Peas On Earth. Gouda Wheel. Two Men.

This year has sure had its ups and downs. But we remained healthy, warm, and fed for another year. We attended no funerals and visited no emergency rooms. It seems that in these times, this is the best we can expect. And I for one, will consider it to be a triumph.

It has been a real pleasure to share my thoughts with you all this past year. My wish for the new year is to be able to see many of you personally. My new year's resolution is to make every effort to visit those of you in Minnesota, Nevada, California, Texas (and yes, even Florida), if only for a long weekend. You all have an open invitation to visit us here in Colorado where we would be overjoyed to show you the sights. I think the greatest gift I could receive would be your continued friendship and to have it in person would be just wonderful.

We truly wish each of you health, love, and comfort in the new year. Happy New Year to each of you.

With warmest wishes,

Jon and Paul

Forty Drunk Santas

Paul works on Saturdays which makes it impossible to have weekend getaways. But we were both feeling frazzled lately, so I decided it might be fun to have a Saturday night getaway in downtown Denver. As usual, we are on the tightest of budgets, but travelling on the cheap is practically a game for me. I thought a nice hotel, a quiet dinner, and maybe a smart cocktail would be fun. I thought we could enjoy the holiday lights and maybe even do a little window shopping. Oh, the best laid plans.

The weekend started off with a successful bid on Priceline for a 4-star hotel in the downtown area for $59.00 - score! We were booked at the Hyatt Regency. While Paul worked, I took the light rail to the Hyatt on Saturday afternoon and checked in. But all they had were rooms with two double beds. I started negotiating with the front desk, but after checking in and out of two different rooms, I succumbed to paying an upcharge for a junior suite. My $59.00 room just became $109.00, plus tax. Cha-ching. Oh well, it was a nice room.

I found that the Hyatt has a bar on the 27th floor and it sounded like the perfect place to unwind. As Paul rode into town on the train from his job, I grabbed a table by the window and ordered some sort of espresso martini concoction and settled in to wait. $12.00. Cha-ching.

His train was running late and my drink was empty, so I ordered a scotch and continued waiting. $12.00 Cha-ching.

Shortly before he arrived, I had the server bring another scotch for me a and a glass of wine for him. $23.00. Cha-ching. Oh well, I've been holding this table for almost two hours and I'm not going to leave before he gets here. Besides, it was a such a serene place to relax and enjoy the view as the sun went down.

About two minutes before Paul arrived, approximately forty drunken revelers dressed like Santa Claus invaded the bar - some carrying signs reading "Less Cookies - More Ho's"! Apparently it was a group of bar-hopping Santas that grew larger as the night went on. Imagine the scene from Trading Places where Dan Akroyd, dressed as Santa, gets drunk and crashes the Christmas party of the company that fired him, but multiply it times forty. Hotel security swarmed in to monitor the situation, but how could they evict Santa Claus - especially when Santa is wearing fishnet stockings? While we tried to talk over the drunken Santas, Paul had a second glass of wine. $11.00. Cha-ching.

Next we decided to have dinner. With the budget fairly blown, we decided to settle for hamburgers at Johnny Rockets. So much for the quiet dinner.

After dinner, we found a nice bar where we spent another small fortune. While inside, the temperatures outside plummeted so low, that any television weather personality would just simply have given the temperature as "damn cold". I mean at some point, does it really matter what the number is? We high-tailed it back to the Hyatt where we each had a cup of coffee with a splash of Baileys before bed. $24.00. Cha-ching.

This morning it was so cold outside that our plans to spend the day window shopping and soaking up the holiday cheer were dashed. We had a terrific breakfast at a little coffee shop, but then caught the train straight home.

All in all it was still fun, but things just never turn out the way we plan them do they? Hey, at least one of the drunk Santas gave me a handful of Hershey's Kisses - no charge.

Hell Has Frozen Over

I can't keep my car clean here in Denver. You see, every time I wash it, it snows, turning my evening commute into a scene that looks like a combination between a monster truck rally and some kind of mud wrestling competition.

I have decided that there are two kinds of winter. The first kind is the kind we all hear about in holiday songs, like "Let It Snow" (Oh, the weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful....) The second kind is the kind that we have to push our shopping carts through when we leave Walmart.

As I schlepped home in the muck today, ruining our car's freshly washed exterior, I wondered if we had made the right decision in moving to Colorado. And then I remembered that our friend Laura Lee had sent us a picture taken from her home this morning in Las Vegas.




It seems hell has now frozen over, and there is nowhere to escape from it.

I'm ready for Spring now.

Dear Anonymous

To Whom It May Concern

Anonymous blog responses are only well understood by your readers when they don't contain an abundance of pronouns. Those of us who read your responses don't know where "up here" and "down there" are. Furthermore, we also do not have a frame of reference for words like "I" or "them".

You see anonymous, you are anonymous. This means quite literally that the source of your words is completely unknown to those of us reading them.

We do thank you for your responses anonymous, but please refrain from using words that suggest familiarity, when in fact, the rest of us have no goddamn idea who the hell you are.

Thank you.

Kindest regards,

Your readers

Colorado vs. Minnesota

For those of you who aren't aware, my friend who leaves comments on my blog under the identity "Nonna" used to be my boss up in Minnesota some years back. She has had to listen to me piss and moan about many things through the years, not just about the cold, and for that I'm truly sorry. She was a real trooper to put up with all that bitching. But I will never apologize for crabbing about the Minnesota winter.

The day she is referring to in her comment was a very long time ago. I had come to Minneapolis for a class. The hotel I stayed in was next door to the building where the class was held. The high temperature that day was four degrees below zero. Let's go over that again. The high temperature that day was four degrees below zero. A co-worker and I found that we had to run from the hotel to the classroom next door to avoid the severe pain that stung our exposed skin during the unbearable two minute commute.

Some years later when she hired me, she chose a week for me to come up and work with her in her office. Yep, you guessed it, smack in the dead of winter. I'll never forget flying out of Minneapolis, seeing the lifeless frozen tundra stretching out for hundreds of miles in every direction as I departed by air at the end of my week there. When I arrived back in Las Vegas to a balmy winter evening, I opened my car's sunroof and sighed with relief. I swore I would never travel to Minnesota again during the winter.

If you ask me, and even if you don't - it's my blog, Minnesota in the winter is not exactly the picture of a winter wonderland. It's more like the inside of an old freezer that hasn't been defrosted in several years. It's a place where they boast about the number of indoor passageways they have between buildings, always forgetting to mention that if people were forced to walk outdoors, they would lose appendages to frostbite.

I'll always love my dear friend Nonna, but if she thinks that a Minnesota winter can be compared to a Colorado winter, she's crazy. Poor crazy Nonna. That's what they'll call her. Oh, did I forget to mention that it will be sunny and in middle 50's in Denver this weekend? The high in Minneapolis today you ask? 19.

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

Every morning I pour my coffee and then I look out the window. I don't know what I'm looking for.

Today there are tiny snow flurries floating in the air. For those of us not used to snow, we picture it falling down and sticking to the ground. But this snow is floating in every direction. Some of it is falling. Some of it is rising. Some of it is drifting sideways. All of the snow is moving slowly and gently through the air. The snow isn't sticking to the ground but is drifting around like grains of sand across a Las Vegas parking lot. You can tell that it is truly cold outside just by watching the drifting snow.

The walk to the train station takes seven minutes. I bundle myself up and walk toward the station. For the first time in many years I can feel cold air on my cheeks. The gently blowing snow melts on them and makes them feel even colder, but the rest of me is well-dressed and warm.

As the electric train rolls quietly toward my stop, I watch the world go by. Everything is dusted in a thin blanket of white that stretches from the tracks all the way to the foothills, twenty miles to the west.

Tonight the low temperature is described by a word that only has one syllable, but today I feel alive for the first time in a very long time.

The Meaning Of Thanksgiving

I thought that volunteering would be a good way to make new friends, so when we moved to Denver I contacted the Colorado AIDS Project to see if I could help. Most of their volunteers work in their food bank, which is primarily a Monday through Friday job. Evening and weekend assignments are pretty much limited to fundraisers and holiday meals, so I’ve only had two opportunities to volunteer so far.

