Friday, July 30, 2004

Pix!

Omigosh! Posting that picture worked! I was half counting on the fact that it wouldn't. But it did.

So there you have it. Me with hair. Me without the trademark stache. Taken about 1999, I believe, on a trip to Montreal.


Can't Resist A Meme!

Single or taken: collared!
Sex: As much as possible! I aspire to be a sex pig, but I think it's a matter of genetics, since I can never quite seem to make it work. Or maybe that's just called self-consciousness.
Sign: Born October 29th. Do the math.
Hair color: Brown. When I was a wee bairn, I had strawberry blond ringlet curls. Wonder if I have a picture of me with hair...

Oh. Right. Blogger doesn't seem to be doing that right now. Not for me anyway.

Eye color: Depends on the color of the sky. Ranging from blue to grey, sometimes violet, sometimes green.
Who are your best friends? That's a tough one. Think I'm gonna take a pass on that. Way too many people have loomed very large in my life.
Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend, and who? Actually, no.

Where is your favorite place to shop? I think the prize here--competing with IKEA, Kiehl's, and Lucky Jeans, would have to be the Leatherman on Christopher Street.
Any tattoos or piercings? The chain stretches from my ankle to my hip, and next Friday at this time, I'll be in pain again as it continues it's journey towards my left wrist. Have another tattoo, about twelve years old, on my right deltoid. The head of a wolf over a banner reading 'Stand Alone.'
What are you most scared of? Becoming brittle.
What are you listening to right now? Crickets, spring peepers, frogs.
Who is the last person that you called? Big.
Where do you want to get married? I absolutely positively wholeheartedly do not want to get married ever. Anywhere.
If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be? Same thing I've been trying to change for the past fifteen plus years of my life: I'd weigh 205.

Favorite color: Orange.
Favorite food? That's really hard! I think I'm going to go with eggs benedict. When I see that on the menu, I order it. Always.
Favorite boy’s names: Jack, Harry, Sergei, Nick.
Favorite girl’s names: Rosemary, Olive, Patience.
Favorite subject in school: English
Favorite animals: Dogs
Favorite games: Softball, Trivial Pursuit, My Word.

Have you ever given anyone a bath? I have.
Have you ever smoked? I smoke Camels and cigars.
Have you ever bungee jumped? Not yet.
Have you ever broken the law? I have an arrest record long as your arm! Beyond speeding, vandalism, battery, sodomy, underage drinking, and the like, I've been arrested in more civil disobedience actions than I can count.
Have you ever made yourself throw-up? I don't think so. Although a lot of times when I'm feeling crappy, I'll sort of encourage myself to do that (positioned over the toilet bowl, thinking about how good it would be to get the bad stuff out so I can feel better.)
Have you ever gone skinny-dipping? I generally prefer to swim naked. At this point in my life, I ask myself What's The Point? if I have to wear a suit.
Have you ever made yourself cry to get out of trouble? Kinda. Sometimes when I've cried while bottoming, I've decided it's manipulative: I want the Top to stop, and it's an attempt (usually unsuccessful since the men I go down to are a bright bunch).
Do you like filling these out? Must. Do. Meme. Must. Disclose.
What did you have for breakfast this morning? Tea! Glorious Tea!
Who would you hate being locked in a room with? The guy from Boy Meets Boy.
If you could have one more meal before you died what would it be? It would be quite the smorgasboord, I think. Including lobster, coffee ice cream, perfectly grilled steak, pho, blueberries, bouillabaisse, bicuits, fried zucchini, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, beaujolais nouveaux, Taylor's of Harrowgate Yorkshire Gold Tea with Carnation Evaporated Milk (milk in first, thank you very much), a sampling of all the great food I had in Moscow, duck, turkey and cornbread-blood orange-cranberry stuffing, something with creme fraiche, Cadburry Milk Chocolate, goat cheese.

! drew, lunch, montreal 2_1.jpg


This Salad Rocks!

And goes great with fish! (Dad and I are having it with tuna steaks.)

Rockin' Cantalope Salad

Combine the following:

One cantalope, scooped out with your handy-dandy melon baller
Fresh basil
Juice of half a lime
White pepper (generous amount)
Little bit of honey
Peanut oil

Mix it all up in a bowl, but not too much. You want the flavor to be inconsitent, so that every bite is a slightly different combination of flavors than the last one. I'm betting this would make a nice summer cold soup, too. Although I'd want to mince the basil, or maybe do a frisee, but combining all the rest in a food processor.

Enjoy!


Thursday, July 29, 2004

Lattes with Lolita and Neptune!

It was great. A beautiful, warm summer day. Lolita comandeered us a table on the porch. Neptune was dispatched to feed the meters so no one suffered parking tickets. It made my week.

Thanks, Lolita! Thanks, Neptune!


Ambitious!

I am reeeeally impressed with John Kerry's strategy at this stage of the campaign. The GOP has always been able to count on the majority of votes from men and women enlisted in the armed forces. Hence, although votes from predominately African American districts, but insisted on counting absentee ballots, largely coming from voters in the service overseas. It's a reliable voting block, and shows up in several swing states. If Kerry can wrest that from Bush, he's got a quite a head start.

And I liked the speech, too. Really good job. No muffs as far as I could tell.


Guilty Pleasure

Okay. Here's the latest. Big and Rich. If'n you, unlike I, don't have your clock radio set to the local country music station, you might not be aware of Big and Rich. They're climbing climbing climbing up the Billboard Country charts with their hit song, 'Save A Horse, Ride A Cowbow.' (I know, right? What's not to like about that title?)

It's way cool. And I love blasting it out of the windows of the Jeep Liberty as I drive around Doylestown. If I don't hear Big and Rich, I'm pretty short tempered. If I hear Big and Rich, I'm a happy guy.


With Or Without Grease?

The other day at work, the senior cabinet maker who is training me in the ways of Hardware, he with the amazing beer gut (he's built like thhe teddy bear my Sir gave me to keep me company when we're apart), called me and Columbine boy over. He indicated a squeeze bottle of wood glue in his hand and said, "Do you guys want me to squirt some of this up your ass before I put my penis up there?"

I almost passed out.

Luckily, before I could say, "Spit works fine!" I got his drift. What he was saying in an oh-so-colorful way was that we're screwed. We have a reeeeally busy week this week. Get in early, work late. Lots of big jobs shipping with one day turnaround time.

I am totally feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. I haven't had more than five continuous hours of sleep since I returned from SF. Yesterday, there was a Severe Thunderstorm (again.) just as I pulled up out front of the supermarket to buy dinner. I turned on the radio, and Terry Gross was interviewing some political commentator on NPR. I decided to wait out the storm. I put my seat back, and I think I heard three sentences out of Mr. Political Commentator before I passed out. I woke up an hour later. The news was on. The rain had stopped.

And... AND... our softball game this weekend, probably the final one of the season, starts at 9 am. That means we need to be on the field at 8:15 am. And that means we need to meet up in front of the dugout at 7:30 am. And that means I need to leave here by 6 am. And that means I need to get up at 5 am.

*sigh*

I'd love love love to just come home tonight and sleep, but I've Got Democrat Convention Fever!!! I want to hear John Kerry's acceptance speech, and that doesn't start until 10 pm.

Oh well. As I told my Sir, his boy is tough. Tough as nails. He can take it.

And, y'know, it's not like I'm not having a blast.

In fact, today after work, I'm meeting Lolita and her slave Neptune at Starbucks in New Hope for coffee. They're doing a road trip to New Hope. No doubt to visit Tim and stock up on some throw pillows at All About Throw Pillows.

Totally looking forward to that.

There's the ticket. The essential strategy for getting through most any ordeal: just focus your mind on what you'll be doing when it's over. So there we'll be, me, Lolita, Neptune, sitting on the porch at Starbucks enjoying our lattes. Cool.

Okay.

Here I go.

Plunge in.


Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Who Does John Edwards Look Like?

Okay. This is driving me a little crazy. Somebody who sang something...

Wait! John... John... What was his name? I think he had his own talk show for a while. John...

