[MEDIA=39]
J.P.
Loss of Words?
I have sat down in front of the computer several times today to write a blog entry. Every time I hope to write something clever, witty or at the very least intelligible, I come up blank. I guess I just don’t have a lot to say today and I have no idea why. It’s not that I feel blue. My mood is actually quite the contrary, if anything I feel exceedingly giddy.
I laughed out loud at a comment to the blog someone left today on the “Flashing Jesus” post. I changed some contents of the comment to protect those that feign innocence, but whoever sent it to me (and I’m confident it wasn’t who they said they were) is one cool cat. It made my afternoon even brighter.
I just finished a DJ SuperCub mix that I will share as soon as I can get it loaded up on the server. I’m starting to get into practice again as I’m negotiating spinning at the local club on Wednesday nights to help generate some business and if all goes well to earn a little pocket cash too. I’m not sure of the details yet, though. (*02 Dec 2007 update: The latest mix is up on the DJ SuperCub page)
One of my favorite relatively recent dance tracks is “Moving Into Light (Freemasons Mix)” by Black Fras. I could play and listen to this song over and over and not complain about it. The lyrics resonate with me and it’s a track that actually fits comfortably in my vocal range. That doesn’t happen a lot in today’s pop music world.
When I’ve given up my body
When I hand it into your care
You tell me ‘friend,’ let go your fears
And fly with me somewhere
Earl and I have been recording classic movies off the satellite for the past week or so. We kicked off the holiday season with “White Christmas” on Thanksgiving night and we both decided that the classic movies are much more compelling to watch than what’s being puked up on the multiplex screens today. I have to admit that I’m looking forward to Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in “Sweeney Todd”. That movie shows promise.
Cheers.
I rarely take this little internet quiz things, but here you are. Is it accurate? I hardly remember how I act when I’m drinking beer, what with the two beer queer thing and all.
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You Are Guinness |
 You know beer well, and you’ll only drink the best beers in the world. Watered down beers disgust you, as do the people who drink them. When you drink, you tend to become a bit of a know it all – especially about subjects you don’t know well. But your friends tolerate your drunken ways, because you introduce them to the best beers around. |
Solid As A Rock.
On Sunday night I was frustrated in a maniacal sort of way. Being thisclose to the end of the semester, I am sensing a feeling of impending accomplishment while at the same time wondering if I can muster the last gasp of breath necessary to get the job done.
Feeling hopelessly lost in a sea of numbers with a text book that might as well have been written in a foreign language I’ve never seen, I tried to make myself feel better by slamming every door in the house. I told Earl that I am not an engineer, I will never be a civil engineer and I might as well practice adding “would you like fries with that” to every question because that’s what I was obviously slated to do in life until I was old enough to be a Wal*Mart (“Always White Trash, Always”) greeter.
They say opposites attract. The world could literally be crumbling around Earl and there he would be, standing solid as a rock, making sense of it all and valiantly putting the pieces back together. I on the other hand would be screaming about the whole thing and slamming the doors shut on Armageddon, declaring I wasn’t in the mood for the end of the world, thank you very much.
In the end, he talked some sense in my head and I went and finished the math assignment the best that I could. For the most part it has been a grand week at school and at work.
Good thing he’s as solid as a rock. I’d be listening to people yell into the drive-thru speaker if it wasn’t for him.
Joyous Juanita.
A couple of years ago there was a big hullabaloo about the big box retailers using “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas” on their signs, sales and other joyous ways of prompting you to spend money. I believe it was the Christian right that was having such a fit about the use of “Happy Holidays”, regardless of the fact that Christmas was sort of ‘borrowed’ from the Pagan Winter Solstice celebrations and modified for Christian use (some believe Jesus Christ was actually born in June), much like the other holidays that are sprinkled throughout the year. The argument apparently lingers on this year and will most likely continue to do so, like a bad fruitcake that comes back year after year to haunt you.
I couldn’t care less about what people say to me when they wish me good tidings this holiday season, but in the spirit of trying not to offend anyone, I’ve decided that I’m going to wish everyone a “Joyous Juanita” this season. I really don’t know why I’ve picked this particular phrase. I guess the word “Juanita” looks holidayish to me. I can easily picture the word decorated with holly and maybe a few berries. I don’t know anyone named Juanita, aside from a fifth grade teacher from my childhood who’s real name was “Rotten Totten”. I was never in her class though so I don’t count her.
I believe Earl has already ordered the holiday cards for the season though, so I guess I’ll have to make like Sears and print some hastily made “Joyous Juanita” inserts to slip into each card before we send them out.
