Homer'sWorld

Happy Holidays. At dinner with Larry and Eric last night I realized I was having a nice time. Such a contrast to a year ago.


Larry and Eric.

We went over to David G. and Abe's house afterwards. I, unfortunately, left the camera in the car. Abe's three sisters and his mom showed up. They are really funny, I watched as Mom mixed together a total white-trash (or brown-trash, I guess) dessert involving fruit cocktail, mini marshmallows, and whipped cream. Ohmigod, that is something that would have been on our table when I was a kid.

Then drove up to Rich's house out in the desert. Handful of people including Mitch and Terry and Rich's brother. A woman named Sandy who was remarkably youthful for someone with a 20-year-old kid. We played games. Rich was getting pretty toasted, it was fun to watch.


Huge saguaro at night.


Boojum lit up, with Richard and Terry.

Richard has some really bizarre and rare plants, including a boojum tree from Baja California.


Richard, Xmas eve.

Richard, who is one sexy man, has been a good friend of mine over the last couple of years. He is one of a handful of people that I can talk to about anything and Richard gives his honest opinion. And did I mention that he is sexy? Very easy on the eyes. As it happens, he is dating an ex-boyfriend of mine from Phoenix, which is nice and so typical of small world Arizona.

Came back home to find messages from Wayne, Patch, Sushil, and Mighty. Happy Holidays to my new friends around the country. Blogging had allowed me to get to know people I would never have met otherwise. That has been the best present this year.

Kumquat. I've been urged, no, ordered to try a kumquat. After my moment of indecision a few days ago. So today I plucked some from the produce section and when safely at home I washed and then bit into one. Well..... underwhelming. Tastes like a tiny mandarin orange, perhaps a shade more bitter. I've done it though, busted through my kumquat virginity. And guess what? I also bought a quince. So this week I will have de-virginized myself with two fruits. If you add on the lychee that I tried at Gavin's house, that will be three new fruits for 2003. And who says my life isn't exciting.


Kumquat. I like starfruit better.

Silent night. As I drove home from shopping, I thought a lot of thoughts. Some were pretty basic, such as 'I'm feeling a little lonely' or 'I think that guy must be pretty drunk.' Some were complex- 'I wonder what the socio-political scheme of things will be this time next year?' Mostly I just drove in my old-granny way of driving. The Saturn is shaking slightly and I need to have it tuned up. But that will have to wait for three paycheck January.

I thought about how different Christmas is here in Tucson. No snow, warm enough for shorts. A grown-up Christmas with no kids, no partner. I'm getting two presents this year- one from mom and one from my ex-mother-in-law (she is still a good friend). I'm giving four. I went to JoAnn's Fabrics and picked out cloth for my two sisters- 22 yards. The poor woman had to cut them and we chatted. She is tired of Christmas shoppers, nasty customers. I have a way of making people feel better about things- don't ask me how- but by the time she was done she was smiling and happy. That made the loneliness kinda slip away. I then went to Circuit Shitty and bought the Age of Mythology game. When I was alone after He left last September I played Age of Empires for hours. It was an excellent way to block out troubles. Eventually I had figured the game out. I'm excited to see what the new version has to offer.

On my street the holiday lights are festive- two of my neighbors have gone all out with inflatable snowmen, those lighted deer figures you see at Target, and lots of lights. My house is more sedate- big bulbs line the porch eave and you can the small multi-colored lights on my tree through the front window. I miss the crunch of snow and the bitter cold of northern Michigan. But at the same time I would rather be here at home with my cats, I guess cause this is my home.

Holiday cards. While waiting for Larry and Eric I worked on making some more holiday cards. In the past I have made cards using sponge prints or stencils and fleckstone paint. This year I used collages or glue and glitter. I don't have any pre-conceived notions- I just start cutting paper. Many turn out great, some suck. I surprise myself from time to time thinking, geez, that one looks nice!


Homer's cards.

Larry, Eric, and Jeffrey S. came over for Eggplant Parmagiana (except I used Mennonite cheese). Afterward I looked up some of their family on census and ship records with them. Jeffrey's parents were practically next door neighbors in 1930. His mom lives in Idaho so I'm going to make a copy tomorrow for Jeffrey to send her.

The plumber came today. $102.68 and he wasn't even cute.

Overheard at Safeway- a recorded advertisement of a woman's voice, exhulting because of a new product that promises an "integrated toilet cleaning system." What have I been doing all of these years? My un-integrated cleaning system is obviously flawed. As I weep, I sip my Safeway brand eggnog, pushing the cats away, who desire a lick.

While at the store I puzzle over the kumquats. What does one do with them? Are they worth eating? I just don't know. I didn't buy any. Perhaps that was a mistake. Will I regret it in the middle of the night?

In the background I can hear the Titanic movie on the telly. Kate Winsett is a genuinely mediocre actress. And on the small screen the computerized graphics look pretty mediocre as well. I was fascinated by the Titanic as a child.

I've decided to do my holiday shopping after the holiday. Perhaps a new tradition? I don't know.

Happiness. Larry and Eric are in town so I went over to their guesthouse and we went off to a party at Jane & Emilee's house, kitty corner across the street. We stayed for a while, chatting with various people. On the way back the boys had to snuggle up to the inflatable Santa that the cheerleader tenants put in their front yard.


Eric, Santa, and Larry.


Window frame, Jane & Emilee's backyard.

Afterward we went to Rosa's where I had a cheese enchilada and a green corn tamale. Nice. Then I went to David G. and Abe's house and hung out and chatted with them and their friends.

This morning J.R. came over and I showed him my place. He admired the cats. We ended up at the Cup Cafe, where Larry, Eric, Bob, and Steve were already eating. Later Jeffrey S. and John G. turned up. It was rather amusing- it was like I was being stalked by my friends.


J.R. says he doesn't like his pictures. I think he is really cute.

A little later. For many people Tucson is a stopping point for only a short while. They arrive, explore life for a while, and then go out into the world looking for new adventures. Curtis is getting ready to leave, heading to London. I've always admired him- his knowledge of style and art, his easy going (sometimes frenzied) personality. He has been a good friend and going to his yard sale this morning was surprisingly difficult. I'm not sure if he even knows how much I will miss him when he is off in England. But I'm glad that he has been there to listen and for me to listen back.


Glass bottles, waiting to be sold.

Michelle is leaving too, in January, off to Israel and a new job. She's a sweetie, funny, interesting. I'm glad I've gotten to know her. This morning we traded Michael Jackson jokes. I laughed.

Thank goodness Brian is staying. What would a soap opera be without characters?


Brian and Michelle on a warm December morning.

The morning after a big meal I sometimes feel so full I don't want to have breakfast. Right now I'm sipping vanilla diet Pepsi and wishing I hadn't eaten all of the gnocchi arriabiata at Da Vinci's. I was there with Larry and Eric, who are in town for a couple of weeks from Vancouver. Afterward we went to Something Sweet and I had coconut cream cake and chatted with JR, who makes me smile.

I'm tuned into sounds this morning. When I went out to pick up the paper at 7:00 am the roosters were crowing in the corral down the street. Now, a few minutes later, a bunch of birds are chirping in the orange trees, sounding very happy. Inside the house Mama Cat's claws go click-click-click on the wooden floors as she walks to the food bowl. Princess and Bear are playing in the living room, first at the scratching post and then at the Holiday tree. They have been taking one ornament off a day, and I think they are figuring out what will be the next one. The study is quiet, the only sound is the low whine of my computer and the clackety-clack as I type these words.

Recognized. A few weeks ago Wayne wrote about being spotted in the subway by a blog reader. Last night, at Delectables (a restaurant which I think is actually un-delectable), I was introduced to Jim, who had been reading my blog for a while. It is kinda strange to meet someone and realize they know a great deal about you.

In other news, on the way to work this morning a guy let me pull out onto Congress. I looked in my mirror and realized he was 1). very cute and 2). singing at the top of his lungs. And he caught me looking and when he passed on my right smiled at me and waved. I waved back. End of romance.

And on the way back home to await the plumbers I saw two well dressed business man spit on the ground.

Tomorrow, plumber. Something is wrong with the guest house toilet and bathtub. Real gross bad. Flush the toilet and "Old Faceful" erupts in the tub. So a plumber is coming tomorrow to remedy the problem, as well as fix the leaky pipes underneath the sink. I expect a lot of my paycheck will be spent sometime between 10 AM and 2 PM. The plumber better be cute (last time he was!).

Cold, cold, annoying Arizona cold. Which means it is in the upper 30s to 40s at night, 60s and 70s during the day. And my thick-walled house stays at about 55 degrees. Right at this moment I'm being white trash and have the gas oven door open and heating the house a little. It is actually pretty effective and the heat quickly seeps into the study. I still gotta go put my red wool hat on cause my head is frigid.