Davidson!

John Davidson!

John Edwards looks like John Davidson!

Total Separated-at-Birth situation.

He says "why" the same way Bill Clinton said "why": waah.

What a cute little boy he has! Oh he's adorable! And he's their details-never-to-be-discussed miracle baby, right?

Edwards sure is high octane. The vice presidential debates are sure going to be must-see tv, huh?

Oh dear. And following John Edwards' speech, a hip hop group. Yo yo yo! Look at da Democrats representin'! Yeah. Gwen from the North Dakota delegation is got the milkshake they all be wantin'. Fo'shizzle!


Wow.

So here I am, watching the Democrats convening in Boston. (Loved the Governor of Michigan... thought for a moment that a retired Marine named 'Prozac' was running for Congress from New Jersey, but it's Brosak or something... I've come to like Al Sharpton, a huge leap...)

So I'm doodling around on WorldLeathermen. I decided to do a search on 'Delta,' to see if there was anyone I know that I could expect to be seeing in September. Some guys I knew, and some guys I didn't.

So then, I searched on 'Inferno,' to see who I'd be missing seeing in September. Some I knew, some I didn't.

And then, my heart skipped a beat... There was Mark Collier.

At first, I was outraged. Who the fuck is using Mark's profile??? I was all set to rip off a message excoriating the fool. But then I realized, WorldLeathermen would be unlikely to take the profile down due to inactivity. I checked the 'additional information' feature, and sure enough, it's been just over a year since Mark checked in, which would be shortly before his sudden death.

(John Kerry looks like somebody... Somebody from the '80s... Marjo Gortner? Not quite. A young John Ritter? Getting closer... How old is he? I hope he's not younger than I am.)

So Mark still lives on in cyberspace. If'n you're on WLM, you can see what I'm talking about. Just search on USDrecksau.


So I sent him a message. Telling him I miss him, wishing him well wherever he is, strong and beautiful man that he is.

Thanks for that, WorldLeathermen.

God bless you, Mark.


Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Back!

Oh MAN was that a great weekend.

What a hairy beginning! It started out with dope-slapping myself. I headed off from work, and I was racked with guilt. About leaving my father alone for the weekend, about having care for my dog unresolved (in my father's way of thinking), about not calling my father before I left work (like I said I would).

One dope-slap later...

Yo!

If it is my father's expectation that I spend every weekend home watching television, that's unrealistic. To say the least.

All of the boarding places were booked, so I had my father call my deceased sister's ex-husband's cousin to walk my dog. He needs the money and I pay reeeeeally well. He's home on weekends. He's a sure bet.

If I called before I left work, my father would think of some reason to get me to stop home, and then I'd miss my plane.

After I crossed the river into New Jersey, I called my father. Deceased sister's ex-husband's cousin was walking the dog then and there, my father was fine with me leaving, and I told him I'd call once I arrived and he was grateful for that.

So cool.

And then, the Land of Rain and Flooded Basements served up a Torrential Downpour! I mean, it was really coming down. In buckets. I-78 was moving at about 30 miles an hour. And I had a plane to catch!!!

Or not.

They announced on the radio that LaGuardia and Newark were shut down. Nothing going in or out.

Uh oh.

I called Sir from the parking lot, giving him the news that my ETA may be delayed. Like by days. He asked me to keep him posted. Coming into the airport, I passed the American Airlines check-in counter. On the 'Departures' board, it read CANCELED CANCELED CANCELED CANCELED CANCELED all the way down. Then came the United check-in counter. And what's this? CANCELED CANCELED CANCELED CANCELED... But Flight 73 from EWR to SFO was ON TIME.

No way!

Way!

The leathergods were looking out for us.

I had to contend with droves of people who were desperately trying to avoid spending a night in Newark, New Jersey, but made it through check-in and security without much of a problem. One Starbucks Grande Latte Two Pump Vanila purchase later, and I was good to go. On the plane. In the air. Off to San Francisco.

When I landed, I was exhausted. And there was Sir to meet me. We went speeding back to Sir's, and then to bed. At long last, sleeping in my Sir's arms. So sweet. So sweet.

Saturday morning started off with coffee with Special guy. Special Guy was a little peeved to run into me in the Castro on my last trip, so we made plans to get together at Starbucks. It was great. Truly, Special Guy is a special guy. We had a great talk. He's loving life in SF, but confesses to being lonely there.

Then, Sir and I met up after his workout, and we grabbed a light lunch. Then, of course, nap time! I always welcome a nap while traveling. We needed to rest up as we were off to a Biker Barbeque in in Alameda! Wall to wall leather and pugs, amazing food, and good company. It was a wee bit disconcerting being surrounded by eighty-or-so men in leather and not knowing more than three of them. I thought I knew everybody!

When Sir and I got back to his place, we had a great night of watching Nemo together. I had never seen it before. Sir introduced it as a Dad's search for his boy, and... well... nuff said, huh?

The next morning, Sir made a great breakfast, and we were off to Dore Alley.

We got there early (way recommended). and watched the streets fill up. We decided we were under caffeinated, and so headed off to Starbucks a couple of blocks away. When we got back, things were considerably more crowded.

Nobody told me that there would be naked men and public sex!!!

That's so cool! I love that!

How come we never thought of having naked men and public sex at Folsom Street East?

oh. right. cuz mayah blooombug would be all over our chaps-wearin' asses.

Hate that.

Ran into Special Guy again, and also had a fortunate meeting with my long lost friend and former boss, the Hooved Goose. He's moved out of SF to Sebastopol with his unbelievably hot partner. In fact, I didn't recognize the Hooved Goose because he's easily twice the size (in a good way) as when I saw him the last time. Either there's something in the water in Sebastopol, or Fifty is being reeeeally good for Hooved Goose.

When we had all we could take, we headed to the Eagle to use the rest room, and then we headed home.

How to spend the evening? How about with a movie? Cool. I've been wantin' to see Spider-Man 2, and so has Sir, so off we went.

And knock down! The theater was mostly empty? I have never ever been in a movie theater in NYC where there was anything but a full house. We show up after the trailers had started and had our pick of good seats.

So it's decided. I'm moving.

Well, not so fast. Y'see, SF is really cold. Really cold. Like, in the fifties. I saw people wearing scarves. Scarves! And I just know that with my intolerance of the cold, if I moved to San Francisco, I'd be wearing scarves in July. And that would mean I'd never get laid again. People who wear scarves in July do not get laid.

We ate at a great place called Orphan Andy's after the movie, then headed home to bed.

And suffice it to say that it was a great last night in SF. Complete in every way. Thanks, Sir.

And then I got up and had to fly back to Newark and drive home and go to bed and get up and go to work and come home and make dinner for my father.

*sigh*

Today wasn't as rough as I thought it would be. Minimal screw ups on my part at work. Starbucks afterwards. In the rain. News my brother has a buyer for his house. It's working. I'm okay. Not to bad. It's all cool.

*sigh*

*sigh*

Sir. San Francisco.

*sigh*


Thursday, July 22, 2004

Leavin', On A Jet Plane

All packed and ready to go.

Tomorrow at 3:30 pm, the bell rings at work, and I drive like the wind to Newark International Airport, there to catch a 6:30 plane bound for San Francisco. Tomorrow night, I'll be be in my Sir's arms, once again. How sweet is that?

I was planning on not checking my luggage, but as I packed, I realized that it sure wasn't going to happen. The chain collar, the cigar clippers... Understanding and competent as the folks working security at Newark seem to be, I don't want to chance it.

On Saturday, I'm meeting up with Special Guy for coffee, to catch up, see how he's doing. When I ran into him on my last trip, he looked great. SF is definitely his city.

And then Sunday, it's Dore Alley. This will be my first, and I'm looking forward to it. Especially looking forward to having my Sir show me off. At the end of his leash. Two things I've come to savor: submission and showing off.

Anyway.

Time for bed here. Want to get plenty of sleep. Busy day tomorrow.


Rock of the Eighties

Hey there, generational peers, Coevals of mine!

