Fini

Okay. I finished Harry Potter. I can now safely pay attention to the internet and the media again. Oh... and CB, thanks for not telling me what happened.

Back to work

It was an oddish weekend. I spent Saturday very busy, trying to get lots done. Among other things running errands and getting home in good time to meet with RG who had some questions about his new blog account. While we were there, he wanted to take some pictures and to that purpose had bought a new charger for his camera. Lo and behold, it wasn't that the old charger was dead, it was the camera that was dead.

We talked a little bit about the camera and possible new cameras and finally I said,"It's Saturday, we're gay, let's shop!" So, off to that glamorous emporium, Best Buy. Unfortunately, RG is a temp whore right at the moment, so money is a little tight, but as luck would have it, he was able to find something that fit in the budget. Afterwards, to ease the pain of the expense and of course to reward ourselves for a job well done, we went to my favorite Mexican joint, where I treated and we ate burritos the size of our heads.

Afterwards we strolled over to my garden so RG could Oooo and Ahhhhh over the beauty that is the weed patch. Actually, he was pretty impressed and RG is not a garden person, so it must look alright.

Yesterday was a complete avoidance of anything productive and I read about 500 pages of the new Harry Potter. Yes, I have drunk the Kool-Aid. I started reading the books when they first came out after hearing Rowling read from the first book on an NPR show, before the book was released in the US. People can criticize the books all they want, however I feel that reading books is far from the worst fad that has ever hit this fad crazed nation.

Today, it is back to the insanity that my job has sunk into. I had to be at work 2 hours early to meet the contractors, movers and painters who are working on all of the projects that are going on here in the department. The good news is that I will get to leave 2 hours early on Friday. I hope. Maybe. Okay, I'm gonna try. If you don't hear anything out of me for the next few days it's because I am either chasing people around trying to get projects completed, or I am hiding under my desk in a fetal position, crying.

Rough week

This is totally what Monkey and I look like at this point after a very hard week. Pity us! We deserve it.

RG's gets his blog on

Commenter and smart ass RG has finally started his very own blog. Drop by, say hello and leave some comments and give the boy some linky love.

Yet another rant.

It's time for a rant. Aren't you excited? I know I am, because I get to rant about 2 of my favorite pet peeves. Bicyclists and cell phones. What does one have to do with the other? I'm glad you asked.

Recently, I have noticed a growing phenomena here in Beantown. Jerks riding their bikes and talking on their cell phones. And I mean, not with a handsfree set, but with the phone clamped to their ear, or wedged between shoulder and ear. Is it just me, or should it be obvious exactly what a bad idea this is?

I first witnessed this particular asshatted behavior a couple of years ago. I was sitting in a coffee shop one early spring morning with a friend. It was snowing out and it was one of those wet early spring snows. Big, fat, wet flakes, turning the sidewalks into a slushy obstacle course, that you had to carefully slide down, rather than walk on. As we were sitting, drinking our coffee, enjoying the fact that we were all snug and warm as the slush fell from the heavens, I saw some college kid sliding and weaving down the sidewalk on a bicycle. This was an indicator that he was a hopeful in the Darwin Awards. Then I noticed that the little jerk had his cell phone clamped to his ear! I pointed this out to my buddy and it led to a lively discussion of just how stupid this kid must be and made us wonder if he brought the toaster into the tub with him in case he felt like a snack while he was bathing?

After that particular moron sighting, I can't say I gave it much more thought. I mean, anyone with any common sense at all would know better, or at least use a hands free set. Right?

Not so much as it turns out. Since that fateful day, I have been seeing more and more of the intellectually challenged out on their bikes, yacking away without a care in the world as they weave around the sidewalk (illegal) or into oncoming traffic (downright stupid).

So who does this? In the interest of fair reportage, I have to say that I have seen mostly men doing this, but that may just be that I see more men on bikes around town than I do women. I have long ago stopped trying to cheat the distaff side out of their right to behave as stupidly as their male counterparts. Many the woman have I witnessed racing down residential streets at 40 mph, cellphone in hand, screaming at pedestrians for trying to cross the street at an intersection, just because the pedestrian has the nerve to try and cross the street in a legal manner, when the cellphone using harridan is in a hurry and traffic laws don't apply to her. But I digress, since this is a rant about cellphone using bicyclists.