Yesterday, my job was to drive folks home who did not have their own transportation. Imagine what that would be like trying to lug a frozen turkey and a box of food to the bus stop. The volunteers are encouraged to refer to the recipients as “clients” and to picking up food as “shopping” to help maintain their dignity. Volunteers were all told that we should offer to carry groceries to and from the car for the clients.

One couple that I drove home had a strong impact on me. It was a man and his wife. They each had a turkey and a box of food, which means that they were either both infected, or they were shopping for someone who was. The wife was very gentle when she spoke and the man was as courteous as could be, but was mostly quiet. He was in a wheelchair and used a blanket scarred with cigarette burns as a seat pad. Neither of them smelled of smoke, so I am guessing this is the best they could come up with.

As we drove toward their home, the wife kept telling me how grateful they were for the ride. The man told me what a nice SUV I had, though he also was angry at SUV drivers because one of them had driven over his ankle and crushed it without even stopping. All the while, I could only think about my own selfishness and the things I take for granted.

They lived many miles away and I relied on them for driving directions. As we got further and further from the food bank, I wondered if they even knew where we were going. She knew the cross streets but didn’t know their address. I pressed her for the address, but she just didn’t know it. I thought that was odd until she explained that their new home was an apartment that was miles away from the homeless shelter they had been living in. They hadn’t been there long. She said that it had taken them two hours on three different buses to reach the food bank.

At their apartment, I stacked the boxes on each other and tried to lift the thirty pounds or so of food as best I could. She led me to the stairs that went up to their apartment. They lived on the third floor. I almost didn’t make it, but I didn’t want anyone to help me. I just couldn’t ask them for help. He stayed at the bottom of the stairs while she opened the apartment door. Once again at the bottom of the stairs, I asked if I could help him upstairs, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He just wished me a blessed holiday.

This year I am especially grateful. I am grateful for Paul. I am grateful for my new home. I am grateful for my new job. I am grateful for another year of good health. I am truly grateful to know you all and to have you in my life. I wish each of you love, peace, joy, and good health on this Thanksgiving day.

You Mean There Was A Priest Who Was NOT A Registered Sex Offender?

I was watching the local evening news last night when the stories of economic gloom and doom were interrupted to tell viewers about a new criminal conviction. It seems that a Colorado priest decided to go jogging sometime before dawn. He claimed that he gets too sweaty when he wears clothes while jogging, so he decided to jog around a local high school running track in the nude. The priest must now register as a sex offender.

You know, this never would have happened in Florida. He would have been eaten alive by mosquitos.

Click here to read the the story.

Now Let's Vote On Your Marriage

There’s an old saying that goes something like this, “It’s better to stay silent and let people think you are a fool, than to open your mouth and prove it.” Mostly for this reason, I try to shy away from political topics on my blog. What I don’t know outweighs what I do know by volumes. But something has happened lately that I feel I need to speak up about. I promise to be as brief as possible.

Californians have voted by a slim margin to amend their state constitution to ban same-sex marriages. This has also happened in other states, but this is the first time that people have voted to take away rights from people that already legally existed. Think about that for a moment. Imagine what it would be like to have the right to do something one day, and then wake up the next day to find out that your friends, neighbors, and co-workers have voted to take this right away from you. It’s astonishing to me that people could be this cruel.

There seem to be five main arguments against same-sex marriage. Let’s run through those shall we?

1) Same-sex marriage threatens the sanctity of traditional marriage.

I had to look this one up. I’ve heard this word so much lately that I’m not even sure I know what it means anymore. The word “sanctity” is synonymous with “holy”. Something that is “holy” is automatically worthy of respect and reverence. So, suddenly people consider marriage to be sacred? Where is the outrage when Las Vegas vacationers have too much to drink, get married by Elvis at a drive-through window, and have it all annulled the next day? Where is the outrage at a divorce rate that is near fifty percent of all marriages? Where is the outrage of the folks who are afraid that the sanctity of marriage is threatened by divorce and the lack of religious significance marriage holds for most of us? Where are the ballot initiatives and constitutional amendments to prevent these outrages? Hmmm? The sanctity of marriage is not created by the church, or simply by its own existence, but by the actions of the people that enter into it.

2) The purpose of marriage is to encourage procreation.

Okay, this one is simple. Let’s ban marriage for anyone who cannot or does not want to have children. If having children is the reason for people to get married, then there is no reason for two people who are unable or unwilling to conceive to be married. But wait, that would be cruel wouldn't it?

3) Churches will be forced to marry same-sex couple against the will of the church.

Nonsense. Churches don’t even have to marry different-sex couples if they don’t want to. The separation of church and state is well established. (It does however, seems to be perfectly okay for churches full of people wearing magic long underwear to donate millions of dollars to pass constitutional amendments.)

4) Schools will be forced to teach children that it’s okay to be gay.

And? Is there some reason that children should be led to believe that gay people deserve to be treated as second class citizens? Let me just say this now. Being gay is not a choice. Want proof? Do you remember the day when you "chose" your sexual orientation? I'll give you a minute to think....(insert Jeapordy music here).

Do you remember now? I didn't think so. You are what you are. It’s that simple. There is no such thing as “recruitment”. I don’t get a toaster if I sign up ten new ones. And frankly, if there it were a choice, believe me…I would have taken the easy way out. Let’s face it. I’m lazy and this is too much work.

5) Same-sex couples already have all the rights that everyone else has. They only need to draw up contracts and wills.

Not true. This is the most important point. There are 1,138 legal rights and benefits extended to married couples by the federal government…all of which I shall name for you now. (That was for you Pee Wee’s Big Adventure fans.) Please take a moment to click on this link to read about them briefly. The injustice is self-evident.

We all know what the bottom line is- fear. People are afraid that if gay people can marry then it will be okay to be gay. And then maybe little Timmy or Mary will turn gay. And maybe drag queens will run for president. And we’ll all be forced to redecorate our living rooms against our will. And who knows what other kinds of awful things will happen? Fear makes people weak and too afraid to stand up for others.

I ask all of you…my friends, my family, my neighbors, and my co-workers to imagine what it feels like to watch those around you be treated differently than you are. Stop being afraid. Stand up for me. Allow me to have the same rights and benefits under the law that you have.

Do Not Attempt

This morning, I saw a television ad for a video game that simulates snowboarding. The ad begins with a crowd of about twenty snowboarders clinging to each other, while the guys at the top of the heap hold on to the bottom of a helicopter. The helicopter then lifts off from the top of a skyscraper with the clinging mass of idiots, we assume toward some mountain where they can all go snowboarding.

At the bottom of the ad in small white letters is the phrase "Do not attempt." Really!? Really!?

Okay, let's take a moment to think about this. You and nineteen of your idiot friends dress in your best expensive snowboarding outfits. Holding snowboards, you all somehow make it past security and climb to the top of a skyscraper. Then, you hire a helicopter to land, but nobody gets inside. Instead, you are all so excited to go snowboarding, that you all just start jumping toward the bottom of the helicopter as it lifts off, clinging to each other. Of course the pilot is completely unaware that nobody has gotten inside the helicopter, and that twenty people are hanging from the bottom, lifts off and carries you all away.

I say, if you and your friends are dumb enough and rich enough to make this happen, do us all a favor and go for it. Help us rid the world of snowboarders.

Changes Aplenty

It seems that everything changes at once. First, let me say that I am truly pleased that country has chosen Barack Obama as their next president. It seems I am not alone. The whole world seems to be celebrating. Let's just hope he doesn't screw it up!

Next, I finally finished negotiating with a new employer here in Colorado and I have formally accepted the job. I told my boss yesterday that I would be leaving. She was sad to see me go, but was very understanding. This is not the type of economy to sit back and hope for the best. I think if you have an opportunity, you had better grab it.

That being said, I am now going to be a contract employee. They don't provide benefits, but I did get a 35% increase over my current salary. Fortunately, Paul's new employer will allow him to add me to his insurance policy. The difference between what I used to make and what I will make now is so substantial, that I may actually be able to put some money away. That would be a real triumph for me.

