Ponderings and Musings

I have several random thoughts I’d like to share.

1. I find Christmas shopping more pleasant when it involves a few clicks of the mouse and the depressing of the key ENTER.
2. Kaufmann’s is still Kaufmann’s even though they try to ghetto it down with the name Macy’s.
3. Weathermen need to calm the hell down and stop trying to go for ratings. This wild winter weather that was going to change life as we know it amounted to a bunch of wind and mild temperatures.
4. Two beers in a queer on a Friday night at Tully’s does not a driver make. I’m going to bed.

Getting all this paperwork ready for college is a tedious chore! This week’s focus has been getting together the necessary medical paperwork so that they’re sure that I’m not going to infect the student population with some sort of plague or something. So they need to see my medical records.

My childhood doctor died a few years ago and apparently he took the location of his medical records to the grave with him. I did have a few emergency visits to the village health center as a kid so I thought that perhaps they may have exchanged words with my regular doctor and perhaps exchanged records along with the conversation. So I called them up, asking for a copy of my records and immunizations.

“Oh, we shredded you years ago,” said the friendly woman on the other end of the phone. Knowing that I haven’t done anything too scandalous in my hometown over the past decade or two, I deduced that she was talking about my medical records and not of a recent catty conversation. So there was strike one.

I then called SUNY Fredonia, where I went to college for a year, figuring they had to have had my immunizations on record since they were required for my entrance as a freshman back in 1986. “Oh, we shred records after eight years.” Shredded again, strike two. I replied, “Oh, I would think you’d enjoy a bonfire or something like that.” She didn’t find humor in that.

Luckily, the folks at my high school keep everything for one hundred years, so they sent me a copy of my “permanent record”, including a transcript and my health reports. Hopefully I have enough documentation for me to get into school without having to have a blood test and a new round of immunizations. Glancing at my transcript, Earl couldn’t believe that I wasn’t an “exceptional” student, clocking in with grades of a B+ or so. I told him my high school philosophy: why kill myself over something I wasn’t going to use again when “good enough” would get me through. I had better things to do.

Last night between work and school, Earl and I followed our normal routine: a little din din, some conversation about the day’s events and then a quick check of e-mail and whatnot before I flew out the door for my CAD class. (I need to learn how to be a cad, I guess).

While online I went to one of my favorite bear sites and did a quick search to see who was currently logged in. Normally I get all sorts of invites and quick little chats from men in the Big Apple, as they think that because I live Upstate I must be in Yonkers. They’re disappointed when they find out that a. I’m just chatting and not looking for a quick hookup and b. I live about four and a half hours away. Nosing around a bit, I stumbled across a guy from nearby Albany that had very similar interests as mine and was hot hot hot. Earl agreed with me, letting out a hearty “woof” when I showed him the picture.

As Earl was woofing I then realized that I knew this guy. Back in the late 1980s I went out with Tom, a fellow music education major a couple of years older than me. He had never reached his educational goals and had set up house for himself not far from where he had both gone to college. He was quirky in his own way that was relatively compatible with my eccentricities. Long story short, he dumped me after two states and two and a half years, saying that I was changing in ways that he couldn’t keep up with. Thank goodness for evolution. Anyways, we lived together for awhile after the breakup. To keep it all interesting, we dated other people while still living together and I eventually moved into my own apartment while he set up house with his new found love. I had the opportunity to meet his new boyfriend before moving to another part of the state. He was handsome, extremely talented in the world of art and seemed like an all around nice guy. In any other situation, I would have found him likeable and would have liked to hang out with him.

Sixteen years later, we run into each other online and start chatting. I followed his homepage link and started reading his blog and confirmed what I suspected – he’s very handsome, extremely talented in the world of art and seems like an all around nice guy. We have similar interests (aside from our common ex) and have curiously evolved in relatively the same direction.

I look forward to chatting with him again.

Last night was pretty much a sleepless night for me. According to Earl I did actually sleep but I was roaming around the house sleepwalking. I don’t remember it, but apparently I was looking out the window. I’m sure the neighbors enjoyed the full frontal flash, leaving me to wonder why they were looking in our bedroom window to begin with.

I’m sure a lot of my restlessness last night was due to my college placement exam I had taken earlier. The first two parts were a snap, I enjoy reading so I breezed through the required reading passages and follow-up questions. The essay portion involved writing about an experience in which I felt a strong emotion. I passed on writing about a sexual experience and treated the exercise as if it were a blog entry. The most difficult part of the writing was using a pencil and paper, as I can type much faster than I can write. But I like to think I got through it with my own brand of insight and humor.

