Junk in the trunk...but it's now what you thunk.
the bf italiano opened the trunk to our car in a parking lot last Sunday using our remote control. He took one look at the junk in the trunk and panicked...thinking he had somehow opened the trunk of the car of a stranger. But then he looked a little closer and saw a rolled up yoga mat, a familiar sweatshirt and sweat pants and a strangely not unfamiliar and sweaty pile of underwear, shorts and tee shirt. What threw him off was the big black camera bag he'd never seen. It was gear from work that I had in the trunk.
giovedì 29 maggio 2008
Sex and the City
It seems that you can't go anywhere these days without hearing about Sex in the City (and I'm not talking about the missed connections section of Craigslist).
One of my faves is heavy.com's Flex and the City. It's the exact dialog from Sex and the City, but the actors are all women who can bench press well over 200 pounds. It's awesome.
A couple of days ago, I had Flex and the City going on my work computer and then started listening to KCRW's internet radio station. Of course I totally forgot I had the Flex and the City running, and I thought the song I was listening to was music playing over top Sex and the City dialog. And I was totally digging it...and then I realized it was not the song at all, but the result of too many tabs open on my browser.
One of my faves is heavy.com's Flex and the City. It's the exact dialog from Sex and the City, but the actors are all women who can bench press well over 200 pounds. It's awesome.
A couple of days ago, I had Flex and the City going on my work computer and then started listening to KCRW's internet radio station. Of course I totally forgot I had the Flex and the City running, and I thought the song I was listening to was music playing over top Sex and the City dialog. And I was totally digging it...and then I realized it was not the song at all, but the result of too many tabs open on my browser.
lunedì 26 maggio 2008
Stuffed with sea food
i'm currently stuffed with sea food. But who cares about my $10 excursion to the seafood side of San Diego. A smoky marlin taco, a shrimp taco and a cup of seafood broth. All delicious. All beside the point.
The woman running the front of the empty restaurant is in her mid 20s. Her mother made her dresses for her until she was 21.
The only other customer in the place is a man looking to get a date with this bilingual (spanish/english) woman who plans to lighten her hair again soon. Her weeks alternate between 3 and 4 12 hour shifts. This really saves on diesel for her truck, which she buys in Mexico for $2.10/gallon. "You can't beat it these days," she tells her suitor.
There is no mexican food on the menu, just sea food...which surprises a gringo out-of-my-neighborhood tourist like me. Since the restaurant is in a historically latino neighborhood and since the hipster weekly newspaper listed it in the mexican food section, this gringo assumes they have mexican food.
The don't have mexican food. Well, they do...but only when one of the two cooks is working. She makes some kick ass huevos rancheros, I hear. The kids menu is also full of mexican comfort food. I guess a quesadilla con carne is sorta like an order of chicken fingers. Kids dig em. And drunk people crave 'em.
The woman running the front of the empty restaurant is in her mid 20s. Her mother made her dresses for her until she was 21.
The only other customer in the place is a man looking to get a date with this bilingual (spanish/english) woman who plans to lighten her hair again soon. Her weeks alternate between 3 and 4 12 hour shifts. This really saves on diesel for her truck, which she buys in Mexico for $2.10/gallon. "You can't beat it these days," she tells her suitor.
There is no mexican food on the menu, just sea food...which surprises a gringo out-of-my-neighborhood tourist like me. Since the restaurant is in a historically latino neighborhood and since the hipster weekly newspaper listed it in the mexican food section, this gringo assumes they have mexican food.
The don't have mexican food. Well, they do...but only when one of the two cooks is working. She makes some kick ass huevos rancheros, I hear. The kids menu is also full of mexican comfort food. I guess a quesadilla con carne is sorta like an order of chicken fingers. Kids dig em. And drunk people crave 'em.
sabato 24 maggio 2008
we ate the banner pic for dinner
Ok, we didn't eat the actual picture. But we did eat the plants that are featured in the banner photo above. The name of the plants? Rapini. As you can see from the photo, the plants are super close because I threw a ton of seeds in the pot and they all seem to have germinated. I already pulled out a ton of the seedlings. But at a certain point, I stopped pulling them out and said "let's see what happens."
What happened is that the plants have been growing amazingly well even though they are literally climbing all over each other. I did some serious thinning today, to try to make some room for the remaining plants to grow more leaves and flower.
We ate the thinned rapini for dinner tonight, after cooking them in a thin layer of salted water and sprinking them with a touch of olive oil before serving.
molto saporito!!!
I also transplanted some baby rapini plants into bigger pots, so that the harvest continues beyond the first pot.
What happened is that the plants have been growing amazingly well even though they are literally climbing all over each other. I did some serious thinning today, to try to make some room for the remaining plants to grow more leaves and flower.