At Ace Hardware today I happened to look up at the security camera television. And almost blinded myself because there was the top of my head. Goddam I am going bald. I mean, is it possible for my hair to be falling out any faster? And what's worse are those well-meaning people who insist on telling me, "Oh, I can't even tell you are losing your hair." Yeah, right! And I'm Santa. Well, I am so going bald, and telling me otherwise isn't going to make it come back. And there are worse things in life, like having someone tell you, "I like you, but just as a friend."

Spencer is J.R.'s cute 9-week-old terrier. He is full of energy and wants to chew on everything, including my feet. Very adorable. And J.R. is pretty cute as well. I had a good time hanging out with them tonight.


Spencer.

This afternoon was the annual Cookie Exchange at work. I brought Lemon Tea Cookies, which I've made for the last four years. Everyone loves them, and they quickly disappeared onto plates or into people's mouths. I brought home a few cookies and some fudge and gave them to Michelle, who was having a little get together in her house. I have to go buy a snake thingy tomorrow and see if I can unclog the plumbing in her bathroom. Yuck.

I'm in love. With my electric blanket. Blankey is just plain hot. Niced to snuggle with. Easy to turn on. Never talks back, never pouts. Can't ever leave me. My cats really like him as well. The downside. He's silent, brooding. And he's kinda ugly, an unpleasant light blue. But sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the one we truly love.


Cold Homer and Princess.

I'll tell you who is hot, the new This Old House guy.


Kevin, This Old House.

Patsy Cline is singing to me. She and my mother were born in the same year. I wonder what would have happened if she hadn't taken that ride in that plane.

I'm sitting in my study, a little electric heater behind me almost warming me up. Puff is sitting on the monitor absorbing some warmth. The younger cats were chasing a roly poly around until I rescued it. Must have come inside with the potted plants which are still waiting to go back outdoors.

I'm feeling poor at the moment- I really need some winter clothes, but will make do with what I have for a while. I'm more interested in paying bills. And I know I will have an outrageous electricity bill in January. Sigh. I asked Puff to go out and get a job. And all he said was "Meow."

Catastrophe. I wish I could figure Joey cat out. She has developed mental problems in the last year and a half, basically when I adopted Princess and Bear. She didn't like the new kittens and started pissing on the furniture or on any piece of paper lying around. Now that Princess is no longer scared of Joey, the fighting has escalated. Joey attacks Princess, Princess fights back. Puff and Mama Cat come running to see what is going on and give Joey a few swats for being a brat. Joey runs off, beats up Bear, and then pees somewhere. Sigh. This morning she and Princess fought and then up onto the couch. Luckily I have an oilcloth draped over said couch so it doesn't actually get on the cushions if I catch it immediately.

I think Joey will probably be taking the next plane ride back to Michigan with me and go and live on my brother's farm. She will hate it, since she is an indoor citified cat. But I am tired of the mess and the fights and nothing seems to work.

News Flash

Last night at the Denture Inn I didn't talk to the very cute redhead.

The New York Times Sunday paper is now being delivered to my neighborhood. I must remember not to read the online edition on Saturday, because most of the stories in today's paper were actually posted yesterday.

It is pretty cold in my house so I wear my red wool cap most of the time.

If I lie in bed too long I develop a horrible back ache. Yesterday I lay in bed too long.

I'm not looking forward to balancing my checkbook today.

And speaking of hateful politicans... Strom Thurmond, was a miserable weasel who finally kicked off at age 100. During the 1940s and 1950s he was a big supporter of segregation, throwing the fear of racial mixture around to garner votes. And guess what, he fathered a child with a 16-year-old African-American girl when he was 22. Does this surprise me? No. It seems that people who deem themselves morally superior to others (i.e, Rush Limbaugh, William Bennett, Newt Gingrich, blech, blech, blech) always have their little dirty secrets. I wonder what Dick Santorum's secret is?

Hateful politicians. Are about as pleasant as boils or having an unexpected hangover. The internet provides an amazing way to vilify your least favorite Republican fuckups. Example, type in "Miserable Failure" into Google search engine and our George 'Wanker" Bush's Whitehouse bio comes up. And Dan Savage has been quite nice at using the name of "man-on-dog" obsessed Senator Santorum into a pretty disgusting word, well worthy of that cretin. By linking Senator Santorum's name to Savage's website, I'm doing my part to ensure that Savage's website will eventually be at the top of Google's search list when conservatives search for Senator Dickhead Santorum's website.

Fore more information, see Gogglebombing.

Coldness. It is supposed to freeze here in Tucson so I will be bringing a bunch of my plants indoors and putting them in the dining room, which is off limits to the cat. Have to pull out a sheet to drape over a few things that can't be brought in. I live next to Sentinel Peak (also known as 'A' Mountain due to an ugly concrete and rock "A" stuck on its side in 1913) and it tends to be a few degrees cooler here in the winter. That's enough of a difference to cause plants to freeze. My bouganvillea always dies back dramatically, and in the spring I have to cut it back, usually puncturing my hands on its thorns.

By the way, I hate the word "its." I had mediocre teachers in grade through high school and I've never been able to remember the rules for "its" versus "it's." And I know I ought to learn them, now that I am getting closer to the dreaded middle age years (I'm not there yet goddammit). But I have too many other exciting things to do. Like be amazed at a mosquito flying in front of my computer screen. Where did that come from???

Die Mommie Die. It is somehow appropriate that I went to see this movie after the last blog entry. The movie was moderately funny, but nothing special. Afterwards went to a dessert restaurant, Sweet Somethings. Very nice cherry pie. Met a nice guy named JR who I wouldn't mind hanging out with. Altogether, a relaxed night out.

Crazy grandma. Okay, so Corky asked about my evil grandmother. She was an only child, born about nine years after her parents married. Her mother beat her when she was a child, my other grandmother remembered that they could feel the welts through her clothes. She ended up getting pregnant when she was 17, in 1930. Two people told my mother that her parents chained her to the basement wall and her mother beat her with a coal shovel. She was sent to southern Michigan to hide out, gave birth to my father at the University of Michigan hospital, and then gave him up for adoption. My father's father found out, told his parents, and they went and found him. My father's grandmother raised him until he was about 4 years old.

Crazy grandma's mother Blanche (yes, that was her name) died suddenly around 1932 and grandma immediately married my father's father. They had another kid in 1938, my aunt. And sometime between 1938 and 1940 the marriage soured and she divorced him, and then poisoned her kids minds against their father. She married the hired hand in 1940, a weak-willed wimp, and in 1944 they had a son, my uncle Tom.

The evil really begins with his birth. Tom was spoiled beyond belief. He developed diabetes and the spoiling worsened. Step-grandfather would wake up at night and discover Tom sitting in their bedroom, watching them. He wanted to take Tom to a shrink, she refused, there was nothing wrong with him. She became more paranoid. She tried to control every aspect of her children's lives. One way to control people was to fake a heart condition and pretend to have heart attacks periodically. When my father married my mother, she refused to attend the wedding.

My uncle tried to escape, ran away and married. She tracked him down and forced him home. The wedding ended. Later he married another woman and moved across the driveway. He ate breakfast with his mother every day. When my aunt had a nervous breakdown after discovering her husband in bed with another woman, grandma tried to have her locked in an insane asylum to get custody of her two pretty blonde daughters. My aunt's in-laws had to spirit her away in the middle of the night to rescue her. My parents did nothing, my mother says "You don't know the power she had over your father."

In 1971 step-grandfather died unexpectedly of a heart attack at my aunt's house. Grandma came home with Tom and opened a safe, destroying my grandfather's will, preventing my father from obtaining land meant for him. In the mid-1970s my uncle divorced his wife and my parents and aunt testified in my other aunt's favor. That was the last I saw of her. Soon afterwards a for sale sign went up on land that my father had been promised by his stepfather. Father went to see his mother, she said to him "Promises mean nothing." My father would die years later knowing that his mother had never loved him.

At the divorce trial a psychologist suggested that grandma and Tom were involved in an incestuous relationship. They frequently slept in the same bed, although my uncle was in his 30s. They paid off the Friend of the Court and got custody of my two cousins. The mind poisoning continued. In the summer the cousins would visit us with their mother and Grandma and Uncle Tom would drive by every few minutes in their RV to spy on them. We stopped that by running out and waving, shouting "Hi Grandma."

