Homer'sWorld

At College Hottie Safeway there were numerous hotties. Most were not even born while I was attending University of Michigan. Back in the early 80s guys were not as hot. I think of the 32 guys on my hall, maybe a couple were. Anyhooooo, I was embarassed to be buying the cheapest bottle of vodka possible because one of my cats, probably Joey, peed on the couch. Joey used to pee on the furniture back when she was mentally ill. Puff has been downright wicked to her lately, so she may have had a relapse. Now I use the cheap vodka to pour on the pee spot (not to drown my sorrows) and it takes the smell away without leaving a nasty chemical smell like store-bought products. It is very effective- a helpful hint that Gretchen told me about.

In regards to yesterday's post, I guess I didn't know how poor the people in New Orleans were/are. On tonight's news it is pretty obvious that the state/federal response to the tragedy is pretty abysmal. On the news they showed people sitting on the top of highway overpasses waiting for someone to take them some place. I guess if we didn't have all of our resources over in Iraq, things might be a little bit different.

I'm off to Chicago tomorrow and to Michigan Friday. I'm not sure if I'll be posting anything for the next week. I wonder how high gas will be by then? Here in Tucson I saw stations selling it for $2.88 a gallon. According to my mother there are places in northern Michigan where it is $4.00. I'm so pleased that Pres. Bush decided not to spend money on energy conservation or increased fuel efficiency.

I've been reading and looking at the aftermath of hurricane Katrina. I've been to New Orleans twice and Mobile once. Both lovely places. I feel so bad for the people there. I wish more people had heeded the warnings to leave. That is something I don't understand, why people stay behind during hurricanes. There is no point to it- you can't stop the wind and water, you are powerless and you end up endangering others who have to come find you as well as make your family and friends frantic. I'm glad I don't have to worry about those sort of things, we don't have many natural disasters here in Tucson.

On the way to work yesterday I saw a nun spit on the sidewalk. I've been working like crazy on a testing project for work and then coming home and fixing up my guest house and other projects. Vince is moving into the guest house and he came over and helped paint, which was so nice. The place looks fabulous, all bright and shiny.

Back fence is now done. My alley neighbor repaired my back and front gates, which were bent from people driving into them. Still need to send termite-ridden wood to the dump.

The new fence.

The Tucson Tops lost big time to the Phoenix Dandies on Sunday. Those guys from Phoenix know how to play pool volleyball.

Some answers. Twenty-two questions- sheesh, that's a lot.

1). Robert asked what true answer to any question would I like to know. I'm kinda being selfish and would ask to know the identities of the parents of one of my ancestors. I've been trying to figure that out since 1977.

2). Peter asks- Beatles or Elvis. Definitely late Beatles.

3). Wayne wants to know if I've ever counted my pubic hairs. You first.

4). Mark wonders what five things I'd look for in a man: brains, liberal, furry, asks questions, interesting.

5). Chris wants to know what attainable thing I don't have- a nice boyfriend.

6). Jimski wants to know what I've tried for my arthritic heel. Other than complaining, I haven't done anything. I trip to the doctor is next.

7). Purpletwinkie asks what an ideal day would be. On the beach, good book, cute redhead, lots of smoochin.

8). Jennir wonders if I have ever kept any artifacts from my digs. Nope, I try not to bring work home. Most artifacts I find are pretty ugly. The nice ones might end up on display, and I like the idea of going to a museum and seeing something I found.

9). Jack Hampster wants to know how I keep my stomach in shape. I don't- I really could lose a few pounds.

10). Marc asks what the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow is. I honestly don't know, I'm too busy swallowing.

11). Prince Charming asks if I've ever lusted after a woman. Nope. He also wonders if I have many close straight friends. Yes, I have lots. One of my best friends is Patrick O., an archaeologist I've known for 18 years.

12). Albert asks what my second career choice would be. POLE DANCER!

13). Ron queries me about practical jokes. The only one that comes to mind was me and Les convincing Kathi F. that gay men had to wear butt tampons after the first time they had anal sex.

14). Harry asked how old I was when I had my first romantic kiss. 22, with Bruce.

15). Keith wonders if I was spoiled because I was the youngest. I don't think so.

16). Gary wonders what city I'd live in besides Tucson. Boston, I think.

17). Meg wants to know what I would most like to find (in terms of archaeology, I assume). I'd like to find one of my ancestors homes and dig it up- to see how the documents compare with the artifacts.

