Make Way For Fucklings... again

Another sign that summer is over is that the students have returned to this college town of college towns. This sad fact was brought glaringly to my attention today when I was making my weekly pilgrimage to Trader Joe's.

The streets are packed with students, their over protective parents and various retailers who have their minions out on the streets shilling everything from bank accounts to deodorant.

I managed to fight my way through the bovine crowds to my destination, did my shopping and got to the cash register only to discover I had left my wallet at home. Trader Joe's is a pretty nice place to shop. The service people are friendly and helpful, unlike Shaw's where they are sullen and incompetent and Whole Foods where they are sullen and incompetent with that delightful soupcon of superiority. Anyhoo, the young lady at the register told me she would ring up my groceries while I ran home and fetched my wallet. I told her I'd be back in about 15 minutes. What was I thinking?

More like 25 minutes later, I was back running my bank card through the machine.

Me: I'm really sorry, I forgot about the students being back and you're not allowed to just kick them out of the way.

Cashier: Who said you can't?

Me: I think it's some sort of city ordinance.

Cashier: Oh, you're allowed to kick them out of the way. Especially if they are Berkelee students blocking the sidewalk with their guitar case. If they are with their parents, you get to kick the whole family. You get extra points. (pause) I get to say this now, because I'm not a student any more.

I love shopping in this store.

Pastoral

For most of us, Labor day weekend signals the end of summer, even though we have about 3 weeks before the actual calendar date. Summer means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Whether they enjoy it, or whether they are just waiting for the heat to end.

In June there is anticipation. Summer is still too lazy to get out of bed and spring often has to fill in a few days still. July and August tend to come roaring out, blasting us with long hot lazy days. Whether I get to indulge or not, I always think of picnics and cold beer and days from my childhood that lasted forever and ended too quickly.

I also have certain songs that say summer too me. Mostly old songs from my misspent youth. Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road". Aretha Franklin singing "Freeway of Love", or "Chain of Fools". Pop tunes from Motown and Phil Specter that used to play on the old Emerson in monaural sound in the 60's when I was still a little Ganome. Songs from the 70's when I was first testing out my wings in the wider world. Donna Summers, "Love to Love You" and later "Bad Girls" and "Last Dance". Hot summer nights dancing at the A House in Provincetown, where they would end the night playing Connie Francis, "Where the Boys Are".

One piece of music that just says summer to me is Beethoven's 6th. Small wonder, since it is suppose to describe a summer walk in the country in music.

I did not come to classical music until I was a young adult away from home for the first time, living in the the city which has been my home for 33 years now. I was introduced by the new friends I was making, who taught me I could love Donna Summers and the Tramps and still make room for symphonic music and opera. I am eternally grateful. Many, far too many really, of these friends are no longer here. Casualties of AIDS. If they are now physically absent, they are still with me when certain pieces play. However, the 6th doesn't have any specific personal memory, I don't hear it and think, "Oh, So and so loved this piece!". It just makes me think of the pleasures of summer.

The Niece is full of awesome

I have mentioned on more than one occasion that the Niece is full of awesome. Right now, she is so full of awesome that my head may explode at any minute. She got tickets to see Duffy!

That's right, if anyone in the lower 48 states did not hear the high pitched, adolescent girl scream this morning, I am going to get to go hear Duffy in October, because my awesome niece is even more full of awesome than even I could imagine. And I can imagine a lot of awesome when it comes to the Niece.

In case no one has caught on, I am pretty excited.

This is just wrong...

I was rather horrified to hear that they have made a remake of one of my favorite Hollywood classics, The Women.



I have a hard time believing it will actually be able to stack up in any satisfying way against the original.



So far, about the only thing that has got me excited about the new version is that in the trailer of the new version, they are using this song.



As you all know, I heart Duffy. And it's a great song. And the video that isn't available for embedding, but you can watch on You Tube is terrific. (not the sucky American version) Did I mention I heart Duffy?

Tinkerbell rides again

I just want to thank everyone who applied peer pressure to get our boy RG out of his funk and back to blogging.

I love the child, but honestly he has all the excess energy of a 5 year old on a sugar high. I can not do this on my own people!

I have to admit though. After Willym had threatened to come to Boston to Rome, just to slap some of the fairy dust off RG, I was kind of looking forward to it. Okay, I was going to sell tickets and give Atari the popcorn concession.

But, he's back. Love him, hate him or just occasionally want to give him a thick ear, we wouldn't have it any other way. Welcome back, RG!

