May 2006

Credit.

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I lost interest in American Idol a couple of weeks before we went on vacation. I think it was the week before Kellie Pickler was voted off. Now that I think about it, it was that Chicken Little guy’s lisp that threw me over the edge. I either had to turn off the television or hit the bottle harder than Paula Abdul.

Anyways, Earl came home from a business dinner tonight and promptly turned on the TiVo to watch American Idol. I wasn’t going to watch it with him, but I didn’t want to clean the house or do anything else productive, so I sat down and prepared myself to be underwhelmed.

I must say that one performance tonight blew me completely out of the water, and that was Katharine McPhee and “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”.

Now I pride myself on the fact that I have excellent pitch recall. I can sing a known song in tune and in it’s original key without having to hear it first. If I had paid attention to my music education classes at SUNY Fredonia, I’d probably have perfect pitch in the sense that if I was told to sing a B-flat I could sing it without having to hear it first. (By the way, I can sing a B-flat without prompting, just ask me to do it someday). I feel that at the any serious performer must have at the very least pitch recall and should really have perfect pitch.

Katharine sang the beginning of “Rainbow” a cappella (without accompaniment). When the band joined her about a quarter of the way into the song, she was in perfect tune with the band. There was no indiscreet harmonica bleat at the beginning to prep her, she had taken the ear piece out so we know she wasn’t hearing anything there, no, Katharine was singing on her own musical and vocal ability. And for the first time in a long time, I was impressed with a performance on American Idol.

Katharine captured the emotion of “Rainbow”, didn’t oversing it like Sam Harris did back in the 80s when he wanted to Patti LaBelle and had the stage presence of a star by actually sitting on the floor of the stage and taking the intimate approach. It worked for her.

My instrumental teacher in high school was rarely impressed. With him it was either perfect or anything else was pretty much embarassing. I hold performances of myself and of others to that same standard. I know when I suck.

And I know when another shines. And Katharine McPhee shined tonight.

J.P. is a freelance writer on the internet. To the relief of many, he isn’t paid for a word he says. After a brilliant high school musical career, including his line stopping performance as Mr. Whitney in “Anything Goes”, he flunked out of SUNY Fredonia while pursuing a career in music education due to lack of interest on all parties involved.

Randomize.

Do you want to hear something crazy? Let me tell you… I hate talking on the telephone. And I work in telecommunications.

Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

There’s just something about talking on the telephone that grates on my nerves. I don’t know if it’s the frustration I feel by not being able to see the face of the person I’m talking to or what, but I really don’t like the sound of the tinny voice on the other end of the receiver.

It’s not because they have a tinny voice, mind you, but the audio quality of a telephone conversation really bites. You’d think with all these leaps in technology over the past 100 years or so, we’d have progressed beyond the tin-can and a string sound that we still have today.

Analog, digital, wireless, landline, VoIP, they all sound the same to me. Like a two tin cans and a string.

Maybe I’m a little frustrated because I basically talk on the telephone for a living. Perhaps it’s because I’m asked unbelievable telephone troubleshooting questions at work. “I’d like to move my telephone to the other side of the room, could you let more wire through the wall?” “How do I press ‘0’ with a rotary phone?” “The power’s out, how come my cordless phone doesn’t work?” It goes on and on.

I seem to get into positions of employment that occasionally frustrate me. One job I worked as a radio commercial copy writer. I hate advertising. I despise it. But then a salesperson would jot three words of what the business is about and I was suppose to write 60 seconds of an exciting, engaging, commercial, “make it pop.” One guy handed me a piece of paper that said “memorials, President’s Day Sale.” What the hell was I suppose to do with that?

“This weekend we’re celebrating the birthdays of two fine presidents: Abraham Lincoln and George Washington. They’re both dead and gone, and you will be too someday, better put a downpayment on your headstone during their President’s Day Sale. With Prune Valley Memorials, your headstone will be stylin’ and will last longer than theirs ever did. Make a statement and make it pop when you’re six feet under.”

I do tacky well.

I’d continue this post, but I just got a, wait for it, phone call as I’m on call this week. Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

Snapshot.

Usually when I sit down to write in my blog I start babbling on about one of the many thoughts that are roaming around my head at that particular moment. I like to think of my brain as a container of the organized chaos I call “my thoughts” and sitting down to blog is like plucking a floating piece of paper amongst a ticker-tape parade and writing a little story about it. But I’ve been thinking about this blog entry for a couple of days and I thought I’d see what happened if I tried to put it to words.

