Call Yourself A Cool Cat

This week, HB got the chance to travel to Rhode Island and back for something he's always really wanted to do but I am forbidden to blog about. He was gone for almost two whole days and I completely lost my mind. I'm not working, my longest walk is to the library (about two miles round trip) every other day and without him to mess up the apartment and be regularly fed I was practically climbing the walls. I read a novel, I drank several cocktails, I bought a candy bar I'd been eyeballing and ruined my diet. I also laid about on the couch, bed and chair and felt sorry for myself. I didn't want to do anything useful, I didn't want to keep myself busy and I certainly didn't want to blog. Thus I went so long between posts. I regret it; I miss blogging every day, and more and more often vow to better. Except this time I think I'll vow to vow to do better and see if that helps.

In my own defense, Facebook is destroying my ability to communicate effectively, think clearly and fully dress myself. I literally swam in a sea of Facebook entries for half a week, which combined with three cups of the very strong coffee HB brought back to me as one of his many souvenirs leads me to a related topic, to wit:
Omigod, I have so many blogger Facebook friends. Hi, I bet you've all seen me on there, I'm that annoying doofus who plays the games with all the annoying announcements and is constantly becoming a fan of something silly. I just love Facebook, I can't help it. It's like high school, except in my fantasies instead of reality. You can argue with people on polls (I do it ALL THE TIME in annoying all caps like that) and it's sort of fun to piss them off. You can play the games and be a mob boss (I'm a level 361 but I had to check 'cause I'm so awesome I go up two levels every day) or make yourself a house in YoVille (hi Kim, I love your place! Have you checked out my pumpkin house yet?) but I had to give up Farmville, FarmTown, FishWorld, Cafeworld, Roller Coaster Kingdom and Vampire Wars because that was just TOO MUCH caps definitely intended. Plus I have to give my opinion on every single status message ever typed, texted or voice-to-symbol-ed. If it's in my Newsfeed I'm gonna comment, you can COUNT on me.

(Oh, hey, you wanna be my Facebook friend? Just request me and we'll be besties!)

Anyhoo, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, HB got me some really great coffee. I drank like three cups... pots... gallons too much of it. Now I won't sleep for a week. Thank Google it's my job to vacuum the hallways, I'd probably have ours hoovered bald in a day or two. Plus it drives my noisiest neighbors absolutely nuts when I vacuum outside their doorways at 8 PM. Since these are the people who have screaming fights with their crack-fiend girlfriends (I know, I heard every decibel of expert testimony) or watch the Star Wars trilogy at theater surround sound levels (yes, it's Dolby, I get it) or instruct their children in the many uses of the F-word (it's a noun! It's a verb! It's an adjective, an adverb AND a gerund!) at the top of their lungs, all at 3 AM. I have never felt so misled by an apartment in my life. All autumn long this place was dead as a doornail. Then the temperatures dropped below 32 degrees Fahrenheit and suddenly all my neighbors' true colors started to show, yes indeedy. Wait, wasn't I talking about coffee? Because HB brought me some back from his trip.

Now that he's home - he came home a whole half day early because he missed me - and he was out of clean underwear and hadn't eaten in two days, but I'm fixing that! - I'm going to shower him with attention. I've planned elaborate meals that I will eat only a mouthful apiece of and long, browsy trips to the nearby shopping supercomplex where we can observe every vile thing ever imagined by the human psyche IN STRETCH PANTS and also buy a nice steak or two. Plus I've set aside several considerate blocks of time in which he can tell me how much he missed me and how next year we'll go to Mardi Gras together instead. Aren't I thoughtful?

Now, however, I must leave you. I put his sandwich in the oven a little while ago. It's chopped roast beef leftovers with sauteed onions and mushrooms plus some homemade gravy and a sprinkle of mozzarella and a few crumbles of feta just for that extra little flavor. I know, I know, what am I gonna serve on the side, liposuction? Be quiet, he came home and gave me a big hug and told me that he loved me and missed me and it was just like way back in the good old days when we had to sneak around my son... Except with much better food and decor. What can I say, I've evolved.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone, and probably at least a good first half of the week at the rate I'm going. Come see me on Facebook - we'll ride unicorns or kill a vampire together or something.

Kthanxbai!

(Title lyric from Pants On The Ground! by Larry Platt, which I chose because HB said that all the kids are posting it! DON'T JUDGE ME I'M POPULAR. Kthanxbai!)

And I Find You Kind Of Funny

So, some of you asked why I said our new gay couple acquaintances will never be our new gay friends here. I thought it over, and decided to post about it. I thought that the worst that could happen is that one of them somehow reads this and chokes to death on their own rage... Which would be a pity, because I wouldn't know in advance and therefore couldn't capture it happening on video. I know, I know, YouTube will be the poorer for that, but here goes anyway.

They live in the adjacent suburb in a real actual house as opposed to an apartment. We met them through a certain website which shall remain nameless - suffice it to say that they were rather impressed with a video we made and posted that we thought might give people incentive to get to know us better. (Lem, I can just see you starting to giggle - yes, THAT site.) They contacted us and announced that they too were an age-gap couple (I hate that phrase, 'May/December' because it makes me sound two breaths away from my 200th birthday). As it turns out, the age gap is between 31 and 39; eight whole years, big deal. Nevertheless, we are eager to make friends, so we took them up on their invitation to meet.

