Ponderings and Musings

So it was 2 a.m. and I was surfing from page to page on the internet, undoubtedly trying to catch up on important topics in world news or looking for creative porn or something of that sort. It was then that I I came across a parenting forum where they were discussing how to determine if their pre-adolescent child (in this instance, a boy) was gay. Now that I think back on the it, it kind of makes me wonder what my google search query was. Anyways, this handful of mothers and few interested fathers were discussing telltale signs as to their elementary school child’s impending sexual orientation.

I find these discussions relatively humorous. Let me preface this by saying that I fully believe that one is born attracted to one sex or the other, or in some instances to both, and that it’s not a conscious decision we make when our hormones surge during our teens. Show me someone that “decided” to be gay and I’ll show you an idiot with a low self-esteem and a non-existent ego. Maybe that’s a little harsh, but I truly believe there are a very few out there that “decided to be gay”. We’re wired the way that we’re wired and that’s all there is to it. Because of our resulting natural predisposition, I believe for some that genes and other DNA circuitry are programmed to care about certain things such as shopping or colors more than other things such as mowing the lawns or playing with toy soldiers. Thinking about a recent theme weekend at a gay campground, perhaps that last example isn’t such a good one.

Anyway, the forum members were mentioning that this concerned parent should watch for the stereotypical telltale signs: the boy wanting to grow his hair long or wanting to play with Barbie dolls or showing no interest in trucks. I find these barometers to be rather unwieldy in today’s environment. First of all, since the metrosexual movement is still somewhat present it’s difficult to tell ascertain the sexuality of a youngster by things such as long hair, earrings in the wrong ears and whatnot. Hell, there’s angry, straight gang members acting all tough like and running around with eyebrows stylized like a 1920s movie starlet and in pink shirts with popped collars. What’s long hair going to prove? I think parents would be relieved if their child wanted just their ear pierced, what with all the piercings one encounters today. This isn’t going to tell the parent anything.

I guess it was easier for my parents’ generation; in many instances they simply hiked up the pants leg of their youngster and if their little boy had black and blue marks on his shin then odds were they were gay, because the black and blue marks were undoubtedly from secret attempts to spin from Diana Prince to Wonder Woman and the resulting banging into the coffee table.

One ‘knowledgeable’ person suggested that if the little boy was interested in cats instead of dogs then he was going to grow up to be a ‘flamer’, as he so eloquently described it. Wrongo. If the boy likes cats then he’s going to be straight because only lesbians like cats and lesbians like girls.

Duh.

Another suggested an interest in comic books would indicate that he’s not gay. Apparently straight-destined boys want to Superman or Batman. Hello, wrong again. I loved comic books and when as a kid I had to settle for being “Robin” when in fact I wanted to enchant “Oh Zephyr Winds which blow on high, lift me now so I can fly” but not wear a skirt. Just because the youngster is pulling a Superman doesn’t mean he wouldn’t rather be Catwoman.

I had to stop reading the discussion when a woman suggested that she have the boy look at his shoe and if he turns his foot one way he’s gay and if he turns it the other he’s straight.

Perhaps a Rockettes kick would have been the indicator.

Who in their right mind brings the camera while grocery shopping?

I am seriously considering asking for another washer and dryer for our home. And quite frankly, I find the thought ridiculous. It’s not that I have some sort of weird laundromat fetish (though I do find experiences at the laundromat oddly enjoyable) it’s just that I want to get the task done as quickly as possible.  I don’t know how large families keep up with laundry. Hell, I don’t know how couples with a kid or two keep up with laundry. I can’t keep up with laundry and there’s only two of us. It’s a good thing Tom wears his fur coat 24/7.

Earl and I are going to a business gathering tonight. We need to look presentable so that means I can’t just throw on a pair of baggy shorts and a t-shirt as I’ve become accustomed to since becoming a college student. I need to look nice and Earl likes to do the same. This event, coupled with our recent camping excursion, has resulted in my being handed the task of making sure the laundry is caught up.

