sanding joint compound for about 3 hours, unable to get past the plastic dust barrier and answer the door, I was forced to lie to the kids and tell them through the window that we were all out of candy … “No candy on Halloween?, Now that is scary!”, said the Butterfly. So, there I stood laughing, literally covered in white dust from head to toe, reduced to the scary guy on the block by an 8 year old butterfly. As I laughed, I shook and a cloud of white lofted around me, Pigpen from the peanuts came to mind.

Happy Halloween!!

TFEE I: Lady Liberty

2004-10-26T22:56:00.000-04:00

Hungary’s Lady Liberty

“Mindazok Emlekere Akik Eletuket Aldoztak Magyarorszag Fuggetlensegeert S Zabadsagaert Es Bolodgulasaer”

From the base of Hungary’s Statue of Liberty at the Citadella in the hills of Buda in Budapest, I reflect on the words of Lady Liberty on Ellis Island back home.

"Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Budapest has only been free from Communism since 1989 and the atmosphere in the city is defiantly one of reconstruction. Some parts of the city shine with breath-taking beauty while other areas feel and look like WWII ended only weeks ago. My friend tells me of the common practice of salary hiding by employers, where only part of the salary is reported by the companies to the government and the rest is paid under the table to avoid taxes. We get pulled over by the Rendorseg and my friend Akos contemplates bribing the officer. I joke about getting out of the car to take a picture not realizing just how serious the situation is being treated by the police. The county’s capitalism is still young and fresh and the people have a spirit of hope and excitement about the future.

I left from Budapest a humbled spirit with a renewed appreciation for all that I have in my country, in my life and in my liberty.

OK OK, I promise all the Europe stories won't be this dry.. I have stories of Ben and love & romance, beautiful sights, cafes, saunas, museums, broken down fords, turkish baths, twin mechanics in jean overalls, Akos and the mini appliances, grown men crying, the most dramatic booger drag known to man, trams trains u-bahns and taxis, the city of penises or is that peni?, Akos and the mini drama, Lesbians with meat and potatoes, Castles and Cathedrals!, wide eyed maids aka the maid who saw too much, Praha Praha, the drunk bell hop, A dealership is a dealership is a dealership, You do what with that Fat?, bad american music relived, and lastly hello is goodbye and goodbye is hello?

Back on Solid Ground

2004-10-26T22:24:00.000-04:00

Whew! After the week in VA Beach, then the two and a half in eastern Europe, I've landed back on solid ground in Richmond and am getting back into my routine, however good or bad that may be. My trip was AMAZING.

I plan to write short stories from the trip when I have time and as my memory recalls them. I will title them TFEE part I. and so forth (Tales From Eastern Europe).

I hope my blogging friends have been doing well. I hope to catch up on all of my friends blogs and give you back something interesting to read…there is much material!!

Ding Dong!

2004-09-30T20:58:00.000-04:00

Ling, doing what he does best... chillin'.

Yep, this is my boy Ling-Ling.. aka Ling, Ding, Ding Dong, Dingers, Boo Dog and Little Lion. He's now 7 and a half. I got him at 7 weeks old. Each year on his birthday we go to McDonalds for a dbl with cheese, sit on the tailgate and chowdown.

It's 9pm and the first presidential debate is starting, thus Ling's enthusiasm. :-)

Scrunchi Hell...

2004-09-28T23:51:00.000-04:00

First congratulations Billy! Long may your lum reek.

The names in the following story have been changed to protect what is left of their pride.

My friend, I shall call her Heidi (visions of a Swedish girl yodeling), told me the funniest story about her recent trip to the Chiropractor. She sees the Dr. on a regular basis for chronic lower back problems. It's important to know that Heidi is like the epitome of June Cleaver most of the time, or at least acts as such.

Heidi had a Chiropractor's appt for Thursday on the West side of town. She decided to stay with a friend who lives in the West End on Wed night and drive straight to the Drs office in the morning. The details on the next part are a tad fuzzy, but.. Upon waking up on Thursday morning, she was running late and shoved the previous days underwear into her pocket out of haste. I'm not exactly sure why she was packing her underwear into her pants or if she put on clean ones or went commando to the Drs office.

Part of Heidi's pre-adjustment work up includes a one on one with the Dr. where he asks how she's been doing, what the pain level has been etc etc. Heidi has mentioned this Dr. to me on occasion, telling me he is a "handsome man"(translation - this is one hot stud that June cleaver would like to be getting spanked by). During the one on ones, Heidi puts her hair up into a scrunchi so that while being adjusted, it will not get in the way. In a reflex action, Heidi pulls out the scrunchi and stretches it with both hands in front of her while looking at and talking to the handsome Dr. To her horror, his eyes turn to saucers when he glances down... at which point Heidi looks down and realizes she has been stretching her dirty underwear in front of her like a rubber band while talking to the Dr, she screams and shoves the undergarments back into her pocket. and the two of them have not mentioned it since. I know I'm not doing this story justice, but she had me on the floor laughing my butt off when she told me. Anyway.