We ate the thinned rapini for dinner tonight, after cooking them in a thin layer of salted water and sprinking them with a touch of olive oil before serving.
molto saporito!!!
I also transplanted some baby rapini plants into bigger pots, so that the harvest continues beyond the first pot.
Todd's quote meme take two
For anyone who is keeping track, I tagged myself for a quote meme. And I'm glad I did because I have a Nina Simone quote to share. The quote is a second hand quote from Roger Nupie, a long-lasting friend of Nina Simone and a dude from Belgium who first met Nina in the late 1980s when Nina was living in Nijmegen.
According to Roger Nupie, he and Nina were at an African discotheque in Antwerp one night and met an African ambassador and his son. The following is a quote from an interview with Roger that is included in the Nina Simone biography "Break Down and Let It All Out" by Sylvia Hampton with David Nathan. (The book is interesting, though I warn you it is more of a tribute from a unique perspective than a biography. I'm very glad I read it because it tried to honestly deal with the mental health issues (and the inter-personal distress these issues caused) that plagued Nina for her entire life. But don't expect a masterpiece.)
"The third story has to do with her [Nina Simone's] down-to-earth attitude towards men, love and sex. Once when she was staying with me in Antwerp, we went out to an African discotheque, where many wealthy Africans went. We met this ambassador and his son, and they offered us both champagne and Baileys, and a whole lot more to drink. He was very entertaining and charming, as was his son. But after a while Nina started to get bored; she wanted some real action, if you know what I mean. Next thing I know, she got up and said, 'Come on, Roger, you take the son and I'll take the father. Can we go now?' The ambassador was not quite sure he'd heard right, and asked madam if she could repeat what she'd said. Nina repeated what she had said, shouting at the top of her voice. Both men looked puzzled, and the next thing they decided was they suddenly had to leave. I thought Nina might be sad, as she seemed to be really interested in the ambassador, but she was fine. She looked at me for a moment and then started to laugh. 'Well sugar, if we can't find a lover tonight, we may as well dance,' and that's what we did. After that we went to one of her favourite Chinese restaurants. It was a cheap and slightly dirty place, but they served huge portions and that's what she liked."
According to Roger Nupie, he and Nina were at an African discotheque in Antwerp one night and met an African ambassador and his son. The following is a quote from an interview with Roger that is included in the Nina Simone biography "Break Down and Let It All Out" by Sylvia Hampton with David Nathan. (The book is interesting, though I warn you it is more of a tribute from a unique perspective than a biography. I'm very glad I read it because it tried to honestly deal with the mental health issues (and the inter-personal distress these issues caused) that plagued Nina for her entire life. But don't expect a masterpiece.)
"The third story has to do with her [Nina Simone's] down-to-earth attitude towards men, love and sex. Once when she was staying with me in Antwerp, we went out to an African discotheque, where many wealthy Africans went. We met this ambassador and his son, and they offered us both champagne and Baileys, and a whole lot more to drink. He was very entertaining and charming, as was his son. But after a while Nina started to get bored; she wanted some real action, if you know what I mean. Next thing I know, she got up and said, 'Come on, Roger, you take the son and I'll take the father. Can we go now?' The ambassador was not quite sure he'd heard right, and asked madam if she could repeat what she'd said. Nina repeated what she had said, shouting at the top of her voice. Both men looked puzzled, and the next thing they decided was they suddenly had to leave. I thought Nina might be sad, as she seemed to be really interested in the ambassador, but she was fine. She looked at me for a moment and then started to laugh. 'Well sugar, if we can't find a lover tonight, we may as well dance,' and that's what we did. After that we went to one of her favourite Chinese restaurants. It was a cheap and slightly dirty place, but they served huge portions and that's what she liked."
venerdì 23 maggio 2008
parmesan cheese is not like pizza and sex
They say pizza is like sex, even when it's bad, it's pretty good.
I'm sorry to say Parmesan cheese does not fit into this esteemed category of life experiences. Bad paremsan cheese is just plain bad. (Ok, I guess I'm officially a spoiled cheese snob.) I made risotto with ghetto-parm last night and I was bummed. But the two glasses of pino helped out.
I'm sorry to say Parmesan cheese does not fit into this esteemed category of life experiences. Bad paremsan cheese is just plain bad. (Ok, I guess I'm officially a spoiled cheese snob.) I made risotto with ghetto-parm last night and I was bummed. But the two glasses of pino helped out.
mercoledì 21 maggio 2008
thanks kate! (and mom and dad)
I know they say that kids are really fast with computers these days. But this is REDICULOUS. She is less than one month old and she is already an old-school user of Photoshop. We don't have a chance. I assume that Kate is also a strategic advisor for the Obama campaign as well as a freelance marketer with a book deal that grew out of her Twitter activity. And to think that she did all of this before she was even born.
