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?