Too much wild partying with great friends on a Friday night makes for a tired blogger on a Saturday night. Tune in tomorrow for something witty, creative, insightful and inspiring. (If you have said entry, please send that via e-mail.) Same bat time, same bat channel.
Ponderings and Musings
Confidence.
Ring, ring Hello?
“This is an automated message from National Grid. Due to the predicted storm for your region, it is likely that you will lose power and/or gas service during this event. Should this happen, please contact National Grid with your location so we are able to dispatch crews promptly. We can be reached by phone at (some number) or via the internet at us.nationalgrid.com. Thank you.”
While the thought is nice, I must admit that doesn’t really inspire much confidence in this power company.
Expression.
Yesterday my English professor sent me her critique and my grade on the final paper for my English Literature class. The last task was to write a thematic discussion on “The Glass Menagerie”. Those that included an extra page critiquing the school production that was coincidentally showing when the paper was due received an automatic extra 10 points on the assignment. My thematic paper was on the deception that weaves throughout the play and how the characters were “fueled” by it. My subsequent critique of the stage production was well thought out and probably a little harsh. Hey, I’m a gay man that’s been in plays watching a play, I have the right to be a little nitpicky.
The grade was stellar with a comment that boiled down to the following suggestion: “abandon your current major and become a college English professor.” My ego certainly needed that boost after the chinks I took in my armour yesterday. While I think the professor might have been getting a little ahead of herself, I really appreciated her feedback and sent her a follow-up thank you note. She told me to at least consider writing for the school paper. I’m seriously considering it for next semester.
I must admit that in the past I have toyed with the idea writing in some sort of semi-professional arena. I don’t know if I have the attention span to write a novel and I’m certainly not the next Shakespeare by any inkling of one’s imagination, but I do like writing little bits here and there from time to time. When I write I want people to chuckle. I like making people laugh. I think I’ve mentioned before that I would love to be the gay man’s Erma Bombeck.
I loved Erma Bombeck. Author of the syndicated newspaper column “At Wit’s End” and several books, Erma wrote about suburban life as she saw it; a married woman with a smattering of children living in the middle of a suburban housing project that could have been an old munitions testing field. She had a good-natured, humorous outlook on life. With her work obviously geared toward the housewife, Erma talked about her trials and tribulations of PTA meetings, cranky washing machine repairmen, kids that drove her crazy and a husband that watched a dozen or football games per Sunday. I read her books as a young teen and continued to do so right up until her death. I may not have been able to relate to her situation but I really appreciated her style of writing and her sense of humor. It wasn’t something that I wanted to emulate; no, her writing inspired me to find my own way of expressing myself. I don’t know if she ever saw herself in the ‘muse’ role.
So with the inauguration of winter recess starting at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow after that last math final (but really, who’s counting?) , I think I’m going to concentrate on doing a little self-expression through writing. I don’t know what I’ll find but I know I’ll enjoy the exercise. And at the very least, there’s no grade or critique at the end of my words.
But hopefully there’s a giggle or two.
Mandatory Muzak.
I’m calling for a law to be written immediately. I can not believe that somebody, somewhere has not called for this but I’m demanding for a regulation that requires owners of a public restroom to install Mandatory Muzak.
The company I work for part time recently moved from an aging building with a fairly nice men’s room into a not so aging building with a men’s room the size of a broom closet. In said new men’s room there is one urinal and two toilets squeezed into a tiny, tiny space, along with one sink and a monstrous paper towel dispenser.
I don’t mind using a public bathroom. I zip in, unzip, do my business and leave. I don’t want to chat with anyone. I don’t want to discuss the weather. I don’t care what others are doing. I just don’t want to listen to any of it. Not only do I not want to listen to chatter, I don’t want to listen to someone else attending to their business, and this includes any random moans or groans.
There is something very disconcerting about utter silence when you’re squeezed into a broom closet posing as a rest room with another man. As I’m standing at the urinal, doing my business, someone else walks in, shimmies around the paper towel dispenser and makes their way into one of the two stalls. It is then that I start praying for continuous intercom announcements, a random vacuum cleaner, jingle cats or a thunderstorm to cover up the lack of noise in the room. There isn’t even a fan to add to the white noise. I’m not going to pursue other issues associated with the lack of a fan.
The only drawback of having music in a public restroom is if a really good song comes on. You’re sitting and doing your business and “You Spin Me ‘Round” by Dead or Alive comes on. The music grabs you and the next thing you know you’re tapping your toe to the beat and viola! a Republican Closet Case is in your stall. I hate it when that happens.
We have suffered long enough with the trauma of a silent public rest room. It’s time to get our groove on.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thanks.
A number of years ago my mother tried to start a Thanksgiving tradition. While the food sat steaming on the table, she asked that each of us seated at the dinner table say what we are thankful for. The rest of that side of the family, not really being the touchy feely type, would thank the fates for the aforementioned hot food on the table and then ask when we could eat. I don’t know if that’s what Mom had in mind; I always thought she wanted us to pour our heart out and end up sobbing in the mashed potatoes. Well, maybe she didn’t have that in mind, but I think she wanted us all to get all Waltons and say good night to John Boy while the music went DING, ding, DING at the end.
This is the first Thanksgiving in a couple of years that I have been able to enjoy the day without being paranoid as to when my on-call pager was going to ring for that next telecommunications emergency. Tempted to run around a few states visiting family members, Earl and I decided that we would celebrate the lack of an electronic leash by having a simple Thanksgiving at home for just the two of us. He did his thing in the kitchen and I helped out by staying out of the way, cleaning up behind him best I could and declaring in a comical voice “Cook’s not a t’all ‘appy!” whenever he started the mixer on the sweet potatoes.
While I’m a very lucky man and thankful for all that I have (all sides of the families rock, I’m truly blessed to be able to follow my career dreams, our cat is a cat’s cat and I still can’t believe how much Earl and I love each other after nearly a dozen years), I’d like to say thanks to the online buddies I’ve met in cyberspace and in real time over the years. I have no idea how many people read the blog, but since you do, I’d like to thank you for stopping by and sharing my life’s experience with me. Earl and I have met some wonderful people over the years (hello Greg and Bob, Steve and Tim, Tim and Gordon, Thom, Karl and Randy, Eric, Sean and Jeffrey and a ton of others!) and we look forward to meeting many more.
Life is meant to be lived without regret. It’s all a journey and it’s just a bunch of learning experiences along the way. And once in a while it’s good to remember to say thanks once in a while.
