Homer'sWorld

So I learned a lesson. Don't point out your hot friend Patrick while a charity auction is ongoing. Because you end up being the proud owner of a $100 cottonwood tree that you really don't need/want, but you are not going to be humilated by the bossy drag queen. And luckily I was able to sell it to someone else for $50 to I ended up donating $50 to a very worthy cause.


Patrick in the red plaid shirt.

I went with Jeffrey S. and we saw lots of people we knew. Jeffrey T. and his beau were wrestling, dressed in leather garb. They were bulging in all the right places.


Jeffrey T. and TC, pre jello wrestling.

Ran into a lot of friends. Hung out with Matt and Joe and I was a tad sloshed so I think I said some inappropriate things, but you know, stuff like that just kinda happens. Anyway, a good time was had and they raised $27,000 for a super great group, it was a fun time.


Matt and Joe

My new computer arrived yesterday. Flat screen and the hard drive is contained in this tiny box- when did they get so small? I've been playing Age of Mythology 'cause it occupies my mind. I'm feeling less stressed out today over cat issues, but nobody answered the ad in the paper so maybe the stress will build up and I'll explode again.

Kinda like Matt did during his performance at the "Dildos in the Desert" show at Vaudeville. The Boys R'Us group featured dildos in their show- Matt certainly had the biggest balls.


Matt and the dildo.

Well that was a first. I sat on my front porch and cried because of someone's silly comment about my cat problem. You don't want to be around me when I'm upset. I turn into a big ole blubbering mess. Why the current mess? I guess it is because I have always had a soft spot for animals. I took care of them on the farm. Decided not to eat them in 1983. Two years ago in May I found four tiny, sick kittens in my backyard and bottle fed them, wiped their poopy bottoms, gave them their medicine, got up in the middle of the night to bottle feed them some more. I found homes for two, but it was kitten season and the Humane Society was just euthanizing kittens the moment they came in. So I kept Princess and Bear. And poor old Joey acted up, and my house has been awful for two years. I tried, I really tried to make it work. When my friend took the two, Joey stopped acting up, I could have a normal house, people didn't look at me like I was a freak or the old lady with a zillion cats. Who wants to date someone with five cats?

So having the two come back and trying to find a good home for them is really stressful and a silly little comment upsets me more than it should. I guess I should be more hard-hearted, but I've never been that way. I'll always be softy Homer.


Bear has lunch, June 2002.

This is Homer looking sad. Pondering life. You know, it is just like a soap opera. When things are going really well the writers make up something horrible. So in the picture I'm puzzling what to do about Princess and Bear.


Homer, sad.

Perhaps it isn't as bad as I think. It is pre-kitten season so the Humane Society has a lot of cats being adopted. I went and looked and their cages are mostly empty. Princess would be adopted instantly, she is so pretty. Bear is a black cat, not as popular, but they didn't have any black ones there. So maybe it would be okay. But the awful guilt involved. Fucking Christ to Hell and Back.

I think Matt likes Ethiopian food. We shouldn't have gone to the video store afterwards since we were being the most indecisive humans in the entire world. I'm having dinner with Larry and Eric tonight- Italian food. I hope that takes my mind off of my pussy problems. Now I'll get all the perverts finding my blog through Google...

If you are in a bad mood, it's good to do something you don't like. Yardwork, for example. I took a few hours off from work and came home to weed whack the yard, rake, pick up all the trash that seems to blow onto my property. Why in a bad mood? Six weeks ago a friend took my two youngest cats, thereby solving the problem with Joey, who was acting up by pissing on furniture. Well, today she calls telling me she doesn't want them anymore. So I have to go pick them up. It is impossible to keep them, I can't handle the stress and the mess. So I'm in a crappy mood. At least my yard doesn't look so awful.


Homer's casa.

Oh my, for some reason I am really sleepy this afternoon. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I did have enough strength to order a new pc with the help of our computer whiz at work. It should show up in a couple of days- I am rather excited since my current computer dates back to 1999.

