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.

Dry spell

I am, by and large, a fan of middle age. While I'll admit, I miss all the unbounded energy that I had when I was young, I don't miss all the stupid.

That said, everything comes with a price and sometimes we are all still prone to moments of youthful folly.

One of the prices is that instead of an annual check up, you have to go in for semi-annual checkups. With this, comes the joy of tests. Pretty much it seems to be that even though your doctor can't find anything wrong with you, he is determined that in spite of the fact that you are doing what you are told, getting exercise, eating right and in general if not embracing at least abiding by clean living, that there has to be something wrong with you.

When this first started to happen, I used to fret. I figured the doctor wouldn't be ordering the tests unless he suspected something dark and terrible lay in my future. Now after something over a decade of this nonsense I have come to realize that it is just something doctors do to keep themselves amused. It would be pretty harmless if they confined themselves to blood tests. But the little dears get bored and so they occasionally throw in something to make their lives a little more interesting and yours a little more inconvenient.

I had to go in for a checkup a couple of weeks ago. It was at best perfunctory, since other than the odd cold, I am refusing to come down with any life threatening diseases. This is just not acceptable. How are they suppose to make a made for TV movie out of my brave struggles with and unnamed movie disease? Think "Dark Victory".

So, in spite of my complete lack of any symptoms, my doctor ordered an ultra-sound to check on a pre-existing condition that is well under control. Not the most onerous of procedures, but it was going to take a bite out of my work day. Depending on how you look at it, a pain in the neck or not necessarily a bad thing. Or at least so I thought up until I suffered a momentary bout of youthful stupidity. The receptionist said, "I can get you in next Thursday at 2:15." I said, fine and that was my mistake.

"Okay, just remember, you can't have anything to eat or drink for 6 hours prior to your procedure." the receptionist said, and I was shoved out the door.

It was at that moment that I was reminded that in the past, every time I have had to undergo any test that has required fasting that I schedule it for first thing in the morning.

It isn't even the fasting. I can go all day without eating if I am busy and not have it bother me. It is the no liquids that gets to me. I am a water addict. I admit it. Lest you think I am one of those who is hording cases of bottled water, I would like to say in my defense that I fill up my water bottle from the tap. I will buy water at a store, if I am out and thirsty, but by and large, "eau du robinet" is my beverage of choice. If I don't get my fix, I get cranky.

Yesterday was a bit warm, so by the time I got over to the hospital, I was feeling a bit on the dehydrated side and more than a little cranky. However, I did actually get to the radiology clinic early and surprise of surprises, was ushered in almost immediately. The radiologist, a very pleasant young woman said something to the effect that she would be able to get me in and out in no time and I would be able to get myself something to eat. I told her that honestly, all I really wanted was to be able to get a glass of water.

"Oh. You can drink water before this test. It's just things like coffee and tea and soft drinks that you are not suppose to drink".

I refrained from having a complete melt down on the spot and as a reward, I was walking out of the facility at the time my appointment was originally scheduled for, sonogramed and found free of the dreaded, unnamed, made for TV movie disease. Safe and confident in the knowledge that I was free to terrorize an unsuspecting world for another day, I immediately found and sucked down an iced coffee, before heading out to try and drain the Quabbin Resevoir.

I was talking with Monkey this morning and relating my sad experience. I did point out that regardless of the poor preparation instructions I had received that I had refrained from murdering the radiologist.

Monkey wasn't fooled and pointed out to me that the only reason I hadn't run to my doctors office, ripped the head off the receptionist and slaked my thirst by drinking her blood was because I was too weakened by dehydration to do so.

There is no fooling your friends at times, and I suspect Monkey boy is right. However, intend to drink enough water today so that I slosh while I walk.

For the record

Just for the record. On the 4th of July, I did indeed eat an entire bag of Cheez-Curls. Also real Italian sausages, not healthy, good for you chicken sausage. Pork sausages that left about 2 quarts of fat in the pan, with plenty left over to go directly to my mid section. I also had potato salad and corn on the cob. Okay, so I used olive oil instead of butter on the corn, but still.

I suppose this means that I will be having to up the intensity of the old workout this week to pay for my sins, which I kinda figured on.

What I hadn't counted on is that I seem to be turning into one of "those" people. After my over indulgences on Friday, I ate leftovers on Saturday and honestly was feeling pretty bloated. And it's not like I was eating hungry man portions.

Last night I had an approximation of a salad nicoise. I actually found it a lot more satisfying than what I had been eating for the previous 2 days. Does this mean that I am going to turn into one of those irritating people who spends their entire time during a meal extolling the virtues of their cheerless, health diets? I hope not.

I really need to think about baking a chocolate cake.

Cheezy Doodle Dandy

The holiday weekend is upon us. And what says holiday more than making a pig of yourself? As someone whose diet consists mostly of boneless, skinless, chicken breast, fish, protein shakes, green vegetables, oatmeal and brown rice, you have to break out once in a while.