Kids these days.
BTW, this is a baby that I am extremely excited to get to know. I have refrained from talking about her on this blog cuz she is so new and I haven't wanted to over share so soon (and I fear retribution from her precocious prenatal possee who are likely to Google Bomb me, or some such thing, if they don't like my online overtures directed to their homegirl. But since she sent ME this communication, it's fair game).
I was born 32 years ago today
I totally don't remember being born. You'd think I'd remember such an important day. I mean hello? It's not like I was so busy that I didn't have time to snap a few photos on that day. Sure, the light in the hospital room wasn't that great. But compared to the prenatal lighting situation, it was perfect lighting.
I wonder if so many people seem to go the born-again route because they don't remember being born the first time. If you remembered it the first time around, you might not need to go through the whole thing again.
I called my mom to ask her about my birth yesterday, and during the course of the conversation, she told me that I got really constipated when she switched me from breast milk to formula. She said that "was just between you and me." Sorry mom. And don't feel bad about it. You taught me an important lesson. Eat your vegetables! Soymilk is not enough.
And thanks for giving birth to my nearly 10 pounds of flesh and bones. And sorry that I was yellow and had to hang out in the hospital an extra day. I must have been playing with that yellow crayola marker in eutero during birth. And with all that pushing, I probably forgot to put the cap on the marker, and so I got covered in yellow ink. Ooops.
I wonder if so many people seem to go the born-again route because they don't remember being born the first time. If you remembered it the first time around, you might not need to go through the whole thing again.
I called my mom to ask her about my birth yesterday, and during the course of the conversation, she told me that I got really constipated when she switched me from breast milk to formula. She said that "was just between you and me." Sorry mom. And don't feel bad about it. You taught me an important lesson. Eat your vegetables! Soymilk is not enough.
And thanks for giving birth to my nearly 10 pounds of flesh and bones. And sorry that I was yellow and had to hang out in the hospital an extra day. I must have been playing with that yellow crayola marker in eutero during birth. And with all that pushing, I probably forgot to put the cap on the marker, and so I got covered in yellow ink. Ooops.
giovedì 15 maggio 2008
last monday
On Monday, I took the afternoon off of work and drove out to the desert to tell the California Public Utilities Commission that I thought SDG&E should NOT build a huge high power transmission line through Anza Borrego Desert State Park.
when it was my time to talk, i got up there and promptly ignored all the notes I'd been scribbing as to what I was going to say. After a pregnant pause in which I almost started crying, I spent one minute trying to explain to the commission why the "Christmas and Easter Anza Borregans" would be deeply hurt if the powerline goes through the park. A "Christmas and Easter Anza Borregan" is someone who lives in southern california and comes out in the spring to Anza Borrego to see the wildflowers, and then drives back and promply ignores the park for an entire year. These people have no idea that the park is in jeapordy. And half of them have probably been Greenwashed by SDG&E into thinking that the powerline is a good thing.
So i tried to tell the commission that the park offers an incredible connection to something much much bigger to humanity...and that thousands upon thousands of people who are not otherwise engaged with the natural world actually take advantage of this connection. And descecrating this place would leave a gaping hole in our collective psyche....or something like that.
I now have a much deeper appreciation for all the other people who spoke at the hearing. Most people were so much more relaxed, articulate and coherent. I have a lot to learn.
There was only one other clearly homosexual speaker against the powerline. (if you'd heard my tone of voice, there would have been no doubt)
The other gay guy had a very interesting idea that he wanted to get across. He came up with a photo album with pictures of strangers from 100 years ago. He was like "I have no idea who any of these people are. And I also don't know who the people are who did all the work to make sure this park was created and protected, almost 100 years ago. I don't have any kids, and I don't think I ever will. But I want to be remembered anonymously. I want to be one of those anonymous people that a generation or two in the future will thank for protecting the park when it was in such danger in the early 21st century. Now please, vote no. Deny SDG&E the permission to destry this park. Make us those anonymous people who will be remembered in 100 years."
The administrative law judge who was running the hearing jumped in at this point and said, jokingly, "You'll be remembered! Your testimony is part of the official record."
