J.P.

I was doing research here at work about a local diner (I’m thinking about supper and I wanted to know how late they were open), when I stumbled across information about one of our favorite places to eat, The Little Gem Diner in Syracuse. As I’ve mentioned before, my grandmother worked there for 24 years.

It turns out that the couple I knew as “Aunt Haddie and Uncle Hank”, dear friends of my grandparents, originally owned The Little Gem Diner!

Now it’s really starting to make sense to me why I love The Little Gem so much!

I’m still on my quest to Make This A Better America^TM by supporting local retailers whenever I can. The retail world has become exceedingly bland with the landscape being populated by Wal*Mart (Always White Trash, Always), McDonalds and their imposters. It’s disconcerting to walk into one of the four Super Wal*Marts in our area and not know which one you’re in. It’s a good thing they put “Thanks for shopping at your (insert city name) Wal*Mart” over the door, otherwise I’d be lost when I left the parking lot.

However, I am finding it difficult to stick to my locally owned and operated policy, especially in the department store arena. Unfortunately, the little guys have been wiped out by the big corporations. I liked the regional chains like Hills, Ames and Bradlees back in their day, but no, the big guys had to come in and wipe them out. When I was a kid, I remember buying school clothes at the local clothing store in the village, then walking down to the shoe store, then walking to the pharmacy to pick up school supplies. When I was really small, we had a soda at the soda fountain and the back of the drug store!

At least we still have a good sized locally owned grocery store that we can shop at. It’s called Chanatry’s and reminds me of grocery stores of about 20 years ago, though it offers the latest and greatest in grocery wares. I’ll support Chanatry’s until the day the doors close, even though the prices are a little higher and the selection is a little less, simply because they’re locally owned and operated.

Ditto with my diner obsession. Granted, we have Denny’s Diner offering their stuff 24 hours a day, but I’d rather eat at the local diner down the road or go hungry. Besides the last time I was at Denny’s (2 years ago), I asked for a piece of bread to go with my meal, and they said they were out of bread but could offer me a piece of toast instead. I didn’t pursue that conversation any further. I was too dumb-founded.

I think my locally owned obsession stems from the fact that my dad’s side of the family has owned a lumber yard and hardware store since the early 1950s. I’m worried for the store. I’m worried that a Lowe’s or Home Depot is going to open up nearby and put them out of business. I’m worried that some snot-nosed 16 year old without a clue as to what an 8-common nail is is going to be offering home improvement advice, instead of my father having that honor.

We need to get back to our roots. We need to know our neighbors. We need to smile at one another.

Let’s get back to the locally owned and operated days.

Tom (our cat) is having a hard time understanding the use of computers in bed. It’s not that I’m shunning extracurricular bedroom activities for the computer, that’s hardly the case, but when Earl’s away on business, I tend to bring my PowerBook to bed and read about the day’s happenings, catch up on a few cheesy television shows and write in my blog.

Now if I could only get our son to understand.

He doesn’t understand the whole geek in bed thing. He thinks the keyboard of the PowerBook makes a wonderful place to take a nap. He nudges the corner of the screen, making the pixels dance a little bit in the corner. Thankfully, he hasn’t taken up to nibbling on it yet, for then he would probably be starring in the “Flying Cat Across The Bedroom” sequel.

Not that I would purposely send him flying or anything.

As I type this blog entry, I think we’ve worked out a truce. He sleeps next to the left speaker, on the bed, listening to Mac Arthur Park Suite by Donna Summer via iTunes. He occasionally looks up at me, doing the cat I love you with a seductive blink of the eyes. I blink back at him.

Yep, it’s a truce.

I’m having this need to express myself musically. I started messing around with Garage Band over the weekend (courtesy of the new iLife ’05) and I downloaded some of the free loops you get by subscribing to .Mac.

I now have visions of turning one corner of the basement into a recording studio.

Like many people, I once had dreams of being a famous singer. I don’t know if its a reflection of the self confidence I was lacking at the time or what, but I used to always picture myself as a backup or session singer, not a solo act. In college I always sang back up vocals. In fact, I was at one time able to shriek the high part in “Love Is A Battlefield” by Pat Benatar. Can’t even come close to it now. I’ve sang plenty of solos in my time, especially in high school and college, but I’ve always enjoyed blending with others in a group setting. There’s nothing more satisfying to my ears than a well sung, complicated, harmonious sound.

So I’m messing around with Garage Band a little bit, trying out different effects and instruments and such. I need to land my hands on one of those keyboards I saw at the Apple store so I can start putting in my own instrumentation. I lack patience for my art, but I need to slow down and take my time. I want it flashy and I want it now! For some reason, I have this notion that Stars On 45 is ready to make a comeback as “Stars On CD”, with some 80s and 90s music strung together in a medley set to a disco beat. It’s something that I could easily accomplish on Garage Band. Stars on The Human League, anyone?

