Bike Ride.

I jumped on my bike and rode 24 km (about 15 miles)1 this morning. I had a burst of creativity about a third of the way into the ride and I formulated a bunch of blog entries I’m going to tackle over the next couple of weeks. I even remembered to write down my thoughts when I arrived home.

By the way, I have discovered the bliss of no underwear under my bike shorts. w00t!

Here’s a snippet of the ride. Notice I don’t know what the date is.

1 In an effort to support my sister who now lives in Canada (most of the time) and because I am such a geek and this weird need to make myself stand out a bit, I have made a personal conversion to metric. Well, most of the time.

Night and Day.

I’m always amused when I read various blogs from big city folk and they talk about how the clubs are too busy and things are just too gay gay gay some days. There is just simply too much to do and they have no idea how they are going to fit it all into their schedule.1

After a one week absence, last night I DJ’d at the only gay club within 50 miles of our house. It’s my regular Friday night gig and one that I moderately enjoy. I have to tame my music selection considerably in order to keep the crowd’s attention, as the belief in these parts is that if you haven’t heard it regurgitated on the radio and can’t sing the words to it, it’s not worth the time or energy to dance to. At least I have gotten them trained to realise that remixes are o.k. and that super electronically augmented Britney is still super electronically augmented Britney regardless of what has been done to the song to make it a little more bearable.

There were less than 20 people in the club the entire night. At 12:50 a.m. I couldn’t continue the gig in good conscious and drain one of the cash registers with my appearance fee, so I slashed my prices faster than you can say Wal*Mart (Always White Trash, Always), popped in one of my pre-mixed CDs that would carry them to closing and said good night. It wasn’t that I couldn’t fill the dance floor with the music selection, there wasn’t anyone to get onto the dance floor to begin with. The club used to thrive and the dance floor used to be packed. Last night I considered shooting off a cannon to see if I could hit anyone.

At first I took this personally and figured that this old warhorse has run his course and can’t draw the crowds in like he used to. But as we made our way home Earl and I drove through the Brewery District and found all the clubs there dead as well. There just ain’t any people here.

That kind of sucks.

Earl and I do a lot of traveling to keep our schedules busy, to play with those that think like us and to find a day that is just too gay gay gay. So if you’re a reader from a big city that has managed to squeeze the time to read this entry into your hectic schedule, please be advised that there are many of us out here that have little to do outside of bitching about the small town we live in on our blog.

1 This is not to be confused with being too immersed in the culture. Sometimes too much of a good thing is really too much of a good thing, but it’s still a good thing.

Frozen Time.

Enjoying Brunch_2769577332_o_1024

This has been an interesting week for me. Last weekend was a long weekend for us. We didn’t get home from our adventure in Toronto until Monday evening, and that was after a stop at the hospital to meet the baby boy my sister had given birth to that day.

Work has been going along phenomenally well this week. I finally signed the papers that sealed the deal that I would be a full-time employee come Labor Day. I am very excited about working full-time again. Things on the work front have just “clicked” into place. I don’t dread getting up in the morning, I embrace it.

The people that have said that “life really begins at 40” are pretty much dead on. In my 20s I had no idea who I was. In my 30s I knew who I wanted to be. At 40, I feel like I’m the person I was meant to be.

The picture above is Earl and I enjoying brunch on the shores of Lake Ontario in Toronto last weekend. We walked along the paved trail and we talked about things that only lovers talk about. We reveled in the sun and lost ourselves in the shadows. I couldn’t ask for a better partner for this crazy thing we call life. He’s behind me no matter what I do, say or feel. When he said “I do” all those years ago he really meant it (as did I). I never forget how fortunate I feel.

We made new friends last weekend and we solidified growing friendships with others. We played with those that play like us. As we crossed borders, lines were blurred. We hung out and chatted with old friends this week. We drank with old friends that party like us. New family members made their appearance and old family members came to greet him. I stand surrounded by those the care for me and I stand and care for those that might need a piece of me from time to time.