On an unrelated note.. I have 5 days left till I leave for Eastern Europe. I can't wait!! I'm quite excited to say the least!

Peace.

Un-checked Flatulance!

2004-09-25T13:05:00.000-04:00

If there is one thing I never expected when creating my blog, it was the associated guilt for not writing often enough. It’s my own creation, the guilt. I imagine it much like a catholic must feel day to day for silently cursing.

Sandbridge was good. Granny and the family had a nice time and all got back to their respective homes with no problems. Particularly fun for me was spending time with my father, bother and my nephew (my sister’s boy) at the same time…fishing in the Back Bay, ocean kayaking and just swimming and spending time together. Familial male camaraderie! No holds barred fun with the added bonus of un-checked flatulence, spitting and talking about the female family members without having every word analyzed.

I worry about my nephew, growing up without a father. My sister is a single parent and although my nephew spends lots of time with my father, he is not the same guy he was when I grew up. He was the first to shove us in the deep end and say “swim” then walk away. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, I remember sitting in his lap and steering his “Silver Streak” ( a 1968 Chevy pickup) through the old abandoned airfield in LaGrange, NY.

I have this book “What Every Good Uncle Should Know”. It’s a collection of tricks, pranks, skills and jokes that are supposedly fun for the nieces and nephews. It has all the classics; finger removal, thumb puppet, string through the neck, Mr. bag head, elbow coin catch, comb kazoo etc etc… This is great if you want to raise complete dork! Where is the “grab the live shrimp from the bucket, spear it onto your hook and wipe the ooze onto your shirt tutorial?” As kids we made iced sled channels down the 500 foot driveway and jumped the two lane road. We made flying machines and drove them off of 20 foot cliffs, connected thousands of rubber bands together tied them to flaming Tonka trucks and sent them at warp speed down the street (good stuff). We had a regular kids fear factor going on every day..even down to eating grasshoppers and Mom’s dinner! I love spending time with my nephew and wish I could be there for him more.

This is stirring up the whole.. I want to have kids issue…that’s an ear full, I’ll save it for another time.

Meanwhile, it’s noon on Saturday, September 25 and hurricane Jeanne is on a direct path to hit my parents around 8pm tonight; and my mother having not learned her lesson, sits in her house waiting to ride out the storm….. It’s going to be a long weekend!!!

Technicolor Granny

2004-09-12T08:32:00.000-04:00

It's off to Sandbridge beach for 7 days. I'll be taking a journal as I'll have no internet access from the beach. I can only hope my work cell phone won't ring.

Granny ( yes, GRANNY.. she's a Scot and she'll box your wee ears if you call her 'etin else) and Aunt Stella arrived via train last evening. My mother, father, sister, nephew and brother should all be here by noon. Then we're headed down the brae to the beach.

At 81 years old with a heavy Scottish accent, white hair and a tongue like a whip (it'll hit you fast, leave a mark and have you wondering why your bleeding) she still sweats to the oldies every morning with Richard Simmons and is the Yankees #1 fan!

She's a veritable historical score card, every game etched into her mind like a memorable childhood experience. As as child, she would drag all of us grandchildren onto the Metro North and head south from Poughkeepsie to NYC for Yankee games. We were bleacher creatures!, with our Yankee caps on score cards out and gloves on ready to catch a fly ball. I had a Polaroid instamatic camera, which was the size of Minin Cooper, that I dragged to all the games. Depressing the inch high button and snapping pictures of Reggie Jackson running into deep right for the catch. I'd grab the tab, pull the picture out of the belly of the camera, put it into the developing clip and tuck it into my jacket pocket. 3 minutes later, magic, in full technicolor. These pictures adorned my dresser for years.

Granny's house in now 150 years old. I visited this past fourth of July. Stepping onto her front porch ~~~I'm 8 years old again, with my cousins... ringing the bell over and over.. I can her my granddad's voice, he is cursing us for ringing the bell, and so we ring more. Clapping the mail slot cover, "Missy", his Yorkshire terrier begins to bark feverishly and so we clap more. He reaches the door and the process begins. 5 minutes, 3 deadbolts, 2 chains and 1 slide bolt later, we are face to face with Grandad. We rush past looking for granny and we hear him yell, "This is not a gymnasium". Granny in her chair, is having her usual tea and toast with orange marmalade. We make our way to the toy chest, pull out the tinker toys and find the lollipops that she's hidden for us in the chest. ~~~ the place looked ancient. Grandad died five years ago and Granny has kept up the best she can.