So, we arrived at their house around seven o'clock. Their house is excruciatingly decorated in a style that my (mid-70's) aunts would love - lincoln green wallpaper with fleur-de-lis, mirrors and pictures in gilt frames, persian-ish carpets over dark hardwood floors. Plus they have three or four (or thirty) of those little long-haired yap yap dogs that I hate. They ushered us in and sat us down on a sofa with upholstery hard enough to leave bruises and offered us something to drink.
"You got a beer?" HB asked.
"Are you old enough to drink?" Mr. 39 wittily shot back. He needn't have asked, as they did NOT have beer - they offered tea instead.

By way of making conversation, they asked how we were doing, and I replied that we were a bit tired and sore - mostly because I'm fat and out of shape, and we'd gone kayaking that day.
They both exclaimed as if I'd said we'd been butchering opponents in gladiatorial cage matches.
"I can see that it does WONDERS for your muscles," Mr. 31 enthused, plopping down on the sofa between us. He squeezed HB's bicep and my thigh like he was perusing beef roasts at Safeway.
HB and I exchanged looks that said, Great, here we go again. We had, after all, made it perfectly clear that we were only looking for friends, but evidently when you make friends online the 'with benefits' is implied. Or something.
Mr. 39 swooped in and asked what we thought of their house.
HB looked around, shot me a panicked glance and said, "Gosh, it sure is... ornate."
Mr. 39's eyebrows slammed together like prison gates, and Mr. 31 sagged like he had an air leak.
"It's wonderful," I said, "Did you guys do this all by yourself, or did you get a professional in here?" This really didn't seem to mollify them much, though, possibly because they were both psychic enough to hear me mentally add, Because any professional who stepped back and looked at THIS finished product should have taken their own life.

Things sort of went downhill from there.

They're both passionate about opera (sorry, Spo - ew!), high fashion (huh?) and raising orchids (interesting), plus Mr. 31 makes animal sculptures out of seashells (complete with little googly eyes!) and Mr. 39 knits AND crochets. Not that there's anything wrong with that... It just didn't offer us a lot of common ground, y'know? The only real opera I've ever seen was Puccini's La Tosca, and that was in 1987 and I fell asleep about twenty minutes in and didn't wake up until Floria throws herself off a cliff or out of a window or whatever. We both hate small ratty dogs with too much hair, I can sew enough to hem a pair of pants or fix a (small) rip in something but neither of us come close to knitting or crocheting, and quite frankly I think anybody would be laughing behind their hands at the seashell animals... But hey, THAT'S JUST ME.

They offered to feed us... Ethiopian food. It really wasn't that bad, it just sort of reminded me of four different kinds of baby food puddled on a big lumpy tortilla like different colored dog messes. HB was to later remark to me, No wonder people are starving in Ethiopia - I'm STILL hungry. Nevertheless, they had tried hard to impress, and while we strained mightily to be polite, interesting guests, I think we probably only pulled it off because they didn't take their eyes off our crotches all night.

In the end, they declined to watch the movie we brought - 30 Days Of Night, the very best horror movie made in the last decade, and when they started hinting that they'd like to get physical with all the subtlety of a Mack truck rear-ending a compact car we begged off (we were just SO TIRED AND SORE!!) and went home, had whole pizza between the two of us and watched the movie by ourselves.

And that, oh blog friends and neighbors, is why they will probably never be our best gay friends. To quote HB: OH WELL.

Have a great weekend, everybody.

Title lyric from "Don't Stop" by Patrick & Eugene - my favorite new song introduced to me by JimmyCity.

I Wake Up Every Evening With A Big Smile On My Face

I have been a bad blogger.

I've been promising myself I'd do a blog post for days now. It's not like I don't have time - I've been carrying on a message thread on Facebook with an old friend for weeks now that I reply to three or four times a day for paragraphs on end - and it's not like I don't have the inclination either, since I've been idly composing posts in my head for days and days... I don't even have a good excuse, really. I guess I'm just lazy.

The van has been re-wheeled, and I got out of the whole ordeal paying less than $100. I did so basically by being unfaithful to a promise I made HB: I called an old friend in Pennsylvania, had him bring me a fair amount of a very popular consumer product still technically illegal in all fifty states - at least without a prescription in seventeen of them - on the promise that I'd pay for it later. Pay wholesale that is - of course. I then spread it around to all our new friends and HB's co-workers, which was how he found out about it and did everything but turn me over his knee or have a hissy fit. He was somewhat mollified by the fact that I paid for the van, paid the cable bill, paid the cost for the product and still had enough money left over to buy him a very nice dinner at a very nice restaurant - not to mention having enough of said product left over to calm him down both before and after the dinner out. Say what you will about my ethics and morals (or lack of them), the black market IS recession-proof.

I am constantly plagued by some of the most vivid dreams I've ever had in my life. Most of them revolve around my extended family and how very much I dislike them - which is sort of a surprise, considering that I haven't seen any of them in fifteen years (or more!). Far from the sort of nagging dreams that tell you that you've made a huge mistake in exiling someone from your life who has something meaningful to teach you or a lot of love to give, my dreams seem to be rehashing just how justified I am in ditching them. Which is nice and all, but why the heck aren't I dreaming about anything that's happening NOW?