Later Uncle Tom was married three more times. The first two Grandma broke up. The last one worked with Tom to get Grandma's extensive property in his name, and when the last deed was signed, Grandma was thrown out of her own house. She went to stay with a cousin, and when the possibility of a lawsuit ensued, Tom snuck into the house with a gun to take her back. She died at 76, he died a few years later at age 53, crippled and broke after my cousin paid off his debts.

That fucking bitch did a lot more than this sparse tale tells. She was an expert at exerting control, her children her puppets. She ruined lives with no regard, instilling hate, warping minds. In turn, my father tried to control his children and never understood his role as a father. Luckily, his children are more self aware, and understand the reasons behind his actions. We've mostly escaped the mental torment that he lived through.

Do I feel sorry for Grandma? Yes, she was abused as a child. But that was no reason to do the things she did as an adult. Eventually you have to take responsibility for your actions, and she never did. She viewed herself as superior, beyond reproach. She was a failure. Her legacy is that all of her descendants view her with disgust. I don't think she would be happy about that. But then, I don't really give a fuck what she would think.

New reads. Like a couple of other blogs that I have been reading, I've gone and updated my links section. I've dropped a couple of blogs that had ended or are on hiatus. I've added the weblogs that I have been reading for a while. Devon is an escort/artist from San Francisco. He and Geekslut's blogs should be avoided by the zillions of Born Agains or people with heart problems that read this. Sissy Spacechik makes me laugh. Robbie is a cute Dutch dental student. K3ith lives here in Tucson, probably only a few miles from me, though we have yet to meet. I've met Expurgate and he's a cool one. And Mark seems like a really nice guy.

Wrap star. Tonight at the Menlo Park Neighborhood Association meeting we heard about a plan to transform the old quarry on the side of 'A' Mountain into an artist's colony for people in recovery. Currently the quarry is a drug den and the location of random gunfire. Janis Joplin's brother is one of the backers, as is an artist and a local architect.

Afterwards we wrapped presents for the third through fifth grade students at Menlo Park elementary. Many are poor kids, and would probably get nothing for the holidays. I brought in 11 presents, four of them donated by my co-workers. We needed 180 and due to the efforts of my neighbors there were over 200, as well as presents for the teachers. Now that is what I think of as holiday spirit, not fancy gifts or schmoozy parties. Sharing what you can with people less fortunate than you. I am such a socialist.

Mama Cat is sitting on my lap purring loudly. She has apparently forgotten that she was the Cat from Hell yesterday. I wish my ripped up hands agreed, especially the swollen spot about a knuckle on my right hand. Ouch.

Emergency. At the staff meeting Val motioned me towards the phone. It was Karen telling me my mother had called her- Mama Cat had got outdoors. I called home, she answered. "Well I was in the kitchen and I saw the door was open and I got Princess, Bear, and Puff in but she ran away. She's under the bouganvillea bush."

My mother, at age 71, has developed some annoying habits. One is the seeming inability to correctly shut doors. Locks befuddle her. Where she lives they don't have to lock car or house doors. So I am constantly having to lock my mother's car door or check to make sure the front door is all the way closed. And this time she failed.

When I got home I found Mummy in the backyard. "She ran into the shed." I enlisted Michele's help and had mother stand in front of a hole and Michele in front of the door, where there is another hole, and went inside. Instead of remaining at her hole, my mother starts to wander over to Michele to explain what had gone wrong. I had to yell at my mother again. Inside the dark shed I heard movement and there was Mama Cat. She ran toward the door and I was able to grab her. Oh. She was very scared. And used her teeth and claws on both of my hands. But I was able to hold on and carry her into the house.

And now I have 9.1 inches of scratches marks as well as two tooth puncture wounds. And when I came back home my mother had the front door securely locked. Thank you very much.

Cookie party. Oh that was a lovely party. All of the cleaning, decorating, and baking paid off. At times the house was so crowded that I felt claustrophobic, as people slapped frosting on cookies and made crafts. A couple of the people were really good at it- especially one man (whose name I don't know) whose cookies were coveted by everyone else.


Some of the 100 plus cookies.

Four of the guests brought toys for the neighborhood children toy drive. It was a diverse set, many people had not met before, but making ornaments and cards allowed them to chat easily with one another.


Matt shows off his card.

My bedroom is awash in glitter. I got most of it, but I'm sure I'll track it all over the house during the next few days. Clean up was surprisingly quick, and now I'm sitting here with Patsy Cline wailing in the background and my mother calling to Puff to come sit on her.


Fonda

Misc.

Jeffrey S. came over and helped cut and bake cookies last night. I don't know how many total- probably 100 to 120. Sooooo happy that is done.

It is amazing how much a little cut in your mouth can hurt.

David M. came over for dinner last night. He has been in Chicago for over a month and it was nice to spend some time with him.

Corky wants to know if my evil grandmother was one of the wicked witches (specifically, Ms. East Witch). Yes, she was. I'll have to write an entry detailing the life of the fucking bitch from hell.

Time to start cleaning house. First thing- cleaning cat nose prints off of windows.

Christmas was always a big thing when I was a kid. We were pretty poor, my truck driver father supporting a wife and 5 kids. So Christmas meant the only new toys we would get (except for one on our birthday) and luxury foods like candy. When we lived in Traverse City there were three Christmases.

1). Go down to evil grandma's house for early Xmas Eve. She lived in a stone house down the road from our house. Besides my nuclear family there would also be Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle Tom and Aunt Harriet, and their two kids. Grandma was a pyscho bitch from hell and didn't like my father, hated my mother, and as an extension didn't like us kids very much. So one of the memories of those nights was the time my two cousins got train sets from Grandma and my family got sweat shirts. Another memory is the time I got sick, threw up in her bathroom, and as I was kneeling over the toilet she came in and screamed at me. Pyscho bitch.

2). My mother always had to run home first and then we followed and Santa would have arrived and there were a load of presents under the tree. I never believed in Santa- as the youngest of five it was rather clear to me that Santa didn't exist. So we opened our presents and I would have a new toy to play with- lincoln logs, Tonka trucks, one year a Winnie the Pooh game.

3). Christmas morning we walked through the snow to my other grandparent's house, which was next door. There were a few new presents to open, and then the long wait for Christmas lunch. The usual foods- turkey, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, Grandma's cranberry relish (she invented a recipe that Jello later published in one of their cookbooks).

After evil grandma's husband died she stopped talking to us and after nice grandma's husband died the Christmas morning get-togethers were not as fun. As an adult I still like to give presents but I'm not as fond as getting them. I hate to have to exclaim with delight- "Oh, a lovely set of coasters!"

Peaches. Traffic was wretched last night on the way home from work. 40 minutes. Caught behind the world's slowest driver, talking on a cell phone. Got home, hurried my mother into the car, rushed to Dragon View to pick up Chinese, and then over to Bob and Steve's for dinner.

Their house is so cool. An 1880s adobe with 15 ft tall ceilings and wood floors. They spent years restoring it from ruins to a wonderful place, filled with interesting little things. Last night I looked at Bob's mother's scrapbook from when she attended Berkeley in the late 1930s.

Mummy was enthralled with Peaches, a little reddish Pommeranian that they found in Oakland as a stray this summer. She is the cutest dog in Tucson.. Barked a little until my mother picked her up, and then spent quite a lot of time in Mummy's lap.

Today is real busy. In fact the next few days are becoming heavily scheduled. Clean house, make cookies, cut grass, make cookies, make cheesecakes, clean house, yell at Joey for being bad, make cookies. It is going to be so much fun.


Mummy and Peaches.

Okay, okay! Sometimes I get a little melodramatic when I write things. It is no fun and probably a little boring to write stuff like, "I had Mexican food for dinner. I petted the cats, I went to bed early." So sometimes I write about being a little sad about the way life plays out. That doesn't mean I spend all day thinking about sad things. Instead, I spend most of my time thinking about what things like, "When do I make cookies?," "I can't wait for Larry and Eric to arrive in two weeks.," "Oh! I haven't petted Joey in a couple of hours!," or "What can I write about?" So I really don't need Prozac and I am really not depressed. A few certain, selected topics do get me going and I am still angry at being dumped a year ago- but that is life and nobody is perfect. And I think it is altogether healthy to be pissed off about certain topics (George Bush, animal cruelty, ex-boyfriend are good examples) and writing about them is probably good enough therapy for me- at least I am willing to recognize the issue. End of rant.

The End of the World. Well, actually it isn't. Yesterday the City of Tucson began a Domestic Partner registry. And the world didn't end, despite what social conservatives might think. Today there was a small ceremony at Sunset Park, in front of City Hall, where a few years ago I uncovered the foundations of an 1860s building. I arrived shortly after 4:00, and there were already several dozen people there, many lined up to signed the registry. I chatted with Brian and Tom, who were beaming with happiness.


