Sunday Mop Up 10/28/07

Yes, I haven't blogged in, like, forever. But I'm here now so strap it on, lube it up, and point it at someone you love 'cuz it's that special day of the week! Let the Mop Up begin, babies!

I'm Always The Last To Know

Did you know that the darker the roast of the coffee bean, the less caffeine? It's true.

While out buying a new batch of whole coffee beans for my beloved morning cuppa, I was schooled on this by the salespunk at Starbucks. See, I had been buying the more expensive, darker roast beans all this time, gladly shelling out the extra money for what I thought was more of a kickstart to my central nervous system in the morning. Turns out, for a lot less money, I can buy Kenyan beans (not as darkly roasted AND nearly 30% cheaper than what I had been buying) and the additional caffeination (is that a word?) is completely apparent. For example, I am only halfway through my first cup/mug/bucket so far and all ready my nipples could cut glass. It's a good sign.

Well, maybe the house is a little cooler than usual. That could account for it as well, but I'm sticking to my first hypothesis.

So,the lesson is : the roasting process actually burns off some of the caffeine in coffee. The longer it is roasted, the less is contained. Duly noted. Thanks, salespunk!

Hallowed Weenies

Long-term readers of this blog know how I feel about Halloween. By the way, "long-term readers" don't exist here, and I friggin' KNOW it, okay? Please, just humor me and read along.

Halloween is a holiday that belongs, in MY humble opinion, to CHILDREN. Yes, I am well aware of this "history" of this day and the "SO not about children!" aspect to it, but we have evolved as a culture and society now and this holiday should now belong only to children. Because adults have turned it into an excuse to be drunk, sick, and stupid - all while dressing up in very uncreative and largely pathetic costumes.

I'm not into "dress up". I'm not into drinking. I'm not into proving what a moron I am (although I still manage it frequently).

My disdain for this holiday can be traced directly to my life as a bouncer many years ago. Drunk people suck bad enough on any usual day of the week, but add to it the capability of hiding some prop within their costume to use on you as you try to escort them out of the door at closing time? I fucking hated working two days of the year at the bars: Halloween and New Year's Eve.

And, for what it is worth, I maintain that Halloween is the perfect excuse for many "straight" men who are confused about their sexual orientation to dress up in drag and not be considered a transvestite. If you have any male friends who, year after year, wear makeup and pantyhose on Halloween, it's time you sat them down and had a little talk. "Oh, you're Courtney Love AGAIN this year, Bob? How interesting!"

My guess on a popular costume this year -at least for us fags? Senator Larry Craig in a restroom stall. How CLEVER (cue: eyeroll)!

Now, 'scuse me while I go pour a second bucket of coffee. Be right back...

And, Finally...

I've recently gotten news that a guy who I've chatted with online for several years now, just lost his life partner of 12 years earlier this month. Gay men living together for 12 years in a committed relationship? How NOT married is that!?!

Tony is a wonderfully sweet, tubby gay guy who, although partnered with the older Guido for lo these many years, found his sexy butt on several "bear smut" magazines. Yet, the love they had for each other, Tony and Guido, was never a question.

Well, Tony has posted a little memorial to Guido on his LiveJournal page, and I thought I would share it here. If you are disgusted and repulsed at the sight/thought of two grown men loving each other, don't bother playing the link. I found it touching and sweet and makes me wonder why anyone would object to the concept of two adult human beings wanting to honor and commit to each other before the eyes of God and their community in the sanctity of a vow of marriage?

Love is Love, people.

http://view.break.com/387753 - Watch more free videos

Meet Sean Astin!


I'm doing this for the benefit of Dick Small, who claims on his blogsite that he doesn't know who this hot hunk of thespianism is.

He was Samwise in The Lord Of The Rings trilogy, he was Rudy in the movie "Rudy" (a football movie). He was a cute little geek with a lisp in the movie "Goonies" way back when. He is the son of Patty Duke and John Astin (remember Gomez in the tv show "The Addams Family?). Hell, he was in "Encino Man" with Brendan Frasier and Pauly Shore. REMEMBER? Come ON!

Yep.

He is Patty Duke's best work EVER!