HB and I got to go kayaking again the other day. The weather here has thawed for the last week or so, the temperatures have been hovering in the mid 40's and that means that the water is warm enough to kill you in several minutes instead of one minute flat. We really went all out and wore (borrowed) full body wetsuits which looked mind-bogglingly sexy on him and made me look rather like an off-colored penguin. It was actually a fairly good time in spite of being a life-threatening workout, and when we were relaxing in the living room of our new gay-couple acquaintances (who will NEVER be our friends now) we both looked and sounded ever so athletic and butch. I think that alone made it almost worthwhile. Of course, for two days afterward both our faces were so chapped that they resembled a baby's diaper-rash-y bottom and when I was pointing out what I was sure was frostbite to HB he said, "I think that's a liver spot," but whatever, right?

Now I must go and pack HB's lunch for tomorrow. I found him a Scooby-Doo lunchbox in a thrift store, and while he says he loves it I think he's secretly mortified - especially since I showed up at his place of work and chided him, "Snookums, look what you forgot!" One of his co-workers (the little b-word) looked at him and whispered, "Is that your Dad?" He just shook his head, but I think later he told her that I'm actually his post-op male-to-female transsexual grandma. Again, whatever.

So, until the next time I can guilt myself into posting here, I wish all good things to all of you. Take care of yourselves, and if you can't wait to find out what I'm up to, poke me on Facebook - Java does it all the time.

Title lyric from "Gives You Hell" by the All American Rejects - dedicated to my ex-wife.

I Swim, But I Wish I Never Learned

Words fail me.

Yesterday, we discovered that someone had stolen the front wheel from our van. Yes, you read that right: they took the whole thing off, rim, wheel and lug nuts. They left our axle sitting on the ground. They even took the hubcap. To use an old Big Woods phrase, this has me utterly foozled.

I can only hope that it was somebody who really, really needed it. (But who does that, I ask you?) I hope that it wasn't done just for the money - if there is actually money in it. I've known a lot of junkies, and I've known a few fences, and I'm still trying to picture one of the former showing up at one of the latter's place of business with a tire still on the rim and saying, "So, what'll ya give me for THIS baby?" Somehow, I can't quite make myself believe it... Although I guess I've seen stranger things.

It's going to cost us more money than we have on hand at the moment to replace. I can almost hear the person who took it telling themselves, "Their insurance will pay for it." I've told myself that sort of lie before too. Sadly, that's not true. With me not working and HB not working in his field, we are poorer than churchmice and have only liability insurance. Still, I've figured out at least two ways that I can fix this, and I know that life will go on. I only hope that there will be no repeats - I don't fancy sleeping in the van with my pistol to discourage thievery until we can afford a car alarm.

What upsets me is how much this has disturbed HB. Like me (albeit for different reasons) hasn't had a lot of experience with having his possessions stolen. I don't have a lot of experience with it because I was one of the bad fish in a very small bowl, and nobody really thought it was worth their time, effort and life to mess with me. He doesn't have experience with it because he was raised in an affluent suburb by people with the money for good security. Neither of these situations is the case now. I am a little bad fish in a very big bowl, and he is far from the comfort and security of home. I hate how paranoid and distressed this has made him, and when he said he wanted to move back to Pennsylvania, I have to admit that I felt the same way.

But we can't do that. Our life there is over now, and to return there would be a step backward. We need to move on. Granted, this was a blow for us financially, but life pulls those kind of punches all the time. Worse was the damage to his spirit, his peace of mind. I hate that. I don't hate the person or people who did this, mind you: they thought they had a good reason, and even though it wasn't a good reason, I've done far too many things I thought were a good idea at the time and only learned the folly of later. Life has a way of teaching you those lessons. Whoever did this will either learn from it or not, but it's most likely not up to me to be the instructor in that particular schooling. Life is a series of low blows, and it kills everybody eventually. The only way to win is to live it on your own terms and not let the loss of things become the loss of self.

Who knows, maybe that's why this happened; after all, that's a lesson I still need to be reminded of quite often. I spend too much time brooding on what I've lost, as if material things could ever mean as much as what's in my head and heart. I don't know. I don't have to know. I just need to get us through and over this, and ready for the next thing to happen.

Wish me luck with that, huh?

Title lyric from "Badfish" by Sublime.

Taking Everything In My Stride

Here we are again. Thank you all for your kind comments on my bad job interview experience; it was traumatic, but now I'm over it and we need never speak of it again... Or at least not until it happens again.

HB and I are long over our little misunderstanding. It took a really good fight - as opposed to an argument - but that's okay. I think that even the best relationships, when under pressure, can benefit from a good fight; it vents steam and drains off poisons that would otherwise accumulate. It also provides the opportunity for a romantic make-up - although I think that our upstairs/downstairs neighbors would characterize our makeup session as more noisy than romantic. One of them made some oblique reference to it in passing while we were both in the laundry room, and I commiserated: "It sucks that we can hear everything doesn't it? By the way, are you over that HORRIBLE gas attack you had the other day? I'm just glad we only had to hear it and not smell it." Unemployed or not, I am not at a loss for words.