As I was saying, I have seen mostly men doing this. I have managed to contain the urge to start screaming abuse at them when they nearly run into me as they weave their crazy way down the sidewalk and then give me the "can't you see I'm on my bike, talking on my cellphone you stupid pedestrian?" look. That and watching as they swerve into oncoming traffic out on the street, just knowing that they would try and lay the blame on the motorists if they get their stupid ass run down, because they, superior beings that bicyclists are, should be able to do any half-assed thing they want simply by virtue of the fact that they are riding their fucking bike.

In case you haven't got the idea, these clowns are really starting to get under my skin. There is no interest for the most part in law enforcement to crack down on bicyclists, but in fairness, no one seems to be interested in curbing the reckless behavior of motorists, or the stupidcidal tendencies of the average pedestrian either.

So, yet one more hazard added to everyday life here in the big city. I can think of any number of malicious solutions to this problem up to and including a bounty on cellphone talking cyclists. The problem with that is that in the interest of parity, we would have to put a bounty on the stupidcidal in the pedestrian population and the homicidal as well as stupidcidal among motorists. This would make Boston more of an open warfare zone than it already is and trust me, there are enough hazards out there as it is without adding any more to the mix.

Any one with a better solution than carpet bombing and starting over, let me know.

Harassment

CB has asked me to start harassing RG to start blogging. I actually have suggested to the little smartass that he start blogging, however, I think he needs some added incentives. For starters, I think CB should promise to come to Boston and fuck RG cross-eyed if he,(shut up CB, we're all going to have to make some sacrifices here) you know, say... starts a blog and posts regularly for.... ooooh.... 3 months. I think that's fair! I mean come on, a couple of lousy entries, he gets his way with CB and then... sorry, the whole blog thing didn't work for me. I don't think so. I want to see some commitment here!

Besides, I am sure everyone who has been reading his comments would be more than happy to give the boy some linky love. Sort of give him a leg up. No, wait. CB has that job. But you know what I mean. How long did the rest of us feel like we were blogging into the void? This way, he'll get at least 2, maybe even 3 readers, right off the bat!

At any rate, it is my job to harass RG, until he finally caves and starts blogging. Now I don't want you to think that I am going after RG just because it's fun. This is a happy by product! As much as I hate to admit it, RG is very funny, and I swear, I think I actually witnessed a synaps fire off once. It would be selfish of me to keep RG all to myself, when I could be inflicting... by which I mean, sharing him with the rest of the world. Whaddya say people? We want RG, we want RG! Oh, and CB, he likes the whole drum and bugle corp thing. It's true.

So come on, let's hear it! We want RG, We Want RG!!! I mean, God knows we're going to hear what you think, whether we want to or not anyway, so give it to us straight from the horses... uh, mouth.

Weekend in review

I started off my morning chatting online with Glenn. I was running a little late, so I figured the leisurely approach would suit me fine. Finally, I decided that I should get my shit together and go water the garden and yank out a few weeds. I planned on spending an hour and then heading over to Starbuck's to meet Wahz. (I know, I know, but he likes the place and goes there every morning) However, weeding is like eating potato chips. Just one more. Also the garden was in desperate need of a good soaking. We haven't been having terribly hot weather, but it's been dry for a few days now and it's been hot enough. Though, today really seemed to be trying to make up for the fairly moderate weather we've been enjoying. It wasn't ALL that hot, mid 80's, but the humidity more than compensated. You know you're in trouble when you can see the air. And it's kind of grey. Oh, yeah.

With one thing and another, 4 hours of my life slipped by, without me noticing. Then it was off to the Ganome lair for a hot shower and a yummy lunch of protein shake. Mmmm mmm! God I have to find a better way to keep my weight down! Then I hied off to Trader Joe's. Sticker shock was to be my lot. I didn't buy anything extravagant, however, if you want to eat fresh vegetables and food that doesn't consist of high fructose corn syrup, and 100% artificial flavors and ingredients the meter can really start cranking over.