Okay, maybe I just like lookin' at him.

Blown Outta The Water


Look, I just spent an hour and a half writing a post, and Blogger chose to eat its ass out and now it is nowhere to be seen.

Didn't even autosave it, like it claims it does.

I'm now in a foul mood and uninterested in rebuilding the little gem of a post that I had constructed.

Screw it. I'll try again another time.

Highlights:

Lisa is doing fine, but has a connection issue with the appliance (?). It's gonna take some time to get it figured out.

I got told by a punk/thug at MacDonald's to drive away from the drive thru, because he "doesn't give a fuck". I'm meeting with the store manager on Monday to discuss said punk's big, stupid mouth.

I loathe teenagers.

Jimmy's jukebox is freshly loaded with some new stuff, including the most sick and twisted co-dependent love song ever written in the 60s. I've included the original and a badass cover version.

That's all I can manage for now.

Post-Surgery Update!

This just in from Sister Central:

Lisa (yes, that is her name) goes to the doctor THIS FRIDAY to have her implant powered up and programmed. The family isn't sure what to expect, but we are very excited and feel so amazingly blessed that our family member is getting this chance that she has dreamed about her entire life.

I hold my arms upward toward the sky and feel The Universe hold me in Its embrace.

I'll keep ya posted, my friends!

Friday Food Finds!

Was at the convenience store yesterday and saw a big display of this:

I'm not EVEN kidding. As if tomato juice isn't disgusting enough of its own, some genius paired it with clam juice WAY back when just to up the gross factor. And now THIS! Someone in Anheuser-Bush's marketing department needs to stop dropping acid. I literally shrieked when I saw this stuff on display.

"They say it's like a Bloody Mary," the cashier told me.

"More like a Dry Heave Hannah!" I replied.

Let's see what the judges have to say:

Can't say I'm surprised...

Also, while researching the above atrocity on the web, I came across this little beverage sold in Japan:

Yum! Cucumber flavored Pepsi! Not kidding, it's sold in Japan. Let's go to the judges again...

Well, that's unfortunate. I thought it might be the perfect accompaniment with sushi. Back to the drawing board, buddies!

And, finally, there's a pepper sauce from Ghana that seems to be quite popular in that part of the world:

Be sure and ask for it by name!

Okay, I'm outta here. Have a great weekend!

Welcome To the Hotel Oklahomo!

I guess I should save this posting for Field Trip Friday, but I've never been good at following the lead of others.

Here's the gay resort/motel/compound I stayed a night at on my way back from Missouri. Click the pic to enter and take the tour.

Warning: Staring at the pictures too long and/or experiencing Resort Envy may mean you are "family", if ya know what I mean.

P.O.'d !

Oh, how sweet! I'm nowhere to be seen for over a week, and none other than that dear "Ravn" is the sole blogbuddy who asks where I am and what has happened! Thank you for your concern, Ravn, and trust me when I say that you are my FAVORITE (insert a nasty look here over to Dick Small's direction)!

I spent 45 minutes at the Post Office today trying to retrieve all the mail I had on hold while gone. Would someone explain to me again why we don't privatize the Post Office? Jesus, I've never seen so many rounded shoulders and dead eyes and lifeless shuffles and "fuck you" attitudes! I could feel my blood pressure spiking as I watched those governmental zombies stumble through the Hell they call "work". I wanted to scream "Lick a stamp and lick my fucking ass, for GOD'S sake!" I'm gonna buy stamp software at some point, so I don't ever have to set foot in that crypt again.

It kinda ruined my day, truth be told. Anyhoo...

Yes, I've been back home for several days now and have been very neglectful in posting. Let me catch you up:

Sister is doing very well. The hospital where the surgery was performed is a "teaching" hospital, so things went slowly as every med student who could get in on some of the action - did! I'm not kidding. The poor girl had three separate anaesthesiologists (I nearly slipped into a coma just trying to spell that friggin' word), three nursologists, a head surgologist and two -ologists that I still have no idea what their function was.

They had to drill a hole in her skull. Behind her right ear. It's where the wire goes that stimulates the nerves in the middle ear. A hole in her skull. Fuckola!