I've been hanging out with a couple of friends who are in town- John and Larry. It is nice to see them, we sat around and gossiped and talked about old times.

Okay, I'm off to have a little nap. Tomorrow Matt and I are going to have Ethiopian food. Yum!



Lesbian fiction.

Powerful images. I've been thinking about images this morning as I look through hand drawn maps from an archaeology project. Images convey a lot of information efficiently, more so than the written word. Certain images produce an emotional response- good or bad. Politicians are in tune with this, as seen by the recent secrecy over a certain set of images.

Looking for Sam has pondered the issue of the flag draped coffins coming back from Iraq. George Bush and his buddies don't want anyone to see these coffins, which are arriving in ever-increasing numbers. They sneak them in like they were somehow dirty, shameful, or an embarrassment. They claim that they don't want to upset family members. And yet the handling of these coffins is a dignified, carefully choreographed action. The servicemen handling them undergo long training, they move crisply, and handle the caskets with respect. The recently released photos prove this. The photos also reveal the scope of the war. It isn't one or two coffins arriving at Dover Air Force Base, it is entire plane loads. This is what the neo-cons don't want people to see.

This is the same batch that kicked off George's re-election campaign with an advertisement featuring a flag-draped body being removed from the World Trade Center site. I wondered at the time if that particular person would have supported George's re-election. Perhaps it was some ardent liberal who was crushed between cascading floors on that horrible day. I guess it would be possible to research that particular photograph, find out which day and which body it was, ask his or her family about the individual's personal beliefs. You might actually find the person was a Bush supporter, lost among the financial advisors, secretaries, cooks, firemen, and delivery people who perished. But would they still want their body used as a campaign tool?

But George et al. are all about image. He strutted across an aircraft carrier positioned so that the twinkling lights of San Diego were invisible, supposedly so far out to sea that he had to jet in, when it was really just offshore, wearing his crotch-enhancing flight suit. As he "speechified," the Mission Accomplished banner suggested a quick, successful war. Instead almost a year later young soldiers are being killed daily. Shouldn't this picture be more appropriate in Bush's campaign ads?

Two things. First, the drag kings performance last night was way cool. What I hadn't expected was that the performance included a lot of political and social commentary, much more than you would ever see at a drag queen show. A couple of my friends showed up and we stood close to the stage and cheered Matt and the boys on.

Secondly, I spent the afternoon up on the side of the mountain next to my house, talking to people about the history of Tucson. I spent the morning giving and listening to talks. What was remarkable was listening to three men who each own major companies bore people out of their minds because they spoke in a monotone manner, went on tooooo looonnggg, and did the PowerPoint thingy in which you put your text up and then read it out loud. Cripes, I was flaming bored but couldn't leave until they finished, then had to rush home for lunch and drive up La Sierra. Luckily the people who came by to hear my spiel were entertaining.


Looking north toward my house, which is visible but too small to point out.

Last thing, I know this is number three but no death threats please. My computer is dying- the sound just stopped last week. So should I get a laptop or a regular desktop? I just can't decide. Which is better, and why?

I'm a redneck at this very moment because my head-shoulder connector got a little too much sun today and is flaming red. That's about the only flamey spot on me presently. I was outside today watching a backhoe dig trenches, collecting prehistoric potsherds as they showed up in the backdirt. After the backhoe moved to the next trench my two co-workers and I scraped the walls of the trench with out trowels, eventually finding the places where the trench cut through prehistoric pithouses and pits. In a few weeks we will return to uncover these and excavate them before the area is bulldozed for a drainage ditch. Oh so glamorous, except for the burnt skin and a nasty blister on my right hand.

Going downtown in a moment to catch Matt's show. I'm pretty excited to see his performance.