Who did that Eighties New Wave song... the one where the lyrics go, "I used to think that the day would never come; I (something something) the morning sun; the morning sun (something something something)..."

I used to love dancing to that song. I wanna own it.

T'anks.


Wednesday, July 21, 2004

He's A Rounder!

Cool!

A great iTunes find. From the soundtrack of 'Lady and the Tramp,' I downloaded "What a Dog/He's A Tramp," sung by none other than Peggy Lee.

Great little ditty. And especially meaningful as Tramp, the animated dog, was my first krush. I never understood what he saw in Lady. I mean, she just wants to stay home all the time and have puppies! You're kidding me, Tramp! That's not what you're looking for! You want a running buddy. A partner in crime. Somebody to ride shotgun. And that's me, Tramp!

*sigh*

I guess getting a krush on a cartoon beats out getting a krush on a straight guy, though.

Oh, by the way, "Be zippy and happy and snappy!" was the perennial advice offered by Roseanne Rosanadana. Noooobody got that. And Google searches didn't help a lot.


Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Sir Cures Grumpiness

How about that grumpy posting yesterday, huh? What's up with that.

And I woke up grumpy. I went to work grumpy. Grumpy grumpy grumpy.

During lunch, as I sat in my jeep (Grumpy!) grumpily eating my sandwich. Grumpy.

And I had this thought: "Dang. I need my Sir."

Had I not been comfortably seated on the leather upholstery of the 2002 Jeep Liberty, I would have fallen over at that one.

I need my Sir.

The implications...

When was the last time I needed someone.

Uh... rapid analysis of the situation says... Never.

Never?

Yeah. Never.

'Twere this a session with my therapist, I would relate the following...

My mother died on the eve of my eleventh birthday. My sister, thirteen years my senior, did her best to jump to the fore. She was twenty four and an absolute babe. Men in New Hope were chasing her up and down Main Street hoping for a date. And every Friday night, she'd say, "Sorry. Can't. Taking my little brother to see Bedknobs and Broomsticks." Or bowling or roller skating or on a hayride or to Friendly's until I had so many Fribbles that I'd be dancing the fandango across the ceiling from all the sugar.

Or not.

My sister, being an early twentysomething, was unreliable, as early twentysomethings can be. So sometimes, she and I would make plans, and she wouldn't show. Wouldn't show. Wouldn't call. Nada. Maybe the next day I'd get an explanation. Car trouble. Whatever.

There was a song at the time, by Pat Benatar maybe. A portion of the lyrics resonated: "Standing on the corner, waiting in the rain, I swore I'd never never wait again."

But wait I would. Again and again and again. Because I needed my sister. But I resolved, firmly, that I wouldn't be in this situation again. Never need another fallible human being.

But this feels okay. With my Sir, I mean.

It feels fine to need my Sir. Even though my Sir is in San Francisco, even though it's not happening that I'm coming home to spend some time sitting between my Sir's boots, saying, "This hardware stuff is driving me nuts! I swear, I'm wrestling with these cabinets! I get everything line up and clamped down, but when I drill the damn doors on they're out of whack. I hate this, Sir!"

And my Sir would stroke my neck. Let me vent. Give me some perspective. Help me to laugh at it.

What a Sir does.

And I need that. Yeah, I need that. I need my Sir.

And that's okay by me.


Monday, July 19, 2004

Be Zippy and Happy and Snappy!

I'll give a million dollars to any reader who can identify the... uh... personality who used to give that advice. Or, y'know, lets make it an Iced Venti three-pump cinnamon quad easy ice venti latte at Starbucks.

Anyway. Zippy and happy and snappy is what I'll need to be tomorrow, as I'll be giving my presentation on the gentle art of sanding to two new guys in the sanding department. I can not imagine that they'll be an enthusiastic audience, especially as I'll be doing that when they expect to be eating lunch.

What dogs have I unleashed? Ever'buddy at work--the powers what be anyway--are just so blown away with my abilities as a presenter. And that's cool. I'll lap that up like a kitten after milk. But this hare-brained idea for me to give my presentation to everybody in the shop? No. If I were them, I'd hate me. Suck up. Brown noser. Teacher's pet. Tomorrow it's just these two new guys. In weeks to come, it's the whole damn crowd.

Grrrrr.

Speaking of work, today I had an opportunity to make a return to the House of the Tattooed Muscled Beasts. Alas, none of the TMBs seemed to be around. They were all involved in digging the pool and building the rebar frame, and I guess that's all done. Tragically, the truly awful homeowners were about. I passed the time by keeping score of their Serious Design Errors. ("Ooooh, that light fixture is right out of Dracula's castle. 20 points!" "Uh oh. Another Eighties vintage brass-and-glass doorknob gracing an otherwise chrome plated and steel bathroom. 10 points!") And, Mr. and Mrs. Awful did their best to slip in lots of non-spec changes after the stuff was installed--a huge no-no--thinking that my accomplice and I were witless peons.

Grrrrrrrr.

And what's become of my Nightingale? Since January, the man has lost 100 pounds. Although Health and Human Services Secretary Tommy Thompson would be thrilled at this incredible demonstration of commitment and will power, I, for one, am appauled. Where is the hunka-hunka-burnin' love that had my head swimming whenever he entered my field of vision? Who's this fortyish dumpy guy with the bad complexion? And, now that I'm not bowled over by his furry, firm, round physique, I'm noticing some unfortunate personality traits. For a straight guy, he's quite a drama queen. And if I have to hear about his plans for a tattoo (featuring initials of his wife and offspring entwined by flowering vines) one more time, I may just resort to damning with faint praise.

Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

And, apparently, this will be a tough week for us in the Hardware Department. Lots of jobs spilling out of the spray room, and going out on the truck the next morning at 7:30 am. Meaning we'll need to be in at 5 or 6 am every day this week. Hate that.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Anyway.

I'll just focus my attention on Friday. As soon as the buzzer rings at 3:30, I'm bound for Newark Airport, there to catch a plane to SF. I'll be spending the weekend with Big. He's looking forward to showing off his boy at Dore Alley (not sure what I'm wearing, but it's not gonna be a lot), and I'm looking forward to making my Sir proud. And... AND... I managed to get the day off (without pay) on Monday, so I'll be spending Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night with my Sir. Not to mention only working four days next week.

So there you have it. A wee slice of life. Not one of my more inspired postings, but they can't all be.


Sunday, July 18, 2004

Being Adolescent and Stupid

Fuck you, Blogger! You suck! You're a sack of shit with eyes! Blogger is the worst! I hate you, Blogger!
Hate you hate you hate you! I should have made the jump to LiveJournal like all my cool friends did!

Hey! Hey you working at Blogger!
Better update your resume! Your job is going away! Because you have done a bad job!
You guys can't write code worth shit. Maybe you can get a job making copies at Kinko's.
Get ready to be wearing a name tag, you future Customer Service Team Member, you!

Hate you.

Have a miserable, rainy day.


Worth A Thousand Words

Okay. Figured that out.

The other night, I managed to get PhotoShop Elements up and running. Several weeks ago, I purchased and downloaded this indispensible application from the Adobe website. Unfortunately, when I tried to install it, I only got so far as being asked for the product ID number, located on the packaging for the cd.

Y’see my problem? Because I downloaded it, there was no cd and no packaging. I tried and tried, and came up stumped every time.

So the other day, I put in a call to tech support at Adobe.

Wow! Five Golden Stars go to tech support at Adobe! Not only did they solve my problem really quickly and the tech support guy was pleasant to talk to, but I was not on hold for a second! I don’t even remember it ringing. I had to go through only one ‘press 1 for’ menu, and I got a person!

So I set about compiling text and uploading the photos I took on the recent California trip to my weblog, clicking the little buttons on blogger. The finished result was... nada. Nothing came up after I clicked ‘publish your posting.’ Dang the folks at Blogger anyway.

But here it is, a rainy Sunday. So I’m charging in again. I re-read my html book on how to post pictures, and I think I’m good to go. I’m doing the writing offline rather than online, and then I’ll just copy and paste.