Well...I certainly hope he gets his wish and that he is remembered 100 years from now for saving the park...because I hope the park is still here in 100 years, more or less in the same condition as it is now.
when it was my time to talk, i got up there and promptly ignored all the notes I'd been scribbing as to what I was going to say. After a pregnant pause in which I almost started crying, I spent one minute trying to explain to the commission why the "Christmas and Easter Anza Borregans" would be deeply hurt if the powerline goes through the park. A "Christmas and Easter Anza Borregan" is someone who lives in southern california and comes out in the spring to Anza Borrego to see the wildflowers, and then drives back and promply ignores the park for an entire year. These people have no idea that the park is in jeapordy. And half of them have probably been Greenwashed by SDG&E into thinking that the powerline is a good thing.
So i tried to tell the commission that the park offers an incredible connection to something much much bigger to humanity...and that thousands upon thousands of people who are not otherwise engaged with the natural world actually take advantage of this connection. And descecrating this place would leave a gaping hole in our collective psyche....or something like that.
I now have a much deeper appreciation for all the other people who spoke at the hearing. Most people were so much more relaxed, articulate and coherent. I have a lot to learn.
There was only one other clearly homosexual speaker against the powerline. (if you'd heard my tone of voice, there would have been no doubt)
The other gay guy had a very interesting idea that he wanted to get across. He came up with a photo album with pictures of strangers from 100 years ago. He was like "I have no idea who any of these people are. And I also don't know who the people are who did all the work to make sure this park was created and protected, almost 100 years ago. I don't have any kids, and I don't think I ever will. But I want to be remembered anonymously. I want to be one of those anonymous people that a generation or two in the future will thank for protecting the park when it was in such danger in the early 21st century. Now please, vote no. Deny SDG&E the permission to destry this park. Make us those anonymous people who will be remembered in 100 years."
The administrative law judge who was running the hearing jumped in at this point and said, jokingly, "You'll be remembered! Your testimony is part of the official record."
Well...I certainly hope he gets his wish and that he is remembered 100 years from now for saving the park...because I hope the park is still here in 100 years, more or less in the same condition as it is now.
Botany Camp! Updated!
Botany camp is cool.
Making a friend at botany camp is cool.
Trading emails with a friend from botany camp, 13 years later. Also cool.
Clicking on a link in an email from said botany camp friend and finding a myspace page demo with a song called "botany camp". Super F*ucking cool.
Listening to "botany camp" right now. priceless.
"Flashes of light cross my windshield and the lake is too full for swimmin.
Driving late at night with nothing on my mind."
...later in the song...
"Flowers taped on pages. We'll destroy this town.
Eight full hours of sleep is all that you can ask."
UPDATE!!!!!
so...Jenn, the lead singer for Botany Camp (which btw would be a good name for a band, not just a song) tells me that the lyrics are infact: "Flowers taped on pages, hail destroyed this town."
I understood the lyrics to be:
"Flowers taped on pages. We'll destroy this town."
Jenn reminded me that one of our classmates grew up on a farm relatively near by (I forget where) and they had a nasty hailstorm that damaged a whole lotta crop...and that was the inspiration for the word choice. Meanwhile, I was thinking about the collective Cedar Point Biological Station thought that they were different than the locals and that they (we) could in fact "destroy this town" in the sense that our collective spirit could override the nature of the town...which in fact never did happen...but anyway...if you're tired of botany camp, check out the other demo songs. I especially like "When things wind down" which is about the end of a house party. i love it. and it makes me want to throw an old fashioned house party, complete with beer-dampened carpet and poisoned housplants.
"Be sure to grab your asshole friend. He's passed out in the upstairs bathroom."
Making a friend at botany camp is cool.
Trading emails with a friend from botany camp, 13 years later. Also cool.
Clicking on a link in an email from said botany camp friend and finding a myspace page demo with a song called "botany camp". Super F*ucking cool.
Listening to "botany camp" right now. priceless.
"Flashes of light cross my windshield and the lake is too full for swimmin.
Driving late at night with nothing on my mind."
...later in the song...
"Flowers taped on pages. We'll destroy this town.
Eight full hours of sleep is all that you can ask."
UPDATE!!!!!
so...Jenn, the lead singer for Botany Camp (which btw would be a good name for a band, not just a song) tells me that the lyrics are infact: "Flowers taped on pages, hail destroyed this town."
I understood the lyrics to be:
"Flowers taped on pages. We'll destroy this town."
Jenn reminded me that one of our classmates grew up on a farm relatively near by (I forget where) and they had a nasty hailstorm that damaged a whole lotta crop...and that was the inspiration for the word choice. Meanwhile, I was thinking about the collective Cedar Point Biological Station thought that they were different than the locals and that they (we) could in fact "destroy this town" in the sense that our collective spirit could override the nature of the town...which in fact never did happen...but anyway...if you're tired of botany camp, check out the other demo songs. I especially like "When things wind down" which is about the end of a house party. i love it. and it makes me want to throw an old fashioned house party, complete with beer-dampened carpet and poisoned housplants.