Tom and Brian, Domestic Partners.

I was happy too, but also felt a great deal of sadness. All around me were couples, excited that the $50 they were paying, while providing few real benefits, was still a symbolic gesture. The City of Tucson recognized each couple as a pair, a couple, partners.

And I was there by myself. It was rather obvious. I left after watching a few couple come out of City Hall with their certificates. This was not my day.

And some of the old bitterness arose. Five years wasted. Five years spent fooling myself. Five years. It's very depressing to dwell on, so perhaps I should think about better things. More frivolous things, like the pleasant smell of my house from the Holiday Tree or the warmth of Mama Cat sitting in my lap. And yet it all comes back to the fact that I wished I was signing my name to that registry today.

Do you ever feel like you are living in a soap opera? Sometimes I feel that I am a character in one. Of course I am the main character. When they show the cast at the beginning of the show I am first, whipping my head around to glower at the screen, dressed in some outlandish outfit. I think everybody stars in their own soap opera.

Right now my soap is rather dull. Special guest star Carolyn is making a cross-over appearence from her show, "Kingsley," which mostly focuses on crafts and reviews of mystery stories, with forays into the steamy world of the Amish. She has no romance (doesn't want any) or action, unless you call getting her van stuck in the snow action.

My own character also doesn't have any romance at the moment (attention writers!!!). And seems to have a Martha Stewart focus, since I tend to do more cooking in the winter and have been rather artistic lately. And I am having the cookie and craft party Sunday.

Now that is going to be a big event. Soap fans will get to see many of their favorite "Homer's World" past and present characters interact, some will be meeting for the first time, others will be catching up and re-hashing old stories. While there have not been any catfights at past parties, there have been some romantic entanglements. Even the Former will be making an appearance. Maybe I should start an exciting catfight. Or perhaps a replay of the infamous "You are EVIL!!!" scene will do. Or maybe I'll ignore Him and frost some cookies and flirt with a couple of nice guys. You never know what will happen on my show.

Oh Holiday Tree. Since I'm a non-believer and the Pagans or Romans actually started the custom of dragging trees inside and decorating them, I prefer to call it a Holiday Tree. Mummy and I drove over to Brian and Andy's tree lot. I think Andy is at this lot, a tall, lanky man wearing brown coveralls. He had thick blondish-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and a country accent. Hot. I asked for a Charlie Brown style tree- in Andy parlance that is a "natural" tree. I dropped $50 on it, shocking mom, but you pay for quality. It smelled so piney in the car on the way home.

Once here I pulled out the string of lights and discovered I needed to go get another strand. A quick run to the store and back. Then mother and I decorated. I mostly have plain balls, old fashioned style figural ornaments, and some felt ones Susan made for me. Also a few pipe cleaner ones made at last years party. The tree stands in the corner of the living room, wired to the window locks to keep it from falling if the cats decide to be naughty and play on it. My favorite ornaments are securely wired on if that should happen.


Holiday tree, December 2003.

The cats have been behaving themselves- no messes, just a few fights. Mummy says it is because she entertains them during the day. I hope it lasts.


Joey as a demon.

Archaeology work appears to be picking up, so I am not stressed about that. I am trying to be more productive in terms of writing, since I have to basically have my portion of a large report done this month. It is do-able, I perform well under pressure.

Mother crazy. Okay, so my mother is driving me crazy at this very moment. She is reading through some family history material and pointing out errors. Except that the errors are either not errors (she's wrong) or they are the result of the person I gave the information to typing things in incorrectly. I explained to her that it wasn't my book, but she kept calling out, "Here's another mistake." Finally I snap and say rather meanly, "It's not my book, those aren't my mistakes." She gets the hint.

I have never liked criticism. I had enough of it when I was a teenager from my father. In grad school I would get A s on my papers, but could never read the comments the professors wrote on them. At work I have to make corrections to things that I write, but at least I rarely mess up on factual matters, so I'm not really "wrong." Still, my mother pointing out things brings back uneasy feelings and I grit my teeth and get quite angry. I guess your childhood never really goes away.

Moving time. I'm getting a Christmas tree today and had to move furniture around. My cats hate it when this happens. They all ran and hid. My mother also got a little antsy.

My mother has always been a loner, more interested in reading a book than having a conversation. She likes steadiness, prefers things to remain where they are. As I moved furniture I could tell she was feeling a little anxious, pacing about, looking into the closet as I pulled out the boxes of ornaments. Finally I said to her "You are making me nervous." She went out onto the front porch to read a book while I finished. She does the same thing when I sweep or wash dishes, hovers in the background, not sure if she should be offering to help (no thanks) or tell me that my floors don't need to be swept (they do).

Grandma did similar things, developed similar eccentricities as she aged. Some of them my mother exhibits- I point them out ruthlessly, just as my mother pointed them out to grandma. Not that it does any good or makes any measurable difference. My mother will continue on, and in thirty years my friends will say the same things about me.

Streaming thoughts. At 7:30 I make a pot of 8 o'clock brand coffee for my mother. The tiny coffee maker chugs, chugs, chugs and I sit at the table and have a slice of cheesecake for breakfast while reading the newspaper. Bush visits Iraq. Maudlin adoption story. Ferry accident. Joey hovers nearby, she wants a taste of cheesecake. When I put the bowl on the counter, next to the pile of yesterday dishes, she hops up, eager to lick.

It's cool but not cold now. My head could use a hat at this moment. Last night a photo shocked me, am I really that bald on top? Everyone praised the cheesecake, even the baker, so I was happy. I finished reading through 4,000 footnotes. Mummy is enjoying herself. I had a stomach ache this morning. I need to clean the litter boxes. Lots of little things, little facts, that when they are all added up make a life. There are some facts I wouldn't mind being added. I lay in bed this morning, patting Mama Cat's head, and thought of a few.

Homer Stewart. The lemon cheesecake is in the oven. It smells yummy and looks pretty nice. After lunch I'll be sauteeing (spelling?) onions, parsnips, and carrots and making some fancy-dancy enchiladas.


Lemon cheesecake, still in the springform pan.

Otherwise a quiet morning. Mummy is reading a mystery book, the cats are lounging about. Puff is perched on top of the monitor in front of me. Joey is on her pillow to my left, under the lamp.

A year ago I was a wreck. This year I am not even a minor fender bender. Life has improved and that is another thing I am thankful for.

Old Things. This morning I took my mother to see the site my company is digging, a few miles south of my house. The site is about 1,000 years old and was occupied by the Hohokam, a name given to Native Americans who lived in the Sonoran Desert from about AD 600 to AD 1450. The portion of the site being examined is immediately to the south of several other previously excavated areas and contains a number of pithouses, some food roasting areas, and a large area where trash was discarded.

The Hohokam lived in pithouses, which were dug slightly into the ground, had posts that held up the roof and walls, which were made from brush and mud. An entranceway protrudes from one side of the house, and often the entrances of neighboring houses point toward a common courtyard area. Floors and lower walls were plastered and a hearth is usually present just inside the entrance. Sometimes you find artifacts lying on the floor of houses, items left behind when the house was abandoned or accidently burned down. The houses at the site have yielded broken pottery, stones used to grind corn into meal, pottery making tools, and even a pile of burned beans.


Hohokam pithouse, the entrance is on the right side.

The residents of this site were well known for making beautifully decorated pottery. I've photographed a few examples:



Now I'm at work trying to be productive. Sigh. Not very successful. It is that end of the year when working is about the last thing I feel like doing. Tomorrow Mummy and I are going to Dena's for supper. I'm making a lemon cheesecake and parsnip, carrot, and cheese enchiladas.

Hey to Kelly in DC and John G. in Phoenix. I've been lucky to make some great friends this year, which is the what I give the most thanks for in 2003.

Mum's the Word. My mother arrived safely this afternoon. She's in the living room reading Martha Stewart Living while Dan Rather blathers on the television. I can hear her calling to Joey- "Come on, come get up here." Joey and Puff are the friendliest, so they circle around her, curious. Mama Cat has come and climbed on my lap. Princess and Bear are hiding, they are shy cats.

Both Tucson newspapers had anti-gay marriage editorials written by out-of-state columnists. I sent scathing letters to each, pointing out the idiocy of their arguments, both of which were Biblical in origin. An example written to Peter Bronson:

I felt obliged to comment on your idiotic editorial. People like you need to be demonized. You link gay marriage- an action between two consenting adults- with the suffering of children, divorce, co-habitation, etc. Bullshit. What are conservatives really afraid of? If gays and lesbians have the chance to get married they will have lower divorce rates than heterosexuals? That gays and lesbians will become so boring that conservatives will have to find some other group to hate? There is no rational, non-religious reason to prohibit homosexuals from marrying. There are plenty of irrational reasons, which you have kindly summarized.