I always believe that life is all about learning. And what I’m learning is that life is really and truly good.

Hold On Tight.

The week is flying by at an incredible rate. Earl and I just got back from another trip to Syracuse, where we saw my sister, brother-in-law and the two boys (Dave’s first son and the new little guy). He is doing splendidly for being three weeks early, but his mum and dad haven’t had much time to sleep in the hospital this week. Apparently people are in and out of the room on a 24 hour basis so they catch little catnaps here and there. I think Jennifer might be discharged early tomorrow or Friday.

I’ve been keeping busy taking care of Earl, who had to have a tooth pulled instead of the planned root canal yesterday and trying to keep peace between the cats. Tom doesn’t like having another cat in the house and Xena, Jennifer’s cat, doesn’t acclimate well to a change in her surroundings. She buries herself between the covers on the spare bed and hisses at things. A bird will fly by the window, she hisses. The phone ring, she hisses. We try to make the bed and she throws a damn hissy fit. The only time she isn’t hissing is when she’s eating a treat I gave her. Instead she growls between swallows. She refuses to come out of the bedroom, so she has a litter box, food, water and familiar toys in there. Does she bat playfully at the toys? No. She wedges herself behind the computer and hisses.

I have no idea what to do to get her to calm down. I guess it’ll just take time.

Meanwhile, we are going to have a selection of houseguests for the next month or so. This should all be very interesting.

Well hello Little Man.

Earl and I were driving home from Toronto along the QEW. It was around 1 p.m. that a very special call came from my aunt.

“You’re an uncle. He weighs 6 lbs and 13 ounces and he’s healthy. Your sister is doing very well.”

Mom and Jennifer had said yesterday that they were heading to the hospital. My sister said there was no reason to come home from Toronto early, so we didn’t. The Little Guy was due on the 9th of September. He decided to do things his way and make his grand entrance on the 18th of August instead.

Earl and I stopped at the hospital on our way through Syracuse and visited with my sister and the little guy’s grandparents. I got to hold him for a while. My life changed a little bit at that moment. He looks like his Dad with some of my sister’s touches and was sleeping peacefully as he laid in my arms.

We planned our trip to Toronto early in my sister’s stay at our house figuring she had a few weeks left before she would be heading to the hospital. I guess the Little Guy had different plans for us all.

Oakville, Ontario.

In an odd twist of irony Earl and I are spending the night at my sister and brother in law’s house outside of Toronto tonight whilst she is spending the night at our house in the states. Earl and I are in Toronto for the weekend.

It should be a very intriguing weekend. We are looking forward to meeting up with some friends.

Tick Tock.

When a first-time visitor arrives at our house it usually only takes a few minutes for them to notice a “click-click” sound in the background household noises once a minute. That’s when I show them my collection of school clocks wired throughout the house.

I don’t talk about my clock collection very much here but I have a collection of school clocks made by The Standard Electric Time Company. These are the type of clocks that were found in most classrooms throughout the 20th century and are characterized by that familiar click-click sound that advances the time each minute. Thousands of students have watched these clocks over the years, waiting for that minute hand to click to dismissal time.

I’ve been fascinated with these clocks since my first day of kindergarten. I remember sitting on the floor of Mrs. Mosher’s1 room in a big circle. Apparently we were waiting for a bell to ring to announce the start of the day. We watched the clock. It clicked, causing the hand to move backwards slightly, and then it clicked again. The minute hand landed on 9:10. A bell was heard and then the principal, Mr. Bellardini, welcomed us to school. The minute hand continued it’s trick throughout the day, stepping back slightly before moving on to the next minute. The really neat thing was that all the clocks in the school did it at the same time. It didn’t matter if the clock was round or square, had a speaker or not attached to it’s casing, all the clocks said the same time and marched ahead through the day in unison.

I found this very fascinating.