"Be sure to grab your asshole friend. He's passed out in the upstairs bathroom."
domenica 11 maggio 2008
"in and around"
9:47 PM US Pacific Time.
Just in case you are wondering:
"in and around" as a concept is kind of icky, when you are talking about STDs.
Just in case you are wondering:
"in and around" as a concept is kind of icky, when you are talking about STDs.
TV Tag
Did I really just make a TV tag reference?
I guess so.
But what is "TV tag" anyway?
I totally agree. It sounds like some weird STD that you only get in massage parlors in and around Hollywood. It's the unhappy ending to a San Fernando "happy ending" from some guy named Fernando. TV tag is the transmission of "TV" -- a nasty bug that spreads from intense skin to skin contact that has been traced to the set of a soap opera set in The Valley.
And as I was doing my research on "TV tag" I learned that it's also the name for a game that kids used to play in the 1980s before cable, video game consoles or the Internet...back when kids used to actually play outside.
In this version of American English, "TV tag" referred to a game in which you could save yourself from getting frozen by yelling the name of a TV show right before you got tagged by the person who was "it." (Note, this was before IT became the acronym for Information Technology).
As previously mentioned, TV tag is a derivation of "freeze tag" which itself has a rich tradition in Post-Carter/Pre-Internet America (PCPIA), among pre-pubescent kids (PPKs). In fact, it was after one particulary engaging game of freeze tag that I got some memorable birds-and-the-bees information. It seems that babies are made when you urinate in a woman's private parts.
I guess so.
But what is "TV tag" anyway?
I totally agree. It sounds like some weird STD that you only get in massage parlors in and around Hollywood. It's the unhappy ending to a San Fernando "happy ending" from some guy named Fernando. TV tag is the transmission of "TV" -- a nasty bug that spreads from intense skin to skin contact that has been traced to the set of a soap opera set in The Valley.
And as I was doing my research on "TV tag" I learned that it's also the name for a game that kids used to play in the 1980s before cable, video game consoles or the Internet...back when kids used to actually play outside.
In this version of American English, "TV tag" referred to a game in which you could save yourself from getting frozen by yelling the name of a TV show right before you got tagged by the person who was "it." (Note, this was before IT became the acronym for Information Technology).
As previously mentioned, TV tag is a derivation of "freeze tag" which itself has a rich tradition in Post-Carter/Pre-Internet America (PCPIA), among pre-pubescent kids (PPKs). In fact, it was after one particulary engaging game of freeze tag that I got some memorable birds-and-the-bees information. It seems that babies are made when you urinate in a woman's private parts.
Todd's quote meme
So, I finally came up with a quote for Todd's quote meme that he tagged me with so long ago that it almost seems as long ago as when I was playing "freeze tag" and "tv tag" in the backyard on Glenville Road.
The quote is from Martin Luther King and I got it from the May 19 issue of The Nation. It's an article from Scott Saul about three new MLK books. The article is called "Sweet Martin's Badass Song". Hat tip to Ivano for the quote.
The quote:
"It's a nice thing to say to a man, 'Lift yourself by your own bootstraps,' but it's a cruel jest to say to a bootless man that he ought to lift himself up by his own bootstraps."
UPDATE (20 mins after orig post): Ivano just emailed me the following info regarding the MLK quote:
speech title "Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution"
/Delivered at the National Cathedral, Washington, D.C., on 31 March 1968. Congressional Record, 9 April 1968./
Hmm...I'm supposed to tag some folks to keep this quote meme going, so I am going to tag Wonga and I'm going to tag myself, just because I really like touching myself.
sabato 10 maggio 2008
Dirty Old Lady
There is a dirty old lady in my head, and I've been meaning to tell you about her.
Last week, the night of the wedding I didn't go to, I dreampt that I was on the wait staff at some country club like place that hosts weddings. I was doing my best to be customer friendly, but this one table got really needy. In particular, they asked for coffee in the middle of dinner and then two minutes later got pissed that I had not yet served it.
I lost my temper and flipped the table off. (For the non-native-speakers of English, I gave the women at the table the middle finger, which roughly means "f*ck you!")
Without missing a beat, a heavy set woman in a green baggy cotton top looked at me and said, "Yeah! And do it on a vibrating bed!"
Last week, the night of the wedding I didn't go to, I dreampt that I was on the wait staff at some country club like place that hosts weddings. I was doing my best to be customer friendly, but this one table got really needy. In particular, they asked for coffee in the middle of dinner and then two minutes later got pissed that I had not yet served it.
I lost my temper and flipped the table off. (For the non-native-speakers of English, I gave the women at the table the middle finger, which roughly means "f*ck you!")