I pay thousands of dollars in taxes and don't have the same rights as a heterosexual couple that meets and gets married on some stupid one hour reality television show. If heterosexuals are alarmed at their high divorce rate, don't look at gays and lesbians as the cause. I can assure you that I have not caused a single divorce.


One responded:

Hey, Homer:

You may have a good argument to make, but nobody will get past all the name-calling and insults to find it.

Best wishes,

Peter Bronson

Blah, blah, name calling blah, blah.

Flake. Today's Arizona Daily Star reveals that an Arizona congressman, Jeff Flake, is pushing an anti-gay marriage bill in the US House of Representatives. "As the speaker, I don't like to sponsor a lot of bills, but I feel very strongly about this," said Flake, who serves as House speaker. "We hope to be the first state to get this to Congress."

Flake represents Mesa, a heavily Mormon community. I called his Washington, DC office (202) 225-2635 and spoke to a staff member. I was pretty mad. And I did something I never, ever do. When I hung up I slammed the phone down as hard as I could. I was nicer when I called his Arizona office- (480) 833-0092 and spoke to the woman there.

If even one person who reads this picks up their phone and calls their congressperson and tells them that they do not support anti-gay marriage legislation, that would make my day better.

Later. After my talk at the Art Museum I ran home to grab lunch. A cute girl was raising money for HIV/AIDs on a street corner by having a one-woman bake sale. What a sweet thing. It makes up for some stupidity discussed above.

Cleaning frenzy. Mummy is coming on Tuesday so I spent hours this morning on a big clean. My fingertips actually hurt as I type this. And I am not even finished- still have to clean my bedroom and bathroom and do some yardwork. Not that she will even notice, but I am having a party in two weeks and it is easier to clean now than when she is here. Cleaning makes her "nervous." I think that is because she basically hates housework (except for some strange reason she likes doing laundry).

The cats hate housecleaning time also. The movement of furniture, water splashing about, strange smells like Murphy's Oil Soap, and of course all of the old familiar smells ruined by that damn human. Well, I guess I could care less, since it became pretty obvious that they were the main reason for the mess. Cat hair everywhere. And several unseen puddles of cat vomit with complimentary hair balls. Kitty litter tracked in unlikely spots.

My fingers hurt too much to continue whining...

Smoke. At Stewart's party several people make passes at me. They are not interesting. Gavin and Kevin are cute together. Stewart knows his food and beverages. I talk with Kent for a while and I think he is very interesting. I also talk with a pair of cute straight and the three women who are after them.

Later at IBTS the crowd flows past me. I run into Eric, who has a beautiful smile, and we hang out with Kent. We watch the the guys from the back, parked next to the fence. Gavin and Kevin are there for awhile, but leave early. They are so cute together. A bride-to-be asks to see my chest. They like it and Eric is asked to show his. We are both 40, but he is a tight, lean 40.

At home I feel lonely. Outside Kitty is meowing, wanting his breakfast. I wonder if he is lonely too?

Gavin at Stewart's party.

Kevin at Stewart's party.

Outside Kitty, backyard.

Later. Cooling down, high winds tomorrow. The streets are crowded with cyclists practicing for the Tour de Tucson tomorrow. Hope they don't have to bike against the wind.

At home. The wildflowers I planted are sprouting. My new mixed CD I made during the waning half hour of work is playing, rotating amid another mixed CD and Linkin Park's latest. At the moment Cher is singing "Taxi, taxi," which is a pretty silly song.

Bear and Puff sit under the light on my desk, Princess is draped over the monitor, absorbing the heat. If I ever get a flat screen they will be pretty pissed. Joey sits on her pillow in front of the little electric floor heater. Mama is off somewhere- I bet the living room. Yep, sitting on the top of the couch.

Too quiet. The phone rang a while ago and as I was saying "Hello?" there was a strange set of sounds and someone cursed. The phone call ended. What the fuck? And in a while the phone rang again. Mark A. had been driving in very slow traffic, decided to call me, and ended up rear-ending the vehicle in front of him. I guess Mark's bumper got pretty thrashed. That was a first.

Need a picture to complete this entry.

Puppy, Humane Society, November 2003. Hope he found a home.

Second attempt.

Went to Woody's and ran into Derek. It was nice to see him and we chatted for an hour.

Then to Michaels where I bought craft supplies for my upcoming party.

Slept poorly but at least I didn't have insomnia, which has been bothering me.

Read the newspaper- depressing. Do you feel safer knowing that Bush and his cohorts are running the show?

Cats need to have their claws trimmed before Mummy arrives on Tuesday. Christ, that is going to be too much fun. They cry and fuss and act like I am killing them. As I type this, Bear just fell off the window sill and spooked everybody. They all ran for cover. Made me laugh. My cats are a pain in the ass but they are also lovely little brats.

Listening. I love the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. Love, love, love it. It makes me happy to listen to it. A mixture of all sorts of sounds and Nicole and Ewan are pretty fine singers. It makes time fly as I write about Tucson's history. It is the closest to me being a soundtrack/musical queer as I have ever been.

Other music in heavy Homer rotation- Madonna's American Life, Live's Birds of Prey and Throwing Copper, Dirty Vegas' Dirty Vegas, and Linkin Park's Meteora. I actually like Michael's Thriller album, but don't own a copy. I wonder if he has ever done a children's album? Suggestions for a future title for such an album?

Child Catcher. Michael, Michael, Michael. Now what kind of parent would send Billy or Susie off to Neverland for sleepovers with Michael. Perhaps those with dreams of future lawsuits swirling around their little heads?



Childcatcher, from the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, 1968.

Happy Anniversary. Today would be my parent's 51st anniversary. I wonder if my father would understand how I feel about him. He has been dead for seven years. And although this may sound cruel, I’m basically glad he is not around. Partly that is because he was very sick for the last five years of his life, a partial cripple, overly dependent and controlling of my mother. But it is also because he was not a nice person to his family.

Everyone on the outside thought my father was the greatest guy. Always ready to pitch in and help when help was needed. Generous, a great guy. Funny and entertaining. A wonderful guy. Within his family he was a different person. Irresponsible, a teaser, when angry an accuser. Verbally abusive. Belittling. I don’t know how many times I was told as a teenager that I didn’t do any work on the farm- when my brother and I were doing most of the work because my father was sick from diabetes. And occasionally there were the darker moments.

In the fall of 1973 we moved from Traverse City to a farm near Buckley. My father was trying to finally escape from his curse, his evil mother. If there was a hell that bitch would be writhing in flames at this moment. Inside the old farmhouse my father was upset about something- I never knew what it was. We were moving the big dining room table which would seat 14 at Thanksgiving. And suddenly my father started yelling at me. I was chased into the back room and pushed down onto the concrete floor between the wringer washing machine and the boot rack. I remember lying there trying to shield my legs and butt as he hit me. One of my sisters says it was with a piece of two-by-four. I don’t know, all I do remember is wondering “What did I do?” My mother also doesn’t remember- she was good at blanking those sort of things out.

As far as I know that was the only time he beat me. The rest of the time it was verbal. “You are no good,” “You’ll never amount to anything.” That sort of crap. It continued until I was seventeen and finally fought back, refusing to speak to him until he apologized. Goddamit, it makes me physically sick to think of his tormenting teasing. Or the little cruelties- the admission that he burned my security blanket when I was three, the times he let my blind cat outside knowing that she would eventually get run over by a car or tractor. The attempts to get me to force me to drop out of college because he hated education so much. The time I called to tell them I had passed my MA exam and he said, ‘Well now you can come home and work at the pie factory.”

My father was not self-aware. In his mind he was perfect and unfailing. It was a flaw that had cursed his half-brother, their mother, and her mother also, but has luckily been broken. My brother and sisters have escaped, and I think my cousins as well. We all know very well that the nuclear family of our father, his sister, and his half-brother was no tv sitcom family. Instead it was fatally flawed, warped by a grandmother who viewed herself as perfect in every way. Nobody is perfect.

And I sometimes wonder about my father. Today would have been his 51st wedding anniversary- not that he ever remembered that day or was any nicer to my mother when reminded. I wonder if he ever regretted the things he did or wished he had made better choices in his life. After his stroke I suspect there was some dwelling on the past, but by then it was too late.

And so I’m glad he is gone. It makes my life easier. My siblings feel the same. It is very sad. I wish I had had a nicer father, someone I could have respected. But wishes are usually pretty pieces of fluff that just blow away.