Her rough and tumble husband was kind of in a bewildered fog of anxiety during the surgery. I was glad I was there. He lost her bag of personal belongings at one point. I found them in the cafeteria. He couldn't get any staff to give him any progress reports. I flagged down a nurse and stood in her path until I got answers. When Sis got out of surgery and into Recovery, I could tell she was still in an inordinate amount of pain. I insisted she get more drugs. I did a lot of eye to eye contact with staff and spoke very measured and calmly and slowly. They responded to my requests quickly.

Look, I know this isn't about me, I'm just saying I think I helped, okay?

She was scheduled for surgery at 9:30AM...she didn't get into surgery until noon. We didn't get to see her until nearly 5PM. We finally got her packed up and into the car, bound for home, by 7pm. When we all got home, EVERYone was wiped out.

A day later, her husband had kicked into "caregiver" mode very well. Even my niece was being helpful. Sis, however, was distracted by my presence, and WAY too worried about how I was, whether I had enough to eat...did I sleep okay, and so on. I decided I needed to leave so that she would concentrate on herself and stop trying to be the good hostess.

So, my work was done and I bolted.

I check in on her online regularly. The hole in her middle ear has caused balance issues, but that was expected. She will spend the next four weeks healing before they get in and turn the implant on and program the chip. That's when we find out if it will help her hear again.

Remind me to tell you about the gay motel/resort that I stayed at on the way back to Texas. Yup, a gay resort. In Oklahomo City. Too funny.

I Curse, Therefore I Am Awake

Seriously, how do so many of you regularly get up at this time of day, and not KILL everyone you encounter?

Holy shit!

I'm Here and I'm Checking In

Man, Missouri is really in the middle of America and in the middle of nowhere. I'm a city boy, and this is really testing my patience.

My sister and her family are treating me like a king, I SO don't deserve it.

The operation is tomorrow, but they won't program the chip and plug her in for 4 weeks or so.

We're getting up at 6am tomorrow to make the 90 minute drive to Kansas City. I want a friggin' medal for voluntarily waking up at such a God-Awful hour. I'm asking nicely.

Great, I'm lying here naked on the bed, on my belly, with the bedroom door closed, typing away on my awesome laptop, and my sister just opened the door to see if I was okay. I don't mind being an exhibitionist when I am in control of the situation. This was not one of those situations.

I can still hear her laughing in the other room.



It's okay. Family rocks.

Okay, Here's What May Happen This Weekend

Okay, wait, before I tell you that, let me give you a little background:

I was born a middle-child. I have an older sister who is four years older than me, and two twin sisters, who are four years younger than me. I'm the only boy, and my Dad was a pilot in the Air Force and was gone all time time. Yes, I grew up surrounded by a mother who was trying to raise four kids (practically) by herself, and three strong-willed sisters. I turned out gay. Go figure.

Anyway- my "little" sisters, the twins, always fascinated me. In one family photo after another, you can see me focusing on The Twins and laughing my ass off. They were a hoot to watch grow up. My older sister was always a kind of surrogate parent to me. I loved her, but she was always telling me what to do - but my younger sisters were just a party. It didn't hurt that I was their "big brother", either.

The extra wrinkle to this is that one of the twins became deaf at about the age of two. The doctors were never really certain why, but it was nerve deafness and that was that.

This sister continues to just blow the doors off of me on a regular basis. When she was FOUR YEARS OLD she knew that she wanted to learn how to read lips and speak, not use sign language, to communicate. This is a big decision for the parents of a deaf child. Speech therapy is long and drawn out and frustrating. I remember quite clearly when she told my parents she wanted to lip read because she wanted to "talk to EVERYbody!"

My Dad was transferred to Lockbourne Air Force Base in Columbus, Ohio, because at the time it had the best school for the deaf in the country: The Alexander Graham Bell School for the Deaf. My sister enrolled in that school at the age of four.

After several years at this special schoool, she let it be known that she wanted to attend public school, with her sister, her twin. So, she started her school career over, starting in the first grade, and took accelerated classes to catch up with her sister. Somewhere around 6th grade she caught up, and began attending class with her twin.