Less than a year ago, Granny had an aneurysm just south of the aortic valve. She had surgery, got a stint and is back to her Richard Simmons routine. Go Granny Go!! I'm so happy she'll be here for the week.. out of her house and with her family.

If you read this, have a fantastic week and I look forward to catching up and playing with mine and browsing yours.. Your BLOG, get your mind out of gutter! :-)

Converstion with Mom, post Frances.

2004-09-09T13:16:00.000-04:00

I spoke to my mother today. She and my father are supposed to be on the way up to VA tomorrow for a vacation. The following it our AIM conversation. It gives a good perspective on the post frances situation down in Florida.

Comments in parentheses were put there by me for clarity.

Drenalined: how r U/
MomHoward: I'm good thanks. I Just finished 3 unbelievable days at what's left of Martin Memorial (hospital where she works)
Drenalined: what's left? Damage?
MomHoward: Significant damage, No elevators until the end of the month, shaft was blown apart off the top of the roof. Patients on the first and ground floors only. The ER is now an intensive care unit.
MomHoward: I’ve been climbing stairs for days. They've put chairs on all the landings. Cafeteria has been cooking up everything with generators and serving it to employees and their families gratis.
MomHoward: There is no OR. Can't get equip up from the ground floor, x-ray machines, flouro machines, etc. If a pt is admitted to the first floor med-surg unit, they have to wait for ambulance transport around the building to the front entrance
MomHoward: I'm sooo burned out. At home we've lost the water pump! No water !! Can't do any laundry; have to carry pails from the pool to flush toilets. Today I have to go in to work for my check. No direct deposit possible. They're asking us to only partially cash our checks!!!! Wachovia has to handle all of them whether you bank with them or not! Something like 3 million dollars! My branch lost it's roof, so I'll try to find another where I can deposit my check in full.
MomHoward: It's a stinking nightmare. Did you know the Broward County edition of the Miami Herald had a front page picture of Cheryl (my sister) and Daniel (my nephew) down the street observing our washed out road? It was cute.
Drenalined: No, I didn’t know that. Is it online?
MomHoward: FEMA came knocking on the door this morning, passing out info. Red Cross came thru the neighborhood handing out water and ice. Don't know where I'll be able to get gas, no power, no pumps. My cell is still out. This is my first time on line since mid last week.
Drenalined: anything I can do?
MomHoward: Your father went back to work this am. He's probably gonna have a hard time with his boss, 'cause there's so much clean up to do and he's got scheduled time off. We'll see where that goes. People who left the state are having a hard time getting back. Massive tie ups on the main roads. FEMA supply trucks in accidents held up water deliveries for like 16 hrs the other day while people waited in the heat for hours.
MomHoward: I just want things back to normal.
Drenalined: well, I certainly understand, whatever happens.. but I sure hope you can come up and relax.
MomHoward: I'm really lucky, comparatively, I have power. Most don't. I've been working with people who haven't had AC since last week. They're hot, dirty and tense beyond belief. I'm embarrassed to put on an outside light at night because we're the only house in the neighborhood with power. Kids next dorr were here all day yesterday, per your father, keeping cool and he got the pool shocked and cleaned up for swimming.
Drenalined: Ah, that was a good idea.. The pool that is.
MomHoward: I'm gonna sign off Eddie, Daniel finally got dressed and we're going over to Publix supermarket and see if we can get some more water. We're still under a curfew here, wish I could go out and have a nice dinner, but nobody's open yet. OK I'll stop venting now, thanks for the opportunity, can't vent to people who are in the same situation:-*
Drenalined: hello to all for me.
MomHoward: Heading out now, I'll get back and let you know how your father makes out with his boss. Mine has been telling people they can' t take vacation time. Watch me. I absolutely will not hear that. They have gone from a 300 person facility to less than 30 patients and are calling people off work for days. Why would I not take my vacation, right? Besides, oh my god, what if Ivan actually comes. I will not be in this state for another one of these.
MomHoward: Bye
Drenalined: Bye Mom, love you. Let me konw if I can do anything to help.

Methodical Chaos

2004-09-07T21:32:00.000-04:00

I wrote this poem about two years ago and thought I'd share it. It's a little dark. I also seem to lose the spacing when pasting in poetry.. so.. I've done the best I can to get it back within this editor.

Methodical Chaos

Piercing through the blinds, the bars of moonlight weigh heavy on my chest, pinning me in thought.

A tapestry in my mind, the traffic is methodically chaotic,
always coming full circle but never going anywhere.

My chest rises, bending the light and tightening it’s hold.

My eyes fix on nothing, but drill through the ceiling and gaze into space,
I see everything.

Blood squeezes by where veins are tight to bones, bringing physical perspective to my motionless body.

Occasionally accompanied with pleasure, these still moments are more often

scarring reality.