I’m not writing about anything earth shattering or wildly perverse or anything like that. I guess I’m just sort of babbling about how I blog and why I blog. I like to think of “Life is such a sweet insanity” as a snapshot of the real me, and as varied as my blog can be, I’m sure you’d be delighted to see how varied my moods and whatever else makes me tick can be.

I’ve been asked why I blog before, in fact, I was most recently asked when we were in Phoenix chatting with another gay couple at a dinner. I write in my blog for my own amusement. I like to make others chuckle and try to make strides to being a gay male Erma Bombeck when it comes to humor. I’m not wildly political, though certain topics do get me stirred up enough to bark out my feelings on the subject. Even though I’m a gay man, I’m not all that vocal about gay issues, though I am totally open about my sexual orientation. I like to think that by just being myself on my blog, I’m doing my own little gay activism but just being a guy that likes another guy and talks about our somewhat ho-hum adventures together.

When I first came out I was very preoccupied with “being gay”, making sure I had the right haircut, making sure I wore the right clothes, went to the best bars and parties and ate nothing but fu-fu food. This went on for a couple of years, but then I met a woman at work who worked with employees with AIDS at the second largest computer manufacturer at the time, Digital Equipment Corporation, and she said that being gay was only a big deal because the gay person made it a big deal. You know, I agreed with her and it was about then that I decided that being gay was no big deal at all and I was just going to be me.

Fast forward 20 years and here we are today. I don’t eat in the fu-fu restaurants unless I have to, as I’m more content to be slugging a brewski and eating me some barbecue. Why nibble on salmon when you can have a cheeseburger smothered in cheese, onions and bacon with a side of fries and ‘slaw? My clothes come from places like Gander Mountain, a myriad of online shops or horrors of horrors, from Target or K-mart. When it comes to political activism, well, I’m more involved with state transportation issues than with anything related to gay rights. I figure that I have been and always will be gay, no one is going to stop me from being me and I don’t care what others think about that. By the way, I will say that anyone thinking that a gay person made the choice to be gay is completely clueless on the issue – I knew when I was in first grade.

Does everything go in my blog? Not at all. While quite open about what I discuss here, there are things that I keep to myself. I learned back in the late 1980s that you don’t put anything in e-mail (and now on the internet) that you wouldn’t mind reading on the front page of the New York Times. Besides, if I meet a someone familiar with this blog in person, I want to have something to talk about instead of reciting old blog entries and trying to pass that off as conversation.

So there it is, I’ve rambled another lunch hour away on my blog. I hope you enjoyed that little piece of ticker tape.

Co-Pilot.

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I’m in a bit of a sentimental mood today. Work is going along as expected. My desk was not as cluttered as I thought it would be when I arrived, so that was a sigh of relief. I breezed through the 650+ e-mail messages that were waiting for me; it’s easy to do when you keep your finger on the “DELETE” key.

The reason I’m sentimental today is because I have a little bit of an empty feeling lurking about. You see, for the past 16 days or so, Earl and I have been together 24 hours a day, seven days a week. On our vacation we did everything together. We laughed, we cried, we giggled, we whispered, we shouted. We didn’t fight, except for one pissy moment I had because his Blackberry kept going off in Central Iowa. And we got through that before lunch.

It’s kind of weird when you’ve been sailing through life hand in hand non-stop and then you have to go to work and do your own thing for a little bit each day. Naturally it has to be done, and many people thrive in the opportunity, but I’m not wired that way. I came from a family that worked together and that played together. My dad works with his sister and brother, who worked for their mother and father, who all owned a business together. And a farm. And we still got together at our grandparents’ house every Sunday morning for coffee and donuts. I’ve mentioned before that I’m a bit of a loner. And Earl’s presence doesn’t intrude on my solitude, he’s part of it. He’s part of me.

So even though it’s been a little over 10 years and we’ll be forging through the household chores together tonight, I’m a little sentimental today. I have a bit of a lump in my throat. I miss my friend. I can’t wait to give him a really big hug when I walk in the door tonight.

Together.

Now that we’re back at home and getting ready to settle back into the routine, today was the perfect opportunity for some together time.

Being Mother’s Day and all, we got together with my Mom and my sister at the local casino for their big Mother’s Day brunch. It was a fancy affair in one of their ballrooms, with a couple hundred tables, tons of food and live entertainment singing brunchy type music. It was good to catch up with Mom and Jennifer; Mom was delighted with her gift from Earl and I, a Black Hills Gold lapel pin with a little rose on it. Sometimes it helps to travel while gift shopping. After brunch we all took turns at winning money on slots and/or table games, none of us had the opportunity to applaud.