When Earl and I moved into our first house back in 1997 I decided that I wanted to start collecting these clocks and via the internet I found that there were others that shared the hobby as well. In fact, that’s how we met our friends Tim and Gordon in Cheyenne; Tim and I both share an interest in these clocks.

Some find it unusual that a high tech geek like me enjoys the simplicity of this system of clocks. The clocks in the house actually don’t keep in time; as slave clocks they just jump ahead via a magnet, some gears and a short electrical impulse from the master clock in the basement. Most of these systems were controlled by pendulum clocks that resembled industrial grandfather clocks. As progress, um, progressed, the pendulums were replaced by motors, and later, electronic circuit boards. The master clock in our house is from a hospital in Bennington, Vermont. It’s an electronic clock made by the same company, dating 1985. It doesn’t like thunderstorms and occasionally needs parts replaced. This is where the high-tech geek in me kicks in, I have the master clock wired to the internet so that it’s always in time with the atomic clock in Boulder.

I find it relaxing to work on my clocks. Some are nearly 100 years old and they continue to do as they were designed, move ahead once a minute as ordered by an electrical impulse. No two clocks in the house are alike but they are all made by The Standard Electric Time Company. I sometimes marvel at how many times that minute hand has jumped ahead each minute since the clock was built.

And time just keeps marching on.

1 Mrs. Mosher was the same teacher that told my parents that I was “mentally retarded” because I wouldn’t color between the lines and I jammed my papers into my book bag each day. Even back then I didn’t sweat the small stuff. I like to think she just didn’t get me. Later achievements (and multiple IQ tests) proved that she just didn’t know what to do with this little red headed gay boy.

Crack.

After work I treated myself to a little 100-calorie pack of chocolate chip cookies. They were delicious and hit the spot after a long day at work. Unfortunately, I also broke a tooth on one of the cookies. I now have a sharp piece of tooth on the tooth that has been declared a candidate for a root canal. I’m trying to hold out until my dental insurance returns in 60 days. I think I’ll be o.k., it doesn’t hurt me at all.

We didn’t make it to Saranac Thursday tonight as my sister drove in from Toronto to move in for a couple of months. She is in the ninth month of her pregnancy. Her husband is playing hockey in Switzerland this season. She and the baby will join him in Biel/Bienne in late October or early November.

Enjoy It!

A couple of weeks ago Earl and I ventured out on a Monday night to see “Mamma Mia”. We had seen the stage production a couple of years ago in Chicago, so we had a good idea of what to expect in the movie. We weren’t disappointed.

I think I blogged about this before, but the crowd in the theatre was having a grand time during the entire flick and it’s one of the few times that I’ve seen a theatre full on a Monday night. At the end of the movie much of the audience applauded. That’s always a good sign.

One of the things that bothers me a little bit is that I keep hearing all this negative stuff about the movie. “It wasn’t believable.” “The singing wasn’t stellar.” “The cinematography was awful.”

Listen. The movie was **fun**. Remember when we used to go to the movies to have fun? Going to the movies is a chance to escape from this drivel we call “reality”. Engaging yourself in a television show or a movie and disconnecting from the laws of society is a great way to escape. So what if Pierce Brosnan didn’t sing like some great opera star. Who cares if it’s unlikely you would see people running through a Greek resort singing. The movie was meant to be fun! It was a friggin’ campfest and that’s the way it was suppose to be!

I think one of the problems with American society is that we are taking ourselves WAAAAAAAAAY too seriously these days. People just don’t know how to have fun anymore. (I also think another problem is that people aren’t getting enough sex, but that’s a different blog entry).

Crimminy, lighten up people! After all, you can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life!

Here Comes The Rain Again.

We woke up to brilliantly sunny skies this morning. It is now lunch time and it is pouring once again. I haven’t been able to mow the lawn because the lawn mower would sink. It looks like the trend will continue.

Oh well, no sense in getting depressed over it. I think I’ll go park myself in a sunny corner of my mind and hum a bit. That will make people think I’m completely crazy.

I go for that at times.