My chest rises again and amid chaos I visualize pure freedom as

eternal darkness.

e. a. Howard 2002

Coffee, Power and a Shower!

2004-09-06T14:32:00.000-04:00

Indian River Drive, Jensen Beach

I found this picture on MSNBC .com, it is the road that my parents live on. In fact it is about two blocks South of their house. On the right in the picture is the Indian River.

My family is safe and the house still has a roof on it. They left the Jesen Beach Elementary Shelter yesterday around 11:30 a.m. There is however about a 28' foot open bow Mako in the front yard. I say tie it down!, posession is 9/10 of the law... ;-) Dad is on the hunt for a generator, mom for good cup of coffee and my sister just wants a hot shower.

I'm looking forward to seeing them all here in Richmond next weekend. We will be headed down to Sandbridge Beach for a week. Hopefully full of sunshine and moderate temps.

Ivan is now following just south of Frances' path. Can we get a break already?

Eye of the Storm

2004-09-05T10:15:00.000-04:00

Off of the Wooden Roller Coaster and into the Eye of the Storm

2 p.m., Friday September 3, Jensen Beach, Florida. Hurricane Frances has stalled off the coast. It’s a category IV storm with winds of 140 mph. The eye is expected to make land fall just north of Jensen Beach. I’m on the phone with my mother, who is expecting the power to go out, getting ready to cook diner knowing it may be sometime before they can make hot meals. She hands the phone to my father who walks out onto the driveway. I hear the winds howl as he tells me the gusts are around 65 mph and describes how the palms are bent over like catapults. He’s been trying to talk my mother into joining my sister Cheryl and nephew Daniel at Jensen Elementary where a shelter has been established. I’m back on the phone with Mom…

“Mom, please go to the shelter!”

“Are you kidding me, do you know how long it has been since your father and I have been alone in the house? We may not get a chance like this for awhile.”

“Well, make the most out of it. It may be the LAST evening you spend together.”

I hear the denial in her voice as she changes the subject.

“My planter just turned over in the back yard, damn!”

I search my mind to understand why she would want to stay…. looking in dark places, places where my mother grieves the loss of two sisters while still in their preschool years, where she resents my father for indiscretions long past, where she cries for her two bothers who died tragic deaths in the prime of their 20s and 30s, where she stands in the back of the funeral home bawling uncontrollably while filled with anger for her father who did not come to his own son’s funeral, places where she sees herself as a brilliant artist, sensitive and passionate, smothered and unrealized. I leave this place not wanting to recognize its implications.

5 p.m., Saturday September 4. The storm is closer but still sits off shore, now a category II hurricane with winds of 105 mph. The gusts at the house are around 85 mph and my father has talked my mother into going to the shelter. Married at 17 and 18, my parents have spent every moment together for the past 40 years. If my father blinks his left eye and twitches his right pinky finger from which the car keys dangle, my mother knows exactly how much longer she can stall him. She knows the precise number of minutes she has before he’ll back the car to the end of the driveway and beep the horn in one final attempt to get her in and off to dinner. 40 years of rituals and learned behavior, all beautiful in some way.

6 p.m. My brother calls. He has spoken to our parents and they have arrived safely at the shelter.

9 p.m. My brother calls. The storm has jutted directly west and the eye will be coming over my parent’s front yard. He fears the house will, at the very least, lose it’s roof. Being a meteorologist, having a thrill seeking personality and being generally as dramatic as an NPR host, my brother is not shaken by much. The weight of his fear scares me.

This morning I get no cell connection to any of the three phones that my family has with them in the shelter. The area has been taking a severe beating now for almost 48 hours.

Nothing I can do but wait...

The good the bad and the trivial: A list of 100 things about me.