18). Kurt asks about what kind of archaeology book I would write. I could do a tell-all "Secrets of the Archaeologists."

19). David B. wonders what time I wake up. At the moment 5:30 AM.

20). Moby wants my personal data- he'll get an email with something personal in it.

21). Jeff asks what blogger I'd like to spend a weekend with. Well, it would have to be Archerr- I spent a few days with him last year and we had a lot of fun. If it was someone I hadn't met before, Rusty or Moby would be candidates.

22). Lump wants to know who is my favorite bald guy. So many bald men- Brady is someone I'm glad to have met recently.

I'm out running a testing dig- where we dig backhoe trenches to see if something is there. The high heat, high humidity, and my achey arthritic heel have combined to make me particularly un-creative today. Your mission, should you accept it, is to ask me a question today. (Disclaimed, I reserve the right to not answer naughty questions!)

Things I shouldn't do, that I have observed other men doing:

1). Dye my hair.
2). Buy a toupee.
3). Wear black socks, sneakers, and shorts all at the same time!.
4). Make up.
5). Forget to trim my toenails.
6). Have an affair with a bimbo.
7). Shoplift.
8). Be 'straight-acting.'
9). Pathological lying.
10). Decide to act old because that is what is expected.

I called the Christian Broadcasting Network's Prayer Line and talked with Jessie. I told him, " I'm a little confused. Should I be praying that the president of Venezuela gets killed? Are there other politicians that Pat Robertson wants us to pray to be assassinated?" Jessie replied, "Well, there are passages in the bible that support that kind of action."

That was interesting. I forgot to mention that commandment 'Thou shalt not kill' but did wonder aloud to Jessie, "I don't think Jesus would like us prayin' for people to be killed. Doesn't that president of Venezuela have a wife and young kids? I bet they wouldn't like it if he was murdered." Jessie told me that an explanation for what Pat Robertson said would appear on the website soon.

Now, Pat Robertson can get away with saying that a democratically elected leader of a sovereign country be murdered by the United States, in the hope that the price of oil would drop and people driving their SUVs with 'Support our Troops" stickers could get cheaper gas. If I, on the other hand, suggested that the United States assassinate the leader of a country for some similarly stupid reason, I would soon find myself sharing a jail cell with Bubba the serial killer with a propensity for ass-raping.

And isn't the whole point, now, of our invasion of Iraq to get a democratically elected government installed? It doesn't make sense then, for Pat Robertson, who the White House recently consulted with about the Supreme Court vacancy, to advocate the murder of Mr. Chavez, since the likelihood of the country dissolving into a dictatorship is quite high.

Okay, that's some lengthy, disjointed political thoughts. We now return to our regularly scheduled goofiness.

I awoke as it started to rain and it poured for several hours. By the afternoon the Santa Cruz River, which is normally bone dry due to the lowered ground water table, was flooding.



The water was 12 ft deep, racing downstream to the north, debris floating on or below the water. Police were stationed on the bridge, there was some concern because the water at one point was so high.

Three scientists from the United States Geological Survey were measuring how much water was flowing past the bridge.


They had this little bomb-shaped dohickey with a rotating weather vane-like thingy that they would drop into the water and measure how quickly it was pulled.



They made repeated measurements as I stood there and watched the water. According to the newspaper, this was the fourth highest stream flow ever measured in the river.

In other news, a letter I wrote was published in the online letter section of that newspaper today:

I'd be curious to know how many Star readers have five weeks of vacation after less than five years on the job. I'm guessing few, if any, have benefits that generous.

George W. Bush, who has proclaimed like a broken record, "We are a nation at war," would rather spend five weeks in Texas riding his bike, grubbing out brush and raising money for his fellow Republicans than sitting in his office in Washington, D.C., attempting to figure out exactly how the United States is going to get out of the quagmire of Iraq.

While our soldiers are blown up in inadequately armored Hummers in the third year of this conflict, he sits in the back seat of his armored limo and drives by Cindy Sheehan, seemingly too busy to stop and listen to someone who happens to disagree with him.

I wonder if he can see through the tinted windows that gasoline has set yet another price record? Has there ever been a lame-duck president that was this lame so early?