It's funny how certain pieces of clothing can become favorites. I like the red plaid shirt that I'm wearing in the Summer 2003 picture at lower right. I also have a puke yellow polyester shirt that I think I paid a quarter for a long time ago at some thrift store in Montana or North Dakota. I have a Chinese light blue silk jacket with beautiful embroidered pink magnolias that my friend John gave me one New Year's Eve. And a bunch of 1950s or 1960s thin silk ties- I have a long torso so wide ties look funny on me. Also those black wingtip shoes that I bought in 1985 for a dollar with the big holes in the soles. They are so cool, and the shoe repair place claimed that they were too worn. I'm going to try again, those shoes are hot.

I guess I'm thinking about clothes because I'll be in New York City in a month and everybody will be wearing their fancy stuff and I'll be wandering around looking like a Tucson bumpkin, but at least I'll be a comfortable one. But I guess I will have to go buy something fun to wear when the blog boys get together and meet- gotta make a nice first impression in person. So should I go vintage- maybe be a 60s bowling team shirt? Should I go dressy? Should I buy a real pair of pants instead of jeans? Maybe a cowboy hat? I dunno if I should even be bothering, guess it's partly because I'm tired of my duds at this very moment.

I think I'll take those wingtips around and get them fixed real good- they are kinda like my ruby slippers, you know.

He's super freaky! Jane alerted me to this website- what can I say! I couldn't stop looking at the pictures, I'm glad this guy has found happiness in alternative clothing. I wonder what Jimbo would look like in a Peter Pan outfit?

I think I paid 20 bucks for my hair clippers two or three years ago and they have gotten good use because I haven't been to the barber since. Today I came home early from work- I get to work all day Saturday at a public meeting- and decided to cut my hair. Setting no. 2, buzzzzzz.


Before.


After.

I quick shave- I left the goatee bushy for now- will probably trim that in a while too. The weather is too nice at the moment, sunny and warm. I think I'm going to sit on my front porch and do a little reading.

I had the vegetarian barbeque burger at Oasis while Matt had the southwestern veggie burger. Mine was a mess, I got barbeque sauce all over my hands and face. Matt laughed at me, I didn't mind. It was nice hearing of his plans, his weekend.



He has some flowers blooming in front of his house- I can't remember the name.




Makes me think about spring time in Michigan. I loved to see the progression of flowers- daffodils and lily of the valley, giving way to tulips and irises, and then in the summer zinnias and marigolds and hollyhocks. Here everything goes so swiftly with spring melding into summer over a period of a few short weeks. So what is your favorite flower? Mine are wild purple irises

Later- I go out and inspect the fence and find all of the spots I missed. It was getting a little too sunny by the time I quit. Just talked on the phone with Jimbo. Can't wait to meet him in person.

I've got spots of black oil paint all over me. Two and a half hours painting the ironwork fence along my front yard. Lots of these little decorative doodahs and paint splashing on my hands, arms, legs, and face. The paint remover got most of it off, but after a while I got sensitive to it and had to stop. The rest will come off the next couple of days- I hope. Still have half of the fence to do- sigh.

Having an old house means lots of things to fix up. It doesn't help that my neighborhood is having some ground subsidence issues due to the lowering of the water table in the area. Both my house and the guesthouse have developed ominous cracks over the last year- especially the guesthouse. Nothing you do about them, they mostly close up as the structures shift. But still annoying. My next project is to replace the evaporative cooler on the guesthouse and have some electrical work done. Also half of the iron front gate needs to be straightened- its been bent since I moved in. It never ends- but someday I'll have my dream house completed. Just need to kind that dream date to keep me company.

A dream I had last night continues to run through my head. In the dream I awoke with a horrible hangover. I went into the bathroom to throw up and as I was kneeling in front of the toilet I noticed that my forearms were different- the hair was black and thicker. Someone comes in and it is an older woman. She says, "Pete, I told you not to drink so much at your sister's wedding." I look at her, puzzled. I'm Homer not Pete. I stand up and glance into the mirror and see that I am not me- I am a younger man, darker, perhaps Italian. Fast forward. It turns out that about one percent of the world's population have randomly switched bodies. My "mother" is terribly upset that her teenage son has been taken over by a 40-year-old man. Her son calls from Africa- he has been switched into a black man's body. The news is full of similar stories, including Laura Bush- her body is inhabited by a Chinese woman while her mind shows up in an elderly Swedish man. The dream ends with me calling Jeffrey S. to have him find some way to rescue me from the "mother" who doesn't want me to leave.