Fudge. At work. Annoyed. Just found out that I used 20 too many vacation hours this year. Very annoyed. So I have to "pay" it fudging back. Where did all of this fudging vacation go? Because I work for a small company I get 15 fudging vacation days a year after working here for 11 years. Sigh. If I worked for a big, cushy company or the fudging government I would probably have a lot more. I need some chocolate right about now. Now! Dammit!

Getting cooler. I'm tempted to lie in bed with the electric blanket on, Mama Cat next to me purring with pleasure. She loves the electric blanket, for her its like an enormous cat to snuggle up next to. Instead I got up and sat in front of the computer to work on my book. I'm in the process of reading through the 4,000+ footnotes, standardizing formatting issues. Tedious. Joey sits on one end of the desk as far as possible from her arch-nemisis Princess, who ignores her as she squats underneath a lamp, soaking up 60 watts of heat. All of us have thin blood, have grown used to the hot summers. When it cools off a little we panic and search for warmth to replace the sun, which rises a little later and sets a little sooner each day.

A quick hello to Patch and Eric and Mighty. And to Richard, who overcame adversity and sang at karaoke. That was brave.

Holidays. The end-of-the-year holidays are sneaking up on me. My mummy is coming from Michigan a week from tomorrow- spending two weeks with me. She is easy to get along with and entertain. Not sure what we will be doing for Thanksgiving. I've got to ask around and see if there are any orphans needing a place to go to. I never cared much for Thanksgiving- the dead-turkey-consumption aspects of it do little for a vegetarian of almost 21 years. I do love mashed potatoes and pie. Lovely pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream.

My annual Cookie Decorating and Craft party is on December 7th. This will be the fourth year. A little stressful making dozens (one year 20 dozen) rolled and cut cookies, but everyone has an excellent time. Last year I put up my Xmas tree in the bedroom and left the lights on at night. I don't see well without my glasses, so the lights were all nice and blurry and or-so-pretty. It was a really bad time for me. I was awful lonely and depressed, and the little lights made me feel a small bit better.

Christmas follows. My family always went overboard getting presents. It is a little more relaxed nowadays, with my father gone and my brother a member of the Amish church, who don't celebrate holidays. People tell me I am difficult to buy for. And no one asks me what I want or need. Last year my favorite present was a set of 1950s-style dish towels with bold fruit prints. Now how pathetic is that- dish towels were my FAVORITE present??? Maybe it was because everyone else gave me cat presents. I hope those damn cats don't get anything this year.

A few things Santa could bring me:

A vintage 1950s tablecloth with a bright fruit pattern.
A complete set of the Borrower's books by Mary Norton.
An elephant or a giraffe cookie cutter.
A double boiler.
"Plether" shoes, size 10.5 or 11.
Boonton divided serving bowls or serving trays.
Texas ware mixing bowls.

Sunday afternoon actions. Just back from going on the art tour with Jeffrey S. Joey is sitting on my lap, reaching out with her paw to alert me that she needs a little petting as I load photos and work on them. We went to about a dozen studios. Unfortunately the St. Theresa tile works was closed- I really wanted to see that place. But the other studios were filled with wonderful (and some awful) pieces of art. A sample of the some of the sights below.



Kathleen's poppie wreath mounted on an old bedstead.


Mexican menu.


Shed wall made from old bottles.


Janet's north African tour drawing.


Beginning of a portrait.

Feeling a little artistic myself, I played briefly with a floral picture, distorting it with Adobe Photoshop. I think it came out interesting.

.
Flowers on crack.

In a few minutes it will be time to explore the wonders of carrot fritters and bearnaise sauce for tonight's monthly dinner party. Having never made either, not sure if the results will be edible. Joey doesn't really care, she just wants more pets

Sunday morning goals.

I will not look at advertisements for new computers.

I will find an interesting carrot recipe.

I will balance my checkbook.

I will not be happy with the resulting number.

I will fantasize about winning the lottery.

I will not win said lottery, since I hardly ever buy tickets.

I will look with amazement at the new foods in the coupon section of the paper: "Mini-Pancakes with Dippin' Cups," "SnackWiches," "Fruit2O," and "CarbSmart ice cream and fudge bars."

I will refrain from purchasing any of these.

Art walk. My friend Gloria is having an open house at her studio, which is two blocks north of me. I could have driven, if I was really lazy, because driving is what people in Arizona do best. Instead I walked up Palomas, waited at Congress until the crazy traffic had cleared, and then continued on Palomas to Alameda. On the way there I noticed little things. One neighbor has a grapefruit tree heavy with fruit. I live in a Mexican neighborhood so several houses have small shrines with Madonnas and saints, tall cylindrical votive candles.


Gloria and her hand x-ray prints.

Gloria's studio is in her backyard in a corrugated metal and glass window shed. She had experimented with a variety of art forms since retiring as an English teacher. Right now she is working on engraving copper plates, brushing ink across them, wiping the excess ink off, and then pressing the plates onto paper to transfer the image.


Thistle print.

She showed me some great prints stashed away- and until recently I didn't know she was an artist.

On the way home I walked down the west side of Palomas. I paused at Congress, again as the traffic whizzed by, and shot this image of Sentinel Peak (often called "A" Mountain due to a large, ugly A placed on it by the University in 1913). I've played with the image a little, unfortunately the digicam I have takes dark pictures, so I'm constantly having to play with them.


Skyscape, November 2003.

All of my neighbors on my side of the block have dogs and they all barked at me on the way home. A brown long-haired retriever, a brown pitbull, a tiny chihuahua, a bassett hound, a white and brown pitbull. Actually, the dogs at the house directly north of me didn't bother barking. I've bribed them with doggie biscuits enough so they actually like me.

I like my neighborhood. Sure there are the occasional gunshots. And sometimes I am exasperated by the amount of trash that blows into my yard. But I have a cute house and a plain, small front yard. This morning I found a prehistoric pottery sherd washed out by the recent rain. The poppie seeds I planted have sprouted. My orange tree has lots of orange. It just feels nice to know I have this place to come home to.

Food for thought. Last night Stewart and I went to India Oven. Lovely Saag Paneer, naan bread, samosas, an okra dish- total pig out.

I like to eat. I ought to be really obese instead of about five pounds over my target weight. I suppose it is because I grew up in the Midwest where the food was so bland. There was this mysterious stuff that some people put in their food, "spices," that supposedly made things taste better. But we didn't practice that religion. And boiling was THE preferred cooking technique. My mother, blessed-thou-art, is a horrible cook. The WORST meal she would make, a favorite of my father, was "Goulash." Oh-mi-god. Macaroni noodles, stewed tomatoes, and crumbled hamburger. Mixed together. Soggy. Vile. Inedible. Just thinking about it makes me cringe.

And so when I grew up and came home to visit I took over the cooking while I was there. One time I made this bizarre stuff, "garlic bread," and my father said, 'Why do you have to put that on the bread?" He also liked to say, "This would taste okay if it only had some meat in it." Well his favorite diet- fried eggs, bologna, and other assorted meats- ended up giving him a stroke at age 60 and a fatal heart attack at 65, so maybe he should have said, "This would kill me a little faster if it only had some meat in it."

So I ended up liking anti-Midwest foods- real Italian, Greek, Ethiopian, Mexican, Guatamalan, Middle Eastern, etc. And once in a great while I return to my past by boiling up some potatoes and having a grilled cheese.

Comments please. Thanks to BlogSpeak I now have a comment function in place. Who will be the first to respond??? Answer: Mighty Maloney. Not sure what he wins.

Testing, testing. Big scare for me, for a little while. I was attempting to add a comment section to the blog and after I saved- zip, zero, nada. Everything was gone. I suddenly realized how attached to this silly mess of writing and photos I have become. Luckily I was able to run home, retrieve the needed html code and everything is better. Still working on a comment section.

Funny dream. I am at Shane's house and he has a number of small dogs, all dressed in silly outfits.

Dreams are strange. I already have a pretty acute imagination. Sometimes when I can't sleep at night I make up stories in my head. But my dreams are often so much wilder than any story I have dreamt up. If only we could record dreams and play them back later in the day, I think that would give us a lot of insight on our inner psychological makeup.


And on page two- still foggy this morning. Poor Curtis has photographers from Travel and Leisure chomping to go out and photo Tucson. I hope the fog burns off and they can get some clear skies before they leave on Sunday.

A few little things.


I am feeling very burnt out at work.

I planted wildflower seeds in my front yard. In March I will probably be very happy.

My car needs cleaning baaaaad.

Me on the way home from "work" today:



Joey likes sitting on my lap when I am at the computer.