After the casino, I drove up to my Dad’s house to pick up our son. My dad and Karen are off vacationing for the weekend, so I had the opportunity to play hide and seek with Tom without interrupting others. Cats have such an advantage when it comes to hiding, being able to fit under water heaters in the basement and all. He knew the sound of my footsteps and jetted for the cellar stairs as soon as he heard and saw me coming in the door. Nevertheless, I finally won the game and off in the Jeep we went. He didn’t complain nearly as much as on the ride up there, and he spared me from body fluid cleanup. I think he was secretly relieved to be heading home. Once he was through he door he started purring and hasn’t stopped since.

Tomorrow it’s back to work after two weeks of vacation. I have to admit that I’m kind of looking forward to the challenge with a clear head. I hope I can remember this relaxed state three hours into the workday tomorrow.

Let’s Go For A Ride: 6,368 Miles.

Earl and I have been home for about and hour and a half. The laundry is tumbling in the washer, the suitcases have been emptied and stored for the next adventure, Earl is catching up on banking and the grass is _really_ out of control. The neighbors must love that.

We drove 6,368 miles.

That means we spent 6,368 miles together in the front seats of a Jeep Wrangler. Two travelers, two best friends, two lovers, two life partners.

It was the adventure of a lifetime.

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Canandaigua, New York.




Tom Wahls.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

It seems like the past few photos I’ve posted have been of me eating. We’re almost home and since we were in the western part of the state, we couldn’t miss the opportunity for supper at Tom Wahl’s in Canandaigua.

I had the ’55 Junker Plate. Very odd for me, because I usually don’t mix my food together, nor do I mix food while eating, opting to eat each item individually.

I guess I was living on the edge.

Mishawaka, Indiana.




The Vacation Is Complete.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

I should put a podcast on my blog sometime. I really like saying Mishawaka. Say it with me: Mishawaka. It’s a really cool word to say.

Earl and I have installed ourselves for the night in, say it with me, Mishawaka, Indiana (just outside of South Bend). We were hoping to get as far as Toledo or perhaps Cleveland tonight, but “Holy Toledo” the traffic between Joliet and Chicago sucks the big one. I really don’t understand why the Illinois Tollway Commission decided to rip up the _entire_ roadway AND put in new toll booths all at the same time. Too many consecutive miles of construction congestion leads to huge amounts of road rage. As an avid driving enthusiast, I must say that my patience was wearing quite thin when we reached the Illinois-Indiana state line.

Earl and I left Minnesota this morning around 9:00 a.m. Central and headed south through Iowa. And Iowa. And more Iowa. And even more Iowa.

Iowa doesn’t look that big on our map.

Nevertheless, I fell in love with the “howdy neighbor” feeling prevalent in Iowa back in 2004 and was delighted to find more of the same on our infrequent stops across the state today. We made a pit stop in Cedar Rapids at their local mall, which had more stores empty then full (kind of sad) and had some lunch at my favorite fast food outlet, Chick-Fil-A. I never can have enough Chick-Fil-A.

I just love the friendly people anywhere west of Cleveland, Ohio. I don’t know if it goes hand in hand with “pop” versus “soda”, but I find “soda” people to be crankier than the “pop” people. Earl and I have been to the midwest and the west several times, and I’ve always noticed this, people are just nicer when you get out in these parts. Tonight Earl and I ate at Famous Dave’s BBQ here in Mishawaka, and the sever actually stopped, engaged in some conversation and smiled while she was taking our order tonight. At home we’re grateful if the server doesn’t dump a drink our lap, snap her gum between the words “whadda want” and spit on my head.

Anyways, tomorrow we jump back on the Interstate 80/90 duet, hoping to get back home by tomorrow evening.

I might have to find one more Chick-Fil-A on the way.

Albert Lea, Minnesota.

I just had the most delightful experience here in our overnight stop of Albert Lea, Minnesota. Earl and I went to a “Green Mill Bar and Restaurant” for dinner, where I ordered, in a very gruff voice, “a tall Bud Light”.

The server carded me. She actually asked me for my I.D. to make sure I was old enough to drink the brewski. I was a little surprised and, just like my college years, got nervous about showing a New York State driver’s license because we were in Minnesota, afraid I wasn’t going to get any beer. But she accepted it with no worries.

I feel so blessed. Here I am almost 38 years old and I’m being carded. Talk about an ego boost!