Then we came to the math portion of the test. There were actually two math exams, both 28 minutes each. If you completed the second test early, you were free to leave if you were comfortable with your answers.

The first page of the math test was fine, involving simple addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. Earl and I have occasionally had discussions on the way I add because I break down everything to a multiple of 10 and usually do so out loud. It’s how I learned back in second grade and I continue to do that today. I’m really fast at it and if I didn’t say it out loud, you’d never know that when presented with a problem like “8 + 7”, I then say to myself “8+7 = 9+6 = 10+5 = 15”. It’s quirky, I know, but then what part of me isn’t quirky.

So I breezed through the simple math feeling a little cocky. Then I turned the page and that’s when the fog rolled in. I don’t know why it’s important to know the -2/3 exponent of the number 654 but that was the first question on the second page. I had word questions like “A Greyhound bus has left New York and is headed for L.A. It’s traveling at 65 MPH and will stop once for a potty break. How many gay men are on the bus?” I figured the answer was zero since no gay man that I know of would be found on a Greyhound, and marked my answer accordingly. Which brings up another whimsical point. We were told that if we didn’t know the answer to a problem then we should leave it blank rather than choose the wrong choice. Apparently we were penalized for wrong answers but not as much so for blank answers.

Crazy.

I struggled through the first math test and took a deep breath before jumping to the second with the rest of the folks in the classroom with me. Before she started the clock, the instructor told us to at least look at these questions before throwing in the towel. The clock started, I turned the page and all of a sudden “x” was doing perverse things to “y” with “z” jumping in as a threesome, all on the line of a fraction. At that moment approximately 15 people got up and left, less than one minute into the second half of the exam. I muddled through 10 or so of the 25 questions, once I jammed a “10” into the “x” part and tried all the answers on the multiple choice to make it all come together in a reasonable way. I left about 20 minutes into the exam.

“X” and “Y” were still on my mind, and dancing a tango with the chocolate cake and milk I had when I got home from school, when Earl and I called it a night. Therefore, I didn’t get much sleep.

Test results in a week. Can’t wait.

Tonight is the big placement exam for my entrance to the local community college. I have to admit that I’m slightly nervous about the ordeal. To prepare, I’ve taken a little comp time so I can squeeze in a nap this afternoon after loading up on carbs. Come to think of it, I think I’m suppose to load up on carbs before a bike ride, not a placement exam, but some extra carbs never hurt anyone.

I figure the nap will be of great help. I’m a fan of naps. Back in kindergarten I loved nap time. Most of the kids had a blanket that they laid down on, but my father brought home a carpet remnant that I could roll up and use as my nap mat. The teacher would divide the class up, girls napped on one side of the room, boys on the other. I guess there was a fear of teeter-totter hanky panky or something. I know that I often got hollared at for not staying on my mat, opting to lie with Robbie on his blanket.

So tonight is the big placement exam. Three tests in three hours. Reading, writing and arithmetic. I’m not sweating the reading part, heck, I’ll read the phone book if it’s the only thing within reach. Writing? Well, aside from the fact that we have to do it long hand (i hope I remember penmanship), I figure I can entertain the examiner with something akin to a blog entry, as I was told that we get to write about any topic we wish. Now, as far as the math goes, well, we’re talking algebra here and I’ve been given the helpful hint that if I don’t know how to approach the problem then I should just leave it blank instead of guessing, because there’s more points taken off for wrong answers instead of blank answers. But the way I look at it is how many ways can “a” equal “b” divided by “c” anyways? The one math-type problem I’ve never been able to solve is in my favorite sci-fi book of all time, “The Demu Trilogy.” It takes place on an alien planet, where weeks and weekends are of variable length. The alien population has extra fingers and toes all around, so their counting is based on the number twelve. When asked how many days before the next weekend by a human, an alien responds, “Three twelves third.” Earl and I have had this debate for years on what “three twelves third” is. I think it’s twelve, he thinks it’s nine. He’s probably right, since his SAT scores were much higher than mine. I wish the author was around so I could ask him. Maybe I should google him.

Anyways, for tonight’s festivities II have to bring only my social security number. At least I remember that.

So today I’m at work as part of the “skeleton crew” that gets to do the employment thing on the day after Thanksgiving. There’s a small number of cars in the parking lot. There’s a handful of my fellow employees here pretending to do some work. I wonder if our web browsing activity is being monitored today.