I have been wasting my internet time lately. I should be writing... And I do, sometimes. Other times, I spend more time than I should checking out sites like Guys I Blocked On Grindr and Facebook's poll application, Your Say. I find the latter particularly amusing, not just for the misspellings (rampant) and the ignorance (endemic) but also just for the chance to stir the shit a little, as my grandma used to say. So many of the polls are blatantly, hideously biased in favor of right-wing Republican ideals, far out fundamentalist philosophy and just plain stupidity that it becomes a pleasure just to mess with people. Never being at a loss for words is an asset there as well.

I am impatient for the return of summer weather. The time seems to drag when the days are short, and being frequently trapped indoors has given both HB and I a near-fatal case of cabin fever. We decided to try to break up the monotony by inviting several of his co-workers over for dinner a few nights ago, and while it was interesting as an experiment, I can hardly call it a roaring success as a social occasion; our guests were a couple and two singles, and a more awkward mix could only be achieved by putting Rush Limbaugh, Oprah Winfrey, Keith Olbermann and Lady GaGa together in a very small room. I will say this, though: the exchange of views was VERY lively, especially when the after-dinner conversation turned to politics - and gay marriage in particular. I bit my tongue as best I could, but eventually I HAD to say something... And in this case, never being at a loss for words was not a good thing. After our guests left, HB spent almost five minutes holding his sides and laughing over what I said. I apologized to him for insulting his co-workers, and he replied that the husband of the couple didn't even work with him, the wife did, and that he was willing to bet that they carried on our argument long after they left us. Once again, I have failed to promote marital harmony. I guess gay marriage really CAN affect a straight marriage in some instances.

Now I must go and fix a late supper for my beloved, who is still at work. I'm thinking pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing with raisins and apples and maybe a pie for dessert. If this weather keeps up they'll have to remove a wall to get me out of the apartment, but at least I enjoy my own cooking. I think our poor guests of the other night did too - at least, before the discussion started.

As always, I wish all of you my best. Stay as happy and warm as you are able, and look forward with me to the return of the summer sun.

Title lyric from "Highway To Hell" originally by AC/DC, here charmingly covered by the fantastic band Hayseed Dixie.

I Don't Need No Carryin' On

I am in the foulest possible mood.

We did in fact go to HB's hometown for some hang-time with his friends. He had a great time; I was quietly bored, but kept my mouth shut. Isn't that what a good partner does? Then we went to see my two older kids and best friend in Erie. He ran into friends from school, and again had a blast. I had a bearable time, although things are tense with my kids and distracted with my best friend. Fine with me; the trip was about HB, who usually takes a back seat during all my adventures, and he deserved the spotlight.

Then we got home.

I was greeted with the news that a job prospect for which I'd gone through a first, second and third interview was not going to be my job. In my best and most professional manner, I called the HR lady (why are they always ladies? Just curious) and asked if there was anything I could do differently or should work on for next time. This very nice lady actually LAUGHED OUT LOUD at me and then took a few minutes to dress me down on the following points:
1. I had at one point said the words, "my partner," which told her more of my business than she (or anyone reasonable, by her tone) would ever want to know.
2. I should not say that I had been out of the job market for "health and personal reasons." Evidently I should have made something up.
3. Due to an unfortunate incident that occurred in 1986 (!) I am not an attractive candidate.

Even after all that, I was still able to more or less civilly thank her and hang up without addressing her as 'you castrating bitch.' Possibly the only point for me in the whole sordid episode. Afterward, I made the mistake of confiding my crushed feelings to HB, who with the best of intentions still administered the final blows to the punching bag that my ego has evidently become: he lectured me on how I must try harder because it's hard for him to be the breadwinner and it stresses him out (his words) that I don't have a job yet. Never have I felt the gap in our ages more keenly: I actually wanted to remind him that he'd have to go to school for eight friggin' years to even be considered for my last job, and that I held it longer than those eight years in spite of some serious competition and the utter distaste the organization's capo di tutti capo felt for me. I didn't of course say anything like that. Instead, I went to bed and sulked...

And that's where I am right now. Sulking in bed. Those of you wishing to console me may do so in the comments - remember, you just can't stroke my ego too hard at this point. Shameless pandering to my wounded pride is my objective. If you're of a mind to agree with HB - or god forbid, HR bitchface - I would politely suggest that the lake three blocks from my domicile might be a good place to soak your head. Just a suggestion.

I hope you're all having a better day than I am. This (and the massive amounts of chocolate I'm inhaling) are going to ruin my diet.

Title lyric from "Bad Day" by Daniel Powter.


PS to Java: sorry not to respond on Facebook - there's only so much I wish to explain in so public a forum. Hope this answers your question...

I Got A Brand New Attitude, And I'm Gonna Wear It Tonight

Here we are again in the trough of the new year, becalmed in the doldrums of snow.

I hate it. I have decided that I'm dead set against winter in every regard and doubly against people who like it or think it's 'pretty.' A few days ago the wind chill was -20 F, and it came right in off the lake, not so strong but so very cold that I felt like a wooly mammoth about to freeze and be found ten thousand years from now, cud still in my mouth. I won't go out unless I'm forced to, and then I bundle up with layers and layers and still feel cold. If I hadn't read enough about global warming to know that the name is misleading, I might wish for more of it rather than less.