And finally, the seasons have suddenly changed here as well. As of yesterday, the air is dry and cold and the snow has begun to fall in the mountains. I am excited to try my hand at skiiing and I'm going to see about getting some ski clothes this weekend. I am really looking forward to the holidays this year. It will be the first time in twenty years that I won't be admiring a holiday light display on a palm tree!

McCain Wins Election - And It's All My Fault!

Is It Fate Or Dumb Luck?

This past week, I went to see the movie, "Religilous". For those of you that don't know, the movie is one-sided documentary examining organized religion and its followers. The main question the movie asks is, why do people believe these books of fantastic tales (bible, quran, torah, etc.) that were written at a time when people thought sea monsters were real and that the Earth was flat? People believe so strongly in these books of mythology that they are willing to kill each other.

In one part of the movie, the tale of Jonah and the great fish was questioned. The host asked a Christian follower, if they really believed that this man lived inside of a fish for three days? The follower did believe the story. The host then asked if instead of the tale of Jonah, what if the bible talked of Jack and the beanstalk...then would he believe the story? Needless to say, I left the movie more sure than ever that my agnostic stance was not changing any time soon. So, why then do I believe in fate?

I consider myself to be a thinking person, but at the same time, I cannot ignore the string of coincidences that have happened to me lately. You see, the wife of a co-worker (and good friend) just happened to run in to the co-worker's old boss from his past company. The ex-boss asked about my co-worker, and whether his wife thought my co-worker might be interested in returning to his old company. A few days later, I learned that he had decided to leave our company to return to his old company.

Let's go back six months to an evening when Paul and I sat on the back patio in Florida discussing where we would like to move to. After we weighed all the pros and cons of every location we thought we might be interested in, we chose Denver. The list of reasons is too long to go into here, but suffice it to say that my career had no bearing on our chosen location. And in the end, it practically came down to the flip of a coin. There was no single compelling reason to come to Denver. It just seemed like a good idea.

Now, back to present day...as is often the case, my co-worker passed my name around to his new employer. His employer passed my name on to another employer who apparently has some interest in hiring me, because they contacted me and we are now in negotiations. Whether an actual job offer will materialize is yet to be seen.

But here, as they say, is the real kick in the rubber parts. Guess where the company is located that is talking to me. Yep, you guessed it...Denver!

Do you believe in fate?

You Say Color-aa-do, I Say Color-ah-do

Most states seem to hold another state's population in low esteem. Now, like most other western states, the residents of Colorado view transplants from California as a scourge. But when we first arrived in Colorado, being a Texan was not held in high esteem by the other folks who were already here. This impression of Texans was probably most often made on the slopes of Vail and Aspen, where rich Texans came to get drunk and spend their money every season. Back then, Las Vegas was not the place to go and make an ass out of yourself for Texans; it was Colorado.

My family first moved to Colorado when I was 13 years old. We moved from Houston, where I was born. We had never lived anywhere else during my lifetime. We came to Colorado pulling a trailer full of "y'alls" and other attributes that made us instantly identifiable as Texans. Upon arriving, I had to get used to the fact that a carbonated beverage was not a "coke" as every variety in Texas had been, but was now referred to as a "pop" - a ridiculous word if you ask me. The hardest thing to get used to saying was "you guys", which sounded to me like something only an effeminate male interior designer would say, instead of "y'all" - a perfectly proper contraction by the way.

Over time, my prejudice against these and other previously unknown uses for the English language disappeared. I went with "you guys" to get a "pop", just like the rest of my friends did. But there was still one pronunciation that I have never become accustomed to - "Color - aa - do". Years later as an adult, I moved to Nevada, where I lived for twelve years. There is no disputing the fact that Nevada is pronounced "Ne-vaa-da", and not "Ne-vah-da". The pronunciation "Ne-vah-da" make the hair on my arms stand up. It's just wrong. The end.

Now, back in Colorado, I have noticed that the newscasters all seem to say "Color-aa-do". I figured there must have been an invasion of newscasters from Nevada while I was away. Now I come find out that "Color-aa-do" is the proper pronunciation, and that only outsiders say "Color-ah-do"! Don't believe me? Here it is:

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/colorado

So, now I have to change again. I'm getting too old for this. I just figured out how to say "Hyundai". Alright you guys. Thanks for stopping by to read my blog. I'm going to go get a pop now.

Maverick Schmaverick

I happened to be in the car last night during the vice-presidential debate. I flipped the radio on to listen to the debate. I try to keep an open mind about elections. I am a registered Democrat, but I will vote for the person I feel is the best candidate. This time though, I’m just as irritated as hell with McCain’s choice in Sarah Palin. I can’t put my finger on it and I don’t have a logical explanation. She seems smart and she seems sincere. But when she said the word, “Maverick” for the second time I turned the radio off. I can’t stand all that folksy “soccer mom” “Joe six-pack” “darn tootin” crap. It makes my blood boil.

The only reason my television doesn’t have a brick through it is because I wasn’t home to watch her wink repeatedly at the camera, like it’s all some big inside joke. I don’t think there is anything funny about our current economic situation, our standing in the world, or the 4,000 troops that have been killed in Iraq to protect us from WMD’s that don’t exist. So, stop winking at me lady and explain why you are the better choice.

The issue that is most important to me is health care. After the $105,000 bill we were presented for a week’s hospital stay a couple of years back, and with the ridiculous cost of prescriptions (which seem to rise inexplicably each year by 2, 3 or even 4 times), I live in constant fear of losing our health insurance. It is fair to say that if it weren’t for the insurance plan that my employer provides to us, I would have left my job long ago. I work day in and day out in a job I don’t want to be in, because if I leave, I will lose my health insurance.

I went to both candidates’ web sites some time ago to read about their health care proposals. This little tidbit was either missing from McCain’s web site when I last visited, or was inconspicuous – McCain wants us to pay income tax on the health insurance premiums paid by our employers. Yep. Let’s give tax breaks to large corporations and wealthy folks, and let’s tax people’s health care benefits. Good plan, huh?

For those of us who do not receive insurance from our employers, we will receive a $2,500 per person ($5,000 per family) tax credit to purchase health care ? Well, that would help pay for three months of insurance (assuming someone will insure me). I have no idea where the other nine months worth of premiums is supposed to come from. Here’s a link to a non-profit non-partisan site that explains the truth about McCain’s “health care plan”. Read if for yourself.

http://www.factcheck.org/mccains_5000_promise.html

I’ve had enough of the maverick and the soccer mom. Give me an honest debate about the issues so I can choose who I feel is the candidate that will best represent me. Big surprise…this time it will be Obama.

How Much Is Enough?

Living in an 872 square foot condo, you begin to realize that you have to do without some things. There just isn't room to have "regular dishes" and "good dishes". There just isn't room to buy everything in bulk. There just isn't room to keep bringing home stuff.

This past weekend, Paul and I were eating in a sandwich shop and found this quote on the wall. It really made me think. I have edited it slightly. I hope you enjoy it.

* * * * The Story of the Mexican Fisherman* * * *

An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, ‘only a little while.’

The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish?

The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.

The American then asked, ‘but what do you do with the rest of your time?’

The Mexican fisherman said, ‘I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.’

The American scoffed, ‘I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise.’

The Mexican fisherman asked, ‘But, how long will this all take?’

To which the American replied, ‘15 - 20 years.’

‘But what then?’ Asked the Mexican.

The American laughed and said, ‘That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions!”

“Millions - then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

Bicycle Pants Are Black

We had the envious position of being able to choose to move anywhere we wanted. One of the main reasons we chose to move to Colorado was that we thought it would be healthier place to live - a place that might foster a more healthy lifestyle for us.

Since I hurt my back, I have not wanted to try to use the workout room here at the condo complex. But I have discovered that we have miles and miles of paths that meander through parks and open spaces to walk on. It's really wonderful not to have to walk next to the traffic.

I've been trying to walk six miles every day until my back is healed enough to use the machines at the gym. During my walks, I noticed all these people on bicylcles. At first, I thought it was a fluke. Then I thought that maybe their cars had broken down. As more and more little Lance Armstrongs whizzed past me this week, I realized they were doing it on purpose! Can you believe that? Riding a bike on purpose? Toto, I don't think we're in Vegas anymore.