It’s times like this that I get a little frustrated. I decided to make a smart business decision and eat lunch here at work instead of jetting home like I usually do because I felt I needed to be accessible in the event of some telecommunications catastrophe going on. But who am I really kidding? Everyone is at the mall or at least sitting on the road stuck in traffic trying to get to the mall. I read in the local paper that people were camping outside of the stores as early as last night in hopes of being first in line to get the rock-bottom prices available today only as we’ve been promised since the Fourth of July.

I’m starting to dream of a “Walton’s Christmas” and am considering making Earl a gift that is something useful out of popsicle sticks. But let’s face it, when I was made back in 1968, the crafty gene was left out of the gay mix, so that probably wouldn’t work. Besides, I don’t like popsicles.

Usually by this time of the year I have a mental list of Christmas gifts I’d like to see under the tree. At the very least it provides a stock of answers when I’m asked the inevitable, “What do you want for Christmas?” If I’m going to be quite honest (says he in his best Simon Cowell voice), I don’t really want anything for the holidays this year. I’ve got all I could possibly want and then some. I just want to spend some time with Earl, our relatives and our friends, eat some good food, share some memories and make people laugh. I want to give some hugs. That’s all I really want this year. I don’t need the latest electronic gadget, I’m not pining for anything showy. You know what I really want? Plumbing in the house that doesn’t leak (curse the man that built our house) and a toilet that flushes without having to plead with the pipes that nothing will clog up (curse the man that built our house again). You know what I’d like to give? I’d love to give Earl a state of the art remodeled kitchen, a paid year off from work, a trip around the world in both directions and the guarantee that we’ll win the lottery tonight, all coupled with my undying love (well that last one I can do quite easily). I’d love to take away all the worries that plague my relatives and tell them that everything is good.

So it is officially The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. I just hope everyone remembers that.

As I mentioned in the previous entry, today Earl and I enjoyed a Thanksgiving themed episode of “Bewitched”. We’ve been fortunate that to date Sony has released the better half of the series on DVD. It helps bury the memories of the remake that bombed the theatres back in the summer of 2005. I still shudder when I think of what a “Bewitched” movie starring Nicole Kidman could have been but actually turned out to be. It’s a shame that Sony won’t go ahead and do the movie again, keeping Nora Ephron far away and going for something a little truer to the original. Nicole Kidman could play Samantha who, in the very first moments of the movie, wakes up from a nightmare and tells Darrin about the awful dream she had where she was trapped in a movie set and everyone was calling her Isabel. Then we’d go on with what we all know and love as Bewitched.

Anyways, before “Bewitched”, there was a movie called “Bell, Book and Candle” released in 1958, starring Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak. It’s a great romantic comedy, with familiar faces peppered throughout the cast and fabulous special effects of the era. It’s wonderfully “late 50s chic” in it’s style and sensibilities and all in all is a wonderful cinematic experience. I could watch the movie a thousand times and not complain.

So of course it’s going to be remade. Alicia Keys is going to star in the Kim Novak role. They’re going to “reimagine” the movie a bit to bring it up to modern sensibilities.

Cue the vomit.

Now I have no problem with Alicia Keys wanting to be a witch on the big screen. But why can’t she be her own witch instead of grabbing someone else’s and trying to make it better? Can someone please tell me why the Hollywood folks make obscene amounts of money by grabbing something that’s already done and doing it again?

I’m taking a stand on this one. I’m not going to see this movie. I don’t care if it’s not scheduled for release until 2008. I’m not going, no one can make me, and I’m urging anyone and everyone to do the same.

Someone has got to start the charge and tell Hollywood, “Enough is enough!”. We want something original and we want it NOW!

Earl and I are settling in for the night after an very enjoyable Thanksgiving dinner. My father and stepmother are on their way home after a wonderful day of food, drinks and conversation. I spoke with my mother this morning, I hope to speak with my sister and her boyfriend later tonight. After I finish this blog entry, Earl and I are going to watch the episode “Samantha’s Thanksgiving To Remember” from the fourth season of Bewitched. It’s one of my favorites.

The picture above is from last year’s Thanksgiving feast and I must admit it’s one of my favorite photos ever of Earl and I.

I have so much to be thankful for. It’s been a decade and the passage of time has solidified the fact that I have found my true love in my best friend. I’m also thankful and grateful for my family and that includes every member of the clan. I wish every gay couple could be as accepted by their families as Earl and I are. Thank you.

I’m also thankful for our friends, especially Tim and Steve and Tim & Gordon in Wyoming, and the folks we’ve had the opportunity to meet this past year, including the guys in Buffalo, Thom in Va., Karl & Randy and Tom & Lee in Mass. I’m even thankful for the internet, for we wouldn’t have met the aforementioned guys, as well as those we hope to meet in 2007.