Personally I find this argument to be incredibly ridiculous and that’s why I’ve decided to do my own thing. If I really like you, I might follow it up with a “Blessed Be.” Just don’t get offended if I do.
Familiar Ring.
This morning I made a house call on our friend Earl (who’s also ‘first Earl’) to do some work on his computer. While first Earl and I weren’t compatible in the romance department, we’ve been fortunate to maintain a good friendship over the years. Between hanging out together at Hillside, working together at the local bar and the three of us going to dinner, we’ve always enjoyed time spent with first Earl.
As I was working on his computer, he mentioned that he had found something from when we lived together. He’d been cleaning out one of the drawers in the dining room hutch and came across something I thought I lost long ago.
He gave me my high school class ring. It had been buried in the bottom of his drawer since 1994 or so.
I was delighted to try it on and see that it still fits AND can still be removed from my finger without the aid of butter or other lubricating fluids.
After getting his computer in shape we chatted a bit and it turns out that one of my classmates from last semester, a very nice woman that I would laugh and laugh with during our Drafting class is his niece. It’s such a small world.
Flashing Jesus.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Everyone in the neighborhood (except us) has begun the task of decorating their homes in the spirit of the holiday in as many crass, tacky and cheesy ways as possible.
I’ve mentioned before that the neighbors enjoy lighting up their house beyond belief. Said house is a year-round mess in serious need of repair. They still have bats and witches on display, which have been tossed aside haphazardly for their Christmas display. Every year Freakboy and his ugly sisterwife (probably not their real names) throw gargantuan blow up ornaments all over the lawn and surround them with lights of every size, shade and hue, none of which match. This year they’ve added some new trinkets to the wild mish-mash of color, including a blow-up manger scene. Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like a puffed up Joseph and three puffy wise men. They’ve also added “animation” to the horrific affair by making things blink. Randomly. Everything blinks randomly. In fact, I believe they’ve hooked some of the blow up things into the blinking mechanism because the giant Santa Claus that appears to be molesting Mary also seems to be breathing hard. (I haven’t figured out why Santa Claus and Frosty are both standing at the manger yet). There he is, Santa Claus standing erect, deflated, erect, a little deflated, up and down in time with the lights while simultaneously groping The Virgin Mother. The baby Jesus keeps time by flashing on and off as Santa breathes hard while groping Mary. Why have a baby in a manger when you can have a baby with pizazz and make him blink on and off?
I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.
Common Ground.
To continue our theme of a fun filled weekend last night, Earl and I decided last minute to make the drive to Ithaca to go to bear night at the Common Ground. We’ve never been out and about in Ithaca and we thought the experience would be a good one. It’s 100 miles in each direction but I wasn’t really concerned about the drive as I was in full night-owl mode and this would be an exciting adventure.
I’ve always found Ithaca to be an interesting city. Very much a college town, I’ve always visualized the city as a piece of granola sitting in the middle of a vat of baked beans. Ithaca is quite trendy (at least for Upstate New York) and there’s a bit of a free will/hippy vibe going on that I find to be quite appealing. Earl and I have gone to the co-op market from time to time, plus the surrounding state parks have some of the most beautiful waterfalls in the region. Once upon a time I considered Ithaca College to pursue a music education degree and I’d often drive through Ithaca on my way from Jamestown to my folks house back when I lived in the western part of the state.
I like it there.
I believe the Common Ground is the only gay bar in Ithaca. It’s on the outskirts of the city, high in the hills seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It’s location reminded me of that bar I used to go to on the Massachusetts-New Hampshire border back in the day. The crowd at the bar was quite interesting in that it was a mix of folks from all walks of gay life that seemed to mingle without incident. Earl and I recognised quite a few faces from Hillside and we spent much of the evening chatting with Dan and Mark; we often run into Dan in Albany and Buffalo- I guess he’s as much of a traveler as we are when it comes to weekend fun. The music was surprisingly good and the DJ earned the DJSuperCub stamp of approval with his blend of music from the 70s right up through the current stuff.
All in all it was a good time and we’d certainly go back for another adventure. I don’t know when we became such bear night bears though. I guess that happens once in a while.
Sex.
Sometimes I wonder if human beings have it all wrong when it comes to sex. Well, not all human beings are getting it wrong as there’s quite a few that do it well, but those that are all uptight about sex are the ones I think are getting it wrong. So right here, right now, I’m going to talk about sex.