Without missing a beat, a heavy set woman in a green baggy cotton top looked at me and said, "Yeah! And do it on a vibrating bed!"
mercoledì 7 maggio 2008
I'm a Fag not an Asshole!
I wish I could explain to my grandmother that I'm a fag and not an asshole.
Huh?
I chose not to go to my brother's wedding last weekend b/c he refused to invite Ivano. My abbreviated bloggers digest version of the story is that he could not put the rules of the Catholic church above human decency and family. Kinda strange, if you ask me.
So, I didn't go.
Neither did my grandparents. But that's because they are super old and not in the greatest health. They barely traveled when they were well...so it's no suprise that they didn't make the two hour trip from their farm outside St. Edward, NE to Lincoln, NE for the big ceremony.
Much of the family came out to see them the next day. And they brought the wedding with them, in the form of a slide show they projected on a big blank wall of my uncle's new farmhouse (props to Douglas for designing the new house). My grandmother, who has serious memory problems if not dementia or Alzheimer's quickly figured out that I wasn't at the wedding, based on my absence in the wedding photos. She asked why I wasn't there. Apparently, people stammered and said things like "He just couldn't make it."
And that makes me sound like an asshole. Who would skip out on their brother's wedding for no good reason? It's not like I'm broke or burdened with some life situation that keeps me here. No, I just didn't show up. And she didn't understand why. And that makes me an asshole.
but I'm not an asshole. I'm just a fag who drew a line in the sand. And unfortunately that line left a big fat line right through the little white lies I have been telling my grandmother since I came out in college, which ironically was in Lincoln, Nebraska, the very place of the wedding.
My excuse for not telling my grandmother (and grandfather and my two farmer uncles who share the farm) is that she (they) wouldn't understand. That it would be too hard for them to understand, and that it would just make trouble. But now, I can clearly see the (obvious) downside to this series of little white lies: I give them no choice but to think that I am an asshole. And while I've never been a grandmother (and don't expect to be one anytime soon), I don't think that its very nice to sit there and think that the grandchild who convinced you to show him how to make chokecherry jelly is an asshole. The little boy who followed so close behind as you ducked your head to get into the chicken coop is a total chicken shit and doesn't care about his family. That the young man who caused you to celebrate Thanksgiving one day late so that he could be a part of the celebration because he had wait tables on the real Thanksgiving day is a piece of rotten turkey. That the boy you let dig up the ground under the lilacs east of the porch to try to put in a wildflower garden at age twelve is a ratty weed that doesn't show up at weddings because he is "too busy doing a whole lot of nothing."
I don't like it. I don't like it for me. I don't like it for her. I just don't like it.
I don't know if there is anything to be done about it at this late date. I don't even know if I have undoubtedly made the wrong decision.
But I DO know that I don't like making my grandmother feel as if there is something people are not telling her. I don't like forcing her to connect the dots and find that she has drawn an asshole grandchild. It's just not nice.
Of course, there are situations and will be future situations in which I have been, am and will be an asshole. Shit happens. And the correlary is that assholes make shit. There fore assholes happen. But not like this. I guess this is a glimpse into my own frailties, but I don't like being judged for things I didn't do. I would much prefer my grandmother -- and anyone else -- be pissed at me for my own shortcomings and not those that I manufacture in a weak attempt to protect her (them) from the truth.
UPDATE: It's true that my grandmother may not remember any of this. I hope this is the case. It's also true that I AM an asshole in the sense that I am not good at staying in touch with her. My excuse for this is that I don't like lying about what it is that I am up to out here in San Diego. In addition, there is a more visceral avoidance of the whole situation. And events such as the wedding force me to see this all so clearly. I should just suck it up, stay in better touch, and let go of my own issues regarding my inability to transcend and/or erase my own white lies. Why must I too let MY white lies trap me? Why must I too connect the white-lie inspired dots, fulfill the asshole prophesy, and not stay in contact?
Oh yeah, because the key word in the phrase "white lie" is "lie."
I think my grandfather gave me this answer years ago, when he said that it is too much work to lie, because you always have to remember what it is that you said last.
Huh?
I chose not to go to my brother's wedding last weekend b/c he refused to invite Ivano. My abbreviated bloggers digest version of the story is that he could not put the rules of the Catholic church above human decency and family. Kinda strange, if you ask me.
So, I didn't go.
Neither did my grandparents. But that's because they are super old and not in the greatest health. They barely traveled when they were well...so it's no suprise that they didn't make the two hour trip from their farm outside St. Edward, NE to Lincoln, NE for the big ceremony.