HB wants to go home for a few days and see some old friends who are relatively near, having come back for the holidays to visit from the west coast. I find that I don't want to go along; it's really only relatively near, the drive is long and bound to have some unpleasant spots due to the weather and I just feel cross and sore-headed in general. I know I won't be good company. Still, I will probably end up going and making the best of it. I could see some people I know while I'm there - although this is his hometown, not mine - and maybe we could stop in Erie and see my kids on the way back. I don't really want to, though - everyone in the winter world seems to have withdrawn into their warm rooms and heavy clothes for the dark time of the year, and that's all I want to do: squat in my room like a caveman over his fire, cursing the cold and dark.

The amusing part - I suppose - is how carefully HB and I have been treading around each other, how diplomatically we discuss our feelings and give each other TONS of space. We've learned our lessons, we've fought our fights, now we are cautious around each other, not wanting to make things worse with unnecessary bickering. We drink great quantities of tea with honey and cream, we tried out the wonderful liquor recipe that Lisa sent us - okay, we had to substitute a few ingredients, but it still tastes marvelous - and we eat a great deal of ham and turkey, having had to grimly lay off the mashed potatoes. We will survive, and in the spring emerge from our den to stretch and yawn and explore again. for the next six weeks or so, though, I see a minimum of unnecessary trips out of the burrow. Even the sun has gone mostly to sleep these days.

So, friends digital and physical, I hope that if you do not live someplace warm and sunny and marvelous year round - not to mention any names, Spo - I hope that you have a snug warm burrow in which to curl up. I wish you lots of cocoa, coffee, tea or mulled cider (damn, that sounds good) steaming in big cups - with marshmallows, if that's your thing. I recommend big thick slippers, heavy bathrobes, flannel pajamas and a real working fireplace if possible. This is the time of year for good thick books, comfort food and drink and lots of long sleepy dreaming nights. Put your coat and hat on when you go out.

We will not be caught here in the land of snow and ice forever. Spring will come again.

Title lyric from "So What" by Pink.

I Believed In Yesterday

Probably very much like everyone else, I find myself getting introspective at this time of year.
I'm prone to brood over my own shortcomings already, and lately I've been doing more than my share. I suppose it's natural; the snow has finally fallen no matter how much I didn't want it to, and the days are short shades of gray. Charcoal dawns, silver noons, fuligin nights. Who doesn't have a sense that we're in the end of a cycle, the end of a decade, and hopefully the end of the whole hysterical fin de siècle behavior attending the advent of the new millennium? Or maybe that's just me. I hope for the best, that the Great Recession will end, that thing will improve for me personally and for the world around me in general, but all that's for the future, and right now I'm immersed in the past.

It occurs to me quite often that I am not the same man I was five (or even three) years ago. Five years ago I was that guy: a big, fat doormat who did what others expected, was always there to offer whatever help he could give, and who loved his family very much. I remember that guy. It was both comfortable and awful to be him, and I never can be him again, even if I tried my damnedest. He lived his life, and then the cancer came; the cancer, the divorce, and the tearing asunder of everything he - I - ever tried to build. Everyone expected him to die, and it really was what he (and they) wanted more than anything in the world. In a sense I think he did die... But I didn't. I'm a different man than he was, I live my life an entirely different way. Not just in my choice of partner, but so many things more. Now, I get what I need. I think of me, and while I think of HB too, part of what I love about him is that I don't have to rescue him. He's old enough and more than smart enough to take care of himself. He loves this guy, the new me - but then he never actually met the old me.

Upon reflection, I think HB would have hated the man that I was. I am a little surprised to find (and admit) that I do. Maybe that's enough digging in the past for right now, at least in print.


The only other news in my life is that HB is quitting smoking... again. He has made it his New Year's resolution, and is now going through the same motions for the oompty-billionth time as if it really has a prayer of working when it never did before. His problem (in my private opinion, anywhoo) is that he doesn't want to quit smoking: he just doesn't want to pay for cigarettes or have any health problems. This prompts me to sing to him, 'You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have... the FACTS OF LIFE,' and even though he's far too young to have ever seen the sitcom he still gets the reference and throws things at me. My quote for New Year's Eve was this: "I hate it when you FORCE me to force YOU to do things."
I said this as I got out a cigarette and took a puff because he was whining that he was craving a cigarette but didn't want to smoke one and being generally pissy about the whole thing. It was the first one I've so much as tasted in weeks, and it made me immediately swimmy headed and sick to my stomach shortly thereafter. What did I ever see in those things?!? This morning before work he stuffed his pack in his pocket and muttered something about tapering off.

My prediction? He'll smoke until he needs a new lung... Then he'll switch to snuff. Jeez (implied eye roll), some people. But oh, dear, now it's almost one o'clock and I've got to go and figure out something to feed the poor thing when he comes home on his break. It's been great chatting with all of you - I eagerly await the influx of comments, as they are often the little gems of affirmation that brighten my otherwise dreary days. So leave one!

Title lyric from "Yesterday" by the Beatles.

All Of My Best To All Of You

It's Christmas eve, and there's magic in the air. Can you feel it?