So here goes.

If you will recall, I was the houseguest of Alpha during the first leg of my journey in Sandy Eggo. Alpha is the proud owner of two way hot cars. (Alpha is considering getting a Vespa for quick trips to the coffee place in Hillcrest and such. I did my best to dissuade him, arguing that if he’s seen on a Vespa, he’ll never get laid again. Men who ride Vespas don’t get laid. Ever. FACT!)

So here’s Alpha behind the wheel of his hot car that’s not the Mazda GX8, in which we were stopped for going 115 mph on the 15. This is Alpha’s ‘town car,’ and you can see it with some dignitary or other in the back seat in the Sandy Eggo Pride Parade.



Car design sure has changed! Parking can be a problem. Here’s Alpha’s car parked at the local Whole Foods Market...



On my final day in Sandy Eggo, Alpha took me out to the Salk Institute in La Jolla so I could bask in the glory of the architecture. I had my camera all primed and ready, but alas, found my battery went dead after the first shot I took. But here it is.



Couldn’t figure out a way to solve the drained battery problem, so I have no pics from the sunrise at Joshua Tree National Monument. And, no pics from the Glen Ivy spa. (And that’s worth gnashing your teeth over, because Alpha and I slathered in mud was quite the Moment.) But, on my first solo day in Palm Springs, I stopped into a Staples, and managed to get a universal charger. Just in time for my ride on the Tram up the mountains.

If’n you’ll recall, surrounded by all the tourists taking pictures of their kids in front of rocks, I sent out to capture interesting images with some close ups. Here is a sample of the results...













The other reeeeally cool thing I found in Palm Springs was the wind farm. Only after I got home did I learn that they offer wind farm safaris. I had to content myself with getting as close as I could from the highway. But pretty amazing nonetheless.





A lot of time in Palm Springs was spent at the Starbucks at Indian Canyon and Tahquitz. Here’s Starbucks Desert Modern!



The other trip I made was heading up the mountains with all those switchbacks and hairpin turns to Idyllwild. (“Idyllwild.”) The trip took me to a plateau at about 3000 feet, where a little town called Hemet Lake can be found. Also to be found there was this amazing white horse, grazing among the sage...



So now we say adieu to Palm Springs, but one parting shot... When it’s 108 degrees, it must be hard being a goth in Palm Springs, but it doesn’t seem to keep this lad from being every bit himself!



Leaving Palm Springs, I picked up Big at the airport in Ontario, and then headed on to Los Angeles. On Saturday, Big and I visited the Getty Museum. Photo opportunities abound there! Here are a few of mine.





And here’s a shot of one of the petting sharks at the Long Beach Aquarium, which we visited the next day. Remember! Use the two-finger touch when petting a shark!



And here, as best as I can figure it, is all that remains of the Long Beach Naval Shipyard, about which Susan Fahludi enthralled me in her amazing book, Stiffed.



We didn’t find much of the shipyard, but we did find a memorial to the Japanese-Americans who were forcibly removed from Long Beach’s Terminal Island and interned in 1942. Here’s a shot I took of the memorial statuary.



And finally, on the eve before I flew back here to the Land of Rain and Flooded Basements, we visited Frank Gehry’s amazing symphony hall. I can’t imagine how you could take a bad picture of this place. Absolutely amazing.





So there you have it! The pictures to to with the travelog.


Dang. Guess I didn't figure that out.

I swear, this is Blogger's fault, not mine. It would be great if I could contact tech support at Blogger and find out from them what the deal is and how to fix it, just like with Adobe, huh? But guess what! Blogger doesn't have tech support. Well, they do, but the two emails I sent them about an issue I had a year and a half ago remain unanswered.

I'll try again later.


Worth A Thousand Words

Okay. Figured that out.

The other night, I managed to get PhotoShop Elements up and running. Several weeks ago, I purchased and downloaded this indispensible application from the Adobe website. Unfortunately, when I tried to install it, I only got so far as being asked for the product ID number, located on the packaging for the cd.

Y’see my problem? Because I downloaded it, there was no cd and no packaging. I tried and tried, and came up stumped every time.

So the other day, I put in a call to tech support at Adobe.

Wow! Five Golden Stars go to tech support at Adobe! Not only did they solve my problem really quickly and the tech support guy was pleasant to talk to, but I was not on hold for a second! I don’t even remember it ringing. I had to go through only one ‘press 1 for’ menu, and I got a person!

So I set about compiling text and uploading the photos I took on the recent California trip to my weblog, clicking the little buttons on blogger. The finished result was... nada. Nothing came up after I clicked ‘publish your posting.’ Dang the folks at Blogger anyway.

But here it is, a rainy Sunday. So I’m charging in again. I re-read my html book on how to post pictures, and I think I’m good to go. I’m doing the writing offline rather than online, and then I’ll just copy and paste.

So here goes.

If you will recall, I was the houseguest of Alpha during the first leg of my journey in Sandy Eggo. Alpha is the proud owner of two way hot cars. (Alpha is considering getting a Vespa for quick trips to the coffee place in Hillcrest and such. I did my best to dissuade him, arguing that if he’s seen on a Vespa, he’ll never get laid again. Men who ride Vespas don’t get laid. Ever. FACT!)

So here’s Alpha behind the wheel of his hot car that’s not the Mazda GX8, in which we were stopped for going 115 mph on the 15. This is Alpha’s ‘town car,’ and you can see it with some dignitary or other in the back seat in the Sandy Eggo Pride Parade.




Car design sure has changed! Parking can be a problem. Here’s Alpha’s car parked at the local Whole Foods Market...



On my final day in Sandy Eggo, Alpha took me out to the Salk Institute in La Jolla so I could bask in the glory of the architecture. I had my camera all primed and ready, but alas, found my battery went dead after the first shot I took. But here it is.



Couldn’t figure out a way to solve the drained battery problem, so I have no pics from the sunrise at Joshua Tree National Monument. And, no pics from the Glen Ivy spa. (And that’s worth gnashing your teeth over, because Alpha and I slathered in mud was quite the Moment.) But, on my first solo day in Palm Springs, I stopped into a Staples, and managed to get a universal charger. Just in time for my ride on the Tram up the mountains.

If’n you’ll recall, surrounded by all the tourists taking pictures of their kids in front of rocks, I sent out to capture interesting images with some close ups. Here is a sample of the results...













The other reeeeally cool thing I found in Palm Springs was the wind farm. Only after I got home did I learn that they offer wind farm safaris. I had to content myself with getting as close as I could from the highway. But pretty amazing nonetheless.





A lot of time in Palm Springs was spent at the Starbucks at Indian Canyon and Tahquitz. Here’s Starbucks Desert Modern!



The other trip I made was heading up the mountains with all those switchbacks and hairpin turns to Idyllwild. (“Idyllwild.”) The trip took me to a plateau at about 3000 feet, where a little town called Hemet Lake can be found. Also to be found there was this amazing white horse, grazing among the sage...



So now we say adieu to Palm Springs, but one parting shot... When it’s 108 degrees, it must be hard being a goth in Palm Springs, but it doesn’t seem to keep this lad from being every bit himself!



Leaving Palm Springs, I picked up Big at the airport in Ontario, and then headed on to Los Angeles. On Saturday, Big and I visited the Getty Museum. Photo opportunities abound there! Here are a few of mine.





And here’s a shot of one of the petting sharks at the Long Beach Aquarium, which we visited the next day. Remember! Use the two-finger touch when petting a shark!



And here, as best as I can figure it, is all that remains of the Long Beach Naval Shipyard, about which Susan Fahludi enthralled me in her amazing book, Stiffed.



We didn’t find much of the shipyard, but we did find a memorial to the Japanese-Americans who were forcibly removed from Long Beach’s Terminal Island and interned in 1942. Here’s a shot I took of the memorial statuary.



And finally, on the eve before I flew back here to the Land of Rain and Flooded Basements, we visited Frank Gehry’s amazing symphony hall. I can’t imagine how you could take a bad picture of this place. Absolutely amazing.