Being the practical person that I am, I lay in bed and pondered how such a scenario would play out in real life. For instance, the President finding out his wife's mind was in an elderly man's body- would George divorce her immediately (we know how much he loves same sex marriage). And the fact that I was transported into a hot teenager's body- not so bad. I've probably given away a great story for a movie or a sci-fi novel. Any takers?

Jeffrey S. and I went shopping. At Loews a very helpful woman gave me a discounted gallon of black oil base which I will be applying to my metal fence. I also bought a lovely pink carnation, which will go on my front steps. At Ross I bought a retro black and white shirt which I plan on wearing in New York City next month. At Pier 1 we bought nothing, I hated the overpowering cloying smell of candles. The boy behind the counter was totally hot, though, and there was a cute geeky gay couple looking at chairs, one of whom was a very nice-looking redhead. Back at home the cats all clamored for attention as we look at the paint chips. I'm going to repaint my study- currently it is lavender with gray trim and I just don't like it. Can't be blue as my bedroom and the cat bathroom are dark and light blue respectively. Can't be yellow cause that's the kitchen. So maybe some shade of green with orange trim? I'm all about color. And speaking of that, there is the tiniest orange spider crawling on my computer- damn is it ever cute.


Poppy, front yard, April 2004.

Tonight, green corn tamale with banana sauce at Cafe Poca Cosa. Reggie is in town from Orange County for work and took me out to dinner. It was soooo good, too bad the portions are so huge and I ate too much and now my tummy is way full. Afterward we went over to the Denture Inn for a beer and two small white dogs came and sat on my lap. Reggie wasn't as lucky, the owner's Great Dane Dena came by and slobbered all over him. At home the cats came and sniffed at me, curious about that unusual smell. Full and now sleepy, I think it is time to crawl into bed. G'night all.

At Evergreen Cemetery today, I was recording the inscriptions on two rows of tombstones. They were moved there in 1907 when the cemetery opened, from an old cemetery where the bodies were left behind. As I wrote down the names and dates for an article I'm writing, I heard cars pull up. I turned and looked behind me and I am surprised to see a hearse and a bunch of cars. Somebody is going to be buried in a pauper's grave.

A backhoe pulls up and efficiently digs a 6 foot deep hole. The two cemetery employees bring the lowering device as more people arrive. A group of men in bright outfits step onto the gravel, they hold instruments and soon mariachi music was being played. Every once in a while a loud "Aye-yi-yay!" is shouted. After a while, six young Mexican men carry a brown casket from the hearse and set in on the lowering platform. A group of 5-gallon-buckets are set out and one by one people set bouquets in, most still in their clear plastic wrappers. Somebody had brought a huge red rose arrangement. I continued to record names- Frank Weston- 1901; James Martin Hildebirn Jr- 1898; Pearl, wife of I. L. Ardis- 1893- as the mourners one by one drop handfuls of dirt onto the coffin after is descends, the gravel crunching as they walked away.

I wondered who it was. Why they were in the pauper's section when so many people were at the burial. Whether they had a good life. I had to stay for the entire ceremony since my car was boxed in. So I finished quietly recording names- Ellen Miller-1907; Capt. B. Rogers-1884; Phillip S. Melluish- as another person joined them in the earth.

At the Middle Eastern restaurant, the falafel was awful. In contrast the hummous was excellent, as was the hot Lebanese waiter- you could bounce a quarter off his ass.

When I was a freshman and sophomore in college I played a lot of quarters- the drinking game where you bounced a quarter into a shot of beer. Every weekend was spent partying. I guess I was making up for my boring high school years- my parents didn't allow me and my brother off of the farm, dear old Dad had some social pathologies that involved wanting his kids at home under his control at all times. So getting trashed was a new experience for me and one that I pursued vigorously until I finally decided that it was really no fun to have a hangover the next day. My freshman roommate was also the dorm drug dealer and watching him slide downhill that year made me carefully think about the dangers of casual drug use.