Tonight is my one hour of television. I cheated though, and watched Angel last night and the Antiques Road Show on Sunday.

I like this photo:

It was a dark and rainy night. Well, late afternoon. I came home to a huge pile of dishes, courtesy of the sliced thumb, and then discovered one of the cats had puked on the desk. Luckily none of the important papers were vomited upon. Very irritating. Why is it that cats insist on puking on fabric or paper? Never in the bathtub or sink, which are much easier to clean.

Oh, and it is raining outside. A steady shower, starts for a while, slows, stops. Restarts. And so on. Since I had the house and guesthouse reroofed in June I don't mind the rain. Before it was awful, I felt like some po' white trash ho' as the water came through my bedroom ceiling and plop-plop-plopped into a pot. And the cats thought that was the most exciting thing since canned cat food.

Going over to hang out with Gavin in a while. Taking some jalapeno cheddar cornbread that is cookin' up in the stove.

Veteran's Day. King George II, that miserable piece of shit, plays the part of the saddened president, mourning the deaths of men and women, the soldiers he sent out for his own nefarious reasons. The war in Iraq grows increasingly dangerous as the people who were supposed to cheer our arrival are instead angry at their loss-of-face and the presence of non-muslim invaders. How do we speed our withdrawal? How about sending over the relatives of the neo-cons. I bet it would take only a few weeks for us to clear out if Mrs. Bush and the bimbettes, Mrs. Cheney and her two daughters, and various other Republicans were esconced in some slightly unsafe Baghdad hotel, awaiting the next mortar.

I can't think of a single decision made by President Bonehead and his legion of dorkwads that I agree with. I mean, he's anti-environment, anti-gay, anti-woman, anti-everything that makes our country great. And supposedly he is going to spend $200 million in an attempt to get re-elected. Ohmigod. Just put me out of misery.

Baby Joey. Patti developed some old rolls of film and found this cute-as-hell picture of Joey back in May 2000, long before she developed her annoying mental problems. She was one good looking cat back then. Always the adventurer, she was the first out of her nest, the first to eat solid food, the first to climb up the blankets onto the bed. And now the first to have a severe urination problem that sometimes ruins my day. How can such evil come from such a sweet, innocent face?

Dangers in the Night. Pow, [pause], pow, pow! I wake minutes ago to a trio of gunshots somewhere nearby. I listen, trying to judge the direction and nearness, but because of the mountains I can't tell. I get up and peer out the window. It is a full moon and almost bright as day. A few moments later, as I type this, the drone of the police copter, which will shine its light down on the neighborhood in a futile attempt to find the person. A dog barks, my cats dart about, Michele's screendoor slams- she was slipping the rent check under my door at the exact moment and ran back to her house, probably frightened badly.

There have been a lot of gunshots lately. Most are the result of a paroled man who lives two blocks to the north of me. Three drive bys in the last two months, scores meant to be settled. Too bad he slapped that woman. I hope no one else gets hurt. I hope my heart stops pounding and I can go back to sleep.

I've been doing family history for over 20 years, pushed into the hobby after reading Alex Haley's Roots. At that time I was a teenager and my grandmother provided me with information. Later I learned to write away for copies of documents. Lately I have been able to sit at home and look at census records, newspapers, and other documents online. Or go to the local LDS Family History Library and order microfilm from around the world.

Two reasons for this interest. One is the process, the detective skills, the problem solving. How do I prove so-and-so is related to the so's-and-so's? The second is the urge to reconstruct the lives of forgotten people, to piece together random fragments and make a life reappear. As an example, when I started the lives of Ebenezer and Harriet, a pair of my great-great-great grandparents, had been reduced to a small handful of stories- he was a Civil War soldier, she had slept for a week on the grave of her youngest son after he had died in an accident. Through my research I have found the tragic letter Ebenezer wrote about this son's death, "He was the light of my life." Harriet's improbable story proved to be true, as told by another relative in an audiotape from the early 1970s. Some of the uncovered truths do not show the couple in the best light. But then nobody is perfect, something I well understand.

In other news, cut my thumb badly while slicing an onion. So couldn't do much today- no dishes or chores. It doesn't hurt much but looks pretty gross.

I'm not a fan of fundamentalist religions. I believe they cause as much misery as they may bring in comfort. Two incidents today brought this to mind. First a letter to the Tucson Citizen in which the writers again provided Biblical quotes to support their anti-gay marriage viewpoints(specifically, Leviticus 18:22). I'm sorry, if this is your method of denying other people civil rights, then you should follow all rules laid out in the Bible, no exceptions permitted. Some examples:

1). No pork, ever (Leviticus 11:7).
2). No shrimp, oysters, scallops, crabs or other non-finned seafood, ever (Leviticus 11:12).
3). After giving birth and following the days of purification, a woman must bring a lamb for a burnt offering and a pigeon or turledove for a sin offering to her priest (Leviticus 12:7).
4). People who break a commandment must bring an unblemished bullock to the church to be killed and the blood from the bullock must be sprinkled by the priest in the tabernacle (Leviticus 4:3-7).
5). Disabled or deformed people must not be allowed in a church (Leviticus 18:17-23).

And so on. The list includes lots of other rules, most of which are conveniently forgotten by the people who drag out the homosexual abomination business.

Secondly, as I was driving to Circuit City to purchase a new keyboard, I passed a cheerful group holding up signs "Bring God back to the Classroom!" I rolled my window down and yelled "No way!" One of my concerns is "Which God?" What if Tucson High brought the born-again Christian god back, while Amphitheater High School brought back Buddha? Can you imagine the hijinks that would ensue. The cheerleaders from Tucson High would shout, "2, 4, 6, 8, the Christian God is Great!" while Brophy Catholic High would cheer "Who do love the most, the Jesus, Madonna, and the Holy Ghost!" You can see the problem. And one of the schools, probably one of the charters, would have to be devoted to Satan worship.

Perfect evening. Drinks at the Arizona Inn with Panchesco. Ok, so the drinks were not that great. My gin and tonics were watered down pretty thoroughly. Richard's martinis did not meet the mid-level standards of Tucson. But the conversation was what counted and we chatted and chatted about our lives. I learned a little more about him, he learned some about me. It was simply nice.


Panchesco, Arizona Inn, November 203.

Afterwards stopped off at Bookman's. Tortilla and tamale lady was at the door. I've never bought any from her, but for some reason I stopped to say hello and she offered me green corn tamales and I bought six for $4.00. Inside the store I found a book to give to the Historical Society and one for the local genealogy library. Chatted briefly via cell-phonage with Gavin. Arrived safely at home and the green corn tamales proved to be melt in your mouth good. Oh my, what a perfect evening.

26 Things. I'm working on my photos for the 26 Things photograph scavenger hunt. So I've been to a couple of odd places- the Humane Society and Holy Hope Cemetery. The Humane Society had a lot of adult cats and even more dogs. The puppies all seemed to be chow mixes- cute little puppies, but too big as adults. It was rather heart-breaking to not be able to save any of them.

Also heart-breaking was the section of Holy Hope devoted to small children. For the Day of the Dead many families have elaborately decorated graves with flowers, small figurines, toys, candies, jugs of water, and cards. What was remarkable was the sheer number of children- how are they dying? And speaking of which, my keyboard on my home computer is dying- I'm going to have to replace it this weekend.


Child's grave, Holy Hope, 7 November 2003.

Spam, spam, spam.... Even though we have a really good spam filter at work, we have still been getting a lot of irritating penis enlargement, porn, and African get-rich-quick spam mails lately. This morning I had this linguistically-challenged example:

Internet's most erotic teen are waiting for you here.
Real teen girls sent tons of their from the rest of the world.
We Love young asses, busty teen, and especially free nude teen picture
You thought that yours neighbors teen daughter is a teen angel?
They all love to take off their teen tops and become so horny, like a whores, when need not for a teen fist before
And it's cool to have teen sex picture, at site, who updates it everyweek, don't you agree?
All those cute teens, blonde teens, showing their teen sexuality, as if they are in amateur teen kingdom

What the ????? I am so glad I'm gay.

My dinner with Reggie. Reggie is in town from Orange County so of course we had to go out and eat somewhere. I decided the Grill would be appropriate. It is a funky diner downtown. Peeling unicorn mural and slightly eccentric staff. I had Spinach ravioli in herbed sauce. Yummy! Reggie enjoyed a tuna melt sandwich. We chatted, discussed our mutual dislike of all things Bush-like, and generally had a relaxing, though fattening, meal.