My old trainer gave me some sage dieting advice. Plan on the occasional cheat day and eat something that is fattening, totally bad for you and delicious. Otherwise, if you try to go with austerity 365, you are just setting yourself up for failure. I am trying to figure out what to have for a yummy treat. Dessert? French fries? Triple creme brie with crusty french bread?

The whole decision making process has me thinking about junk food. By junk food, I mean real junk food. Food that is so processed that none of the ingredients occur in nature. I mean, what is cheese food really? Exactly what do they make Cool Whip out of?

I was never a fan of Twinkies, I have lost my taste for soda, such as Coke and that favorite of Canadians, Pepsi. It's kinda cramping my junk food style.

Then I remembered Cheez-Doodles. Actually, Cheez-Doodles, Cheetos (puffed, not crunchy), Jax, Cheese Puffs you name it. As long as they are an orange that does not occur in nature, or at least not in things that aren't deadly toxins, I'm all in favor. I don't know what it is. Let's face it, they are disgusting. You get covered in orange powder. As far as I can tell half of the total composition is salt and yet, they are so good!

I mean, they are the perfect compulsive eating food. I personally could sit down with one of the industrial sized barrels of the damned things that they sell in the supermarket and eat it in one sitting. I could eat them until I passed out and the EMT's would find me covered in bright orange powder on the floor.

I mean, with things like ice cream and triple death chocolate cake out in the world, just waiting to be eaten, why am I fixating on Cheez-Doodles? I could enjoy pate, I could order one of those delicious, artery clogging, heart attack on a plate breakfasts that I soooooo love. Fer Christ's sake, we're French Canadian, I could eat Poutine!

So what am I thinking about? Friggin puffy balls of bright orange, cheese flavored chemicals!

I'm not committed to it yet. I may decide to go with some other more seemingly worthy treat, but if you hear that some bloated, bright orange corpse was found in Boston over the holiday weekend you'll know who it is.

You can keep your hat on

As anyone who follows this blog knows, I spend a lot of time at the gym. You probably also know that I am generally dissatisfied with the results. Consequently I have been reading a lot to improve my workout, diet and generally trying to find ways to slow the effects of gravity and age.

I am pretty good about following exercise routines, even ones I hate and diet guidelines, regardless of how bland it might get (that is what cheat days are for) One thing I have not been good about is "record keeping".

Just about everything I read suggests that you take pictures at regular set intervals to see how things are coming along. In my heart of hearts, I know this is good advice, but I am just reluctant.

Lately, I have been getting some compliments on my appearance. Some from friends and more importantly from friends who are not ones to hand out empty praise, but what pushed me over the edge to take some photos yesterday was when, as I was walking home from work, I was accosted by a drag queen. I was walking across the Charlesgate flyover and she was settling into a little park area with her entourage and an umbrella festooned with streamers and balloons to keep the sun off in the most festive manner.

She shouted up to me, "You looking good! I love me some muscly men! You single, honey?"

I shouted back a hello and a thank you.

After 30 plus years of encounters with drag queens, if one of those girls are telling you you're looking good, you probably do. Since they will also have no trouble at all letting you know if you are just a mess and really need to rethink your look.

After this bit of encouragement, I went home, got out the camera and ya' know what. Not too shabby. There is still room for improvement, and I would love to get rid of the snack pack (thanks for that expression Tater) but really pretty good.

So, without further ado....



Not too bad for an old bag.

My Hero

It was a pretty quiet weekend. The weather was not the greatest, but I am sure that the plant life appreciates the showers, if not the occasional torrential downpours we've been experiencing. So, the weekend was dedicated to laundry, grocery shopping and general avoidance of housecleaning.

To that end I went and saw a movie that I have been looking forward too for months now.



I had planned on going on Saturday with a friend, but Mark is having a bout with sciatica and by the time he didn't get back to me one way or the other about going I was feeling too lazy to run to get to the showing that I had planned on seeing.

So yesterday,I went to a mid afternoon showing and the auditorium was full of homos and kids.

I am not going to offer any spoilers. I am just going to tell you that it is well worth the price of admission. The animation is spectacular and the story is sweet and has a message. Hey, it's a Brad Bird film, what did you expect?

It is about perseverance and hope and being more than you think you can be. I'm not going to give you much more, except that one message that I walked away with is that if you want change, you have to look to yourself and that if you have hope, it can be contagious.

Oh, and my favorite gag is the noise WALL-E makes when he reboots!

Muffin Tail

I was having my morning cup of coffee with Monkey. It was the usual rambling conversation. He was telling me about the class he's taking for his master's degree (which I am told he will be blogging the horror of) and just general nonsense.

We got to the topic of stupid, but accepted behavior and I said something about if I see one more dumpy young guy with his pants falling off his ass.... I opined that no one wants to see it. I then ventured that it was as bad as muffin tops, or worse, muffin tops with visible thongs.

Monkey: There should be a portmanteau word for it. Sorta like... muffin whale... or muffin tail.

Me: Muffin tail! I like it. I can go with muffin tail.

Next time you see some overweight person with hip huggers and a thong pulled up over the belt line, think muffin tail. I like this expression and want it to fall into common usage.

And remember, you heard it from the Monkey first.