Gardening update

I have not been blogging about my summer in the garden.

It sucked.

I neglected my garden for several weeks and am now in the process of clearing out all of the weeds because I was reminded of an important life lesson.

One of the greatest motivating factors in this life to do a job is not because you enjoy it or find it rewarding. It's just to get someone else to shut the fuck up.

If you believe in fairies....

My friend and resident pain in the ass, RG is threatening to stop blogging. Needless to say this is not a happy day for many people. I mean sure, I get to have him drag like a saw across my last gay nerve in person, but I want to spread it around. I'm generous like that. I share. I'm a sharer.

Seriously, I hope RG reconsiders this move. I think that he has plenty to say (whether we want to hear it or not) and it may just be that he is in need of a lie down.

I took his snarkiness out to lunch for his birthday yesterday, and none of you are going to get a chance to hear his take on the cute young waiter who I definitely think was grooving on the birthday boy if our lad follows through on his threat. And the waiter, who we both thought was straight was definitely paying some attention to RG.

So maybe if we all put our hands together and clap, our own little X-rated Tinkerbell will come glittering back to life and entertain us with more of his prurient observations about the world in general and the male population in particular.

* Complain to the management. Send himself an email and tell him to get off his dead ass and start posting again*

Test pattern

We will resume our regularly scheduled blogging as soon as my brain starts firing off again.

Mugged in Memory Lane

iTunes is a bit of a curse. I will occasionally remember or be reminded of a song and go and download it, listen to it a couple of times and then forget about it until it comes up on random play.

I was walking home from the gym with the headphones still blasting, trying to ignore the noise being made by one of the local sports radio stations that were set up outside Fenway Stadium when this tune turned up on my iPod and blindsided me.



I had to think for a minute before I realized that this song had been popular, at least here in Boston, 30 years ago. 30 years, depending on your point of view is a long time or the blink of an eye. At 23 I was still young enough and naive enough to still believe in happily ever after and that anything was possible and that someday my prince would come and that nothing would ever change and that I would never get old.

At 53 I look back on that young fellow and have to wonder how he ever managed to survive. So many bad decisions, so many bad mistakes. Somehow I am still here, though I am not certain I bear much resemblance to that young idiot who thought the world was his for the asking.

3 relationships that went sour disabused me of the notion that there was a happily ever after or a handsome prince waiting in the wings. The 1980's and the loss of so many good friends did away with the notion of immortality. Middle age has certainly made me realize that I have not succeeded in remaining young forever, or that my options are limitless.

For all that, it's nice to be reminded listening to an old love song that romance hasn't been entirely banished from by blackened and cynical little heart. Who knows, I can't make any promises, but I might even still have it in me to wish on a star.

Monkey told me about this and it just cracked me up. Anyone else who spends any time at all being bossed around by a small, furry, attention whore will probably get a chuckle out of it as well.



Especially the sofa commandeering move. The only thing the cat doesn't do is stick it's ass in his face. One of Alice's favorite moves.

Jackass autopilot

As you all know, my brothers and I suffer from advanced cases of jackassitis. I was reminded of this last Sunday while on the phone with Doris. She was mentioning to me that neither of my brothers have done anything particularly stupid recently. She was calling me up to see what I had done to myself because, well it just isn't family life if one of us isn't in a cast, brace or limping.

Having ascertained that I have not in fact tried to single handedly push any semi-trailers out of ditches, fallen off of crazily stacked chairs or boxes while trying to change a light bulb, amputate any extraneous digits with a kitchen knife, slipped on one of the improper tools I was using while trying to effect some ill advised electrical repair or gas, poison or blow myself up, she went on to tell me about the willful stupidity of the rest of my benighted relatives. In great detail. For an hour. At the end of the conversation, I couldn't help but feel that she was a little disappointed at the perfidious nature of her sons and that we were all conspiring to deprive her of one of her favorite pastimes which is to exclaim, "Oh for God's sake! What is wrong with you boys?" Nothing expresses maternal love in the Pelletier household like an ongoing exposition on the stupidity of her middle aged male offspring and how it's only a miracle that we haven't killed ourselves with our relentless idiocy.

After getting off the phone with the old lady, I have to admit, I was feeling like there was something wrong with the shape of reality. If nothing else, my younger brother can be relied on to have dropped an engine block on his foot or at least making an spirited attempt to maim himself for life with industrial power tools.