There’s one song from the 70s that I sing at karaoke that I could record to a more contemporary sound. I don’t want to mention the title yet, not until I have a little snippet to share. But I think it’ll be cool.

What an odd weekend it has been. Being on call, I’ve had an electronic leash of sorts, courtesy of my work pager. I’ve logged quite a few hours of overtime this week. It’s a good thing that I enjoy my job, or I’d be really cranky about now. But on-call ends tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., and tomorrow night I’m going to celebrate by getting in the Jeep after work and just driving and hitting a diner for supper.

Not that my cooking has been bad this weekend or anything like that.

Last night I went for a little drive, again in the Jeep, but had to head back home when the pager went off. I fully expected it to happen, so I wasn’t surprised or disappointed. I hit a Burger King (since our area has no 24-hour real diners, the bums) and took care of the customer that was having difficulties. I was happy that I could help out.

So now I’m continuing my little project of setting up Solaris on the old computers lying around the house. It’s a slow going project, but I’m getting there. A learning experience. I’m setting up file servers so that if we get Mac Mini I’m dreaming about, we’ll have a place to store all of our music and video files that we put together. That’ll be fun.

I look at the clock and see that it’s kickoff time at the Super Bowl. Earl has called a couple of times, last time to let me know that he was leaving his cell phone in the car because security is rather tight at the game and he doesn’t want the hassle of dealing with the cell phone. I’m so happy that he’s had the opportunity to see this game in person. Go EAGLES!

It was a year ago tonight that the whole blowup started with Boob-gate. It’s amazing how much clamping down there has been on America since Janet Jackson flashed us a nip. Now Sir Paul Mc Cartney has to get his songs approved by some tight-assed censorship board and Budweiser is afraid to show a quite hilarious commercial during tonight’s game. I wish I could join all those red-state people and thank the government for restricting our liberties and doing our thinking for us. I feel much better knowing I won’t have to see a naked breast on television, he says sarcastically.

I personally believe that Republicans weren’t breast fed.

I’m also amazed that while our forefathers spent a couple hundred years, with thousands upon thousands of lives lost, to gain the freedom that we so enjoyed, it took three airplanes and 3,000 people to just as easily lose them. Not that I’m faulting those in the 9/11 attacks, they were the victims of a great evil. It’s the idiocy that has followed that has me baffled.

Now with that off my chest, I’m going to go watch the Eagles slam the Patriots. And watch for my huzbear in the stands.

Earl is off to Jacksonville, Fla. for the Super Bowl (go Eagles!) and I’m at home working an on-call weekend. It’s going to be interesting. This is one of the few occasions that I thank the universe for the cell phone, as Earl and I can easily keep in touch while we’re so far apart.

I’m busying myself around the house as super geek, installing Solaris on our old computers in the basement so that we have a place to back up our files. I’m contemplating shaving my beard off, simply because I’m becoming a little bored with it. I might do an all popcorn and iced tea diet for the weekend. I’ll exercise a lot. And I’ll goof off on the internet half the time.

I don’t think I’ve spent an entire weekend alone since Earl and I started seeing each other. This is kind of weird. Oh well, chalk it up to another experience.

A co-worker is celebrating her birthday today. She is describing today as one of the worst days of her life, simply because it’s her birthday. I think she’s nervous as she approaches the big 3-0, turning 28 today. It’s kind of unfair that she has to work on her birthday (I believe people she get their birthday off), but two others in our five person team had the day off, so she couldn’t really take it off as well. She generously offered to take tomorrow off instead. But it still kind of sucks that she has to work on her birthday.

It’s funny, but as I look back I don’t think I would ever want to relive my 20s. Definitely not my early 20s. I didn’t feel like I fit in with the crowd, I didn’t really know who I was and I didn’t really relate well to others around me. Part of that is still true, I’m the first to admit that I hear a different drum beat than most.

With most gay men, it’s about youth, youth, youth. “I need to look young.” “I need to feel young.” “I need young guys to like me.” At 36, I don’t really feel that need. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that need, even when I was 22. I’ve always been young at heart, but I don’t feel the need to be perceived as younger than I actually am. I’m always looking for new experiences. That can sometimes be perceived as a ‘young’ thing, but I just see it as part of life’s evolution. In my eyes, when you stop experiencing, you stop living. Then you’re coasting, and that’s no fun.

I recently saw an early 50s something guy at the mall desperately trying to look younger. He had an open shirt revealing a shaved chest. His hair was dyed various shades of platinum and strategically placed to cover up bald spots. But his eyes didn’t lie. His eyes revealed his true age, framed in the wrinkles and such that one earns through the passage of time. There was really nothing wrong with the way he looked, but he gave off the vibe of being afraid of what lies ahead. He didn’t carry himself with the confidence one would expect. Like he was playing a character part and he didn’t know all the lines.