I walked to a rather distant market in a bad neighborhood today to get that one essential ingredient for tomorrow's feast. On the way I passed through, in the course of one of my infamous shortcuts, an abandoned courtyard between equally abandoned factories. Several gentlemen were out in the sheltered space, desultorily playing dice beside a fire in a barrel. From the looks of their faces (particularly their lips) and hands, I'd guess that they were fans of that famous American cocaine byproduct, crack. Ordinarily I'd've been rather wary of them, but I was all wrapped up in my Christmas plans and dinner menu, and I skipped gaily right past their game. Did they rise to rob me, or call rude names? They did not. One and all, they wished me a merry Christmas, and the closest one advised me to stay warm, as the wind was bitter.

And they say the Christmas spirit is dead in America. I say not.

Today, as a sort of Christmas present from the universe, a wish I've long cherished was answered. My daughter, one of my little girls whose mother won't let me see them, sent me a message on MySpace. She wanted to know if I could contact a certain person back in the Big Woods and ask them to do a favor for her. Using my magic mirror, the internet, I contacted that person (who was delighted to hear from me, and did twice as much for my little girl as I asked) and made the arrangements; just to go that extra mile, I made sure that she was watched over during her use of my favor and that she had a ride to and from. More than that I won't say, at least in the way of details. But still: we surely live in the age of magic, when I can with a few typed words arrange for something that my estranged child wishes yet all the while erase my tracks, so that anyone with access to my servers and internet account could not even see the whole interaction take place. Miracles, I tell you, Christmas miracles.

Tomorrow morning we will open presents. I have downloaded almost every Christmas special ever shown on TV, including (but not limited to): A Christmas Story, Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty's Christmas Special, A Muppet Christmas Carol, A Charlie Brown Christmas and that claymation one that follows Santa's early years - the title escapes me. We will watch Christmas media, and listen to Christmas music, and drink eggnog and wassail and spiced rum, and smoke opium (not traditional, but we will!) and very probably remain unclothed the entire day. Our big dinner will consist of ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes, cappuccino pie and fresh baked bread. Since one of our Christmas assignments was to buy each other three complete outfits at the vintage clothing store around the corner, we will have ourselves a little Christmas fashion show. We will have long, loud, obnoxious phone conversations with our antiquated relations; we will have showy webcam interactions with our more hip consanguineous contacts; and, of course, we will revel in our closeness with one another, untarnished by three (going on four!) straight years of relationship. I can only hope for your sake that your holiday celebration is as fulfilling as ours.

For now, though, I must say goodnight. I wish all of you my very best. I am sending special holiday wishes to my regulars - oh, Java, Spo, Larry, Mike, Rusty, Sean, Lisa... All of you, those I've named and those I've missed, have the very best of holidays. I wish you love. I wish you happiness. I wish you contentment with all of your choices. Be at peace. Know my love.

Merry Christmas to each and every one of you.

To the accompaniment of "Christmas Dance" by the Peanuts gang.

'Cause I Ain't Been Nothin' But Bad

Today I'm going to the plasma clinic to sell some plasma. HB and I affectionately (or mockingly, depending) call it the Needle Farm: after an hour of welfare-office style waiting room, you get a barrage of medical tests and questions, all of which are painful and accusatory. Should you make it through this gauntlet mostly unscathed (finger pricks and embarrassing revelations don't count!) you get to lie on a hard bench with a half-inch or so of bare needle sticking out of your arm for an hour and forty five minutes on average. Naturally, a good time like this is resorted to only sparingly, but it's Christmas week, times are hard, and I can really use the $50. I'm as surprised as the rest of you that they'll take me, but I haven't got anything contagious, it's been over two years now since chemo (!) and I'm well over the weight limit. Selah.

Some of you asked me about Google Wave. You can read all about it here, and watch the hour long video, or I can boil it down for you into a single paragraph:
It's what you'd get if you took all of the things that really work from email, instant messenger and online office software and crammed them all together. It's a real-time communication and collaboration platform; it's the ICQ, Yahoo Messenger and some aspects of Facebook of the future.
You can get online with some friends, watch each other type responses in real time, set up a meeting and plan routes, collaborate on a document and save it to Google Documents when you're done... While you're having a conversation with several friends in real time, you can also have a sidebar conversation with one or more participants in a separate little popup. You can replay the entire conversation/exchange/IM as if it were a video. All parts of it are time/date stamped. It eliminates all forms of email tag, lost emails and provides a precise record of the entire interaction right down to the edits. And all of that is just in the beta version. Right now you need to be invited to get it... But if you'd like to wave with me (Larry, I'm still waiting to hear from you) then all you have to do is email me and I'll send one out to you.

I have a terrible toothache. It's a cavity, probably from all the sugar I shovel into my coffee. Being uninsured, I must go to a free clinic to get it taken care of; the earliest possible appointment I could get is two and a half weeks away, and they don't call if they get a cancellation. As I don't wish to resort to hyperbole, let me just say that it hurts pretty damn bad and leave it at that. My first instinct is naturally to take something for the pain. Catch is I can't get something until I see the dentist - two and a half weeks from now. Some people would just stop there, sigh and suffer. That's not so much me. I went to a very bad neighborhood and scored an ounce of some very good opium for an absolutely mind-boggling low price. Now I've taken to my bed to smoke opium and read blogs and play YoVille on Facebook. That's right, folks: it's easier AND cheaper to buy an illegal drug raised at least a thousand miles from me (at least!) than it is to get decent healthcare on a timely basis. I could go on a nice long rant about that, but I consider myself above such sordid topics as politics. Besides, the opium's absolutely wonderful, strong as a mule and cheap as powdered milk. My tooth doesn't hurt anymore, and I'm getting stoned for Christmas: win/win.