I still live by the “empty washer and dryer by the end of Sunday night” rule, however, this week I achieved the goal by not doing any laundry. Running around the Mulberry Bush dictates that we should do our wash on Monday so that’s what I did. Except that I lost interest after the first load and a half. I think I was distracted by “Leave It To Beaver” being moved to another time slot on TV Land. Perhaps it was an engaging chat on insant messenger. Whatever the reason, Earl and I were knee-high in dirty clothes in the laundry room and Earl gave me “the look”.  I hate it when he gives me “The Look”, which is not to be confused with “The Look of Love” or even “The Look of Lust”. This was “The Look of Laundry”, which is almost as deadly as “The Look Of You Spent Money Again”.

One of the issues I have with laundry is that we both have closets full of clothes but Earl has elected to limit his wardrobe to two pairs of work pants, two pairs of jeans and a smattering of shirts. Since 2+2=4 (thanks college math!) and there’s seven days in the week, and probably many more ensemble changes, this means that I could theoretically run overtime on keeping up with the wash.

I’d continue this entry but the dryer just played it’s annoying buzz to let me know it’s time to get hustling with the laundry.

While many Americans remembered our war heroes and the unofficial beginning of summer in these parts with a picnic or other celebratory gathering, Earl and I decided to get busy around the house. After all, to have a picnic on the patio, you have to have a patio.

Last week we bought all the furniture for our new patio. Today we assembled it. It looks lovely and Earl has a posted a photo on his blog.

When we got home from New York yesterday, the first thing I noticed was that my collection of school clocks were all stopped at 12:59. The master clock that runs everything decided to blow up a circuit board so we haven’t known what time it was until just a few minutes ago, when I cobbled up a different way of getting the clocks running. I’m praying to the Time Lords that a new circuit board isn’t expensive otherwise the cobbling may stay permanently cobbled for a while. On the bright side, we’re no longer stumbling around the house wondering what time it is as all the clocks are functioning once again.

We also moved our lilac bush to a more prominent location in the front lawn. When I originally planted the lilac bush three years ago I put it a tad too close to the front porch. Today we moved it into a better spot that should give it ample room to grow. I always get nervous during my “tree relocation projects” but the two pine trees I moved a couple of weeks ago seem to be doing well. I’m hoping the lilac bush follows their lead. We also planted a new evergreen in the front landscaping to replace the bush that didn’t survive the winter. It’s nice to have all live trees and shrubs for the neighbors to look at instead of having a dead one here and there. It’s so much more cheerier.

I’ve been given orders by the big guy to make sure the camper is cleaned out and ready to go by the weekend. I get to clean the camper because that’s what full-time college students do after class during summer semester. On Friday we’re off to Hillside for some fun in the woods with other bears.

I’m already looking forward to it.

Ask any person on the street on what they like most about staying in a hotel and the answer will vary from person to person. Some like the idea of staying away from home. Others like that they’ve broken the routine and enjoying the fact they’re not sleeping in their own bed.

I like the supply of endless hot water.

I like my showers and baths hot. I love hot water. I know they say that you should use warm water instead of hot water, because hot water ages your skin prematurely. I don’t care. I love the heat of the hot water and I love the feeling of a good steam cleaning.

When the builders of our current home installed the plumbing they were obviously high from pipe joint compound. I’ve seen bigger hot water tanks in Barbie’s Dream House. We have a jacuzzi tub that is best filled by boiling water in the spaghetti pot on the stove and then dumping it into the tub while it’s filling from the tap because there’s only enough hot water to barely cover the jets. Showers in our home last no more than 10 minutes unless you want to switch to what I call the “Ice Follies”. Wash, rinse and repeat quickly or else you’ll feel like a polar bear before you finish the “repeat.”

Someday we’re going to fix this problem.

So in the meantime, when we’re traveling I revel in the fact that we have virtually unlimited hot water available. I wash, rinse and repeat and sometimes I “repeat” twice. I just stand under the shower head and let the hot water soften every nook and cranny of my body just because I can. I sometimes accompany the experience with a few “oohs” and “aahs” in an audible manner. This probably doesn’t please Al Gore but I figure with all the hot water that we’re not using at home (because we run out), Mother Earth owes me a few shreds of luxury from time to time.