So there you have it! The pictures to to with the travelog.


This is a test. This is only a test.

Here's a picture of the Ballbreakers recovering from a hard-fought game...




Earn It

Had my third session with tattoo artist extraordinaire Joe Rose on Friday night. Added twelve more links to the chain that's snaking up my body, getting from my kneecap to my hip. I forget which excrutiatingly painful part of my anatomy he was inking--maybe the kneecap, maybe over the tendon that runs up the inside of my thigh--but I was vocalising loudly.

"...Awwwww fuck! Goddamn! Fuck! Oh man that hurts!"

And Joe Rose, tattoo artist extraordinaire, said the most amazing thing...

"Yeah. You're earning it."

Earn it.

Damn.

That's beautiful.

"Earn it."

That sure changed my perspective. I have a new credo. Earn it.

Since I moved from the sanding table to Hardware at work, it's been hell. Screwing down and screwing up. So much to know. So many times a day I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. No clue which screw to use to reinforce the rollout I just installed. And getting it wrong again and again. One long humiliation scene.

But guess what. I'm earning it.

No rose without thorns. No omlette aux fines herbes without breaking some eggs.

Ya gotta earn it.

Pain gives meaning to life. Those things--and those people--that we truly come to love and care about are those for which and for whom we have suffered pain and sacrificed, given up some crucial part of ourselves.

Earn it.

All lovers entertain masochistic fantasies from time to time, longing for the opportunity to demonstrate convincingly the depth of the love you have for your beloved. Taking the bullet. Sitting on the porch steps in the freezing rain.

In our society, this urge must for the most part be sublimated. Doing his laundry. Taking care of him when he's down with the flu. Buying him something expensive. Thank the Lord for SM, huh? Offering us the opportunity to show what great lovers we truly are!

Ponder, my darling, the dachshund... In general, at dog shows, points are deducted for any scars on the dog. But according to the American Kennel Club, this does not apply to the dachshund. Dachshunds, you see, were bred for hunting badgers. And they are absolutely fearless. Thus, there are no points deducted for scars earned in battle.

Earn it.


I, Rowboat

Yesterday after softball (we didn't win, we did that other thing), the Ballbreakers repaired to Manatus for brawnch, then headed to Ty's for afternoon inbibing of alcoholic beverages.

I had planned to go to Venus on East 4th Street to get my right post re-inserted in my tender flesh. But crikey. I just wasn't up for it. The night before I had gone under the needle and as usual, it hurt. A lot. (More on that.) So I was thinking that my USDA Weekly Recommended Pain Quota had been pretty much me.

And, the idea hit me that since this happened on Tuesday, it was probably not going to be a matter of sticking it back in it's wee little hole, but re-piercing the thing, and I would rather have my Sir standing hard by while that happened. And next weekend, I'll be in San Francisco, home of the Gauntlet, where they do a good job of that, so there really wasn't much need to head off to the good folks at Venus, right?

So. How to spend the balance of the day?

I asked Donee if he would be up for a movie. And he was.

We picked up some iced coffees and headed to the piers with a Time Out to see what our options might be.

I totally want to see Spider-man II, but Donee has seen it twice, and didn't really like it. I want to see the Riddick Chronicles, but I'm seeing that with the Baron von Philadelphia, so that will have to wait until my schedule and the Baron's coincide. We settled on I, Robot.

The movie was a blast. Liked it a lot. Reeeeally intricate plotting. Will Smith conducted himself admirably. Special effects were spot on. The movie is set in the year 2034, so I had fun figuring out when various characters would be born and when they would have been graduated from high school. (I'll be sixty-nine in 2034). The product placement was irritating (Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars and Audi), and pretty inept, but nothing I couldn't live with.

We get to see Will naked in the shower, and he's lookin' good. And there was a brief though satisfying scene of a huddle mass of subdued policemen. (We like our policemen subdued!) The only character to appear restrained or in bondage is a robot, and that didn't do a lot for me.

So it was a good ride, and worth the $9.

But it lead me to think about why my overall omnivorous reading habits never ranged much into the Science Fiction genre. I mean, I'll watch Star Trek if there's nothing else on that catches my interest (I heard the other day that James Doohan, who portrayed Mr. Scott died. He once gave me a hug at the one and only Star Trek convention I attended, cause he thought I was a fellow scotsman when I spouted "'Tis a bra' bricht moon-licht nicht t'nicht.") But outside of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Brave New World, Future Shock, and maybe one or two others, I haven't read too much SciFi.

In general, SciFi takes for its subject matter the interactions between mankind and machines, the meeting of flesh and technology. And maybe just because despite my love of gadgets, I'm a Nature Boy at heart, that doesn't interest me a lot. I'm a lot more interested in explorations of the darker side of human existence, so my lighter reading tends towards detective fiction, where the perpetration of evil is the problem to be solved.

I, Robot concerned itself with the question, 'can a blender have a soul?' That is to say, can a machine, designed by man, come to have a life and existence independent of its creator, with free will and hopes and fears and self-preservation and such? The screenwriters seemed to come down on the side of 'Naaaah.' And I guess I'd concur with that logic. But that's about as far as I'd go there in thinking about it.

Still, cool movie.


Loving John Kerry

Did anybody catch Terry Gross' interview with Hendrik Hertzberg on Fresh Air the other day?

In case you missed it, I'll do my best to recapitulate. Apologies if I get anything wrong. (Sorry, Hendrik! Love Ya! Mean It!) I was driving and couldn't take notes [g].

Anyolways, Hendrik was talking about his odd Viet Nam era draft experience, a curious combination of being drafted, serving, objecting, and being determined to be Four-F. Terry, shrewd interviewer that she is, asked for Hendrik's views on how we can assess the characters of various national politicians based on their draft experiences.

At the very (very!) bottom of the pile, Hertzberg places Dan Quayle (I once made the NY Times for disrupting a speech Quayle was delivering to the New York Conservative Party back in my ACT UP days) and Dick Cheney. Dan and Dick were very much for the war, but did their best to make sure that their convictions were never to be tested, and pulled all the strings they could lay their greasy little hands on to make sure they would remain out of it. One wee step up is the Former Governor of Texas who now occupies the Oval Office. Dubya had no strong political convictions about anything, and got himself a see in the Texas Air National Guard, where he got to fly planes and spend a relatively out-of-harm's-way couple of years keeping Texas safe from the Red Threat.

Hertzberg places Bill Clinton squarely in the middle, ultimately admiring him. Clinton was opposed to the war, and after much soul searching, managed to avoid service. Perhaps feeling guilt over this, he was active in the movement to oppose the war, which Hertzberg (rightly, in my mind) considers to be serving your country, too.

Kudos go to John McCain, who supported the war, and even though his Dad was the Naval Commander of the Pacific, lived out these convictions by enlisting. McCain famously became a prisoner of war, but did not allow the accident of his birth to get him out of that sticky situation.

But here's the gem. Hertzberg saves his absolute highest praise for John Kerry. Kerry was opposed to the war. But felt it was his duty to serve. So he did. He enlisted in the U.S. Navy. Now for the most part, being in the Navy during the Viet Nam War meant you were sitting on a ship somewhere, and the chances of getting into the crosshairs of a viet cong sniper's rifle were slim to none. In the Navy, if you wanted to see action, to serve on the front lines, you had to ask for it. Specifically. And John Kerry did just that. He asked for it. He didn't have to serve. But he did. He didn't have to go to the front lines. But he did. Not just once, but three times. And there, he conducted himself in a way that can only be described as both brave and heroic.

But it gets better. After fulfilling what he considered to be his duty to his country, Kerry returned to the States, and did that other duty to his country, serving admirably in the Anti-War movement.

Wow.

I mean, I kinda knew all that, but until I heard Hendrik Hertzberg describe it that way, I don't think I really knew all that.

Wow.

So. SingleTails is hereby enthusiastically on board with John Kerry for President.