I wanted to tell him to just celebrate his life. Celebrate all the experiences that have brought him to where he is today. I’ve recently learned to do that myself… look forward, accept life as it comes at you, make adjustments and changes as necessary and have no regrets.

Even if it’s not your birthday, celebrate who you are today. You might like what you see.

After several nights of restlessness, I am pleased to say that I got a wonderful night’s sleep last night. For the first time in a couple of days, I feel quite rested. I was a little surprised to wake up this morning after a night of sound sleep for a couple of reasons. I’m on call this week, which sometimes can lead to interruptions from my pager in the middle of night and, Earl’s in town and sometimes he’s restless which makes me restless. Last night I suffered from neither and today my mood proves that fact.

I realized a little while ago that I’ve been humming to myself today. Not any specific tune, just a quiet little ditty to myself. “Hum hum hum.” When I left for lunch, I was singing, out loud “To lunch, to lunch…” to the tune of “Tonight” from West Side Story. I should have really shocked them and sang “I Feel Pretty”, but I didn’t want to press my luck.

I don’t know if its feeling well rested or watching American Idol that’s making me feel so musical today, but I’m not complaining. It’s another balmy (32 degrees) February day in Upstate N.Y., full of sunshine. I guess that sparks the song in my heart.

Today was an absolutely glorious day. Work went well, the sun was out bright and human beings seemed to have their shit together. Why is it that when everything is going well, I seemed to get extra pissed at the human condition?

Earl and I watched last night’s Airline via TiVo tonight. I like the show. But I find it so damn frustrating. Are people acting the way they’re acting simply because there’s a camera on them, or do they really act like that in real life? There was a woman who was absolutely put off because her flight to Las Vegas was cancelled and she was bumped to a later flight. She said, not once but twice, that it’s a good thing that she’s self employed because she doesn’t know how the middle class people could travel under such restrictive circumstances, with the meager one week a year of vacation that they get. “Let them eat cake.”

“Let her eat my boot.” As I began yelling and starting to throw things at our television, Earl had to remind me that it was just a television show. And while I’m on the subject of Airline, please keep in mind that getting sloshed to the gills is not how we fly anymore. No, no, no. The martini days are over, you now have to be sober to board an aircraft.

Driving back to work at lunch earlier today, I was absolutely amazed that people were driving 35 MPH on our local expressway, which has a speed limit of 65 MPH. The sun was out, the sky was clear, the roads were dry and there was light traffic. I know the expressway is new, and it did replace a two-lane road that had the same route number with a lower speed limit. Just because the speed limit on the Old Route 49 was 40 does not mean the speed limit on the New Route 49 is 40.

Then we have this ass who thinks that PBS is trying to make the world gay because the bunny rabbit in a cartoon has two mommies. So what’s the natural reaction? Cut all funding to PBS of course! Another asshat in Washington. Yes, Margaret Spellings, its folks like you that get me all fired up about politics. You’ve got your panties in a knot because there was a cartoon that promoted tolerance to children. Why let them love one another when they need to be brainwashed to dislike anyone that’s not of the same color, sexual orientation, religion and/or moral thinking. That idiot in Oklahoma was worried about rampant lesbians, apparently you’re worried about rampant lesbians in cartoons. Go find an iceberg to sit on.

And you know what I don’t get? These young people smoking. H E L L O. Clue phone. It does not make you attractive. It makes you stink to high heaven and our tax money is going to have to fund your medical bills because you’re in the poor house paying for your expensive habit that is killing you. I think that if you were born after 1970 and you smoke, you should be exempt from any medicaid or medicare benefits. Period. You want to kill yourself? Fine. Just don’t do it on my dime. “You don’t know what it’s like to be addicted.” You’re right, I’ve never smoked in my life. I’m too smart for that.

I know I sound excessively cranky, but really, I’m not. Not at all. I’m quite happy, calm and serene today. I am just constantly shocked at the unbridled idiocy that has gripped this country.

Ok, I’ll get off the soapbox and leave it for the other blog.

As I was walking in the house during lunch, I heard a familiar, comforting sound near the door. It was the sound of water dripping, the unmistakable symptom of melting snow.

Mother Nature is being kind to us this week!

It’s the first of February and it’s sunny and 35 degrees as I type this entry. I’m sure there’s more winter ahead of us, but it’s days like this that give me a touch of spring fever. Our trip to Florida in three weeks is going to reinforce that fever even more.

I’m ready to hit the road, top on the Jeep down, sun in my face, wind at our backs.