I’ve started and abandoned countless blog entries today. I’m not cranky by any manner nor am I depressed or anything like that. Since yesterday’s blow up on “The View” between Rosie and Elisabeth with an “S”* I’ve decided to do further research on The War on Terror and not surprisingly, it’s not pretty. None of it. I look and look and nowhere do I find anything encouraging. Lots of money, lots of dead soldiers, lots of dead civilians. Six human beings, six soldiers have died in Iraq in the past 24 hours. I’ve watched the news shows and I’ve seen several “important” stories: Rosie vs Elisabeth with an “S”*, Anna Nicole Smith’s sister wants to look like her dead sister and Jordin spelled wrong Sparks won American Idol.

It’s seems kind of silly or rather trivial to write about the woman in line in front of us at Panera last night taking almost ten minutes to order, after demanding all vegetables be removed from the tuna “salad”.

On the bright side, Earl surprised me with a little tidbit of news: we’re spending two nights in New York instead of just driving down for the day on Saturday. Let’s hear it for the Hilton Honors Reward Club! So we’re going down tomorrow afternoon and staying until Sunday for GB:NYC4. Now that’s something to get excited about.

*I’ve referred to Elisabeth with an “S” as ‘Elisabeth with an “S”‘ since her Survivor days back when I cared about such shows. She’ll always be the little tramp that stayed on the island far too long in my book.

I decided to take a little break from blogging this weekend just for the heck of it. Earl and I have been keeping busy with picking up patio furniture, amassing everything required to build a set of stairs for the patio and going to bear night in Albany.

I guess I’ll be in a bloggy mood tomorrow after my return to college.

It’s all good.

I am on public wi-fi once again, tonight I am sitting in the terminal at Syracuse Airport. I’m waiting for Earl’s plane to land as his flight is expected in the next half hour or so.

I really don’t know how people fly regularly as part of their business responsibilities. Earl flew with a colleague to Tennessee. They were booked on the same flights and were to sit side by side on all four legs of the journey. For some reason Earl got bumped to standby while his colleague didn’t. Since they had driven to the airport together yesterday morning, the logistics didn’t work out when Earl ended up sitting in D.C. for five hours waiting for a new flight while his colleague flew home as scheduled.

This is where I come in.

I don’t mind picking Earl up at the airport at all, in fact I enjoy it a lot. I think it’s important to have your loved one waiting for you when you step off a flight, especially after a long day of waiting in airports.

I am once again sitting in a service area on the New York State Thruway. This service area of choice is called Scottsville and is in the Rochester area. Earl is out of town on business in Knoxville, Tennessee, hence my little road trip today. I just got off the phone with him and wished him sweet dreams. He was concerned about my driving home this late (I still have over two hours to drive and it’s currently 10:45 p.m.) He forgets that I love driving at night.

I spent the day driving to the southwestern most part of New York State and explored around the city of Jamestown. Once upon a time I lived there. I actually had two appearances in Jamestown, 1987-1988 and 1990-1991. I’ve taken Earl there a couple of times since. Today I spent quite a bit of time there looking around and reminiscing.

I find Jamestown to be an interesting city. First and foremost it’s the hometown of Lucille Ball. You can not look in any direction in the downtown area without seeing an image of Lucy on a billboard or a poster or on a building. It’s also home to Natalie Merchant and the 10,000 Maniacs, and her music is still quite prevalent on the local station, SE 93.

The area around Jamestown is also very scenic. Rolling hills lead the way to Chautauqua Lake. While Chautauqua Lake is similarly sized, it doesn’t really fit in with the neighboring Finger Lakes of Upstate New York. It sort of does it’s own thing. Wineries dot the shoreline of nearby Lake Erie. Old villages such as Fredonia and Falconer still have active, vibrant downtown areas. It’s hard to describe, but I feel very comfortable in the terrain and vibe of Chautauqua County. While hilly, it still feels expansive. In the Mohawk Valley, where we live now, it’s hilly but it feels very closed in to me. I never feel completely settled in the Mohawk Valley. The pace in Jamestown is a little more relaxed and the natives are decidedly friendlier. I think it’s because that corner of The Empire State is knocking on the Midwest’s front door, and I’ve always been a fan of the Midwest.