Thursday, July 15, 2004

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

The Lightbulb

Further to the posting below regarding my post-vacation funk. Suddenly, as with Cher after her Rodeo Drive shopping trip in Clueless, it all became clear. This funk is not the result of some flukey drop in serotonin levels or whatever. It's very clear to me what it's about....


It's about, "What the fuck am I doing here???!!!!"

I could be living in San Diego, or Palm Springs, or Los Angeles, or Long Beach. Or San Francisco, Seattle, Portland. Or Butte, Santa Fe, Moscow, or Ho Chi Mihn City, for pete's sake. But I'm not. I'm living here at the Old Homestead in Histrionic Bucks County with my father, sleeping in my childhood bedroom.

Okay okay okay.

What the fuck am I doing here? I'm learning a trade; I'm looking after my father; I'm gardening and chopping firewood and enjoying this beautiful corner of the world.

But at the same time, my sense of self-efficacy--the sense of what I'm capable of and what life goals I can accomplish--is just turning to asparagus puree. Okay. This is not forever. But maybe I'd better start thinking in terms of getting out of here and getting on with my life.

Me and Dubya. We both went in without developing an exit strategy.


Down. Home.

Wow. This is unanticipated.

After a long flight that got me into Philadelphia at 11 pm on Sunday, and a long drive home that got me to the Old Homestead at 12:45, I was pretty much expecting yesterday at work to be grueling. Not so. I was really tired as I went up to Quakertown to get Faithful Companion outta lock-up, but nothing could prepare me for this morning.

Man. When the alarm went off, it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed to silence it. I dragged myself out to the kitchen to get tea, and I felt like I had been drugged. In the shower, I decided to call in to work. Surely they could live without me for a day. The excuse I came up with is that our basement is flooded (true), and that I needed to be hear to take care of that (not true).

After I made the call, I went back to bed. And slept until 1:30 pm. Yowza! I must have really been exhausted.

But here's the uncanny thing. I woke up in this deep, black mood. One I haven't quite shaken. I feel sad, lonely, listless, and purposeless. Just plain ol' depressed, I guess.

Probably a natural result of having to re-enter the quotidian after the great vacation. But still... hate this.

Oh. The iciing on the cake: the post in my left nipple fell out. Again. *sigh* I haven't had the courage or the initiative to take a stab--so to speak--at re-inserting it. Maybe I'll just wait till I'm in NYC this Saturday and go to Venus on East 4th Street. I've been planning on going up from 10 guage to 8 guage, and might as well get it all done together. More pain.

Need to get out and get to the gym. That would lift my mood. I'm reminded of Superman exposed to kryptonite: "Feeling weak... can't move... going black... Must. Stay. Awake. Can't go underrrr... Unhhh...."

Anyway. The swing of the pendulum.


Monday, July 12, 2004

Home now. Had my first decent cup of tea in 10 days, got Faithful Companion out of lock-up. Dad missed me big time, but he didn't run out of things to eat. Thought the first day bqack at work would be hell, but it wasn't too bad. To be sure, I could hardly remember all of the arcana of Hardware, but spent the day tracking down sample chips, which was just my speed. Anyway, the California saga continues, picking up where we left off...

Palm Springs To Life

I love Palm Springs! It was hot. Way hot. I passed a bank and the digital read out was 108. Woof! Love it!

Coming into town, you go past a surreal wind farm, these way out of scale three blade windmills. And they're well placed: you can feel the wind knocking you all over the road. Then you roll up to the gas station designed by Albert Frey, which has become the Palm Springs Visitors center. The folks there were verrrry helpful, giving me a handy map to architecturally significant structures in the city. You better believe I spent a lot of time driving around those sun-baked streets making rich folks nervous by parking across the street from their houses and taking pictures. Although they probably see that all the time, huh? But how many of those turkeyneckars feel the need to touch themselves in the while beholding the awesome splendor of the places they're fortunate enough to call home? Here's one!

I also took the Tram, heading 5000 feet up into the mountains. It revolves, and they make a big deal out of that. I was delighted to see that my fellow Tram riders included a group of outrageously stached and bearded men, all of whom had pierced septums, and one of whom was wearing a Utilikilt. Cool! They were from SF.

At the Top O' The Tram was a pine forest, packed with tourists. If it weren't for The Ankle, I guess I could have put some distance between me and them, but alas. So, while they took all of those touristy pictures of the kids standing in front of a rock, I did some extreme close-ups of lichen, tree stumps, and a water tower. And got some great shots.

And my second field trip came at Sir's suggestion. I headed up to Idyllwild. What a well named place! Say 'Idyllwild' to yourself. Just say the word. "Idyllwild." Feel your blood pressure drop? Feel suddenly more glamorous? "Idyllwild." The draw of the place--a mystery to me--is the fact that it's about forthy degrees cooler than Palm Springs. It's a total Road-Runner-and-Coyote trip up the mountains, full of switchbacks and hairpin turns and no guardrails. My favorite part was a sort of plateau at about 3000 feet, near a town called Hemet Lake. Beautiful, and the air was so sweet, redolent with pine and sage. I got a great shot of a white horse grazing among the sage.

Idyllwild ("Idyllwild...") was pretty much a collection of log cabins, but was notable for a really great mexican restaurant. And the great drive there and back.

Starbucks in Palm Springs. At the corner of Palm Canyon and Tahquitz. A Starbucks with ashtrays! Am I dreaming or what? And there beneath the swamp mister, I sat with these LA types in their warm up suits who answered their cell phones saying, "Yeah babe, talk to me." Love that!

And the Dessert Bear Inn was perfect. They aspired to sleazy, but didn't quite have the guts to pull it off. A great place to take a midnight hot tub beneath the stars before turning in.

Then came Thursday night. I drove to Ontario (California, not the one with the mounties) to pick up Big at the airport before the two of us headed west to Los Angeles. Dang I was looking forward to seeing my Sir. And there he was, heading down the elevator. at long last.

Not too much traffic heading into LA. We found our motel, the Coral Sands, without too much trouble. Now that place aspired to sleazy, and they definitely had the guts to pull it off. And here's a cool thing: the men were hot! Perhaps not the best place to stay with your Sir, but it worked pretty well for us.

I like LA. I like LA a lot. Such a great town. My next home could very well be the City of Angels.

Big and I spent Friday at the Getty Museum. It's amazing architecture, costing a gazillion dollars, but to say that it overshadows the art is quite an understatement. Anyway, it's worth the trip up the mountain for the view and for the stunning architecture. And the restaurant! Man oh man! The restaurant rocks! Great food, excellent service, and reasonable prices. And of course, there's the architecture. (I'm not mentioning the name of the architect on purpose; surely he's gotten enough praise heaped upon him.)

That night, Sir took me to the Faultline. A great bar. Not as much leather as I expected (LA and NYC seem to suffer from the same internetitis afflicting the leather community.) But regardless, there was enough to signal it as a leather bar, the men who were there were damn hot (reeeeally hot in a few cases), ever'body was friendly, they had a big smoking deck complete with a fire pit, and great energy.

Saturday was a trip to Long Beach. My chief goal was to seek out the remains of the Long Beach Naval Shipyard, which figured prominently in Susan Fahludi's great book, Stiffed. Alas, it is pretty much no more at this point. And the locals I asked about had never heard of it. Not surprising since it's almost ten years since it's closed. Big and I hit the aquarium where we petted sharks and rays (but not the hunky aquarium guy).

Although we didn't find the Naval Shipyard, we did find a memorial to Terminal Island, a thriving community of Japanese immigrants that was essentially disappeared into internment camps in 1942, never to return. Moving, to say the least.

That night, after dinner at Basix in WeHo, we went to the Cuff. Very cool bar. If I lived in LA, I'd want to be walking distance from the Cuff. My kinda bar. Dark, earnest, and all about hooking up. The only thing missing was a smoking deck.

Then it was back to the the Coral Sands and to bed.

The next morning, I ran to Starbucks while my Sir was in the shower. When I returned, he was waiting for me by the hot tub. Sir knows me so well. What better way to bid a fond farewell to LA than a soak in the hot tub beneath towering palms and a latte?