Am I doing her justice here? Can you understand what a strong spirit this person has?

My family attended church every Sunday. The deaf twin was furious that her sister and I sang in the children's church choir. She wanted to sing, too! My mother tried to explain that in order to sing with the group, you had to make some very precisely pitched sounds together. Pffft! she countered, God would LOVE the way she sang!

And sing, she would. Not in the choir in church, but after church, when we were home. You could find her tucked away somewhere, softly singing a song of her own. I found her many a time like that. She would be staring up at the sky, singing in a monotone that probably made dogs in the neighborhood cock their heads.

She went on to graduate from high school, get a job in a beauty shop, and married a young man in her early 20's. She is still married to that man to this day, and has raised two wonderful girls, my nieces, who are not deaf.

So, that's the background. Now, to explain my upcoming weekend...

My deaf sister is getting a cochlear implant on Monday. The thing Rush Limbaugh has, I think. My mother was going to fly to Missouri to be with her, but has determined that she can't swing the finances. When I heard that news over the last weekend, I have been wrestling with the thought of going there to be with her myself. I think she'd like her "big brother" to be close.

[pause here as I get a lump in my throat]

See, the thing is, the chances of this procedure working for her aren't all that good. But that's not important. What is important is that I want to honor the spirit of that little girl who wants to know why SHE can't sing in the choir, why SHE shouldn't be able to talk to EVERYbody.

She is so amazing, she just might pull this off! She's cool like that. Seriously.

I'm struggling like hell to get two weeks worth of work done at my job by the day after tomorrow, so I can take a week and not be missed. I'm looking at my bank account daily and doing the math. I hate math. I hate sweating over money. I hate not being wealthy enough that this kind of thing is easy to accomplish. But, fuck it. Something tells me that I need to be there.

So, I'm going. I'm gonna jump in my truck after work on Friday and drive to Middle-of-Friggin'-NoWhere, Missouri over the weekend to be with my fucking fantastic little sister (and her fucking fantastic family) on Monday for the operation. No one knows I'm doing this. I'm just gonna show up... and tell her that I love her.



Wish her Luck, okay? Thanks.

Ummm, UNcastrate "Him"?



It's a link to the screaming twink/queen "Leave Britney ALONE!" kid. He calls himself Chris Crocker. If you haven't seen it, it'll make your eyes roll back in your head, whether you're gay or straight. The pathetic part is that this little piece of melodrama has had over 9 MILLION hits on YouTube in just over two weeks.

YouTube is the biggest internet phenomenon since Google. Equal parts Gong Show, American Idol, and America's Funniest Home Videos, it amazes me what people are willing to do to get a little recognition. Amost as bad as blogging, huh?

The last geek to catch our attention on YouTube was THIS GUY:



Does your gaydar go off with him, too? Mine sure does. Wretched freaking song. Seriously. Over 9 million hits for this trainwreck as well, but it's been around for about 5 months now.

But, back to Chris. Chris Crocker can bet his candy-ass that he's hit the Big Time when mainstream cable networks start making fun!



He was featured on Jimmy Kimmel, and Keith Olbermann, the Today Show (I think) and a slew of other media outlets. Here's another clip, from NationalLampoon.com:




If you haven't sniffed around YouTube, you really ought to try it some time. Just enter some wacked out topic, person, thought, or fantasy into the search field, and watch what pops up. I believe, and I'm completely disgusted to admit this, that we may be looking at the future of television here.

Castrate Him!
(deep breath here)

DETROIT (AP) — A grand jury has issued new charges against a U.S. prosecutor from Florida accused of soliciting sex with a 5-year-old girl on the Internet.
A U.S. magistrate today ordered John D.R. Atchison held without bond. At his lawyer's request, a suicide watch also was lifted for Atchison.
Atchison is from Gulf Breeze. He's an assistant U.S. Attorney in northern Florida, based in Pensacola.
Authorities say he was arrested Sunday at Detroit Metropolitan Airport after several weeks of Internet conversations between him and a detective posing as the mother of a 5-year-old girl.
He was charged with crossing state lines with intent to have sex with someone under 12; use of the Internet to seek illicit sex; and interstate travel to engage in illicit sexual contact.