The pay off is that I have what I hope will be a very yummy seafood salad with calamari, shrimp, scallops, sock eye salmon, oil cured olives, red bell pepper, scallions, asparagus and yellow bell pepper with a vinagrette dressing. This ought to represent 3 or 4 meals. This may sound like I was just asking for it at the cash register, but I would not have done any better at the local Shaw's which in most cases is actually more expensive and besides which, the store just plain sucks.

All in all, as usual, the weekend went all too fast. Actually, this summer is going all too fast. Tomorrow, it's back to the grind. For the moment however, I am going to relax and savor my last few hours of freedom. I've got a couple of books begging to be read. There is plenty of music waiting to be listened to. So a little relaxation seems to be in order. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.

New Look

I'm trying a new look out here at Evil Ganome. I am still playing around with it, so let me know what you think.

Yet more garden pictures

Want to see some more pictures of my garden? Too bad, you're gonna look anyway. I got over to the old weed patch after work to water and to my pleasant surprise, neighbor Mike was still around. During the week he is usually gone by the time I get there. It turns out he wanted to get some pictures of my zinnia's. What can I say, I'm a slut, so I let him in and he snapped away. I have to admit, the garden is looking pretty nice right about now. So, this is what's going on garden wise, including a random snapshot of the delicious Mike, who is always good to look at if I get bored with the garden.

The road to perdition

Mingle² - Free Online Dating

My morals have definitely been sullied from hanging around with those potty mouthed southerners. I figure a little more exposure to Lynette, Tater and Doralong, and I'll be X rated before you know it!

Though this was based on: piss (4x) death (2x) and sex (1x) I guess blow jobs don't count, though I have heard anal gets you naughty points as well as gay. Who knew? I wonder if they even have an X rating. Probably not. Assholes!

Oh, well. Into each life.

Mountaineering

Recent conversation:

Monkey: One of my criteria is that people I am friends with are not like my mother. The line has been drawn, and that is a line I will not cross.

Me: I've seen your mother. That's more like a mountain range than a line.

Monkey: Okay. That is an alp I will not cross. I ain't got no elephants.

I think, therefore...

Okay, I got out my tiara, my sash and my bouquet of American Beauty Roses. Hemm, hem. More Cowbell nominated me for a Thinking Blog Award. I don't know what to say, except thank you. Like everybody else, most of the people I can think of already have one, but I have a few left who haven't been nominated.



I Just Want To Be A Tugboat Captain, because when Dave doesn't have me peeing my pants laughing, he has me thinking.

Perge Modo, which is so beautifully written by Farmboy Tony. His reminiscences, observations and opinions are always worth reading.

My gardening buddy, social observer and all around handsome Hoosier Mike over at Masspurgation where he talks about political folly, social folly, gardening and life in our little corner of the world.

I still have 2 left to go. I will have to give this some thought.

Since I can't decide on who else to tag, instead I'll show a little skin, since that great thinker Tater keeps nagging. Yup, me in all my tubby glory.



Okay kids, you've all seen the trainwreck, now let's move on. If your eyes hurt it's all Tater's fault. Now, I have to go think.

RG's tattoos

This is my friend RG. Cute, huh?



Or maybe not so much. He asked me to post his picture because he was feeling left out with everyone else showing off their ink. Or so he claims.

This is just a pathetic ploy for attention, because this cheap slut is just trying to steal away the cyber love of Dave, who I've been stalking... uh... I mean, who I have been admiring from afar.

Well, we'll just see about this.

Zinnias and daylillies

I guess summer must be getting away from me. The daylillies and zinnias are doing their stuff.

I gotta try harder

Mingle² - Free Online Dating

I finally bit, and decided to see what my rating was after seeing this on both Bigass Belle and I Need More Cowbell. WTF! No... wait! What the fuck! I need to start using more fucks, shits, pisses and general bad language. Damn I mean... does butt fucking count? I will have to consult my list of invective and get back to you.