All in all, a perfect trip. A perfect trip.


Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Desert, Mud, Speed

Whew! What a day!

Alpha and I arose at 4:30 am, and were on the road to Joshua Tree State (National?) Park. The goal was to get to Joshua Tree to see the sun rise, and we missed that. (Who knew that the sun would be up at 5:35?) However, watching the canyons fill up with sun was absolutely spectacular. Not much hiking was done because of The Ankle, but I did manage to scramble up to a perch on some rocks. If'n you happen to be in SoCal, don't miss Joshua Tree. Absolutely spectacular desert vistas.

Then, Alpha and I stopped at Starbucks in Pioneertown (is there anywhere Starbucks isn't?) and had a good heart to heart talk, mostly about the dynamics of the Dad/boy relationship. Alpha believes that the fundamental role of the Sir is to 'contain' the boy, to be a vessel for the boy, allowing him to explore, expand, experience within a safe framework. Love this idea. A lot.

Then back to the Dessert Bear (that's not a typo, that's my pet name for the place). It's a wee bit down at heel, a little rough around the edges, but the folks seem nice, the pool and the rooms are clean, and the hot tub beckons. I'm happy with the Dessert Bear. No sooner had we arrived then we turned around, and after a quick stop at Palm Springs' premiere purveyor of delectables, Liquor Deli, we were headed off to the Spa!

Y'see, there was a quid pro quo with me and Alpha. He balked when I suggested we get up at 4 am to see the sunrise at Joshua Tree (thereby beating the heat, which Alpha can't tolerate), and in return, I said I would treat him to a day at a spa. This was selfish in part, as I wanted to spend a day at a spa and didn't want to do that alone. But... Like... Whatever.

The spa Alpha found for us was Glen Ivy Spa, in Corona, California. (We got a spa, right here in Riverside County...) It was perfect. It wasn't too hoidy toidy. In fact, it was downright proletarian, to the extent that a spa can be proletarian. We took the waters with a heavily tattooed chulo and his girlfriend, and boisterous group of older African-American women, bunches of teenage girls, and other assorted lovers of all things spa. It was a nice group. Singletails gives Glen Ivy Spa the highest possible recommendation!

We started off with a mud bath. Way cool. Forget about the alleged benefits ("detoxifcation" or some such bunk). It's all about playing in the mud! As in slathering your entire body with the stuff. And then, you lie out in the sun and let the stuff dry. When it dries, you look like Boris Karloff as the Mummy. The other spa-goers think you're a laugh riot when you stagger over to the showers making all of those Boris-Karloff-as-the-Mummy noises! ("Errrrrg! Arrrrrrgh! Urrrrrmmm!") Only my stache was not slathered in mud.

Then it was time (lowering voice a few octaves) for facials. This dedicated Queer Eye fan has been preparing for his first facial since this time last year. Loved my facial. Loved Debbie, my dermatologue. We opted for the "Men's Sportive Facial," so we'd both be able to get laid again maybe if word gets out that we went to a spa and got facials.

Post facial, Alpha got a massage, and I got a wrap. First, I was slathered with apricot stuff, and that was showered off, and then I was slathered in Essential Oils. I opted for 'Vitality'. Sadly, a prime ingredient in Vitality is Eucalyptus, so I kept thinking of Vick's Vapor Rub from childhood. Well slathered, I was then wrapped up in sheets, while massage therapist woman massaged my face, scalp, and neck.

Verrrry sweet.

Then, we headed south, to drop Alpha off in San Diego. I believe I mentioned Alpha's fun fast car, a Mazda RX8. It's way fast, and way fun. How fast is it? Well, there we were doing 115 mph. Alas, the hunky California Highway Patrol Officer wasn't in a 'fun' mood, so he pulled us over and served Alpha with a summons. Apparently (funsters! take note!), going over 100 in California is an arrestable offense. As in, on go the cuffs and off you go to the pokey, leaving your out of town guest standing on the side of the highway.

We spent the rest of the trip driving at about the legal limit and concocting stories for Alpha to feed to the judge when he stands trial. ("It was my evil friend who kept screaming, 'Faster! Faster!!! Faster!!! Let's see how fast this tank can move!!!'")

Anyway, now I bid a fond farewell to Alpha, and head north to Palm Springs. The first leg of the journey has been spectacular. Tomorrow and Wednesday I'll be driving aimlessly around Palm Springs checking out the buildings by Frey and other mid-century gems, taking The Tram, and finding my way out to Idyllwild. (For the name alone...)

Big flies in to Ontario on Thursday, and the two of us will be staying at Sleaze Central for some art, architecture, and Sir/boy doin's in Los Angeleeees.

Don't think I'll encounter internet access before I get home on Sunday, so you'll just have to wait to hear of those hijinks.

Keep good thoughts for Alpha (and send some negative vibes to his enemies, the People of the State of California), as his September 1 court date approaches.


Monday, July 05, 2004

Sticks And Stones

Ow!

I hurt.

My ankle hurts. It's been a month since I wrecked it playing softball, and it still hurts. Granted, I haven't been going easy on my ankle, especially the past few days, what with scrambling up and down cliffs at Black's Beach and such. But still, would it be hurting this much if it was just 'soft tissue damage?' Thus, I'm wondering if my doctor's surmise was correct: I chipped a bone.

And, in the wake of all those chest blows delivered by Biker Guy two nights ago, I hurt. As in, 'it only hurts when I laugh.' Or, take a deep breath, or cough, or move my arm, or when Alpha gives me an evil and malicious friendly jab to my right pec. So of course I'm wondering, 'did I maybe crack a rib?'

Why would my hypochondria go down that road?

I wonder.

I've never broken a bone. Not all the time when I was growing up. Never had a cast for my classmates to sign. And, growing up during the time when Evel Kneivel's career reached it's apex, broken bones were pretty common. But not for me.

And that fact, that 'un-brokenness,' has taken on sort of mythic proportion for me.

Never a broken bone.

After I ran into that pesky first baseman, as I sat there on the bench with my leg up on the cooler, the most dreadful thing I could think of was, What if I broke it? That would have been problematic, to be sure, what with being in NYC and 90 miles from home and all. But there was something about the prospect of a broken bone that just had me in a cold sweat.

So maybe I do now have not one but two broken bones. A broken ankle bone and a cracked rib. So... So what? "I'll never be the same again" is one irrational thought that comes to mind. "Whenever there's a change in the weather..." That kind of thing.

But there's something almost cool about that. I mean, that would be annoying, but at the same time, like a scar, it would always be a reminder of the events which brought about those injuries.

So that's not it. Or quite it.

I guess it's more the fact that I take it as a sign that my body is getting older. An 'all downhill from here' kind of thing. That I'll have to start treating the physical manifestation of Me with a little bit more care. A little more gingerly.

And I hate that.

I missed out on all those opportunities for Rough and Tumble play as a youngster, and it's been my ardent desire to make up for that as an adult. And now my bones, from the skull beneath the skin on down, isn't up for the challenge? Unfair!

Ah well.

Alpha and I are off to Palm Springs today. And tomorrow, we rise verrrrry early and head to Joshua Tree for some desert fun. Then tomorrow, as we head back to Sandy Eggo to drop off Alpha, we're stopping at he Glen Ivy Hot Springs Spa. Y'know, mudbaths, hot sulphur springs baths, massages, maybe facials or whatever.

If it's true that I have to start treating my body a little better, might as well have some fun with that, huh?


Sunday, July 04, 2004

Oh Sandieeee! Sandy Eggooooo!!

Greetings from Sunny Sandy Eggo! Having a blast here with my buddy Alpha.

Got in at 10:30 pm or so on Friday night to Ontario, CA, rented a car (a not too bad dark gray Grand Am,or as I prefer to call it, the Grande Dame), and headed down I-15 bound for San Diego. Made it to Alpha's flawlessly done home of modest scale in the Mission Hills neighborhood with only one incidence of police intervention. (I was concerned about exiting and was going 30 mph on the freeway, something they frown on here.)