As I drove around Jamestown and Chautauqua County today, I realized that when I had lived there I never really allowed myself to enjoy the experience. I was part of a relationship that wasn’t going very well. He had grown up in the area and was constantly looking for a way out. I didn’t allow myself to like that area simply because I was always being shown the negative aspects to living there. “It snows.” “There’s no ocean.” “It’s not progressive.”

Looking back at myself almost 20 years ago, I guess I’ve since learned that life is what you make of it. While I believe that we have a basic idea of what we’re going to do when we come into this life (via reincarnation), I fully believe that you make your own paradise or you make your own hell. My ex was choosing his own hell and trying to pull me into it. (By the way, he deserted the area long ago and lives somewhere on the ocean in California. I hope he’s happy. I don’t need to confirm if he is or not. I don’t really care.)

Today I saw the area in a whole new light and I really liked what I saw. It felt good. I felt like my smiles and warm feelings chased away the negativity I had 20 years ago. While stopped for supper, I cheered on the Buffalo Sabres right along with the rest of the crowd. (Jamestown is about 80 miles from Buffalo.) I really like the sports fan pride that’s so obvious as you drive around. We don’t have that at home. I told Earl I was going to start cheering on Buffalo for all sports and he told me “not football.” I told him, “we’ll see” (Earl is an Eagles fan).

So now I’m getting back on the Thruway, totally sugared up with a couple of donuts from Tim Hortons (thank the Universe they have Tim Hortons out here!) and ready to rock the road.

Mark’s blog entry from today got me thinking about MySpace and all it’s fellow wannabes. I must say that I don’t understand what the attraction of that site is.

I once registered for the site and then found myself completely stumped, frustrated and angered by the navigational tools they provide. It has the worst software interface known to man. I don’t know how people can deal with the flashing boxes, the hideous color schemes and the blaring music from nowhere. Boxes dance, mock LEDs jump up and down to rhythm from some banal track blaring from my speakers against my will and backgrounds clash with text in all sorts of hideous manner. I was once talking (in real-life) with a guy who mentioned that he was a blogger. Always eager to chat with other bloggers (even though I recognize that I’m not a *serious* blogger by any means), I asked him what software he used. He said his blog was on MySpace.

Uh, no. That’s not a blog. That’s a travesty.

For the few days that I was registered on the site I was nearly buried in requests from women wanting to be my “friend”. Some sent pictures which included lots of boobage. While I’m somewhat flattered by this, I can’t help but wonder if they were reading my profile which included the fact that I’m a gay bear that enjoys all that gay bears usually enjoy. Gay bears usually don’t enjoy boobage.

I also have a problem with the fact that MySpace is owned by Fox Interactive Media, which in turn is owned by News Corp. The folks at News Corp. are a little too Patriot Act happy; I wonder if they would feel obligated to take anything I posted on MySpace and promptly turn it over to the government. “Put him on the way gay list.” Granted, you can find anything on MySpace by a simple Google search, but I want Bush Lite to have to work for my information.

I’ve talked with other people face to face regarding MySpace (in a certain place, sorry I felt the need to go for the third rhyme) and have discovered that people are either really excited about the site or they dislike it immensely (like me). I have real-time friends that have made lots of friends and connections on MySpace and are often going crazy with text messaging and IMming the folks in their circle. Some awake in the middle of the night to a “New Message” alert on their cell phone. My friend Shirley often commented that it’s a sad reflection of our society that people feel they need to get electronically involved, instead of going outside and enjoying what the real-world has to offer. “Get some sunshine!”

I agree with her (he says as he’s typing on his computer in the dining room).

I think the final thing that put the nail in the MySpace coffin for me is the fact that Anita Bryant has a MySpace page. Somehow I find this extremely wrong (one reason being that I thought she was dead.) I wonder how many lesbians are hitting Anita up for some fun and showing her some boobage.