(shit, fucking lousy, asshole R rating. I want a goddamn X and I don't care what I have to say to get it.)

The new arrivals

Here are the new baby robins. It looks as though only 2 of the 5 eggs hatched and so we will see how these little guys do. Lynette has expressed worry about cats, however, these guys need to worry more about raccoons and red tailed hawks. I'll keep you posted on progress. So far, things are fine though I am having to deal with the hysterical parents every time I step into the garden. Once again I am in the position of just wishing the kids would grow up and move out of the house.

Inky

Eric, Tater and Dave have all been showing off their ink. I figure I'd show off one of my favorites. After all everybody loves big dicks!

Living large

I have run across a number of posts on different blogs about people (other gay men) trying to deal with their bad body image. I am no stranger to this. I have never been too satisfied with my own appearance and a long stretch of letting myself get tubby didn't help.

I wear a size small in shirts. I have always been a size small. So, today when I decided to buy a tee-shirt off the Cafe Press site I checked the size chart before I put in my order. I am a large.

In the past 2 years since I started this 5th grade science experiment, that I think of as "how big can the old guy get, lifting weights" I have gone from a 37 chest to a 42. Now, I admit 42 doesn't sound all that impressive, but you should bear in mind that I am only 5'3". Proportionally, I suppose that means I am pretty big. I just don't see it.

When I look in the mirror, on my best days what I see is some scrawny short bald guy with love handles. That's about it. This attitude catches me a lot of shit, of the "what are you bitching about" variety.

One of the most recent attitude adjustments that was handed to me was when I was standing in the office door talking with my pal La Simpatica. This is a girl whose bras are a monument to the science of structural engineering. I was wearing an open Hawaiian shirt and a wife beater. Monkey walked up to us and made some remark about my chest. La Simpatica gave me a critical once over and announced, "Yup, girls with big tits get it all their own way."

Since this pearl of wisdom came from someone with a lot of practical experience, I may have to reevaluate my perspective on my shape.

Happy Fourth

All of the Fourth of July’s of my childhood involved clear blue skies and perfect warm days. I am sure in reality there were Fourth’s where it rained, where the lake valley in the mountains of Vermont reached the unbearable heat and humidity that happens. People think the mountains and they think cool air. They don’t know about the days that reached 100 with the air so thick you could cut it with a blunt saw.

I think that the reason that I remember these days as being so perfect is because those days were always spent with Grandma Brown.

Florence Brown, nee Mallette was my mother’s mother. She was a grandmother straight out of central casting. She wore cotton house dresses and pinafore aprons. She kept her hair in a sensible pageboy and wore equally sensible, black Dr. Scholl’s shoes. Grandma was a country woman, raised on a farm, who didn’t drink and from whom I never heard a swear word. The strongest expressions I ever heard from her being “golly” and “my gosh”. Her only vice was Raleigh cigarettes. Grandma baked and cooked and put up pickles and vegetables and preserves. She raised a garden every year and the bounty from her little patch graced her table year round.

But the Fourth was a special day. We were sent off down the road to Hydeville to the house she kept for her son, my Uncle Burt, to spend the day and have a picnic at Grandma’s.

She spent days preparing. We kids would be sent out to pick strawberries days before, tiny fraise des bois, smaller than the tip of your pinky and sweeter than sin. These were used in strawberry rhubarb pie. There were always three kinds of pie at least. Strawberry rhubarb, blueberry and lemon meringue and sometimes there would be apple turnovers if there were still apples in the root cellar. Potato salad, macaroni salad and a green salad from the garden with radishes and whatever else good was in season. I had escarole salad long before it was a trendy dish for yuppies. I remember bitter escarole fresh from the garden with chopped chives and sour cream. Of course there were hamburgers and hot dogs, but they were served with piccalilli, green tomato relish and pickle relish that she had put up. Then there were the pickles. Sweet pickles, dill pickles, mustard pickles and bread and butter pickles. And there were always cookies. My grandmother always had cookies in the house in case we boys dropped in, which we did frequently. What I remember most were the molasses cookies and the sugar cookies. The molasses cookies were thick and cakey, like the best gingerbread you have ever eaten and the sugar cookies were as crisp as a freshly starched collar and as light as a cloud.