At Mexican Safeway I bought pop, white bread, tortillas, high-pulp orange juice, sweet corn, and bananas. I saw beefy, blonde Byron, he said hello and my heart beat a tiny tad faster. Of course, he is required to say hello to everybody, but I just know he says it in a special way to me.

Flash back 37 years ago. I would go with my Mama down to Oleson's, the first supermarket in Traverse City. It was a tiny store with wood floors, towering shelves, the produce on one side and the meat at the very back. Sometimes Mr. Oleson was there and my mother would stop and chat with him. The one cash register woman had hair dyed a brassy red and she used to call me honey and pat my head. I liked her and was sorry when she moved to Florida.

My mother pushed the tiny cart through the aisles. She was buying food for five kids and hated cooking, so convenience was important. Kraft made these little spaghetti mixes- American and Italian, with tiny cans of sauce and Parmesan cheese. My mother would but one both of each and mix them to together, to tone the spice down since my father hated "spicy" food. She'd buy Kraft macaroni and cheese, instant milk, eggs, bacon, bananas, canned pineapple, jello, pudding mixes, and by the late 1960s- Tang. Space food! It had to be good if the astronauts ate it.

One of the few things she didn't always skimp on was cereal. She often bought big boxes of sugary cereals, the kinds with prizes in them. Since I was the youngest I often got to reach in with my tiny hands and pull out the prize. This was back in the days when they had real prizes in the boxes (Cracker Jacks also had real, fun toys). I still have some Winnie the Pooh plastic toys from that period.

When my father was off truck driving my mother would be adventurous and make wild dishes like tacos or chili! Wild! The tacos, of course, came in a box, with shells and a spice mix. When mummy made chili she bought a small bag of Fritos and would carefully divide them up so that we all got an equal number.

Now when Mummy comes to stay with me I do all the cooking, something she is quite content about. I've exposed her to a lot of food that she never had the opportunity to try back in Michigan- Ethiopian, Middle Eastern, real Mexican. I take her to Mexican Safeway and she pushes the cart and I'm the one that puts the groceries in (no instant milk EVER!) I don't think she notices Byron, though.

Don't fence me in. So this morning I wielded the Hammer of Destruction and obliterated my crappy, termite-ridden, falling down fence.


Before the fence makeover!

After the fence was demolished, Doug K. and I dug postholes, put metal poles in (which was more complex than you might think), and cut the metal panels to fit.


Halfway through.

Next weekend we will attach corrugated iron sheets to complete the fence. No more termites, no more falling down fence.

I wish every day could be this satisfying.

After a morning of yardwork, it seemed only right to spend the afternoon skinny dipping. I called various friends and Jeffrey, Richard, Ken, and Shane came over to the house I'm trying to rent and we played in the pool.


Homer


Jeffrey S.


Ken.


Richard.

Shane.

We sat around and told stories and Richard said, "God, you are really tan!" which was an appropriate response, as this is the Summer of Homer's Tan. Richard took my picture and I took his and I hope Mrs. Kravitz next door didn't hear us chatting as some of the topics would probably have given her a coronary, especially when Richard confessed to seeing a certain website.

Tomorrow, more home improvements- a new back fence! I know, I know, Homer's World is always thrilling.

The sugar pie looks nothing like the picture in the cookbook. I think my oven heats too hot or maybe the moon is too full, I really don't know. It is, however, kinda good and the crust came out alright.

At Mexican Safeway, blonde, beefy, furry Byron was working and I gazed at him as the checker rang up my purchases- milk, yeast, condensed milk, evaporated milk. I'm stocking up my bakery as I aspire to do more cooking. As the pie baked Brady called and we chatted and then Patrick called and I hung up so they could chat and I ate my not-Jonny-pretty-enough pie and wished I wasn't on a date with myself.

I am obsessing over pies. I checked a cookbook out and I've been reading recipes at night. It is way better than looking an porno sites on the internet. Ohmigod, COCONUT CREAM!!!! I have a bookmark on "Spiced Parsnip Pie." Maybe tomorrow night I will make a delicious pie and have a date with myself and eat two slices. Am I going crazy? Who cares if there is delicious pie involved.

Homer improvement. Doug K. came by yesterday and we finished the brick path to the laundry room. This morning he is busy enclosing the area. No more dusty washer and dryer and I'll have a secure place to put tools, cans of paint, etc. I'm going to have to learn how to do stucco to cover the plywood- that will be a messy adventure.