Now, however, I must go and bathe myself so as to be - if not stunningly attractive - at least not offensive to the nose of those who must see me half-dressed at the Needle Farm. Christmas is only a few days away now - have you made or said or bought something meaningful for the one(s) you love? We only have here and now, you know, so there's no better time than this.
In this holiday season, all of my best to all of you.

Title lyric from the YouTube video, "Ralphie's Got Nuttin' For Christmas," cribbed from the movie A Christmas Story.

With Every Christmas Card I Write

Sometimes lately I sort of picture the internet as my own magic mirror. Not so much the 'mirror, mirror, on the wall' sort, although it does have that going for it: if I can phrase the question just right, the internet always does know the answer. No, I mean more like a crystal ball, except they're tacky and I don't like them. So, I look in my mirror - or forest pool like a druid, that's a good image too - and I see things. I watch my kids Facebook statuses change, I observe their MySpace pages and read their emails to me, both in words and between the lines, and I get a picture of what's going on in their lives. Sometimes a more accurate picture than they'd like, I'm sure; like me, they both use the same password they've been using since they could sit at a keyboard, and I occasionally take a gander through things as personal as their cell phone records and bank statements. You add all that kind of information and stir it with a pinch of parental intuition and a healthy dose of control-freak level paranoia, and you've suddenly got a way better handle on the personal life of your adult children than any other generation before you. Sometimes technology makes our lives better and brings us closer to the stars, but I don't have to be psychic to tell you this part:
This is NOT an advancement in parent-child relations. There ARE some things your parents probably shouldn't know.
Now, like Forrest, that's all I'm going to say about that.

My beloved and I are both a little stir crazy. Today we walked to the beach by way of the railroad tracks. On the way there, I picked up every shard of colored glass I could find, all the while picturing myself forgetting and cutting my hand to ribbons by stuffing it in my pocket to get warm. When we arrived there, thankfully unsliced, I tossed the broken pieces one by one into the shell-and-pebble shallows around the foot of the bluffs. Then we walked about a mile west along the shore, picking up bigger and more exotically colored beach glass than I've ever seen before. As I remarked several times, when you give to the lake she gives you back in kind... Unless you really depend on her, because then she stabs you the first time your back is turned. Still, the beach glass is pretty.

I am still playing with my Google Wave account, so if anybody wants to wave me just send me an email and I'm happy to wave back. I predict that this new platform is gonna take off like a rocket. It incorporates several lessons that email and instant messenger taught us by trial and error in an 'of course!' sort of way. Businesses are gonna love it - whereupon it will acquire several hard-to-use and mysterious main functions that will cut down its original genius by 90%. I for one look forward to this as a career opportunity. Getting it right the first time is showing off, after all. Getting it right the third time? Ah, now that's job security.

Not many days until Christmas now. Even I am feeling the urge to shop a little. I want to get HB something wonderful, something that will make him happy, make him smile so that he lights up the room. So far, none of the things I can think of (but still afford) offer this quality. I'm working on it. In the meantime, I keep him plied with chocolate - it keeps the holiday dementors away.

Here's hoping you too have a happy holiday dementor free celebration this year. I keep saying 'if I don't post again before then,' but I expect that I will... And now that I've said it, maybe I won't. Who knows?
Happy holidays. All my best to all of you.

Title lyric from "White Christmas" as performed by cartoons.

The Stars Are Brightly Shining

Getting older is no fun. Not only do I have to shave my ears every couple days - otherwise I get a fine fringe of blond hair growing from the helix (you know, the outside rim) and a few wild strays coming straight out of my ear so big and thick they look like pencils stacked in a cup - but now my eyebrows have decided to grow so amazingly long and thick and crazy that not only will I be able to form them into a comb-over, it will be a 'fro comb-over. Lucky me, huh?

In an effort to get more exercise, I've started walking about a mile to the lake shore park. There's a trail along the "beach" there - I use the quotes because I've heard people call it that, but it's more of a shingle than anything - where I find all sorts of beach glass. I now have a rather large handful of the best pieces on our windowsill. I have all colors, even the really hard to find ones like pink, purple and bright yellow. Dark beer-bottle yellowish brown is common, and so is green; dark blue, like a Vick's bottle, and taillight red are less common. It takes me about two and a half hours to make a full circuit. There's one spot where a rough staircase cuts down a steep bluff to the pebbled beach; the view is just magnificent, even when it's unbelievably, mind-numbingly cold. I stood there yesterday and reflected that it would be an awesome place to have a cigarette, but then I realized that it's been over three weeks since I did more than take a half-hearted puff from one of HB's. I actually blurted "I think I quit!" right out loud while I was standing there watching the evening storm clouds stack up behind the horizon. The nice lady walking her dog behind me definitely thinks I'm nuts now. I don't mind; honestly, I wouldn't have worn her outfit to my own execution, so there.