By the time we got to Grandma’s the preparations had been made and we would help bring things out to the picnic table in the back yard near her clothesline, setting out the red and white gingham print oilcloth on the green picnic table. Then the parade of food would begin until the board was groaning under the food. Quite often the bluebird house would have a family going and the stage was set for a Fourth of July picnic that couldn’t possibly have happened outside a movie from the 1930’s. Grandma is one of the few people I have ever known that could actually get bluebirds to nest in a bluebird house.

Grandma would say grace and then we would begin eating and Grandma, encouraging us to eat more would tell us stories about her childhood.

Grandma had been born on December 31, 1900, one of 12 children of French Canadian immigrants. Born and raised in Vermont, she and her siblings were unusual in having finished high school. Her father had been a teacher in Quebec before moving to Vermont to become a farmer, he encouraged all his children to finish their education. Her love of learning colored her life and she passed this love of knowledge on to us.

She would tell us stories about her 2 favorite brothers Andy and Poly, (Napoleon), all of those stories began, “Andy, Poly and I…” how they terrorized one of their teachers in the one room school house that they attended as small children by making themselves bows and arrows out of reeds, putting tacks in the ends of the reeds they used for arrows and ambushing him, climbing rocks in forbidden areas, swimming holes and the pastimes of a long past era. She would tell us about the first time she ever saw a horseless carriage, the first time she saw and airplane, about the music that was made in a house of musically talented children, she the only one unable to master the violin. She had been taking German when the US entered WWI and the school stopped teaching the language. Grandma kept her text books and taught herself German.

Sometimes the stories were sad, once about the loss of a younger brother to diphtheria. Another about the brother who was the most talented of all at the violin and how he hung himself in the barn one day, no one ever knew why.

Grandma had a hard life. She had married a wild Scot from Nova Scotia, who turned out to be a drunk and a spendthrift and she had divorced him. She raised 4 children in the depression, making a living cleaning houses. The second world war came and both her sons were sent over seas. She suffered a nervous breakdown and was hospitalized in the state mental institution for 14 years. The state hospital in Vermont was notorious and the fact that she was able to overcome her illness is a testament to the strength of her will.

After she was released from the hospital, she lived with us briefly and then for economic reasons, she remarried Carrol Brown, so that they could combine their resources and live on their Social Security. She had never had much, so living on social security did not present any challenge to her that she was unequal to.

I didn’t really understand as a child how much these meals meant to my grandmother. It was in some way defiance in the face of want and it was about generosity and thankfulness for those things in life she loved and it was about love.

Grandma loved us boys. I don’t think I had ever given it much thought as a child, but we were the only ones of her grandchildren who visited her frequently. It think it must have been painful for her that my Uncle Joe’s daughters rarely came to call. Joe had been her favorite child, and she would tell us how she had saved a dime every week in order to save up enough money to help him buy his first car. His infrequent visits and the lack of contact with his family must have hurt in a way that Grandma never let show.

I loved that kind and gentle woman and these many years since her death I still do. I wish there had been some way that I could have shown her how much I loved her in the way that she showed her grandsons her joy in us by her annual display of plenty and generosity. Carefully planned and saved for out of a meager income, brought out of the ground with her own hands, prepared and then presented to us and while we were sustained with these good things we in turn sustained her with our pleasure in her offerings and her company.

In a fairly miserable childhood, I was given the gift of many happy Fourth of July’s, enough to last any man a lifetime. So on this Independence Day, I wish for you all to have as good a Fourth as any of the ones I had as a child.

Stupid fun

I wanted to see how liberal I am. Now I know.

My Liberal Identity:

You are a Reality-Based Intellectualist, also known as the liberal elite. You are a proud member of what’s known as the reality-based community, where science, reason, and non-Jesus-based thought reign supreme.

Take the quiz at www.FightConservatives.com