I just want to puke. When are we going to wake up and start throwing the book at these monsters? Zero Tolerance for this scum. ZERO!

Portrait Of A Co-Worker

This is Paul. I've worked with him for over 10 years now, and I never knew he was a Superhero! A Japanese Superhero, at that! He's from New Jersey, for cryin' out loud. How could he have kept such a thing from me, his supervisor? Why wouldn't he tell me about who he really is?

Wait a minute, I didn't come out to him until earlier this year...

Okay, I guess we're even now. Except he obviously has better fashion sense.

Other fun facts about Paul:

*He drives a Miata and belongs to a Miata-owners car club. They go places and do things together. In their Miatas. That's how it works.

*Besides his love for cheesy (read: bad) sci-fi and monster movies of the '50s and '60s, Paul has also nearly memorized every line of dialogue from every episode of The Simpsons ever made. Maybe I'm exaggerating here, but it might be true!

* His job performance is the most consistent of anyone I have ever supervised. He is methodical and has a keen eye for detail. (Lifted from the last performance review I gave him)

*A notoriously cheap bastard, he only goes out to eat for lunch if he has a coupon from someplace and only gets a haircut if he has a coupon from someplace. It's really pretty funny.

*Because of his ability to squeeze a penny until it bleeds, Paul goes on a magnificent vacation once a year. A few years back it was Paris. Last year, I think it was Peru. He just got back last week from this year's amazing vacation to Mexico City. Now I'm beginning to wonder if he really goes to these places to vacation, or if he's fighting huge monsters and saving Mankind in his spare time!

* I used to call him "Coupon Boy". Little did I know he is "Ultraman"!

[Late Edition Addition - Lest you think I whipped that pic up, I want to assure you that I have no such graphics skills. He, in fact, emailed it to me earlier today. I guess everyone has secrets, huh?]

Hear It On Jimmy's Jukebox

The movie is called "Once". It's a story about two people who meet on the street and decide to make music together. Glen Hansard ("The Commitments") plays an Irish street performer, who meets Marketa Ingova, a Czech immigrant who likes his music.

It's such a little movie that you never learn either of their names. But you see into their hearts, and you root for them every step of the way. Rent it when it comes out and watch it with someone you love. Snuggle up, and tell them that you love them.

Man, I've been a sucker for Lonesome Music lately. It feels good. And this fits right in.

Falling Slowly

I don't know you

But I want you

All the more for that

Words fall through me

And always fool me

And I can't react

And games that never amount

To more than they're meant

Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home

We've still got time

Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice

You've made it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me

And I can't go back

Moods that take me and erase me

And I'm painted black

You have suffered enough

And warred with yourself

It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home

We've still got time

Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice

You've made it now

Falling slowly

Sing your melody

I'll sing along

I've enabled a link on the bottom of the jukebox for you to see a music video of the song, with clips from the movie. You can also download the mp3, for a while.

A Sad Realization

I'm not a" bottom". Sure, I can "bottom", but it doesn't define me sexually. I have a friend who I'm kind of avoiding, because of the pressure I feel to try to please him by being what I know I'm not: a bottom.

It saddens me because it feels like one more way that I don't fit in. I'm not "straight". I'm not skinny. I'm not a "top", and now I know I'm not a "bottom", as well.

I'm Jim. That's the most important thing. I must be true to myself.

I need to make a phone call tomorrow. He deserves to be told the truth.

Nice Little Quote

"When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it---ALWAYS." - Mahatma Gandhi

thanks to David!

Remember?

Of course you do. We all do. I dare say that any adult can remember what they were doing, and how it affected them on that day. No need for me to post a picture, No need for me to talk specifics. What a horror this day was!

Sit with the memory. Reflect on it. We'll be bombarded with the images by the media, it will be easy to want to filter it out. But, don't. Don't turn away.

Remember.

Dwell upon it, not for political reasons, but for Humanitarian reasons. Hold it in your thoughts for Spiritual purposes. Reconnect with those feelings of Empathy and Compassion and Fear and Love for your fellow Man that this nightmare first aroused. Be there, then. Be here, now.