2004-09-02T15:41:00.000-04:00

1. I can be very impatient.
2. It is not beyond me to eat 6 or more hot Krispy Kreme donuts at one time.
3. I owned that Milli Vanilli CD.
4. I’m not superstitious, but I think the number 13 is lucky for me.
5. French fries dipped in chocolate milkshakes, yum!
6. Sometimes I bite my nails.
7. I write and eat left handed; I’m otherwise right handed.
8. Flavor Crystals frighten me (just ask).
9. As a child, I was embarrassed by our lack of money.
10. Crab Cakes, YUM!
11. I’m very literal in communication.
12. I played trumpet and french horn for 4 years (5th grade and middle school).
13. I don’t like labeling myself as a democrat or a republican.
14. Baseball caps on cute guys :-)
15. Open windows, not closed.
16. I don’t get close to people easily (as friends or otherwise).
17. I believe VERY strongly in monogamy within a relationship.
18. I’m allergic to cats, but I like them.
19. Total honesty… YAY!!!
20. Hollywood, pop culture and celebrity hoopla bore me.
21. I once used violence as revenge for something done to a family member.
22. Sexual promiscuity repulses me.
23. 427 Ford Shelby Cobrajet – Dream Car (or the new V-10 concept Cobrajet).
24. My first complete sexual experience was with a girl, I was 15.
25. I won a gold medal at the 2002 Gay Games & Cultural Events in Australia
26. Law schools applied to for fall 2002 = 8, Law school acceptances = 0.
27. I get jealous very easily in relationships, although I never used to see that in myself.
28. I have a phobia of using (sitting) on public toilets.
29. Skydiving – yay!
30. I have a strong attraction to guys with blond hair.
31. I have a sweet tooth for baked stuff.
32. Brussel sprouts – YAK!!
33. I listen to my music TOO loudly.
34. Skinny dipping! – Yes, esp. on a hot summer night.
35. Listening to other people chew gets on my nerves.
36. NY, VA, CA, MO, FL - States I’ve lived in.
37. CA, VT, NM, OR – States I’d consider moving to.
38. Coffee shops… Survey says, YES!
39. Bad breath.. Major thumbs down.
40. I’ve raced in NASCAR sanctioned oval track races (enduro racing), I've also raced 1/4 mile.
41. I tend to be attracted to guys younger than me.
42. I cry easily during chick flicks and movies with a social justice theme.
43. People who flaunt money turn me off.
44. I’ve made judgments about people based on their weight. :-(
45. I’d like to have kids, but don’t want to raise them on my own.
46. I believe religion to be a crutch.
47. Introspective guys turn me on.
48. When I meet a guy I like, I get quiet and tongue tied
49. I like and have a healthy sexual appetite.
50. Unless at a live game, I don’t enjoy football
51. I’m pro death penalty.
52. I’m pro choice
53. Alone time, I need a lot of it.
54. I view drug use beyond early experimentation, as weak.
55. I experimented with drugs as a teenager.
56. Sunrise on the beach :-)
57. Softball, volleyball, mt. biking, mt. bike polo, weight training, running, roller blading, rock climbing, hiking, camping, canoeing, kayaking, skiing, snowboarding, kneeboarding... a few sports /activities I enjoy.
58. I’ve a growing like of country music.
59. Skiing on fresh, knee deep un-cut powder, priceless!!
60. I contemplated suicide when I was coming out to myself.
61. I’m extremely sensitive to smells.
62. Yes, I do own porn.
63. Athletic clothing / gear – huge turn on.
64. I have a thing for containers, wooded, metal, big small.
65. Muscles are worthless without character
66. I have chronic lower back issues due to multiple injuries
67. Thrill seeking personality, yes I have that.
68. I have a great job, but would like a change.
69. I wish all of my family was closer, geographically.
70. Star Trek – I don’t get it.
71. Artists are sexy!
72. I do not like to talk in front of a group of people.
73. I’d prefer to fall in love and share the rest of my life with 1 person
74. I wish my parents were happier!
75. I sing in the car when I’m by myself.
76. Black and White photography, capturing life. :-)
77. Morning sex? Yes, please!
78. Letterman before Leno.
79. SNL before Mad TV.
80. Cream and Sugar in my coffee.
81. Shopping? If I’m looking for something specific and have the $$ to get it.
82. Fastest I’ve driven, Approx 135 mph. (1979 280zx)
83. I was once in a car that out ran the police while being chased, I was not driving.
84. Most fun jobs I’ve had.. Airbrush artist, White Water Rafting Guide.
85. Surfers.. :-)
86. I wish my ears did not stick out quite so much.
87. I love my dog! Hi Ling!!
88. I hate being misunderstood.
89. Fresh fruit (blueberries, strawberries) w/ vanilla ice cream :-)
90. I love guys with taut bodies.
91. I can be very stubborn and competitive.
92. I "manscape".
93. I need to read more news.
94. Roller coaster? Yes, but not repeatedly.
95. I had a major crush on a guy while in the Army, but didn’t understand it.
96. I like Motown
97. Olives - Yuk.
98. Fem guys are a turn off.
99. Romantic guys are a turn on.
100. I love learning something new.

When it rains.. it pours! Literally and otherwise.