Wall Drug.

Today we left Deadwood, South Dakota (or as I like to refer to it as “So Dak” to be a complete geek) and headed eastward with plans on getting home this weekend. South Dakota and Minnesota along Interstate 90 are both, for the most part, very flat.

That’s not a bad thing. I love the wide open spaces in this part of the country. But it does make the drive a little less interesting than it could be.

Our only tourist stop was in Wall, So. Dak., at a place appropriately called “Wall Drug”. This depression era drug store literally took over half of Main Street in the tiny burg of Wall and begins announcing itself along I-90 about 200 miles away. Earl and I had a delicious lunch there and we did a little shopping in the souvenir area. There’s a ton of stuff to look at and quite a few places to take your typical tourist trap photographs. If you stop by, be sure to ask for your free glass of ice water. They’ll even fill your thermos or jug for you.

After Wall, we crossed into the Central Time Zone and continued eastward, finally calling it a night in Albert Lea, Minn. (population 18,000 or so). I have my PowerBook hanging out the window, trying to capture some wireless internet from an adjoining hotel as for some reason I can’t get onto the network here. Of course, Earl jumped on our hotel’s network without a problem, so I’m probably overgeeking something.

Tomorrow we continue our journey east.

Mount Rushmore / Devil’s Tower.

I just love this area of the country. We are staying one more night in Deadwood, South Dakota. I’m blogging, having lost my allowance to some one-armed bandits along the main street here in Deadwood; last I knew Earl was doing well at three-card poker with a good looking dealer from Palm Springs.

He always finds the cute ones.

Mount Rushmore.

Anyways, today was sight-seeing day here in northwestern South Dakota, northeastern Wyoming and a little slice of Montana for good measure. We met up with our friends, Tim and Gordon, and there friends and our new friends Scott, Don and Wade and headed out to Mount Rushmore.

Let me back up a few steps first. Tim and Gordon live in Cheyenne. Tim and I met through ebay back in the late 1990s, as we both collect school clock systems. We chatted a couple of years over e-mail, got to know each other a little bit, and then Earl and I visited them back in 2001. We’ve maintained contact electronically over the years and were looking forward to meeting up with them again on this trip. They hadn’t been to Deadwood, S.D. in years, so we decided to meet here, and they brought up their friends Don, Wade and Scott. We had a great supper together last night, chatting it up like there was no tomorrow and just having a grand time. There’s pictures of everyone on my flickr page.

So this morning we started the touring at Mount Moriah, the burial site of Wild Bill and Calamity Jane. Then we headed off to Mount Rushmore. I’ve wanted to go to Mount Rushmore since I was a little kid, and Earl felt the same way, so we were both looking forward to this.

It was spectacular. Mother Nature cooperated for a little bit and gave us a little bit of sunshine and a little bit of cloud cover so we could see all the different lighting possibilities of the sculpture. I was fascinated with the construction of the monument, especially once I found out that they moved Thomas Jefferson’s at the time uncompleted head to another position and various other little tidbits of trivia. A much enjoyed stop.

We then went to the Crazy Horse sculpture outside of Custer, S.D. I have to admit that I wasn’t really that impressed with Crazy Horse. I don’t know if it was the rather large admission fee or what was going on, but I didn’t really get into it there. Oh well.

Tim and Gordon and the guys left for Cheyenne from that point, so we decided we’d head west into the corner of Wyoming and visit Devil’s Tower.

Devil's Tower, Wyoming.

I’ve wanted to see Devil’s Tower ever since I saw “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” as a child. To me it’s always been a mystical place, and as I’ve read on the internet, many, many, many others share the same sentiment.

Visiting Devil’s Tower cemented my “grounded” feeling I’ve had since we embarked on this vacation nearly two weeks ago. The most beautiful sound I know, the sound of the wind rushing through evergreens, was everywhere. Birds danced around the edge of the summit, nearly 900 feet in the air. Devil’s Tower literally stands in the middle of nowhere, complete with rock columns on all sides. It’s awe inspiring.

After Devil’s Tower, Earl and I drove the last little hop in Wyoming up into Montana. Neither of us had been to Montana before and we wanted to check this one off our states “to do” list. So we cruised through a little corner of Montana, where the speed limit is 75 MPH on two lane roads and there’s nothing but big sky in every direction you look. I guess I’m one of the few that finds beauty in the more desolate areas.

Tomorrow we jump on Interstate 90 and start the journey home. Actually, I guess the adventure just continues.