We really are pretty content with our lot just now. I've gotten into a sort of rhythm of cooking and baking all his favorites on a repeating cycle so that it's always about a week since he's had any one dish or treat. His job, despite the demanding schedule, is turning out quite nicely and he's being considered for promotion in a preliminary sort of way. The more we explore the city, the more convinced we become that we stumbled into the best possible neighborhood and region by sheer blind luck. We have also become quite faithful patrons of the local library and their large DVD selection: we don't watch TV - at all, period - but we do like to catch our favorite old movies that way. We download anything new we want to see, and if there's some sort of news coverage we want to see, the Internet obligingly shows us more than we really wanted to know. Sure, we could have more money, more possessions and a higher social status - but I figure that will come in time. I guess I can wait awhile as long as my guy's with me.

Finally, for those worrywarts out there who take a set date like a personal challenge, don't forget that Christmas is only NINE DAYS AWAY. My beloved and I have not yet bought a single present, decorated or even listened to Christmas music voluntarily. I figure that we'll do just about all that in one day, probably this Saturday or Sunday, and then just sort of phone in our holiday celebration. Our big anticipation as the year draws to a close is the magnum-size bottle of Patron tequila and a similarly oversized bottle of Irish Cream in which we intend to drown our holiday spirits. Hey, we know how to have a good time.

Until I post again, all of my best to all of you.

Title lyric from "O Holy Night," one of my favorite carols, as performed by the Acquire A Cappella choir.

Five Golden Rings

So, I got tagged by Java to do this meme thingy. I love meme thingies - it's been too long. In this one I'm supposed to talk about five things I enjoy. I started out trying to put them in order, from what I enjoy most to what I enjoy least, but my mind does not and never has worked that way: I like what I'm enjoying at the moment most. As our cheese-eating surrender-monkey French friends say, "C'est moi." So here are five things in no real sort of order.

1. Making a home for me and my partner. I love it. I like the cooking... but I also like the cleaning up. I like rearranging the furniture. I like doing the laundry and making sure he's got work clothes hung in neat little outfits each on its own hangar: black polo shirt, khaki pants (flat fronts, no pleats!), boxers or boxer briefs for undies plus a pair of socks matched all the way down to the subatomic level. If one sock has a stain, then the other one by god better have a matching one, that's all. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. I love housework.

2. Reading. I have loved reading all my life, and that's why I sincerely believe that the Internet is going to be what saves the human race - because it's finally given every child the incentive to learn to read at least pictograms, and therefore furthers education. Here are some books I've recently read: The Short Sun Trilogy by Gene Wolfe; Evil Genes by Barbara Oakley; The Plague & I by Betty McDonald; The Gone-Away World by Nick Harkaway; The October Country by Ray Bradbury; The Book of Lies by Richard Metzger; Duma Key by Stephen King; and Illusions by Richard Bach.

3. Being with my partner. I really love his company. It's not just the sex, it's that he's smart and funny, that sometimes he's all endearingly naive and the next minute just as jaded and cynical as I could ever aspire to be. We fit together; we both give each other something that the other lacks, a sort of yin-yang thing in endless regression. I waited all of my life for this relationship, and I'm not taking a single minute of it for granted. All you have is right now, so planning the good stuff for later is senseless.

4. Learning/working. There ought to be a word for the process that's both of those things. Every once in awhile you meet someone who's really good at what they do and loves it. They learn every day from their work, and to me that's one of the happiest feelings in the world. Plus I don't believe there's a better way to satisfy the natural human need for purpose in our lives. When you love what you do and just keep getting better at it, you feel like it all means something, like you made the world a little better through the job you did, even if it's waiting tables with a smile until 4 AM or installing the best damn garage door openers in the world.

5. Intoxicants. There, I said it. Whether it be our weekly bottle of (cheap, bum) wine, a joint or a night at the bar, I like to get a little buzz on from time to time. I'm pretty tired of the prevailing Nancy Reagan-esque attitude currently prevalent which says that enjoying any such behavior is an addiction and a sin. Yes, there is such a thing as too much, there are people who can handle it, people who can more or less handle it, and people who are degrees of fucked up by it. I get all that. Guess what? I still like a buzz from time to time - me, and about three quarters of everybody else I ever met - and the other quarter just wouldn't do it in public. As long as you can say you've got hold of the bottle or whatever instead of it having hold of you, I figure you're at least a little bit ahead in the game. Sure, living your whole life never having tried or desired to try any of it is probably a very exclusive feeling, and any who have it have my endorsement - more power to you. But I haven't been to that magic (and pretty small) island of moral high ground since I was eleven.... Anyway, I hear it's boring up there.

So there you have it! My five things. Now I have to nominate five people, and that is SUCH a drag. I mean, sometimes people are overwhelmed and can barely cut five minutes out of his busy schedule to blog because he's doing something that's actually important (Spo - but I'm pretty sure somebody else already got him anyway) and some people (like me) are too damn lazy to post very often... *cough cough* TROLL *cough* so, anybody who wants to participate can feel free to do so and link back to me, freebie style. Here are my nominees for five friends:
Michael; Lemuel; The New Me; Lou; and of course Java in return. See kiddo, yours is already done!

Happy holidays!

Title lyric from the Christmas classic, Twelve Days of Christmas, as performed by Straight No Chaser.