2004-08-31T13:51:00.000-04:00

8.30.04

Literally:

I left work around 5 p.m. yesterday. The weather had called for 2 to 3 inches of rain between the hours of 1 p.m. and 8 p.m. From my office window I enjoyed the down pour, never realizing just how much rain had been falling. Walking through 5 or 6 inches of heavy flowing water to get to my truck, I still did not grasp how much rain had been falling. The 5 mile drive home which usually takes me 10 to 15 minutes, took 1 hr and 15 minutes. Richmond was a complete gridlock. One hour and 3 miles later, I was headed down the hill on Broad Street near the VCU Medical Center, I could see the water / river running across the road and the lower riding cars pulling off, afraid to drive through. Looking to the right into the parking lot of the newly renovated Main Street (train) Station, I could see only the roofs of cars poking out of the water. Another 2 miles and I was pulling into my driveway after finding an alt route from Broad St. on the back side of Church Hill which was closed due to fallen trees. As I barged up to my house in the foot and a half of standing water, I finally realized how bad things were. My garage had about 15 inches of water flowing through it, and my mud room, the only room at ground level was flooded with about 3 to 4 inches of water. I built a make shift dam and began bailing out the mud room. The rain continued till about 10 p.m. The water in the yard had reached the bottom of my knees and upon further inspection, I realized the water was flowing into the yard like a river and pooling behind my 6' wooden fence.. The water behind the fence was about 8 inches higher then it was in the front yard.. One panel finally gave way like a burst dam, bringing the water level down in the back yard and causing the water in the mud room to recede. Today, I'm drying up the mud room and reflecting on yesterday.. and the other down pour of 8.30.04....

Otherwise:

I was supposed to have a date last evening, with this guy Doug whom I've been on two or three dates with in the past two weeks. Doug is nice guy, smart, handsome and fun to hang out with. Things are moving very slow and that is for the best as the end of things with Ben is still very recent and that is having an effect on my ability to focus on someone new. Never the less, a date is a date and I was looking forward to it, although in hindsight I needed to be here at home dealing with the flood anyway. blah blah blah.... This information is just to give you a frame of reference at to my state of mind as things unfolded last evening.

Ever hear that saying "things happen in threes"? I'm not a superstitious guy, but sometimes coincidence boarders on freakish!

1. I'm at work yesterday and get an e-mail from a "little birdie" telling me how my ex and first love, Tony, just had a commitment ceremony with his partner Dan down in Tallahassee, FL. I'm very happy for him, truly.. a little surprised that he did not choose to share this with me, but I can understand how that might be tough. As news about your first love will do, this set the wheels of thought into motion. I began thinking about our five years together and wondering for the ump-teen thousandth time in the last six years, how it fell apart. Last but not least I felt a bit of self pity for being romantically alone.

2. After beating back the water in my mud room and the thoughts in my head, I sat down to take a break. Ring Ring.... "Hello!" I hear his voice and my stomach rises into my throat.. "Hi Ben". Sigh... There was nothing more at that moment that I would have liked to do than to talk to Ben, and there he was! The emotional train wreck that I was, it took all I had not to let him hear this in my voice. We talked for some time, he caught me up on his reintegration into his life in France and how it's been tough. We talked about trying to see each other when I get to Eastern Europe and I now know that I would like to make that happen. I was skeptical.. would it make things hurt worse, etc etc. But, I just can not pass up the opportunity to spend a little time with him.

3. OK, so after getting off the phone with Ben and purging out what I'd been holding back on the phone, I do a little more cleaning which at this point has become therapy! The repetition of the sponge mop.. drag, squeeze, rinse.. repeat.. became somewhat cathartic. Ring Ring.... "Hello!" I hear his voice and I think.. Nah, can't be!!! "John"? Yup, it was John... If I could list three guys that I've dated and fallen for in my life... Tony, John, Ben. John broke up with me about one and half years ago, after we'd dated for a year. On our last evening together, as he told me he did not love me, I tore out a large section of my heart and left it in his yard somewhere on the way to my truck. In our year together, John was never able to use the "L" word, but as I walked out of his house, he told me he loved me and to call him so he'd know I got home safe.. another thing he'd never said to me in a year. Never the less... after taking a six month break from communicating with him, I'd healed enough to rebuild our ties and we've been doing that ever since. The content of our conversation aside, it was really great to catch up with him, he was the 3rd last night of the "things come in threes" trio and although I now felt good, I also felt like I'd spent the day on a old wooden roller coaster!!

Ring Ring!

Ben

2004-08-29T20:30:00.000-04:00

Half An Hour

I never had you, nor will I ever have you
I suppose. A few words, an approach
as in the bar yesterday, and nothing more.
It is, undeniably, a pity. But we who serve Art
sometimes with intensity of mind, and of course only
for a short while, we create pleasure
which almost seems real.
So in the bar the day before yesterday -- the merciful alcohol
was also helping much --
I had a perfectly erotic half-hour.
And it seems to me that you understood,
and stayed somewhat longer on purpose.
This was very necessary. Because
for all the imagination and the wizard alcohol,
I needed to see your lips as well,
I needed to have your body close.

---Constantine P. Cavafy (1917)

I met Ben at the beginning of this summer, much the way Cavafy describes in his poem Half an Hour. That was a Friday night, I was at the bar selling jello shooters to raise money for our softball team. It is otherwise very rare that I'm in the bar. I say this, only because I find it so odd that on one of the few times I am in the bar, I met such a wonderful person who also was in this bar in a very happenstance manner. So, say what you will, but serendipity is not a mere construct of those seeking to root their circumstances to solid ground.