Brick walkway next to patio.


Laundry room, before.

In October I'll be landscaping the backyard- another adventure. Luckily Shane will be available to give me advice on what sorts of plants to put in.

Homer's recent survey. The answers: Sweet, beach, brawn, Coke, and King Kong.

Tomorrow I need to get the swamp cooler fixed. It is steamy hot inside my casa. I'm sitting here sweating in my yellow boxers. It's too hot to do anything productive, unfortunately.

I don't mind paying taxes.

- I checked four books out of the library today. One of them is a recipe book about pies.
- The garbage gets picked up every Saturday.
- The roads are mostly free of potholes and once I get in my car I can go anywhere in Arizona without paying tolls.
- I don't have to breathe a lot of polluted air.
- I received financial aid from the US government to attend college. This allowed me to obtain an education, get a middle class job, and pay many thousands of dollars each year in taxes. That was a good investment.
- I can call 911 and summon help, if needed.
- My mother lives off of her Social Security check. Medicaid has allowed her to live in fairly good health.
- and so on.

A bunch of idiots yip and yap about cutting taxes. They are unpatriotic and greedy. A fundamental goal of patriotic Americans should be to help out their fellow citizens, some of whom work in low-paying, yet essential jobs. Tax cutting fuckups, including our unpleasident, are un-American.

Before it started pouring, Doug K. and I finished laying bricks for the back patio. We started the little L-shaped path to the laundry room, but the rain came and we retreated inside. After Doug left it continued to pour for hours. When it stopped I went outside to do some chores and discovered that I have termite damage along the side of my French doors, something else for Doug to fix for me.


The new patio.

I had called Shane to invite him and Brian over for dinner, but it almost didn't happen as something I had for lunch was not agreeable. I made a decision, either lie in bed and feel like crap or clean house and cook dinner. I chose the latter, and by the times the guys showed up I was feeling better.

Shane, Brian, and Puff.

I just wished I had made real whipped cream instead of that canned crap. But I was in a hurry and now I've learned my lesson.

Speaking of lessons, why is Geo. Bush such a scaredy cat? And why does he get to spend five weeks on vacation in Texas? I don't see the soldiers in Iraq getting five fricken weeks of vacation? He should get his ass back to DC.

I hear thunder to the south. The monsoon continues. All of the wood is swollen inside my house- cupboard doors don't open or won't close, even the wood floor in the kitchen has swelled, the filler between the boards pushed out.

Before the clouds came I sat outside in the sun. I know it is wretched to have a tan but I decided why not. I've gotten rid of the work-induced farmer's tan after playing on the beach and at a swimming pool.



Spent the last couple days preparing bricks by chiseling off the old mortar. My back patio should be done tomorrow- it is possible I may have enough bricks left over to put in a path to the laundry room. If not, I'll have to wait until I can get back the 600 bricks I loaned the museum for an exhibit.

Rain has started, I guess I'd better get off the computer.

At the airport in Vancouver I watched the wife of a prominent university basketball coach have a tantrum on her cell phone. Later I saw the only other university basketball coach I could identify by sight, so I guess they must have been having some gathering there.

Vancoucer is lovely, diverse, expensive, has beautiful houses, beautiful vegetation, and lots and lots of cute redheads!

Below are some pictures of my trip.


Pretty flowers.


Standing in the ocean.


Blonde furry guy.


Blackberries.


Yellow flower.


Eric and Larry at dinner last night.

Five more decisions:

1). Salty or sweet?
2). Mountain or beach?
3). Brains or brawn?
4). Coke or Pepsi?
5). Godzilla or King Kong?

Will your answers match mine?

Larry and Eric live a block away from the ocean here in Vancouver. This morning while Larry worked at home, I wandered down to the beach. First I looked at some seaweed covered rocks and searched for little interesting animals. I saw a single tiny fish and lots of purple molluscs. I then wandered over to the nearby brambles and sat on a huge drift-log and plucked juicy blackberries. The ugliest ones were the tastiest.

A few hundred yards away I plopped myself onto a towel and discretely stared at the hotties around me. Two in particular- a tall brunette with a furry chest and an equally furry muscle-bound blonde- I attempted to take pictures of (so bad!).

Earlier that morning we saw a pair of bald eagles fly over, chased by some crows. I really like what I've seen of Vancouver.