You just have to laugh at some of the bicycle people. They think they look so cool and of course they are very aerodynamic. Apparently, the more angles your helmet has on the back of it, the faster you can go. If the back of your bicycle helmet looks like the bridge of a Klingon's nose, you are especially speedy.

And the outfits - they look so ridiculous. They are all stuffed into those shiny bicycle pants we all thought were cool way back when. And of course, there's the brightly colored shirt made entirely of some unnatural fiber and sporting an advertisement for something Italian. They all look like Cinzano umbrellas zipping around on two wheels.

One thing I have noticed is that apparently, there is an unwritten code that while your shirt can be any color of the rainbow (as long as it says something Italian), your shiny little shorts must be black. Bright yellow shiny shirt? Cool. Bright yellow shiny shorts? Not so much.

Just Call Me "Grace"

The other night while walking back to the car from a store, I didn't see a rock on the ground in the parking lot. When I stepped on it, I twisted my ankle. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to get my hands out squarely in front of me. I was close enough to the car to stumble quickly head-first into the rear passenger door, like a lovesick goat battling a rival. The car won, although I left a good-sized dent where my head hit it. I think it learned its lesson anyway.

I heard a "crack" in my back and the wind was knocked out of me. I fell to the ground in a heap writhing in pain and unable to breathe. I remember thinking two things while I was gasping for air:

1) I hope nobody is looking at me.
2) I wonder if I just paralyzed myself?

This morning I woke up early because of the pain between my shoulder blades. I know that I should go to the doctor, but I just switched health plans due to the move, and don't have an insurance card to show. Heck, I don't even know where a doctor is yet.

This got me thinking about health care and the two major candidate's policies on health care. I went to each web site to look up their plans. They are not terribly dissimilar in actuality.

The major difference is that McCain wants to provide people with a $2500 tax credit to purchase private insurance. Those who are denied private insurance would be relegated to a state plan of some sort.

Obama's plan is to provide employers with tax credits of 50% of their employee's policy premiums if they cover their employees, otherwise, if they provide nothing they will be subject to a payroll tax. For those who fall through the cracks, there will be a national affordable health plan available for purchase. The cost of the plan will depend upon one's income.

While these plans have some similarities, McCain's plan puts the burden on the individual states, while Obama's puts the burden on the federal government. I suppose my biggest question is, how does the federal government go about forcing the states to insure their populations? I didn't realize the feds had this power. I can only imagine the disparity that will exist between each state's plan. And those states with lower tax bases will have inferior plans, creating a huge set of differences in care from state to state. Sounds like a real mess to me.

I think if we are going to do something to ensure that we all have access to at least basic health care, it has to be an "all or nothing deal", and not relegated to each state to figure out. I don't know what the answer is.

I do know that we have to do something to see that we all have access to health care. Either that, or we are going to have to create federal oversight to see that all rocks are swept away from parking lots.

One Of LIfe's Greatest Mysteries Has Been Answered

At least twenty years ago, my younger brother and I decided that there were three great mysteries of life that would probably never be answered:

1) Why do men have nipples?
2) Why don't you ever see any baby pigeons?
3) If Denny's is "always open", why do they have locks on the doors?

That last one confuses me especially. Their sign specifically states that they are always open. They NEVER close. So, why the locks? A newspaper article I found the other day has answered this great question.

Coke User Tries To Sever Arm In Denny's

(Modesto, Calif.) Police say a man tried to cut off his arm at a restaurant because he thought he had injected air into a blood vessel while shooting cocaine and feared that he would die unless he took drastic action.

Authorities said 33-year-old Michael Lasiter rushed into a Denny's restaurant late Friday and started stabbing himself in one arm with a butter knife he had grabbed from a table.

They said that when the butter knife didn't work, Lasiter took a butcher knife from the kitchen and dug it into his arm.

Police Sgt. Brian Findlen said Lasiter told officers he thought he needed to amputate his arm to ward off dying from the cocaine injection.

Lasiter was taken to a hospital for treatment of sever cuts.

The Denny's closed for the night.

The Saga Continues

Well, we are all moved in. So far so good....except for one thing. We can't figure out how to get the dang phone and internet turned on.

When we were in Florida, I made the dumb mistake of thinking we could order phone service from any of Denver's major providers, assuming they agreed to serve us when I called. Wrong.

Company A said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service via DSL. They schedule a technician to come out this past Wednesday. The technician arrived on Wednesday afternoon, but asked me if I knew where the "box" was. Hell, I don't even know where the dumpster is yet. He went off to find it and returned later to tell me that he just found out his company doesn't serve my area. He advised me to call company B.

Company B said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service, but couldn't find my address in their system. It turns out that my address is so new, that their database hadn't been updated. They said they would add the address o their database and give me a call back. "In an hour or so?", I asked. "In a couple of days", they said.

Two days go by. No call. I called company B back and it turns out that I can now order service. They just neglected to call. "Whatever", I'm thinking. "Just get on with it." "Oh. Wait.", the agent says. "We can only provide television and phone service. We aren't allowed to offer internet service for you. We can have a technician out there tomorrow to turn your phone on. What number can we contact you at?" "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.

So, I call the HOA office and they tell me that the builder has signed some dumb contract with some no-name internet provider we'll call "company C."

I called company C to get service. Some guy answers me on a speakerphone. He tells me that he'll email me a form to fill out that I can fax back to order service. "What's your email address?", he says. "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.

Sign Here (And Here And Here And Here...)

Well, it's official. We have a new home in Denver, Colorado (Aurora to be exact). The closing took place yesterday at the sales office of the condominium complex.

I finally had a chance to meet the broker who represented the seller. He was so typically "Denver"...tall, thin, good-looking, with tassels on his shoes. Men in Denver like tassels on their shoes. I'm surprised that the accelerator pedals on their Saabs and Audis don't have special little clips just to keep their tassels from flopping around while they drive.

The stack of documents to be signed was an inch thick, but I was so exhausted both mentally and physically that I would have signed anything just to get out of there. It was just as if I had been in a car dealer's showroom all day long and had now been ushered into the finance manager's office. Pinstripe? Sure, I'll take it. Scotchguard? You bet. Extended warranty? Absolutely gotta have that. Protective undercoating? Where do I sign?

After I got about half way through the stack and had carefully read the note and deed of trust, I just completely stopped listening to their explanations of what I was signing. What difference did it make at this point? I just wanted out of there. For all I know, I just signed a document promising to have half of my paycheck automatically deducted and sent to fund a government program in Sweden to study the long term effects of cleaning one's belly button too often.

I got an email from Paul last night. He is hauling a big trailer full of what belongings we still have across the country and had stopped to spend the night in Macon, Georgia. I feel terrible for not being able to help him with this journey. I did so want to stop in Kansas to see the world's largest ball of twine. I guess I'll just have to leave that on my list of the top 100 places to see before I die.

Today, my job is to fill the house with various miscellaneous items that we no longer own. I had planned to get a Colorado driver's license today, but they have no offices that are open on Saturdays. It's probably better this way. I don't own any shoes with tassels and I'm sure I will need some in order to prove to the DMV that I am a resident of Colorado.

Tropical Storm Fay Update II

After nearly 24 hours, the power is back on. Now to pack the house for next week's move.

Wish us luck over the next day or two. The east side of the storm is now approaching. Sigh.

Tropical Storm Fay Update

David's sister-in-law has been kind enough to let me spend the afternoon at her house. She has power. We do not.

As Fay blew through west Florida yesterday. Debris began falling from trees. Even some large limbs are down. The power lines here are all suspended in air. As I tried to work yesterday, the power kept going on an off. After the 3rd or 4th time, I decided I was no longer going to be able to work. My computer struggled to keep rebooting itself. Finally around 4pm, the we heard a loud buzz and a "pop". Dave immediately said, "That's a keeper."

He was right. We have not had power since then. A call to the power company only results in a recording that basically says, "We know, we know." There is no ETA for when power will be restored.

So, the bottom line is that we are all unable to access email and our telephone/internet service is out as well. We have a generator that is keeping the fridge running, as well as a few small appliances.