He was with his friends that night, and I with mine. So, I isolated myself in hopes of making myself easier to approach. We had stared at each off and on for most of the evening. When I saw him motion to his friend and start walking toward me, I felt my stomach flutter and knew I was in trouble. We talked, exchanged numbers and planned to get together.

The following day, I had dinner with Ben, during which he excused himself, walked across the street to a used book store and picked up a copy of the complete works of Cavafy so that I could have the poem "Half an Hour".

Ben and I spent the rest of the summer together, until he had to return to France where he lives and teaches literary analysis and debate. I grew closer to him this summer than I have to anyone in quite a long time. Emotionally and physically, I realized that I was still capable of truly connecting with someone. I have no expectation of trying to have a relationship with someone who lives in another country, but I know that Ben and I will always be close.

-----------------------------------------

Ben,

Thank you for a wonderful summer. I love and miss you very much!

-Ed

No More Free Hand Jobs!

2004-08-27T23:37:00.000-04:00

What's with grocery stores and 4 ft long receipts? Does anyone really look at their "Super Shopper Savings" or use the 2-4-1 Granola Crunch Nugget coupons on the receipt. I can tell you I don't, in fact I get a mild case of guilt over the wasted paper. I envision 1.5 Billion people wading up these receipts two to three times a week and tossing them into plastic garbage bags which take 40 years to deteriorate in the ground. Do we really need to be shown that we are saving in order to believe it? Perhaps the grocery stores give us this information so that we won't forget what they've done for us today. After all, my grocer is my friend, right Bob?!

This brings to mind a huge pet peeve of mine that I like to call, free masturbation. We all have one of those friends, if not several... that must point out every good deed, favor and un solicited nicety they perform. This is the friend that gave you some great shirt...then at a party in front of ten strangers, asks the person who you've been trying to get to know for half an hour..

"Do you like that shirt Ed is wearing, I bought it for him!"

It sounds so premeditated that you have to wonder if they weren't thinking about it when they bought it for you.. ( hummm.. I can't wait to yank Ed's pants down at the party and expose him for the fashion incompetent that he is.) It's always something with these types...

"Ed, did you notice I spit shined your brass flamistat eraticator before I returned it?"

"Ed, how's that bifurcated tongue washer working for you..
I know I swallowed your old one, but I've replaced it with the new model and I only tried it once."

"Ed, will you take care of this project for me this weekend?
You do remember that I washed your ass for you when you were sick.. don't you?"

This irks me beyond words. Do me a favor and ... no, wait don't do me any favors.. just, shut up, take back the tongue washer and give it to someone who will stroke you for your good deed. No petting happening here, I'm all out of free hand jobs!

The Incredible Shrinking Bullocks & Billy's Inspiring List

2004-08-27T01:45:00.000-04:00

So, I just left Cafe Gutenberg and the 3rd edition of the Gutenberg (Poetry) Slam. These events have a strange affect on me. I have a hard time listening without getting emotional. I once wrote piece about this very phenomenon, perhaps I'll add it at the end of this spew. This is also what paralyses me, shrinks my bullocks to a non-existent state and stops me from reading my own material at these "slams"... fear of getting emotional while reading.

There was a time when I thought it was the content of the poems that moved me to tears, but after pondering deeper into what I was feeling, I think it is just the beauty of watching someone express him/herself so candidly.. and yes, it is sometimes the case that the poems are written about a struggle or some tragic event...which may cause one to get emotional, but that's not it for me, although it may compound the situation on occasion.

I believe it is the simple passion for, and what I perceive as the extraction of life from what at times can be a chaotic, baffling and painfully raw world. Which is not to say I walk around thinking life is a dark cruel place, but I am always impressed by those who can get so much out of life through such simple pleasures. At the risk of sounding like a hippie, it's beautiful.

So, at this VERY moment I pledge to read a piece of my own when I have one I feel is worthy. I know, I know.. that is rather vague, but I'm hoping it will drive me to write more frequently and more thoughtfully as to have something that will fulfill this goal in a reasonable amount of time.

Here is that relevant rambling. I wrote it a few years back while sitting in the grass on the U.C. Berkeley campus...
-------------------------------------
Without Walls

A poetry reading ensues and a crowd of students gather. Lost in a moment of pure self exploration, he speaks with a raspy tone, his voice overcomes the distance it must carry.

Beauty inspires, tears form without concern as he speaks in prose of magic that sing of love, dreams, doors and misguided wishes.

I wipe the corners of my eyes, hiding the tears and drying my emotions as if ashamed and ponder my reaction to his beauty. The more he speaks the more beautiful he becomes.