Much of the family came out to see them the next day. And they brought the wedding with them, in the form of a slide show they projected on a big blank wall of my uncle's new farmhouse (props to Douglas for designing the new house). My grandmother, who has serious memory problems if not dementia or Alzheimer's quickly figured out that I wasn't at the wedding, based on my absence in the wedding photos. She asked why I wasn't there. Apparently, people stammered and said things like "He just couldn't make it."
And that makes me sound like an asshole. Who would skip out on their brother's wedding for no good reason? It's not like I'm broke or burdened with some life situation that keeps me here. No, I just didn't show up. And she didn't understand why. And that makes me an asshole.
but I'm not an asshole. I'm just a fag who drew a line in the sand. And unfortunately that line left a big fat line right through the little white lies I have been telling my grandmother since I came out in college, which ironically was in Lincoln, Nebraska, the very place of the wedding.
My excuse for not telling my grandmother (and grandfather and my two farmer uncles who share the farm) is that she (they) wouldn't understand. That it would be too hard for them to understand, and that it would just make trouble. But now, I can clearly see the (obvious) downside to this series of little white lies: I give them no choice but to think that I am an asshole. And while I've never been a grandmother (and don't expect to be one anytime soon), I don't think that its very nice to sit there and think that the grandchild who convinced you to show him how to make chokecherry jelly is an asshole. The little boy who followed so close behind as you ducked your head to get into the chicken coop is a total chicken shit and doesn't care about his family. That the young man who caused you to celebrate Thanksgiving one day late so that he could be a part of the celebration because he had wait tables on the real Thanksgiving day is a piece of rotten turkey. That the boy you let dig up the ground under the lilacs east of the porch to try to put in a wildflower garden at age twelve is a ratty weed that doesn't show up at weddings because he is "too busy doing a whole lot of nothing."
I don't like it. I don't like it for me. I don't like it for her. I just don't like it.
I don't know if there is anything to be done about it at this late date. I don't even know if I have undoubtedly made the wrong decision.
But I DO know that I don't like making my grandmother feel as if there is something people are not telling her. I don't like forcing her to connect the dots and find that she has drawn an asshole grandchild. It's just not nice.
Of course, there are situations and will be future situations in which I have been, am and will be an asshole. Shit happens. And the correlary is that assholes make shit. There fore assholes happen. But not like this. I guess this is a glimpse into my own frailties, but I don't like being judged for things I didn't do. I would much prefer my grandmother -- and anyone else -- be pissed at me for my own shortcomings and not those that I manufacture in a weak attempt to protect her (them) from the truth.
UPDATE: It's true that my grandmother may not remember any of this. I hope this is the case. It's also true that I AM an asshole in the sense that I am not good at staying in touch with her. My excuse for this is that I don't like lying about what it is that I am up to out here in San Diego. In addition, there is a more visceral avoidance of the whole situation. And events such as the wedding force me to see this all so clearly. I should just suck it up, stay in better touch, and let go of my own issues regarding my inability to transcend and/or erase my own white lies. Why must I too let MY white lies trap me? Why must I too connect the white-lie inspired dots, fulfill the asshole prophesy, and not stay in contact?
Oh yeah, because the key word in the phrase "white lie" is "lie."
I think my grandfather gave me this answer years ago, when he said that it is too much work to lie, because you always have to remember what it is that you said last.
lunedì 5 maggio 2008
Nudity Duty
Nudity duty is the new jury duty.
Huh? you ask.
It's true. There is a dire need to bring more regular folks to the nude beaches of America, lest they become strictly the domain of clinical exhibitionists and cruising men who should know better than surf ass right on the beach.
When i am mayor of San Diego, I am going to institute nudity duty. Once a year, you get a day off of work, and you have to hang out at a nude beach. You have to be naked, or at least partially naked if the temperature is below 65 or rainy.
Nude beaches are like budgets and sexual appendages. You use it or your lose it. If we as a people do not use our nude beaches for what they were indended for -- nudity without sexual acts -- then we will lose them. If we are not invested as a community in the freedom to disrobe and hang out on the sand, then the nude beaches will dissappear. We need grassroots involvement. And I don't care if the roots of your drapes don't match your carpet. We still need your grassroots involvement. And if you plan to take the "grass" in grassroots literally, that's cool by me, but please be discrete.
so...who is up for the first round of nudity duty? I need two people to fill a slot next Friday.
We still have not yet worked out all the details of fully implementing nudity duty. For one, if every person were to do nudity duty every year, we might actually have too many people in our county's clothing optional beaches and recreation areas.