Having been dealing with a non-jackass related shoulder injury (bursitis) I've actually been trying to not make matters worse. I have been kinda proud of myself, really. I have been doing my hated physical therapy exercises and following the physical therapists advice, I have been working on a careful increase of my shoulder workout to strengthen my shoulder muscles. Who knows, at this rate I may one day have visible deltoids?

Whatever the case, I have been trying not to accept any deliveries from the bigass tanker truck of stupid that follows me around.

Sounds like a great plan, huh?

The flaw in all of this is that the middle aged body has a life of its own and every now and then gets bored and decides to demand a little attention if things have been kind of dull. In that spirit, last night I must have slept wrong.

It's a curious expression, when you think about it. Sleeping wrong. How the hell do you sleep wrong? Do you spend the night with your eyes open while unconscious? Do you get up and go for a 20 mile hike with a full military pack while you are asleep?

Whatever the case, my lower back must have decided last night that it had had enough of this goody two shoes, behaving myself, not indulging in stupid, acting like I am still 20 years old, bullshit and was just going to take matters into it's own hands.

This morning, after a chaste and blameless night in my bed I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to face a new day. Well at least as much as I am prepared for anything first thing in the morning, sat up to go feed Alice only to discover that the lower back pixies had been hammering roofing nails into my lower right back.

WTF?

This is just so wrong. It's a bit like those mornings when you wake up and feel like you've been on a 3 night drunk and you haven't so much as looked at a cocktail in months. All the pain, none of the fun. I have always been suspicious of virtuous behavior. As a favorite author once wrote (and I'm paraphrasing here) the wages of sin may be death, but the salary of virtue is the same and you don't get the weekends off.

I suppose as I prepare to limp off to work that I should take some comfort in the knowledge that balance has been returned to the universe. I really ought to call up Doris and let her know. I'm sure it will make her feel better.

Tempus Fugit

Another year has ticked by. I have realized that I have been inflicting my ongoing battles against, physical fitness, fat, gravity and the forces of Doris on an unsuspecting public for 2 years now.

I think when I started out I figured I was going to be typing into a vacuum and that approximately 2 people would ever read my rants and ramblings. Instead I must have, oh, 10 people reading this blog. Woooohoooooo!

Seriously, when I stop and think about it, it has been an extraordinary experience. I have met a lot of great people, both online and in person or in a couple of notable cases at least on IM or the phone. You know who you are Cowbell and Doralong.

If it's not what I signed up for, I'm not complaining. It has been unexpected in a lot of ways. I've had the chance to meet people in person after only knowing about them through their blogs and it has been a consistently happy experience.

I am not sure what the average life expectancy of a blog is, but if I sometimes come up short with posts, I haven't come to the end either. I guess you're stuck with me a while longer. Who knows. I might even do some more naked posting. And Sage, I did put NSFL on the last one. You have no one to blame but yourself about having to soak your eyes in bleach again.

Dog days (NSFL)

(Warning: the photo on this post is NSFL and may force Sage to bleach her eyes again)

Happy August! Hard to believe, huh? Here in the northeast, or at least my little part of it we have been having a rather humid time of it. I am not convinced that it is all that hot. We have been largely enjoying temperatures in the 80's. The problem has been that the humidity level has been on a par with a steam room.

I don't want to complain too much about the tropical conditions. I am willing to adopt the solution of just slowing down a little. No matter how hot or humid, it still beats the cold.

If there is any real problem, it is that higher brain functions seem to have shut down for the season. That and I don't have air conditioning in my apartment, which usually isn't a big deal, except when it gets hot and stays hot. Then the problem is the lack of sleep with the end result that leaves me,let's just say, not sharpest knife in the drawer.

On top of which, I have just been feeling plain old crappy for the past several days.

I figure:

a.) I have developed an allergy to something I didn't know I was allergic to.

b.) I have caught the summer cold that is rumored to be going around.

c.) I have a sinus infection and just don't know it.

d.) It's summer and I am busy channeling my inner 10 year old and just don't feel like working when I should be at the beach.

Whatever the case, I have been dragging my tail and not feeling like doing much of anything other than try and sleep, which isn't happening because it has been too hot in my apartment to get any solid sleep.

So, what it comes down to is finding ways to either beat the heat or ways to manage the situation. I have been drinking lots of water, tap and fizzy, sitting around staring into space, reading, listening to music and participating in other non-activities that can easily be accomplished by saaaaayyyyyy...... a rock.

Not that this is a bad thing. I think we tend to forget that this is what summer is for. Being lazy.

Here in the north, you have to keep moving just to stay warm in the winter months. It's the law of the north, keep moving or die.