The moment comes together in a flash and I wonder if I will ever make the changes necessary to see myself as beautiful, without walls, without shame, and again I must wipe the corners of my eyes.

e. a. Howard 2001
-------------------------------------

On another note in re inspiration... I've was quite impressed by Billy's "69 Things I Probably Shouldn't Admit" and will be putting one together as well, perhaps not 69, or maybe more. We'll see how it "flows". Billy himself is quite impressive as well, but that is another story.

Meanwhile back at the proverbial ranch, I've downloaded that fucking "hello" software and, although I have figured out how to chat (go figure, a gay guy who figured out how to chat, we are about as rare as sand) I still have no clue as to how you post pictures into you blog.. Someone, please enlighten me!

Phrase of the day: He looked like the north end of south bound mule!

- Good Night!

First Ramblings

2004-08-26T09:39:00.000-04:00

OK - Here is a first glimpse at some of my ramblings. A poem titled "On Your Birthday!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I… only see your blue eyes and imagine looking into them as an old man
On your birthday, while bringing you a three cheese omelet
a puzzle, a cup of hazelnut coffee,
1 sugar, light with cream.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

I hear you…but you are still in my world
Leaving me…. a list of things you’d like from the store
Leaving me….. a note, “You and me, dinner, tonight, can’t wait to see you!”
Leaving me…..hoping that I fulfill your life as you do mine

Leaving me, the tears fall from cheek to pavement, I hear them land
Absorbed into earth, into life

Leaving me, the blood drops from the corner of my mouth
The heat from the blood makes me feel……Vulnerable
Your touch brings……Gravity

Leaving me, alone in YOUR world.

7/29/04 – e.a.howard

Setting out to blog!

2004-08-25T14:25:00.000-04:00

Here it is! My very own venue to corrupt the minds of the bored and masochistic!

It's like Christmas, except it didn't cost anyone anything and there are no drunk or stoned relatives in bad shoes spewing bullshit about the relatives who didn't show up. Bless their hearts! - This was a term I was taught by my southern friends as a catch all phrase that releases one from any guilt or damnation arising from comments made about other people. As a transplanted gay agnostic Yankee, it confounds me that one would need a polite rationalization to keep themselves free from sin.. Try this: TRUTH without guilt! Or.. if you've nothing nice to say, shut the fuck up!

OK, so I digress. Back to my new Blog spot.. PurgePort. From time to time you'll find random ramblings, some purely fictional some autobiographical. Hope you'll enjoy at least some of it.

The following was my testimonial for a good friend's Tribe.net site (another very recent discovery of mine). It gives a little insight to me as well:

____________________

August 24, 2004

Millard.. Milldog.. Big Brother..Best Friend.

As of recent, Millard has become part of my life again. During college and for a few years after, we were best of friends.. and I'll be the first to say..the Dog, is the best friend you can have. I'm glad he is back in my life.

It all started in St. Olaf.. oh wait.. I mean my early gay years when I was still a shy wee lad, afraid to let myself be gay. Sitting in the student commons eyeing this boy in a Yankee cap. "Nice cap, nice ass", I thought. It was 10 minutes before the start of the Sexual Minority Student Alliance meeting ( no shit!! that is what it was called ). Millard, the boy in the Yankee cap, was burning holes through my head and I his.. but I was convinced it was going to be a fight. Whomever this boy was, was going down.. "you looking at me?", said in the remnants of my best NY accent. Who knew he'd become my gay big brother.

Introducing me to his big black, 285 lb, 6'3 tall, cross dressing dorm mate/ who at that moment was humping the wall and singing some Janet Jackson song... I was ready to shoot myself, in the head. And.. Like a bad porno (wait, aren't they all bad) it turned out that every male RA in our dorm was playing for the home team!

Next, Millard introduced me to a fine young couple who lived in the District..whom could easily have passed for Martha Stewart and Martha's now jail bitch, cept these two had a Jack Russell instead of a Chow-Chow. We sipped some fru-fru ass drinks and headed to the bar. I woke up next to some red-neck with a H*&$-on, jumped up and came out to find Martha with some twink under his arm, and it was not his bitch! The welcome wagon had arrived! (Do you happen to have that redneck's phone number Millard? lol)

He did finally show me his true colors (no, there is no rainbow tattoo on his ass) and we went on a double date, camping. Sitting around a cozy fire, listening to Pink Floyd and shooting the shit. Millard was my savior in my coming out years, and I do mean my savior. I'd rejected myself in a way worse than Michael Jackson's body should have rejected that pig nose he had stapled onto his face.

I'm greatly indebted to him on many many levels. He's also the funniest son of bitch you'll ever go running with at 3:30 a.m. Just don't ask him to eat vanilla wafers and postulate on their resemblance to constellations. :-)

I Love ya Millard!!