I think the wine is controlling what I type on the keyboard right now, as this is starting to sound like a loopy awards acceptance speech. I suppose it’s better than the sobs of joy in the mashed potatoes that I’ve encountered in the past.

There’s a bright future ahead and I’m thankful for that too.

Earl began our Thanksgiving feast preparations tonight by starting out with the cole slaw. He likes to make cole slaw from scratch, mixing various spices, mayos and vinegars with the cabbage and carrots. I usually watch from the sidelines, providing support as taster and kitchen help by cleaning up behind him. Occasionally I recite the line “cook’s not a t’all ‘appy!”. Despite his protests I believe he secretly enjoys the comedy.

After stirring the vat of cabbage and accessories he had me test. I looked at him and told him “it needs more arm.” This is a little inside joke we have. Picture it, September 1999. The little mini-mall in the former “Woolworth’s #1” in the downtown area. We have a fast food restaurant. I’m manager of the store and we have three employees. First up is whom we call “Gina Lolabrigitta”, pronounced as Brett Somers did on Match Game, and the hardest worker of the lot. A single mother at age 22, Gina worked hard and was easily depended on. Next up we have Jimmy, a cast off from the radio station I had worked at who said “thank you” regardless of the situation and spoke like Barbara Eden’s ‘Jeannie’ as he refused to use contractions. And lastly we have Josie, a 72 year old Italian woman who had worked in the aforementioned Woolworth’s as a waitress since she was 16 years old. They couldn’t get her out of the store when it closed, so we just hired her on, sort of like a light fixture. She was just there.

We were also shocked to discover that she liked to stir homemade cole slaw with her arm.

This is apparently a tradition in fast food restaurants and diners across our fine land. Earl spun tales of his days as a teen working at a local diner with a big Greek cook stirring the potato salad with his arm. I’ve seen waitresses stir iced tea and kool-aid with their hands, so I don’t know why I was surprised at Josie’s choice of kitchen wizardry.

Earl and I decided to pass on that secret ingredient for tomorrow’s side dish. But it’s always fun to reminisce about the good ol’ days.

Here’s an odd threesome for you to envision. Kelly Ripa, Rosie O’Donnell and Clay Aiken. How’s that for a mental picture? I find the latest cat fight in Hollywood to be a little interesting on several levels. Please keep in mind that I’m a fan of Rosie’s (especially her charity work, though I do enjoy her humor as well).

Last Friday, Clay Aiken was a guest host on Regis & Kathie Lee Kelly. (The last time I watched that show Kathie Lee was still Kathie Lee Johnson. Maybe not, maybe that was “Name That Tune”.) Anyways, this new chick Kelly, who isn’t Kathie Lee, was pretty much hogging the whole show, which could be her right as her name is in lights and Clay Aiken was just a guest host, but there’s room for debate there.

Anyways, Clay and Kelly were interviewing some actor in some movie about something and Kelly basically kept interrupting Clay when he was trying to ask a question. Long story short, Clay put his hand over Kelly’s mouth to shut her up and that is bad, apparently. I wonder how she would have reacted to a sock, but I digress. I don’t know who the genius was that thought Clay Aiken would be a terrific fill in for Regis Philbin, but perhaps I was missing something there as well. Health care worker to reality show contestant to hyperfamous singer to has-been to talk show host? The last couple of times I’ve seen Clay on television he’s been exceedingly smug, apparently medicated in some way and had shockingly awful hair.

La Kelly made the remark that we don’t put our hand over her mouth, especially since she didn’t know where that hand has been.

Now I’m not the brightest bulb in the world nor am the most sensitive clod on the face of the planet, but for some reason Rosie O’Donnell remarked on The View that she found her comment about his hand to be a homophobic remark. My eyebrows went up because as far as I know, Clay isn’t gay (wink, wink, wink). (wink, wink). No really, he’s not gay. (Wink, wink). Now stop it, he’s not gay (wink wink). So while Rosie is complaining about Kelly’s alleged homophobic remark to Clay, I’m wondering about Rosie’s outing of Clay, though he’s not gay (wink, wink).

So Ripa pulls a ripper and calls into The View, live on the air, and basically scolds Rosie for accusing her of a homophobic comment that wasn’t to a man that allegedly isn’t. And now it’s all over the blogs and the forums and whatnot.

I wish I could say that I couldn’t care less, but that obviously isn’t true because I’ve spent 10 minutes typing about it.