We are all fine, though none of us have had much sleep in this heat and humidity. Though we do not have access to phone/internet services, our cell phones are all working. If you need us, please call the cell number that you have. They have not changed since we were in Las Vegas.

The Eye Of The Storm

Well, as Fay peters out, so has the commotion surrounding the condo deal. The seller and I have come to a new agreement based on a lower price. The papers aren't signed yet, but they soon will be. The closing has been rescheduled for August 29th.

I'm off to Denver on the 28th, condo or no condo. I'll live in a shoebox if I have to, but I'll never come back to this rusty, backwater, banjo-playing, racist, bug-infested, fried-food eating, Jesus-freak place if I can help it. Well, maybe to change planes.

I'll send you all our new address and phone number as soon as I have it. In the meantime, our cell numbers will stay the same.

Wish us luck! I imagine it's going to get pretty stormy again before this is all said and done.

Serenity Now!

Today, I have just returned from meeting the buyer of my car to turn over the title. We all know why that took so long, so I won't go there.

In the meantime, the appraisal has been done on the condo. (It took nine days to get the appraisal back - a process which usually take three, but that's another topic.) Wells Fargo required the appraised value to be a certain dollar figure as a condition of loan approval. The appraisal came in $7,500 lower than the amount Wells Fargo required.

Today, the builder's agent is supposed to go back to the builder to see if they will lower their price. I see no reason why they wouldn't, as we all know this is a tough market. I doubt there are dozens of buyers all queued up and ready to buy this condo, if I back out. But if they don't want to lower the price, the deal is off. If they decide they will lower the price, then I'm supposed to be on a flight from Tampa to Denver on Wednesday, to close this loan.

Did I mention that there is a hurricane headed for Tampa that should arrive on Wednesday?

The Electronic Age Is A Myth

Well, as you know, I sold my car. In order to satisfy the fine folks at Wells Fargo, they require a copy of the transferred title. It's not good enough just to show that the car has been paid off. They are idiots.

I drove to Orlando last Friday morning to meet the buyer at his bank. He had a cashier's check issued, we signed the bill of sale. I took the check. He took the car. Done, right? Wrong.

The next step was to pay off the car loan. On Friday, I sent the cashier's check to my credit union which happens to be in Minnesota. After a Monday morning phone call, they found the overnight package and credited my account - for $5,000. They held the rest of the funds for five business days. (I hate the term "business days". Why don't they just say seven days?) Can anyone tell me what the point of a cashier's check is, if the bank is going to hold it for a week? Have any of you ever had a check that you wrote clear your bank less than a day or two after it was deposited? I didn't think so.

After more phone calls, I was able to get them to make an exception and release the funds. Now to pay off the finance company. So I called them and asked how to do this. "Just send us a cashier's check and we'll credit your account about five business days after we receive it.", they said. So, let's see. I get my bank to turn around and issue a cashier's check made out to the finance company. They mail it to me from Minnesota. That's three days. Then, I overnight the check to the finance company. That's another day. The finance company credits my account a week after they get the check. That's seven more days. Eleven more days to get the loan paid off? That's not working for me and I once again begin to work my way up the chain of employees, only this time at the finance company.

At last the finance company suggests that I wire the funds to them. They state that they will credit my account 24 hours after the wire arrives. "Great!", I say. Consider it done. I took down all of the wire information and contacted my bank to do the wire. "I'm sorry", my bank says, "but we don't have an authorization form to do wires on your behalf on file here at the bank. You'll have to send us that." UGH!! Okay, fine, email me the form. The form arrives. I sign it and run it down to the post office to send it back via overnight mail, where I wait behind the three post office losers I've already told you about.

The next day I call my bank. "Do you have the authorization form?", I ask. "Yes, we have it", they reply. Finally, now we can do the wire. The wire is done and my bank informs me that the finance company will have the funds in 2-4 hours. I wait 24 hours, just to be sure.

The next day, I call the finance company to see if they have the wire. "Oh, that takes about 72 hours for us to update your account." My face contorts and my fists instantly clench. "No. Unacceptable. Put me through to a supervisor." The supervisor gives me the same spiel, but I insist that a human being get on the phone right now, find my wire, and update my account. The supervisor promises to call me back the same day. No call comes.

The next day, the supervisor calls. "We have your wire and we have credited your account", she says. "Wonderful! When can I have the title?", I ask. "I'll transfer you to someone in the title department, please hold.", she replies.

The title department answers and I again ask when I can have my title. "Well, let's see. Your title is electronic and can be printed at your state DMV. All we have to do is just release the lien and you will be all set.", the agent tells me. "Awesome! Make it so, Number One!", I say. "Oh that will take about five business days.", she says.

Son of a bitch!

Going Postal

I was at the post office today waiting impatiently to mail an overnight letter before the deadline for pickup. In front of me were three customers and only one mail clerk was available.

The first customer had a huge box full of little packages that each needed to be sent separately via certified mail. Heavy sigh. Okay, no problem. I was dealing with it. One. Two. Three. Four...

The next customer was a 20-something shaved head tattooed guy who wanted to buy a box, but couldn't find the right size on the shelves. He asked the clerk if she had any small boxes. She went to the back to see. She called out, asking him if he wanted a small box to ship videos in. He replied (and I quote), "I want the small one that's just like the bigger ones, only smaller." Five. Six. Seven....

The third customer, obviously a retiree, was a lady who had driven to the post office to find out if her letter needed one stamp or two. (I wonder how much gas she used driving to the post office to avoid wasting a stamp.) Eight. Nine. Ten... Then, after mailing her letter, the lady began to walk away. Ahhhhhh - my turn.

Oh crap, she's not done. The woman suddenly remembered that she needed stamps. But, she didn't want just any stamps. "Do you have any stamps with flowers on them?" "No, but I have Sinatra stamps and these other ones." "Ooh, these are cute!" "What else do you have?"

ARRGH!

Sold!

Well, it looks like I have cleared the next hurdle toward buying the new home in Colorado. I sold my beloved “Cybil” - my 2006 Honda Civic SI. (I called her Cybil because she had two very distinct personalities on the road, depending on how hard I rode the accelerator.) Now, I’ll be sharing “Helga”, Paul’s Honda Pilot. Helga is a strong beasty broad with wide child-birthing hips. She in no way makes me appear young and thin to other drivers like Cybil did. Well, so much for those traffic light flirtations.

For those of you who might be buying a home in the near future, you might want to go and get your colonoscopy photographs now. Lenders these days are so strict that they’ll likely want to look up your ass.

So, next we’ll order the appraisal and see if the property is “worth” what the builder says it is. No worries there – if it comes in low, we’ll renegotiate the sales price, or scrap the deal. If it comes in high, then I’ll buy it at the already agreed upon price. There is also a mound of paperwork yet to be signed, all even before we get to the closing table.

If the next couple of weeks go smoothly, my last day in Florida will be August 21. I will fly to Colorado to sign the paperwork, and stay there until Paul arrives, working from a desk at my father's house. Paul will bring the few belongings that we moved to Florida with, by driving Helga yet again across the country. Road trip anyone?

The Last Word

Why do some people need to have the last word in every conversation? Most of you know that I work at home and that my office is actually in Minnesota. Many of my conversations happen over the company's instant message system. If you don’t use instant messaging, this is basically where you hear “ding”, and a little box pops up with someone’s usually trivial and meaningless interruption. You then type something back in the box, and so it goes, turning what should be a 60-second phone conversation into a long series of drivel and keyboard smiley faces ;).

Instant messaging was intended to be used for very quick conversations, but instead, I work with people who are just too lazy to pick up the phone to have a real conversation. It’s okay, because I don’t really want to talk to most of them anyway.

One of the people I work with insists on having the last word in every instant message conversation. It goes something like this – “Ding! (her) How much time would it take for you to rewrite the Bible in Portuguese?” “Dong! (me) About three days.” “Ding! Okay. Thanks.” “Dong! Send me the documented work request.” “Ding! Okay, will do!” “Ding! Thanks again.” “Ding! Have a nice day! (smiley face).” "Ding! See you later!"