Panchesco's imaginatory. Richard has the most exciting imagination of anyone I have met. When the spirit moves him and he publishes his prose I squirm in my seat. My heart beats a little faster. It is better than drugs. Today's offering was stunning. How does he do that?

Read Richard's story . It made me want to write a response. Perhaps I captured a small bit of his creativity, I don't really know.

At the observation window, I watch as the patient squirms, shrieks, thrusts his hands over his eyes to ward off the imagined venom. I turn to Dr. Vidal and watch her reaction.

“Fascinating,” she murmurs, “Does he always do this in the morning?”

‘Yes, from about eight to eight fifteen, then he abruptly stops, sobs for a few minutes with his hands held close to his eyes. Then, in a short while, he pretends to be drawing. That occupies several hours.”

"And this happens every day?”

“Yes, it has been continuous for three months.”

“Fascinating.” Vidal cocks her head to one side. The patient has begun to “draw,” one
hand balancing a “tablet,” the other a “stylus.” “How closely are you recording the movement of his hand?”

“We are not particularly focused on that. It’s just part of his overall hallucination.” She
frowns and tilts her head forward, the scarf covering her hairless scalp rubbing against the one-way glass.

“Technician?” she calls out. From behind us a white-clad psychology graduate student
appears, eager to be of use. “Focus the camera on the patient’s right hand. I want a computer analysis of the movement in real time. Let’s see what he is drawing.”

A few long, dull minutes pass as the technician feeds instructions into the mainframe. The first attempt fails, the computer following a spot to high. The third attempt meets with success, and on a white, blank computer screen lines begin to form. The image is unintelligible, a result of our catching him halfway through the process. The next drawing is fearful in its intensity, its horror, a blindingly evil scene. I gasp.

The sketch, the masterpiece- a dozen contorted worms writhing in ecstasy, holding tubular instruments from which delicately veined leaves cascaded. In the background loomed tall, jagged-toothed mountains. A bridge-like structure, from which a dozen chrysalises hang in pairs, is visible on the left. On the right is a nightmarish scrawl, the text of the patient’s hallucination. The following drawing is no better, in fact I would rank it as fouler if it was possible to quantify such a thing.

“Amazing,” Vidal says. She glances at me, amused at how pale I’ve grown. “So how is he doing that?” she asked.

"Doing what?” I feel like retching as the new drawing materializes, a chrysalis blooming
with a creature that was all openings and closings.

“He has no paper, no pen, and yet the movements of his hands and the corresponding
image that is created is perfect. Those sketches are so detailed, so intricate.” She motions toward a portion of the screen. ‘Notice how he returns to shade some portions long after he worked in that area. It’s impossible.”

“It is impossible.” I say. A deep-seated fear gnawed at me, something that had always
troubled me from the moment I met the patient.

“Or, it is not impossible, it is entirely plausible.” She looked back at the patient, who was
beginning another drawing, this one a landscape of arched rock formations upon which tall, cylindrical hives formed. The picture was brief, the written section dominating much of the space, a description of a scene found on some other world. “He’s here, and yet he thinks he is there. I’ve seen it before. Mental transportation, mental kidnapping. Handless entities- how they covet our fingers.”

“You think it is real? He’s not crazy?”

“Oh, he’s crazy all right. That’s how they get in to a mind. Sometimes you can save them, if you get into their heads in time and sever the switch. But this one has gone on to long. And now he’s ruined. A few more months of this, the cerebellum turns to mush, the eyes degrade, the voice is lost. He’ll be an interesting autopsy.” Her scarf slid back, revealing a long, sinuous scar, faint crosshatching from expertly arranged stitches.

“Any other interesting cases?”

Election Day. I voted early to avoid the crowds. Wait, this is the United States where most people don't vote. As a result, special interest groups, like "Born Again Rectal-Openings" have gained much more power than their numbers deserve.

Here in Tucson the election is for mayor, three city councilpersons, two transportation initiatives, and an initiative to raise the salaries of the mayor and council. I voted yes on the last three- you get what you pay for, so the more money you pay politicians the more likely you will have someone with brains instead of the idiots who can afford to run because of family money or because they are retired.

Tom Volgy is the Democratic candidate for mayor. I had a meet and greet party for him at my house in May. He got my votes. As did the Democratic candidates for City Council. The Republican mayoral candidate is not a bad guy, but hasn't really done a whole lot. He's great at shaking hands.

The Republicans have also done some underhanded campaigning, getting around funding limits by having "independent" committees. One of the big backers of these committees is the biggest closet case car dealer in town. He funnels a great deal of money to Republican causes, while maintaining a heterosexual appearance. And a second house with his boyfriend. I don't get rich closet case Republicans. Tucson apparently has a whole bunch of them. Do they have themselves so much that they want to drag the rest of us down????

Go vote, it is almost as much fun as having a drink at IBTs during karoake.

Buffy dream. Woke up with my heart pounding. Another Buffy dream. I was inside a house surrounded by vampires. My task- distract them with Xander while Buffy did something else. So Xander opens the door and we take turns staking vamps. The stake slides in rather easily, but sometimes you miss the heart and have to wiggle it to nick it. And then the vampires dissolve and the weight of their body lists off of the stake. Trippy. And the dream ends after I escape through a tunnel and we blow the house up loaded with vampires.


This year no Buffy and the two episodes of Angel that I have were dull. The new time is also inconvenient, so I will most likely be skipping that show unless I really have nothing better to do. And one goal of having a blog is to find better things, so maybe the plan of one hour of television a week will be followed through.

Hummus for dinner. I've got major garlic breath hours later.

Saguaro. Stewart came over around 3:30 and we drove over is his red Bronco to Saguaro Park West, which is located about 5 miles from my front door.


Saguaro forest.

We did a relatively short hike up a steep, switchback trail. At the top were a bunch of huge boulders casually stacked on top of each other. Stewart and I sat and talked. He had brought a thermos of hot tea, and we sipped tea from classy white porcelain cups.


Stewart, November 2003.

As we left it was getting dark, it is only early November and yet by 6:00 you need to use your headlights. It is still warm enough to wear shorts. That is one of the nice things about Arizona.


Sunset, Saguaro Park.

Day of the Dead. In Mexico people generally go to cemeteries to clean and decorate graves, light candles, leave favorite foods and beverages, and have a picnic. Here in Tucson, Mexican families go out to Holy Hope Cemetery and do this. Many other people gather downtown for am elaborate and unusual procession through town.

Gavin and Kent held a party, with Kent erecting an altar and serving Mexican pastries, horchata, grapes, and chips and dip. I arrived at 3:30 and hung out with Kevin for a while as he melted chocolate and poured it into small skull molds.


Kevin and the chocolate skulls.

Shane arrived and headed to the bathroom to apply scary makeup. Curtis, Eric, Ian, Vince, and Brian were also there.


Shane as a demon.

I wandered over to the parade with Kyle, Jim, and Stewart. Now Stewart is someone I haven't met before. A smart, witty, charming, sexy man. He is interested in Islamic landscapes and architecture.


Stewart.

The parade was cool, some of the costumes were stunning as were some of the contraptions people had invented. A group of people mocking the Bush administration were very amusing. There was a stage set up at the end of the route where people did various things with torches and baskets of fire.


The Day of the Dead parade passes by.

Afterwards Stewart and I went and had Chinese food and spent some time talking. We wandered back to Kent's place and took up a lot of space on his couch. Stewart's getting a call from me today (it's after midnight at the moment).

Well Hungover. I ought to be sick, sick, sick after consuming a six pack of beer at Ray's party. And a slight headache and queasiness pervades my body. The liberal application of aspirin and a lot of water have apparently prevented post-bachanal syndrome.

Ray's party was fun, fun, fun. After handing out all of my candy in record time I hopped in the car and drove over to Jeffrey S's. We put on our costumes, Tuarag villager and Wog the Homo erectus, and went over to collect Jeffrey T., biker stud. Up to the foothills to Ray's elaborately decorated house. I don't know where he stores all of the Halloween stuff. A fair crowd with quite a few friends: Matt (cowboy), John P. (airman), Mark (himself), Rich (cake sniffer), Mark A. (Monty Python-esque lumberjack), Mike (himself) and so on. As the evening progressed I drank some beers, met some cute guys, kissed a sailor and a fireman, gave my number to a couple of people. My loincloth was slowly sliding down, but luckily I did not over-expose myself. Those people who commented all said I looked good. TJ drove me home and now six hours later I am a little tired and as I type this feeling just a tad nauseous.



Outside Cat is meowing "Where's breakfast?" so I need to start the day. My indoor cats had a vomit-a-thon last night while I was out and I've got to do some scrubbing to make the place look less like a horror house. I'll post some pics when they are sent to me.


Wog.