I have two ideas of how to deal with this. One is to make nudity duty a rotational project in which you only go once every four years. The other idea is to expand the cloting-optional options for our county.
my first thought is to extend clothing optionality to libraries. But I can see all sorts of problems with that. My second thought is airports. Just as there used to be "smoking sections" to airports, there could be "clothing optional" areas of airport terminals. Besides, drinking alcohol seems to be largely popular in airport terminals, and the sociology literature suggests that 1-3 drinks can be good for nudity. However, inebriaton is NOT the goal. We are simply looking to take the edge off as we take the pants off.
Right now, your airport activities are limited to watching bad TV (like the CNN "news" interview with the girl who was hit by a deer while running a cross country running race in Illinois. Other airport recreation options include going to various bathrooms and comparing soap dispensers. Still other airport amusements can include searches for geographically inspired knick-knacks such as panda coffee mugs in DC airports and Shamu shirts in San Diego.
Yes, "Boston Baked beans bean bags" are also on the list.
but are these past times really enough? Wouldn't you prefer to run through the airport naked, desperately trying to make your connection? Streaking from Terminals "T" to "A" sounds like fun to me. (And I don't even like "T" (in the traditional sense of the acronym).
And what about a nude security option? People who get naked to go through security clearly do not have any weapons hidden. So they should be fast tracked. And people with pierced nipples would no longer experience awkward moments where the TSA person claims you have a weapon taped to your bosom.
of course you would have to get dressed before you get back on the plane. But just think of the fun you could have starring at people as they board the plane. Looking at someone clothed after seeing them naked is a fascinating prospect. among the men, it will be immediately clear who is taking advantage of new "basket forward" underwear technologies because you'll be able to compare their true package statistics to their inferred basked stats based on bulge data.
the metro sexuals who spend 20 dollars per brief will be exposed as the basket-forward brief users that they are.
Huh? you ask.
It's true. There is a dire need to bring more regular folks to the nude beaches of America, lest they become strictly the domain of clinical exhibitionists and cruising men who should know better than surf ass right on the beach.
When i am mayor of San Diego, I am going to institute nudity duty. Once a year, you get a day off of work, and you have to hang out at a nude beach. You have to be naked, or at least partially naked if the temperature is below 65 or rainy.
Nude beaches are like budgets and sexual appendages. You use it or your lose it. If we as a people do not use our nude beaches for what they were indended for -- nudity without sexual acts -- then we will lose them. If we are not invested as a community in the freedom to disrobe and hang out on the sand, then the nude beaches will dissappear. We need grassroots involvement. And I don't care if the roots of your drapes don't match your carpet. We still need your grassroots involvement. And if you plan to take the "grass" in grassroots literally, that's cool by me, but please be discrete.
so...who is up for the first round of nudity duty? I need two people to fill a slot next Friday.
We still have not yet worked out all the details of fully implementing nudity duty. For one, if every person were to do nudity duty every year, we might actually have too many people in our county's clothing optional beaches and recreation areas.
I have two ideas of how to deal with this. One is to make nudity duty a rotational project in which you only go once every four years. The other idea is to expand the cloting-optional options for our county.
my first thought is to extend clothing optionality to libraries. But I can see all sorts of problems with that. My second thought is airports. Just as there used to be "smoking sections" to airports, there could be "clothing optional" areas of airport terminals. Besides, drinking alcohol seems to be largely popular in airport terminals, and the sociology literature suggests that 1-3 drinks can be good for nudity. However, inebriaton is NOT the goal. We are simply looking to take the edge off as we take the pants off.
Right now, your airport activities are limited to watching bad TV (like the CNN "news" interview with the girl who was hit by a deer while running a cross country running race in Illinois. Other airport recreation options include going to various bathrooms and comparing soap dispensers. Still other airport amusements can include searches for geographically inspired knick-knacks such as panda coffee mugs in DC airports and Shamu shirts in San Diego.
Yes, "Boston Baked beans bean bags" are also on the list.
but are these past times really enough? Wouldn't you prefer to run through the airport naked, desperately trying to make your connection? Streaking from Terminals "T" to "A" sounds like fun to me. (And I don't even like "T" (in the traditional sense of the acronym).
And what about a nude security option? People who get naked to go through security clearly do not have any weapons hidden. So they should be fast tracked. And people with pierced nipples would no longer experience awkward moments where the TSA person claims you have a weapon taped to your bosom.
of course you would have to get dressed before you get back on the plane. But just think of the fun you could have starring at people as they board the plane. Looking at someone clothed after seeing them naked is a fascinating prospect. among the men, it will be immediately clear who is taking advantage of new "basket forward" underwear technologies because you'll be able to compare their true package statistics to their inferred basked stats based on bulge data.
the metro sexuals who spend 20 dollars per brief will be exposed as the basket-forward brief users that they are.
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