“Dong! Shut the hell up and go away already.”

Buddy, Can You Spare $17,200?

As the clock struck 7:00 pm here in the rust belt of the east coast last night, sales agents, and loan originators began to come out of the woodwork. Wells Fargo had approved my loan. Everyone gave each other firm, welt-raising pats on the back. You could practically hear the champagne corks popping in the background at the condo sales office. Then the email came.

The loan originator emailed the terms of the loan approval with a list of contingencies as long as my arm – one of them being a requirement to sell my car and relieve myself of those payments prior to closing. Not only that, but Wells Fargo has also required that I not “add to funds” for this transaction, which means that I cannot sell the car for less than the loan payoff, and write a check for the difference.

Now, truth be told, I don’t need the car. The condo sits in the middle of snow country for which Paul’s SUV is already well equipped to transport us. Not only that, but the condo only has a 1-car garage and happens to sit within a few hundred steps of Denver’s light rail system. Transportation options abound.

The problem is that I am supposed to close on this loan by August 22. Wells Fargo requires proof of the car loan payoff and title transfer to the new owner before it will come to closing with a check. So this means that I really have to complete the sale by August 15. So between today, July 22, and August 15, I am supposed to magically produce a car buyer from my nether regions, without assisting them in any way by lowering the price below the payoff value.

Does this still sound like a loan approval to you? Anyone want to buy a car?

Mortgage Meltdown

Some of you know that I have put in an offer to purchase a condominium in Denver. Before I made the offer, I had my broker’s assistant sit down with the loan originator to look over my credit reports, FICO scores, income, debts and bank balances to see if should go forward. The originator, a branch manager for Wells Fargo in Colorado, said it should be no problem.

So, based on this recommendation, I plunked down $2,000 of earnest money and made an offer. The builder accepted the offer and the ball began to roll. Now, almost six weeks later, I still have no answer from Wells Fargo as to whether I am approved or denied. In the meantime, I am literally sick to my stomach, sleepless most nights, and fed up beyond belief. I have given them every possible piece of documentation, save the photos from last summer’s uneventful colonoscopy. But hey, if they want those, they can have those too.

Bottom line is that I don’t feel like the deal is going to go through, and frankly at this point, I don’t really care anymore. There are plenty of other places to live. I hope to hear something this week, but I’m not optimistic about what the news will be.

So, if the deal falls through, should we go to Denver anyway, as planned? Or should we go back to Las Vegas where we feel most at home? What do you guys think?

What Are Your Favorite Travel Tips?

You all know that I love traveling. I read guide books the way other people read romance novels. I don't know why, but I'm just fascinated by visiting other places. If you asked me to join you on a trip, I'd be there.

Yesterday, Dave gave me an early birthday present of a small book of travel tips. Some of them were ho hum, some were a little out there, but some were ingenious. (As an aside, Dave had no gift wrapping paper to use, so he wrapped the book in newspaper. If only he hadn't used the obituary section!)

It got me thinking about a few travel tips that I have picked up on my own and I thought I'd share them with you.

1) If you like to send postcards like I do, print a sheet of address labels to take with you. You won't need to spend any time transcribing every one's address onto the cards. Now you have the extra time to really write a personal note and still send lots of cards.

2) Speaking of postcards, bring a few from your home. On every trip, I meet a local who has been particularly kind. Sometimes it's a bartender. Sometimes it's an innkeeper. When we were in Germany, we had a very long conversation at a bar with a local guy who then insisted on giving us a walking tour of Koln with a few stops at other local bars. Use the postcards to write a thank you note and include your contact information. Who knows? You may return years later to find your postcard still on the wall behind the bar. And the person who receives it will learn something about where you come from, even if it's only one picture of your city.

3) Bring a pocket compass. I can't tell you how many times I've wandered through winding streets surrounded by buildings only to get lost. Usually I know that my hotel is, let's say, along the river. And I usually know that the river is somewhere to my west. If I could just find the river, I could find my way back to the hotel. Seems like an obvious tip, but how many times have you ever seen anyone use a compass? You'll be so glad you had that baby in your pocket the next time you find yourself lost in a foreign city.

4) Bring a flash drive with a password-protected spreadsheet on it. Put your passport number, your confirmation numbers, your credit card numbers and their customer service phone numbers....everything you can think of that you might need if you lose something. I had my wallet stolen in Spain and I can't tell you how hard it was to contact the credit card companies without that information. If you should need the information, any hotel or internet cafe should be able to help you use your flash drive.

So what travel tips do you have to share? For those of you who are not aware, you can click on the "comments" link below this post to leave a comment for everyone to read.

Happy travels!

It's A Jungle Out There

As much as I complain about Florida, it is amazing to see the variety of wildlife that is literally outside our front door every day. Since moving here, I have seen owls, eagles, ibis (ibi?), racoons, foxes, skunks, a rat snake (could have lived without that one), alligators (though just one), and turtles. All except the alligator were spotted just by looking out the window.

Yesterday, I was sitting at my desk working when Dave and Paul began to shout that a very large river turtle had come to our yard to lay her eggs. The whole process took only a few minutes. With all the predators around here, I doubt many of the baby turtles will survive, but I'm sure nature knows what it is doing. It's hard to tell from this photo, but this turtle was probably two feet from head to tail and probably weighed about twenty pounds.

Libery And Justice For All?

Did you know that the United States is one of only 12 countries in the world that legally ban short-term visitors who are HIV-positive from entering the country? Guess which other countries have this ban. Give up?

Armenia, Brunei, Iraq, Libya, Moldova, Oman, Qatar, the Russian Federation, Saudi Arabia, South Korea, and Sudan.

Please take the time to read this article:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/05/13/AR2008051302719.html

Please use this link to tell your senator that now is the time for the United States to end this disgusting and embarrassing practice:

http://www.hrcactioncenter.org/campaign/hivtravelban?rk=VpXrFM4qOJjOE

What's He Doing Out There?

For those of you who wonder how we've been spending our free time, take a look at these photos. Today, we have finished gutting and remodeling the kitchen. Hopefully, you'll be able to figure out which photos are the "before" photos, and which are the "after". If not, we didn't do a very good job!

What Is A Typical Male?

A female friend of mine was dismayed to find her that her female supervisor reacted negatively to her honest opinions about some workplace issues. Her supervisor acted as if she had been personally attacked by my friend, instead of listening to what she was saying and taking it as constructive criticism. My friend went on to say that she wished that in some ways, women would listen less emotionally, especially when it comes to work. My friend wondered if she should refrain from providing her opinions at all, so as not to have her supervisor take her remarks personally. She went on to say that she wished in some ways, women would think more like men when it comes to work.

My opinion was that my friend should continue to offer her opinions where she felt they would make a positive impact, as long as they were not personal remarks. I explained to my friend that I had spent years working predominately for/with women and had trained myself to think carefully before I speak due to their sensitivity. Even with all my efforts, I’ve still brought some of my female co-workers to tears and have more than once been accused of being “condescending”, so try as I might, it is mostly up to the listener to determine how something is meant. I also explained that I had a tendency to take things personally as well, even when they were meant to be taken constructively. My friend then said to me, “Well, you are not a typical male.”

Boy, has this stuck in my craw. (Now watch, my friend will be all apologetic about it, even though I just advised her to stick to her guns. Women, huh?) What is a “typical male?” Am I supposed to be a ruthless, uncaring co-worker who doesn’t care what other people think about what I say? Am I supposed to be some sports-minded oaf who lays about every Sunday wiping my Cheetos-stained hands all over my shirt? Should I be good at building things out of wood?

I got to thinking about the stereotypes we all walk around with and whether I identified with them either as a typical man, or even as a typical gay man. I came to the conclusion that I really can’t be labeled, but maybe I just don’t see the forest for the trees. I thought I’d throw out some examples and let you tell me if you think I am “typical” or not.

I hate shopping. I don’t understand why I would want to wander about touching and looking at things that I don’t need. If I need a pair of blue jeans, I go to a store and buy some. Then, I leave. Typical man you say? Maybe, maybe not.