Right now it's all about trying to stay cool. With that in mind, I have been thinking about CB's recent posts about his new manties. While they are quite fetching and I am sure add a certain something to his life, I don't feel like adding an extra layer really moves me towards my summer comfort zone.

Here's what I have been wearing under my shorts to keep the air circulating.



Can't you just feel the cool breeze?

And yeah, I know this is a shameless attempt to get more views on my blog, but you do what you gotta do. Next time I'll post pictures of the cat.

Supreme Leader

RG and Knucklecrack have announced their candidacy for president.

I say they are aiming too low.

I have decided to become supreme ruler. It won't be pretty either. It's going to be sort of like having to do what your mother tells you. And you will do what you're told too.

Why, you ask?

Because I said so, goddammit! That's why!

Seriously. I think at this point this is what America really needs. Screw change and hope. This country needs to be sent to it's room so it can think about what it's done. And I am taking away the toys too. If you can't prove you need some enormous gas guzzling vehicle for work, it's going in the car crusher. And the first one to start whining that they "need" an SUV because there is a slope in their suburban driveway gets a good clip in the ear.

No more paranoid ravings. No more picking on the neighbors kids. America will learn how to behave itself and act like an adult or it will be grounded and loose all of it's television privileges.

And while your in your room you can clean up that goddamn mess! Starting with the crap you've left lying around in every body of water and landfill in the country. And don't even think about creating any more messes off shore or in the arctic. If I see you even looking in that direction it's going to go very hard with you.

Americans will also learn how to play nicely and share. I hope the Congress and Senate brought enough unlimited lifetime health care for everyone, otherwise I am confiscating theirs and they won't get it back until they let everyone and I do mean everyone have some. Even if you don't like them and I don't care if you think they smell bad!

Speaking of sharing, the rich and corporations can start picking up their share of the tax burden.

I'm sure I forgot plenty, but don't worry. I'll be checking everything while you are in your room. And you can just behave yourself while you're up there.

Don't make me come up those stairs!

Itchin' for a fight

Everyone should have a purpose. Every summer I am reminded of one of mine. Mosquito smorgasbord.

It has been pointed out to me on a number of occasions that out of all the boys, I am the one that looks the most like my dad. However, while I may have come out looking like a Mini Dad I do not have one of his most enviable traits.

He is mosquito proof.

You must have met someone like that. Mosquitoes don't even land on them. Or, if they do, they quickly think better of it and take off without even trying to grab lunch. A nurse friend once explained the phenomena to me and I seem to remember that is has something to do with how much vitamin B you have in your system. Whatever the case, they just leave Johnny alone.

Lil' me on the other hand, is just chock full of fucking tasty mosquito goodness. And nothing it would seem tastes quite so good as my ass.

I swear, the little bastards do it on purpose, because as we all know, there is nothing funnier than some short, scary looking, heavily tattooed guy trying to inconspicuously scratch their ass in public. Though, come to think of it this might work to my benefit on public transportation. Even if it doesn't get me a seat, it could clear my personal space a little.

And it seems like the city has turned into a pest swamp. The damned things are everywhere. I walk out the door and I am immediately attacked. Last night a swarm of mosquitoes found their way into my apartment and I wound up putting on insect repellent before going to bed! This morning as I was trying to get through my routine at the gym I kept getting buzzed while I was trying to lift weights. All I had to do was put down the weights and they would fly out of swatting range and deranged as I am, I was not going to start chasing mosquitoes around the gym.

Unless I come down with West Nile virus, Equine Encephalitis or Yellow Fever it really is in the great scheme of things a rather minor annoyance and I suppose I would rather itch and be warm than put up with winter weather and be mosquito free.

But I really do have to start spraying my shorts with bug repellent.

The memo must have gone out.

I snuck out for coffee this afternoon with La Simpatica. She needed a break from her boss/office mate and I just needed a break. We went over to the Dunkin' Donuts (hey, nothin' but the best for us) and were kibitzing about life, over iced coffee while holding a bench down.

As we were sitting there, I happened to notice an undergrad passing our way. What caught my eye were the facts that 1) he had really nice auburn hair. 2) he was cute and built (believe me not all that common on our campus) and 3) the dirty little urchin was checking me out.

I thought I might be deluding myself, 'cause my admirer looked barely old enough to vote and probably wasn't old enough to drink legally. So, I looked over my shoulder after he'd passed and he was rubbernecking in my direction.

I turned to La Simpatica and said, "That dirty little boy was checking me out!"