We are One, sometimes. We are One, always.

So.

Remember.

I LOVE HAPPY BUNNY!

(see, being gay has its perks! A grown man who is a homo can admit such things.)

Don't worry, if you don't like Happy Bunny, you are just stupid. That's not YOUR fault!

An Open Letter To Men (Gay Or Straight)

Dear Dudes,

It's that time of the year again - Football Season. And there's a few things I'd like to cover before we get any deeper into it. A few pet peeves of mine that I need to get out in the open and discuss now, so that there won't be an ugly scene between us in a sports bar, or in front of someone's big screen tv. Please pay attention.

#1. You are not paid by the network to be the color man in the announcing booth. Stop analysing every friggin' play, and shut the hell up once in a while so I can hear what the PAID PROFESSIONALS have to say about the game I'm watching.

#2. I know that your world is all about you, but mine is not all about you. I don't want or need to hear about your high school career as a football player. I know how the story ends- you didn't go pro. End of story.

#3. I have no intention of competing with you on your rate of beer consumption. I can nurse a single beer for quite a while. No, I'm not ready for another. No, I'm not a pussy for not joining in on your chug fest. Feel free to guzzle 'til you pass out, maybe I can actually focus on the game if you are unconscious.

#4. Yes, Andy Reid is hot and, no, you'll never get the chance. (Gay Bear chasers only)

#5. When discussing your own, personal workout routine at the gym, refrain from referring to your arms as "guns". They are arms. You have arms. Call them that. The only people who have "guns" are quarterbacks and baseball players. If you can sling a football 50 yards, precisely hitting a moving target; or, if you can throw a baseball from deep right field to home plate, or throw a strike at 100 mph consistently, you have "guns". You? Arms. By the way, same goes for the term "cannon". Jesus!

#6. Please stop being so critical of professional athlete's mistakes while on the field, and ending the judgement with "ANYONE could have caught that!" (or "tackled him", or "not stepped out of bounds") Sports are HARD. It's why you aren't a professional player yourself. {Note: if you actually played college or professional ball, this one does not apply to you.]

#7. Don't expect the rest of us to want to push "pause" on the dvr/tivo while you take your thirtieth piss of the game.

#8. Yes, the cheerleaders are hot and, no, you'll never get the chance. (Straight guys only)

I'm The Decider

...and I've made a huge decision at my place of employ about me and my work environment. And The Decision is this:

No more blogging, either writing or reading, at work. Period.

This pains me, because I feel completely comfortable in assuring you, or anyone within my company, that I get things done at work. I can supervise and co-ordinate and facilitate like a champ, and still have my browser tucked in the background of my desktop, ready to spring open and catch whatever wonderment spills from my keyboard at any given time. Further, I can zip in and out of fellow blogger's lives adroitly while juggling the host of Real World duties assigned to me by The Man. Tasks that pay my mortgage and keep my refrigerator stocked. Multi-task like a multi-fucker, I can. But, that's not the point.

What IS important is that, when "on the clock" for Corporate America I should, and shall, give The Beast my UNDIVIDED attention. If I can truly juggle more balls, let them be company balls.

Truth is: I love my job. I love what I do (mostly), and I love the people I work with (generally). I am Grateful and Honored that I have been given some status and privilege, and feel I owe my employer my respect. So, no personal silliness during business hours.

And, let me tell you, people: this new rule is KILLIN' ME! Jesus, I'm addicted to my lifestyle of "drive-by blogging". I sit in front of my monitor, jumping between Access 2003 spreadsheets, Outlook email, and the user -interface for the metadata tool I use, and I'm seriously wondering how Bigg is doing, if Dick Small has posted another dumbass cartoon, and what silly shit is collecting on Overheard In New York today.

It's tough, but I'm restraining myself. Because it's the right thing to do.

Don't be surprised it you see a little less of me. I'll try to check-in before work, after work (like now), and on weekends.

Just know that I'm crazy missing being on all day, off and on.

[ insert Heavy Sigh here]

Meanwhile, here's a cartoon I lifted from Joe.My.God (who admits he got it from somewhere else) that, in light of all the Republican gay sex scandals, made me laugh.

Later!