I understand how to use color, pattern and arrangement. I’m not happy with a living room consisting of a Budweiser clock, a couple of beanbag chairs, and a shelf unit made out of cinder blocks and plywood. One of my friends said of my last home, “It looks like Pottery Barn threw up in here.” So, now I’m a typical gay man?

I hate musicals. I have no idea why these people suddenly break out into song for no apparent reason. When I watch one at home on DVD, I fast-forward through the songs to get on with the story. By the way, I also cannot stand Barbra Streisand or Liza Minnelli. I’d rather drive spikes into my ears than sit through one of their movies, at least without a fast-forward button. Hmmm. This person does not need these people. Just a regular guy reaction?

I also hate just about any movie with car chases or where lots of stuff blows up. I just sit there thinking, “Oh please, can we just get on with it?” Well, that’s not a guy thing – probably a gay thing, right?

I can’t stand watching sports. Someone will move something that will probably resemble some sort of ball. They will put this ball in a hole, over a line, or in some confined area of some sort. Someone will win, someone will lose, and when it is all over, who gives a damn? And what difference does it make if my team wins or your team wins? I’ve got better things to do with my time. As the bumper sticker says, “My area sports team is superior to your area sports team.” That about sums it up for me. Who cares? I still have to go to work on Monday, and in the meantime, there’s three hours of my life that I will never get back. Well, that’s just typical isn’t it?

Please don't talk to me about celebrities. I don't care about Britney, Miley, Paris or Nicole. I also don't care about Brat, Matt, Ben or Mario. I couldn't give two craps who married whom, who went where, who's fat, who's anorexic, who wore what, who's hot or who's not! Is that typical?

I despise small high-pitched dogs. And it especially makes my skin crawl to see men fawn all over these little rats. Show me a little Yorky-Bichon-Poodle-Pekingese and I’ll show you perfect dropkick. I like real dogs. I like dogs that men like. Well, that’s just a typical man talking, huh?

I can get whites their whitest, cook a lasagna from scratch, pick the perfect wine and arrange a centerpiece. I can also lay a tile floor, change my own oil, and I still think farts are funny. So what is a typical man? Am I a typical man or not? I hope not.

T.M.I.

Too much information. We have so overloaded ourselves with information that we are completely unable to exist in the moment.

People have always had a desire for entertainment and escapism. This desire was probably first quenched with storytelling. Storytelling evolved into stage. Stage evolved into screen. The screen came into our homes and became the internet.

As forms of entertainment have evolved, so have forms of communication. The days of messengers traveling from village to village became the printed word, the radio and the telephone, and finally the cell phone, emails, blogs and text messages.

At face value, all of these modern forms of communication serve us invaluably and I’m not suggesting that we regress, but we need to take a serious look at whether all these new forms of communication are useful or whether they have begun to replace our real lives. We also need to understand that we are replacing entertainment with communication. They have become one and the same.

At a recent birthday dinner for my teenaged nephew, he stared wistfully up as he told me how much he’d like to have the latest cell phone with all the fabulous entertainment and communication possibilities at hand. I showed him my cell phone, and used my hands like one of the models on The Price Is Right as I explained how my cell phone both makes calls and receives calls! To say that my nephew was unimpressed is an understatement.

During a recent college math course, I was surrounded by classmates whose phones, set to “silent” mode, vibrated wildly while my professor tried desperately to explain a complicated formula to a completely distracted classroom. Everyone was too busy sending text messages to pay any attention.

During my last visit to The Magic Kingdom, Paul and I were sitting on a bench enjoying the atmosphere and doing some people-watching. A teenaged girl sat next to me and began sending text messages wildly. Her cell phone’s keyboard was undoubtedly overheated, but still she kept on. She was unable to look up even for a moment to take in her surroundings. My curiosity got the best of me. Respectfully I said, “Excuse me. Can you explain something to me? If what you have to say to the other person is terribly important, why don’t you just dial their phone number and speak to them, instead of sending all of these text messages back and forth?” She said, “Hmmm. I never thought about that. I don’t know.” Then her phone began to buzz and she was immediately engrossed in her next text message. She had no more time to talk to me.

I felt sorry for her. She was completely unable to appreciate her surroundings for fear of being unresponsive to what I’m sure what a less than meaningful text message. Some day, whoever she was visiting the park with will look back on that day and say, “Do you remember that day we spent at The Magic Kingdom?” To which she will have to reply, “Not really. Hold on, I’m getting a text.”

So, what’s the answer? For starters, try turning your cell phones and computers off one night per week. Invite a friend or neighbor over to your house on that night for a game or a bite to eat. Have a conversation with them. Remember conversations? They’re even faster than text messages. Also, when you and I are speaking face to face, please don’t hold up your “wait a minute finger” to answer your cell phone. I promise I won’t do it to you either. And lastly, don’t read my blog tomorrow. I know it’s good and all, but there might be something else more important going on right in front of you.

Gift For A Nation

Jesse Helms died today. President Bush was quoted as saying that America has lost a "great patriot."

I began to think about the word patriot. Patriot is a word with a simple definition. It means one who loves his country. But how can one be a patriot, without believing in what a country stands for?

Even before there was a Constitution, or a Bill of Rights, there was the Declaration of Independence. This document explains clearly what the United States stands for. "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal ..." All of us, every last one, has the right to be treated equally and fairly under the laws of our country.

Was Jesse Helms a patriot? I have lifted this passage from the comments posted today by a reader of the New York Times. I trust the dates and quotes are correct.

Over the years Helms has declared homosexuality “degenerate,” and homosexuals “weak, morally sick wretches.” (Newsweek, 12/5/94) In a tirade highlighting his routine opposition to AIDS research funding, Helms lashed out at the Kennedy-Hatch AIDS bill in 1988: “There is not one single case of AIDS in this country that cannot be traced in origin to sodomy.” (States News Service, 5/17/88)

Helms remonstrated ten female members of the House of Representatives to “act like ladies” when they interrupted a Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearing to demand support of a U.N. treaty against gender discrimination, and subsequently had them removed from the hearing by Capitol police. (St. Louis Post-Dispatch, 10/28/99)

And the man ABC News now describes as a “conservative icon” in 1993 sang “Dixie” in an elevator to Carol Moseley-Braun, the first African-American woman elected to the Senate, bragging, “I’m going to make her cry. I’m going to sing Dixie until she cries.” (Chicago Sun-Times, 8/5/93)

More recently, when a caller to CNN’s Larry King Live show praised guest Jesse Helms for “everything you’ve done to help keep down the niggers,” Helms’ response was to salute the camera and say, “Well, thank you, I think.” (Wilmington Star-News, 9/16/95)

Jesse Helms was no patriot. He was an embarassment to our country and I'm glad he's gone. May he find as much eternal peace in death as he provided to minorities and seekers of equal rights while he was alive.

Today, on this Independence Day we have once again been liberated. This time from a mean spirited, intolerant bigot named Jesse Helms.

Mom Really Does Know Best

A couple of months ago, my friend Dave and I decided to go to Disney World for the evening. As usual, vendors were selling all sorts of things that light up in the dark. On previous trips to Disney, I had mentioned how I had always wanted one of those light-up necklaces as a child, but my mother would never allow me to have one.

When I was a kid, amusement park vendors sold two things - balloons during the day, and glow-in-the-dark necklaces at night. Money was tight for my family. If we were lucky enough to get to go an amusement park in the first place, that was good enough. There was no way we were to expect any sort of money to be spent frivolously on silly disposable objects like glow-in-the-dark necklaces. Of course as a child, I really had no concept of the value of a dollar. I just knew that I saw other kids with these things and wished I could have one too. But Mom always held her ground. It wasn't going to happen.

While sitting on a bench at Disney, taking a break, Dave wandered off without saying anything. He returned shortly with a grand necklace that lit up and flashed in several colors! I was thrilled as every color of the rainbow danced around my neck in synchronized patterns! It only took me 40 years to get one! Proudly, I displayed my necklace as we wandered the park. The jealousy I could feel coming from the other children was palpable.

One hour later, my necklace quit working.

I set out to find another vendor and was pleased to find out that they were happy to exchange it for a new one. Again, I felt like a celebrity and was happy that all the other children were once again envious.