I like sex. I like sex a lot. I like raw, sweaty, hard, kitchen counter clearing, richter scale registering sex. Having been doing this sex thing for 20+ years (start counting on your fingers, Mom), I’m just as horny as ever. Why do I say this publicly? Because I believe that I am not in the minority when it comes to sex and I don’t believe it’s anything to be ashamed about.
I think much of what’s wrong with the United States today has to do with this whole religious, regimented, secretive approach to sex. Why is this school of thought such a popular thing? Having never read the Bible in my life, I don’t know if God is down on getting it on, but I can’t imagine that the Universe would make the act so enjoyable if it was a bad thing. That doesn’t make any sense! Why can’t people just admit to themselves that there’s nothing wrong with sex between consenting adults? Notice that I used two important keywords in that last sentence: consenting and adults. Really astute readers will notice a word missing from that same sentence.
Why are people so hung up about what others do in the privacy of their home (or seedy motel room)? Why is it their business? I say if you want to swing from the chandeliers wearing more chain than half the Village People then swing baby, swing! If your idea of feeling sexy is to dress up like Estelle Getty a la 1992 then go for that golden nugget. I might not get it but it’s not my right to stop you from doing whatever makes you feel sexy. If you want to take a walk on the wild side, then who am I, or anyone else for that matter, to stop you?
There are people that sneak around in hotel airport bathrooms, tap their toes a few times and hope for nirvana from the next stall. Now you see I have a problem with this because you’re infringing your desires on others that might not be interested. I don’t think that Elmer, who’s waiting for his layover flight to Topeka and just wants to take a leak, may be interested in the toe tapping thing, so you probably shouldn’t infringe it on him. However, these folks do the secret thing because they’re ashamed of how they feel or what they find sexually gratifying. Does anyone else realise how less fucked up the country would be if people were honest, open and candid about their sexual desires? Who cares if a turnip turns you on or whatever.
Now I’m not saying that people should drop their drawers and start humping each other in the middle of cheap housewares in their local Wal*Mart. Perhaps a third keyword should be discretion. I think if you take wild sexual activity and mix it with those three keywords, adult, consenting and discretion you’re looking at a happier place for everyone involved.
Now go enjoy your evening.
Bears Go For A Picnic.
It’s Black Friday. Many Americans have been up for nearly twelve hours as of this writing. They have waited in traffic, snaked their way into crowded parking lots and have dealt with surly clerks. They have been force fed tinny renditions of “Jingle bells, Jingle BELLS, JINGLE ALL THE WAY” over speakers designed for price check requests. They have scratched, pawed and clawed their way to the one laptop per store available in the unbelievable deal offered by Wal*Mart (“Always White Trash, Always”). By the way, said laptop will self destruct while still in it’s wrapping paper. Shoppers have fallen for the hype and the lure of the retailers as the almighty dollar reigns supreme and said retailers try to make their last buck in this gasping economy, all in the name of God.
Earl and I refuse to take part in the mass hysteria that grips the season. Always eager to do our own thing, we bundled up, braved the temperatures in the mid 20s and went for a picnic. Earl packed the cooler with leftovers, we loaded the Jeep and off we went.
There’s something to be said for not following the crowd and instead going for a stroll through small towns and medium sized cities while the rest of the world goes crazy with the pushing and shoving at the mall. We are currently in the oddly named Horseheads, New York at a Panera* (where else?) I’ve always liked this part of the state. It has it’s act together and has a different vibe than the rust belt we live in. We are at the bottom of the “loop” of our ride.
One of our stops was at Buttermilk Falls State Park. There were quite a few people enjoying one of Mother Nature’s countless displays of beauty. It’s here at this point that I’d post a picture of the falls, but this Panera just turned off access to Flickr, even though it was working just five minutes ago. I find this to be quite rude, must have been that “gay bears” tag on my photos that made someone nervous. I think I’ve just spent my last dime at Panera. Maybe I’m paranoid. Who knows.
After this stop we are heading back up through the Finger Lakes with the intent of catching a movie in Rochester before heading home. They have a beautiful IMAX theatre there and we’re going to see what’s playing tonight.
If you want to see more pictures, just click on the photo above. I’ll post them tonight when we get back to home base.
Update, 16:11
So much for Panera’s firewall. Here’s Earl at Buttermilk Falls.
And here I childishly offer Earl some of my coleslaw (which is actually sweet and sour cabbage):
* Earl and I have decided to test the firewall/content controls a bit. Whenever we search for something ‘gay’, that site is then blocked for five minutes or so. This even extends to searches for the phrase “Rosie O’Donnell” on YouTube. We’ve definitely spent our last dime at Panera.