She just laughed and said, "See, I told you!"

I was beginning to wonder if she was channeling RG.

I thought about it for a second and said something to the effect that it might be flattering, but I was old enough to be the kids father, almost old enough to be his grandfather fer Chistsake.

This led to a discussion of why, as much fun as the younguns' are to look at, you really want someone with a few miles on 'em if you want good sex.

Still, word seems to have gone out that older, gray haired men are a must have on this years shopping list.

I will just have to keep my eyes open and hopefully, I'll catch someone who doesn't need a note from their mother checking me out.

Lions and tigers and foxes.....

I was doing a quick catch up on my blog reading when I came on a post over at This. That. No Other. It would seem that I am now legally sexy. Brett was mentioning an article in the Advocate about the phenomena of "Silver Foxes".

I will now be able to sleep at night.

I am waiting for the menz to start lining up at my door so they can take a crack at me.

Do you think that this is why RG says guys are always cruising me? (Note to self, take gaydar into shop and have it fixed so that I will start noticing these guys that are supposed to be cruising me.)

Maybe this will shut up everyone who's been complaining that my white beard makes me look too old.

It's a bit of a relief really, if I had to start dying all the gray hair so that the carpet matched the drapes, I'd go broke keeping myself supplied in product.

Orchidacea

I might not be entirely enjoying all the humidity that we've been having here in Boston recently, but my orchids are as happy as the proverbial pig.

Give til it hurts

It's time to give a plug to my blogging pal, Nurse Dave. He is getting ready to head down to Haiti and volunteer at a clinic. When he goes down, he tries to bring medical supplies that are needed. Such exotic things as aspirin, band-aids, peroxide, etc.

Yeah, things are really that bad and no, these things are not readily available.

Why don't you click on the link, go visit Dave and click on the Tilory Clinic donation link and send a little love Dave's way.

Safety First!

Over the past 35 years, I have pretty consistently had some form of facial hair. Shaving off the Santa beard earlier this year was pretty traumatic and it took me a while to decide what to do about the situation. Eventually, razor burn on my chin solved the problem for me and I grew in a goatee for a while. However, I wasn't feeling it, so I decided to return to my ground state, which is the mustache.

I had decided on the porn-stache. For one thing, I have the facial hair for it and also it is one of those styles that seem to rub the uptight the wrong way.

Having come of age in the 70's, facial hair was a lot more popular and more key to your social and sex life. Like most fads, it was pretty much mandatory. At the time, if memory serves, you were in danger of losing your gay card if you didn't have some form of face fur.

I really couldn't say when the tide began to turn and "confrérie barbue" started to shave. Eventually, it started to seem like every gay man on the planet, shaved, waxed and plucked, with the exception of old stalwarts like me who then had to listen to remarks about how ugly facial hair is.

I am told that the young hipsters are now going for 70's style facial hair. The important thing it would seem, is to do this ironically. HTF do you get ironic facial hair?

I was having my morning coffee with Monkey the other morning and we started talking about hair. Among other things, body hair and our childhood reaction to it. He was anti, while I remember at the age of 6 watching Hugh O'Brian on "Wyatt Earp" and even then I was all for hairy chests. I mentioned that when I first came out, chest hair was a definite requirement for sex. Though, I shortly branched out after discovering that I was a slut. I relaxed my standards to the point where I would be simply looking for a pulse.

This discussion of childhood fascination with hair continued and we got on the topic of hair cuts. Specifically, we were talking about the universal, self inflicted childhood haircut. You know. When your mom left some scissors lying around and it seemed like a good idea to give yourself a trim.

Monkey remembered cutting his own hair and then told me about how his sister decided to chop off all her hair at the age of 4. The day she was suppose to be the flower girl at her aunt's wedding. It was a pretty funny story. Needless to say, his aunt had a bird.

Eventually, the conversation drifted over to adult hair issues. The fact that Monkey's beard is as sparse as his father's was and that I on the other hand have to do some serious maintenance on the old topiary. So I asked him what he thought of my new mustache. I have heard the style referred to as a porn-stache a term which, I have to say, I have a liking for.

Monkey: I like the way the mutton chops came in on the side.

Me: Oh. The testicle pads?

Monkey: Waaaa?

Me: Yeah, testicle pads. Hey, if you're going to give mustache rides, you have to think about safety and comfort.

Monkey: So, your face is ergonomic.

Me: Safety first.

Monkey: This is such a Friday conversation.

Me: Yeah. The best part is, now I have something to write about on my blog.