But it was not to last. I noticed that one of the lights on my new necklace was not working. So I waited in line again at the vendor’s cart to get another new one. Now with my third necklace flashing brilliantly I was once again satisfied.

Not more than an hour after my final exchange, Dave and I rode Space Mountain. During the ride the thing flew off my shoulders straight up into the air and disappeared into dark depths of the ride, never to be seen again.

To hell with it. Mom was right. Things don't bring people happiness. Thanks Mom.

Who Will Speak For Me?

A few weeks ago, I visited a local bar just two blocks from home. It was only my second visit to this bar as I'm understandably nervous about sitting in a bar whose parking lot is full of pickup trucks and motorcycles. This is just asking for trouble.

I was surprised to have struck up several good conversations with strangers. I'm usually shy to the point of avoiding social situations, but I had met some nice people and I was actually beginning to feel comfortable.

A man about my age sat down with his wife and we all began talking. I usually break the ice by telling people that I am from Las Vegas and asking where they are from. Everyone seems to have a Vegas story and those who don't are still fascinated to learn that the citizens of Las Vegas don't all work in hotels.

The conversation was getting lively and the man began to tell me that although he and his wife had lived all over the United States, they had recently resettled here in Florida where it turns out he had grown up.

I asked him what it was like to grow up here, as I had only ever lived in large cities. He began to recount tales of childhood memories, spending time with his friends romping in the woods and swimming in the rivers. He went on to say that one of his fondest memories was catching turtles with the other boys down at the river that runs through town. I asked him why they would want to catch turtles, thinking he and his friends might keep them for pets. He said, "Oh, we would sell 'em to the Niggers. They liked to eat 'em."

I was scared and angry and flabbergasted all at the same time. I wanted to say, "Really, what did the fags eat?" But I decided that I had better back slowly away, excuse myself and leave, rather than to start something I would not be able to finish. I haven't been back.

Now I wish I hadn't been too scared to say something. Next time, I will.

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak for me.

-Martin Niemoller

Lord, Give Me A Sign

This morning, I drove past one of the plethora of local "First" Baptist Churches in the area. (How could they all the be the first?) They had a very enticing sign out front that read "Free Vacation Bible School". Yeah, because when I think "vacation", I immediately think "bible school". "What do you think dear, Paris, Honolulu, or bible school for vacation this year?" Well, at least it was free.

Another sign I recently saw was posted on the outside of the local V.F.W. It read, "Sunday Alligator Parmesan". 'Nuff said about that.

I have to go now. I'm late for my banjo lesson.

Middle Age Sets In

This month I will be 41 years old and I feel every bit of it. The older I get, the harder it becomes to surround myself with friends that are even older than I am to make me feel young, although some of you will still do nicely. Come to think of it, there aren’t too many people I can stand next to that will make me look thinner. But that’s a story for another blog.

Last year, I was on vacation with some extended family members. As we rode along together in a rented minivan, my teenaged cousin turned to me and fixed her mouth to tell me that I was “old”.

On a recent morning walk, a little neighborhood child of about five years in age was eager to tattle on his friend who had just run off. He waved me down wildly to get my attention as I could hear nothing over my ipod. (I refuse to capitalize “ipod”). When I removed the earbuds, he repeated himself, pointing toward his little friend that was dashing away, “That little boy called you an old, fat man.”

When did I become “old”? For me, it first became apparent when I caught myself humming along to the piped in music at the grocery store. They were playing the muzak version of Madonna’s La Isla Bonita. Next came the day that I realized most doctors and police officers were at least ten years younger than me. Aren’t these people supposed to be older than me?

Over the last year, something occurred to me that I had never thought of before. The senior citizens that I am surrounded by were all young once. Isn’t that crazy? I mean, of course nobody is born wearing Velcro shoes and a blue perm, but it just didn’t occur to me that these people had once been the same ones whose music was too loud. They were the same people embracing new technology while their parents were still sitting in front of the radio to get the evening news.

Well, for those of you who are still lucky enough to be younger than I am, listen up kiddies. The next time you think about making fun of some “old” person who just doesn’t get it, think again. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. You are just the next in a long line of future out-of-shape middle-aged losers whose children will make fun of you for still listening to Blink 182 or Li'l what's-his-name, or whoever it is you like to listen to. So, show old people some respect, because you almost are one!

For those of you that are older than me, would you please get the hell off the road with your Mercury Grand Marquis and your mobility scooter? And get a debit card for God’s sake! Writing checks is so “yesterday”. I don’t have all day, you old farts. Geez, old people just don’t get it do they?

Pray At The Pump

Last week, our local paper featured an article about a group of Christians who all decided to gather around a gas pump, join hands, and pray for lower prices.
This is just wrong in so many ways that I don't know where to begin.

Personally, I consider myself to be agnostic. I believe in the possibility of the existence of God, but I feel that I need some evidence. But let’s put that aside. Let's assume that there is an omnipotent being dressed all in white, with a long beard and a booming voice, somewhere out there running the universe. Okay, but is God a cosmic ATM? A magic genie that grants wishes? If I close my eyes and click my heels and just believe, will gas prices come down? Lets pray in one hand and crap in the other and see which one fills up faster. C’mon folks.

And why did the local paper feel that this was a newsworthy story? We are all aware that gas prices are high and we are all aware that the Baptists run amok in this part of the country. One need only to read a few bumpers on some of the enormous gas-guzzling vinyl-topped cars around here to see that.

While we’re at it, what do these religious bumper stickers mean anyway? Think about it, what do they really mean? Isn’t the point of religion to find a personal and deep meaning about our existence on this planet? Isn’t the point of religion to dedicate yourself to becoming a loving person who realizes that we are not individually the be-all and end-all of our existence? Is the back of one’s car really the appropriate place to express such deeply held beliefs?

I wonder if any of these bumper sticker people ever had another driver come up to them and say, “Gosh, I had really lost my way in life, but now that I’ve read your bumper sticker, I’ve been found. Thank you for putting that shiny fish on the back of your car, otherwise I’d have spent my whole life as a heathen.”

I think these bumper stickers really mean, “I’m better than you.” Here’s a bumper sticker on my imaginary car. Jesus loves you. Everyone else thinks you’re an asshole.

Well, this blog is one more thing I’ll have to burn in hell for. You'd better pray for me.

About My Blog

"Hot Boiled Peanuts", you say? What has that got to do with anything? Well, for the last nine months, I have been living in Florida - and not just Florida, but rural Florida. I moved here after a 12-year stint as a resident of Las Vegas, not exactly a center of culture, but a city nonetheless. Now, I live in the middle of nowhere. My friend Dave, who owns the house I live in, often jokes that our zip code is "EIEIO". Only, it's not really that funny.

Hot boiled peanuts are a roadside delicacy here in the middle of Bumblebug, Florida. They are the best way that I could think of to represent the way people here live. But they also represent a twist on things, a different way of looking at things. These southern delicacies are advertised outside gas stations and at roadside stands on every rural road in the area. They are a soupy mess that people slurp up with joy. I can think of few foods that I would find more disgusting that a soupy stew of mushy peanuts. No other phrase that I can think of, better sums up my feelings about the place I live in. So, if you are a Florida fan, you'd probably better move on. You won't like what you read here.

And one more word of warning. This is a place for me to share details and thoughts of my life with friends and family. I am a gay man. I have a partner, Paul, of 15 years whom I love very much. I do not intend to discuss my daily life without including him. If this offends you, I would recommend that you read no further.

So, why am I starting this blog? There are several reasons. First, it's a good way to stay in touch with family and friends. I don't expect that many strangers will stop in to read my blog, but they are welcome. Second, you just can't make this stuff up. I have stories (some say hilarious stories) to share and I want them recorded somewhere. Last, I have been told by several people that they believe I should write for a living. I disagree with them and I do not see myself as any sort of a "Hemingway". Having said that, it's quite possible that some of my friends and family would like to hear my stories and share my triumphs and challenges. Those that don't are free to go back to growing tomatoes, or reading their bibles, or whatever other folks do in their spare time.

For the rest of you who are still reading, I hope you'll come back and join me often. I'd love to hear from you.