Huge storm last night. I awoke at 3 AM with endless thunder, the lightning bolts illuminating my bedroom. The cats ran around scared for awhile, then Joey came and snuggled up close to me, seeking comfort.

I ran over to work to print an email, the Santa Cruz River was filled with water.


I'm packed and ready to go on my too-short trip. Puff can tell something is up, he just wants to sit on my lap. I'll be back on Thursday.

Doug K. came over and while he was working on the back step of the guest house, I weed-whacked. Afterwards he began the process of putting a patio on the backside of my house.



He used redwood 2 x 6 boards as a frame and shoveled in several large bags of sand. The sand was tamped down, and another is needed before the bricks can be laid.

I've been collecting bricks since 1999, saving them when they turn up during my archaeology digs. Finally they are going to be of use, but first I have to remove the old mortar and sort them into piles- they come in two sizes, three types, and the broken ones have to be set aside to be cut into half bricks.

A small percentage of the bricks are stamped with the initials of a company that operated a brick factory near my house between 1891 and 1960. Doug is going to randomly place these in my new patio.


Stamped bricks.

In the afternoon, pool volleyball at Richards and then karoake with Patrick, Brady, and Panchesco (we sang Tainted Love, which is a perfect pop song, as is Relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood).

Afterward I took Patrick and Brady to KFC. Ohmifrickengreasepit-o-nastiness. That place is just low, low, low. Dirty floor and furniture. Flecks of chicken coating. Poor Susie had to have double mashed potatoes because they were out of corn. Nasty. I am a saint for entering the den of pressure cooked juvenile Gallus gallus.

At home I am tired and should pack for my trip to Vancouver tomorrow, but instead I am going to bed a bit early.

I'm a little sunburnt 'cause I hung out in the pool with Patrick and Brady this afternoon. We had fun and Mrs. Kravitz didn't peek over the fence, although the German couple who wanted to rent the house may have. I'm really not sure.


Brady, Homer, and Patrick.

I'm thinking of buzzing my head. I'm going so bald on top that it just looks patchy when it grows out. I know, I know, I've mentioned this before. How come I don't have lovely hair like Patrick???

Third day out in the sun this week. Hours later my head still feels hot. Two trips to Ace Hardware to get a belt for the evaporative cooler. It is working but the humidity is so high it doesn't make much difference. Raining again, everything is getting green. Time to whack the weeds.

Someone asked me if I was a looney left liberal. I guess I am if the definition includes:

- balanced budgets
- protection of the environment
- equal rights
- paying taxes is a patriotic duty
- the US uses one-quarter of the world's resources, we should give something back
- religion and government should be kept separate
- our army should only be used for national security purposes, not to settle old scores
- and so on

I dunno, I think I am more mainstream than looney. It is the Republican party that has gotten all freaky. Honestly, the president says that "Intelligent Design" should be taught alongside evolution. Well, why the fuck aren't we teaching astrology along with astronomy and alchemy along with chemistry? Fuckwit.

I have this recurring dream- I realize that I forgot to drop a couple of classes that I have been skipping. Now I am going to flunk them. I wake up in a panic and then realize- I haven't been in school for 13 years. Why do I still dream that?

I also dream that if I hold my arms straight out from my sides and hold my breath, that I can float and fly about. I like that one.

I hate the "Hurry, hurry!" dream, where I try to get people to leave the scene of a disaster. 'Stop using your cell phone, run!' I shout over and over. After 9-11 I had that dream for months, every night.

Last night I dreamed I was having sex with a pair of muscle-bound twins. Hmmmmmmmm.

Survey says... Although there were the usual difficulties with tabulation and a completely unknown error rate, those readers of my blog who expressed an opinion on my facial hair preferred as follows:

Beard- 5
Goatee- 18
Chin goatee- 10
Fu manchu- 2
Clean shaven- 2

My personal preference is goatee in the summer, beard in the winter.

In other news, I start an archaeology project tomorrow. In a paved parking lot with probably a lot of very angry people mad that their parking spaces are going to go away for a few weeks. I hope I find something interesting. Before it was a parking lot it was the location of a house built in the 1890s. The first owner was also the very first guy to own an automobile in Tucson, back in 1899. I hope we find his garage.

I was chatting with Archerr and telling him I'm all anti-man again. I'm waiting for Mr. Nice Guy to show up. Or maybe I'll just clone Corky.