Slept in some on Saturday morning, and then headed to Bread and Cie (that's a frawnch abbreviation for 'companie,' and should not be pronouned like 'sea' under any circumstances) for brawnch. Surveying the woofy men of Hillcrest, it dawned on me why, in part, I've always been lukewarm towards Sandy Eggo: y'see, I always strike out here. On my three trips, I've never gotten a taste of any local bootie. Even though Wolf's in Sandy Eggo is a leatherbar I like a lot, I just don't seem to be selling what the locals are buying.

After brawnch at Bread and Cie, we headed to Black's Beach, Sandy Eggo's premiere clothing optional sun-and-sand venue. Getting to the beach requires a descent of steep sandstone cliffs, which was no party at all with a busted ankle. But, Alpha took it slow and kept an eye on me, so I made it to the bottom without much trouble. Alpha kinda scared me outta the water by telling me about stingrays, which lurk on the surface of the shallows, ready to attack the unwary bather who happens to tread on them. Their stinger, located at the base of their tails, delivers a good dose of venom. The Pacific is pretty chilly anyway (Big says, "It's to look at, not to soil"), and that ol' busted ankle and I, so Alpha and I just soaked up the rays and enjoyed one another's company. And took in the toothsome specatacle of a group of homo surfer boys who were on the next blanket over.

As the marine layer was closing in on us, we made the ascent of the cliffs (quite the strenuous climb), and headed for home. Y'see, we had a dungeon party to attend that night.

Airport Security totally searched my bag! Is that really necessary where checked baggage is concerned? I mean, I wouldn't have minded so much if they had done it in front of me, but it's weird finding that they've rifled through My Things in my absence. But, they deemed to permit me to continue to possess my bullwhip, flogger, wrist restraints, and SAP gloves, as well as my other BDSM accessories I brought along. So I wasn't showing up empty handed.

The dungeon party, called SuperPigs, takes place at the home of Alpha's ex, Roadkill, that Roadkill shares with his slave, pluG. Once a month, out come the slings and crosses, sheets of black plastic are hung over the walls, and the place is transformed. Roadkill told me that the big reason he decided to embark on SuperPigs was that he wanted Community, not just once a year at Inferno, but right there at home in Sandy Eggo.

I was feeling way Toppy as we headed out, and even more so upon seeing the shaved pated, mustached man sitting across the table from me filling out the release forms. But it didn't end up that way. Biker Guy was there.

I met Biker Guy a couple of years ago at MAL. I had caught sight of him in the lobby of the hotel, and decided then and there that he was way too hot to every have much to do with the likes of li'l ol' me. Built, hairy, bearded... Biker Guy is just amazing. But later in the weekend, I retreated to the cigar tent to try out my newly purchased 10' bullwhip. It was pretty vacant, so I gave it a few throws. Oh man. What a beauty. What a prize. It threw beautifully, and the crack was like a rifle shot. After I decided that there was magic in this braided roo hide, and was rolling up the whip, who should approach but Biker Guy, to complement me on my form and accuracy.

And so, it seems, we were both pretty taken with each other.

Alas, Biker Guy was booked that weekend with back-to-back play dates. So we couldn't make anything happen then. But I knew he was a Sandy Eggo native (lives out in the dessert where he rides his motorcycle), and I knew he knew Roadkill and Alpha, so the chances were not bad that he'd be at SuperPigs. And there he was.

Along with a raft of other great men.

We sat eating ribs and chicken and all the trimmings, smoking pipes and cigars on the deck, and from time to time heading to one of the playrooms to make the magic happen.

The conversation was wonderful. I really loved these men. I still hadn't given up hopes of having a go at shaved pated mustached man, so I did my best to seduce him with my mind and repartee. (Worked. He moved his chair to inches away from me.) But, well, there was Biker Guy grinning and growling in my direction. Our time had come.

Biker Guy mentioned the post-PunchPig pic of me with the black eye on my WorldLeathermen profile page. I explained, and mentioned the SAP gloves with which I gifted PunchPig that day. Biker Guy asked if I happened to have thos e SAP gloves with me. And yeah, I did. We left the porch. I pulled them out of my toybag, and Biker Guy tried them on.

They fit.

Upstairs we went, finding an empty room. Biker Guy started in on me. My delts, my back, some on my chin, but saving most of his energies for my chest. Blow after blow rained down on me. Biker Guy was great. Intense, intimate, brutal. Beautiful.

I had some of my bottom angst, the fear that I would disappoint the Top, that I'd be a wuss, but it didn't get in the way. I just surrendered. Gave it up. When Biker Guy decided he'd had enough, he held me, we held each other, I felt his dense fur against my cheek and my now verrrry tender chest, I cried some.

I told Biker Guy what I always tell my bottoms during punching scenes. I touched his right pectoral muscle. "In Chinese medicine, this is where your Pride is, here. When you work this pec, the boy is never going to tell you he's had enough. His pride won't let him." Then I touched his left pectoral, just over his heart. "And this is where your Grief is. Working this pec will put the boy in touch with all of that grief. It's a very powerful place."

Upstairs, there was Alpha and the gang to meet us.

"Whachyoo been up to?" asked Alpha with a playful jab to my right pec. The playful jab indicated that Alpha knew exactly what I had been up to, and had witnessed some of it.

Well that sure hurt. Yowza!

I had a beer, more time talking with the men on the deck, and then it was time to call it a night.

This morning, I awoke at 10:53 am Pacific Time. I couldn't believe I had stayed in bed so long! Lazy bones, lazy bones! Alpha pointed out that since I had gotten beat up last night, I might want to go easy on myself about enjoying an extra hour or so of shut eye.

On today's agenda, the Endless Round of Glittering Holiday Galas. Well, two parties actually. After loading up on bread at Bread and Cie, we headed to La Jolla, where friends of Alpha's who have a place overlooking the sparkling Pacific were having a holiday get together. It was an older crowd, as it's rare to find men in their thirties who can get a house overlooking the glittering Pacific, but friendly folks. Alpha and I slipped into some of the courtesy swimsuits provided and hopped in the pool.

Thus were we oggled. I surmised that we were at the party as eye-candy, not really expected to take part in conversation or anything, just to loll around in the pool and look fetching. And that sure worked for me! I like being a trohy guest at a holiday party at a house overlooking the glittering Pacific! I ate that up with a spoon.

Speaking of eating, they put out quite a spread, and Alpha and I availed ourselves thereof. Hamburgers were being grilled, and I noticed that the cater water was pretty easy on the eyes. And I noticed cater waiter looking with sort of stunned disbelief at my tattoo... the new one, of the chains. As I approached the grill where he was flipping burgers, I saw why: he had a chain tattoo winding up from his wrist.

Oh. My. God.

This means I'll have to hunt him down and kill him. Sorry about that cater waiter. That idea happens to be mine, even if it seems that you thought of it first. I hope life has been good to you, but you've flipped your final burgers. Hasta la vista, Bay-beee.

After eating, we had the second party of the day to attend, the Albatross Avenue Block Party. Alpha was hot to attend as he is leading a drive to get the City of Sandy Eggo to make Albatross Ave a one-way street and wanted to gather petition signatures from his neighbors.

So Civic Minded is our Alpha!

And that's where Alpha is now, off signature gathering. I, on the other hand, opted to spend some time posting, keeping all of you up to date on my doings.

And now, I think I'll wander into Hillcrest and see if I can't find a Starbucks that's open.

Time for a latte and a cigar.


Thursday, July 01, 2004

I Used To Live In New York City. Everything There Was Dark And Dirty

Okay, folks. Tomorrow I'm off to Sunny Southern California. I'm doing my utmost to be minimalist in my approach to packing (only one whip! No more than two floggers and not the heavy elk skin!), and that's not an easy thing.

San Diego, Palm Springs, Los Angeles.

All that and my Sir next weekend to complete the experience. Absolutely perfect.

If I have internet access, I might post here on SingleTails, but... uh... don't count on it. I am bringing my camera, so perhaps I'll remember to take some pictures.

Signing off for now...