The crowd I hang out with now may smoke a joint once in a while and some like their liquor, but nothing more hard core, at least as far as I know. An ex-roommate of mine hung out with the druggy set a few years earlier and it was really unpleasant to see them gradually fuck themselves up, especially the one who took Special K and promptly drowned himself in a pool

I've been thinking about this because a female friend is doing crystal meth and another close friend has taken to drinking heavily. There is nothing I can do to help either person- at this point they either deny there is a problem or blame it on someone else. I'm glad that I never aspired to be a crack whore- although I hear the benefits package is great. Maybe I should have asked the two hookers I saw on Stone Avenue at 6:30 this morning.

It pays to read the fine print. I feel like a goof after the frickin whine-a-thon yesterday 'cause it turns out the $1,000 deductible is, it turns out, paid back after I send them proof of payment. Of course the whole process seems kinda stupid and involves a couple of stamps so it is going to cost me 74 cents. The injustice!

And to make matters worse I got a lovely check from the mortgage company today for excess escrow payments so suddenly I will be credit card debt free. Holy crap! What can I charge up now? A plane ticket to Washington DC in September for my birthday suddenly seems like a totally good thing to do.

Hmmm, I made vegetarian French Onion soup tonight for dinner and it was rather good. I think onions are my favorite vegetable, followed by parsnips and then potatoes. And about potatoes, the big question is- MASHED or BAKED? Opinions?

I watched so many episodes of season 1 Queer as Folk that I am actually sore. No, not bed sores, couch sores. It is a horrible affliction of couch potatoes. I probably watched more telly this weekend than I have watched over the last four months. Mark B. asked me which of the QAF guys I liked the best and I said Ted, although I'm not sure if that is really true.

I hung out with Matt for a couple of hours tonight. I had a chocolate caramel Cadbury's egg- a little too rich for me. I made kosher vegetarian soup and got a shock in the mailbox- the new frickin company insurance has a $1,000 deductible so the frickin company can suck even more money out of everyday people to hand over to frickin fatcat CEOs, may they rot in frickin hell where they have to get a colonscopy without anethesia every frickin day. And it rained again. Last night it rained so hard, with the wind roaring about, that the electricity went out for a couple of hours. That was so 19th century.

Lazy day for Homie. I've been watching videos of the first season of the American Queer as Folk. I've watched the British version a couple of years ago. So far the two are very similar, I can't say one is particularly better (although the original typically is). Hanging out with the cats- they are each getting some quality time, which involves getting combed. Thankfully it looks like the shedding season is finally ending.

I've added two blogs to my list. Ryan is a guy that I knew a few years ago in Tucson who has since moved away to Philadelphia. I ran into him at a party in Phoenix last year- one thing I've learned is that guys up in that sophisticated town hate facial hair. Ha! Jimbo lives in DC and is into rugby- that sport hasn't arrived in Tucson, as far as I know. I'm not so sure I would be any good at it anyway, since I'm tall and skinny and would snap like a twig if I was trying to tackle somebody.

So many new friends sending me emails lately. Rosemarie Wade wants me to have a larger penis using her deer antler extract. Serena tells me she can get me an extended auto warranty for half off! Kent Grady suggests I get a free quote for insurance. Really, what would I do without these new found friends who bring such joy and remarkable happiness. Without them I would be lonely and unfulfilled, plus I would be missing out on Ci@lis and V1@g@r@ and my head would grow balder faster and I wouldn't have the opportunity of re-financing my house 11 times a week.

Oh, and Rosemarie, honey I don't think so...

Swatting flies. I'm so happy George doesn't spend his time swatting flies. He spent the day chillin' with his NRA buds, out hunting on his fly ranch, while those 20-year-old 'merican boys were being hunted over there in Eye-rack. If you live in one of the 17 or so states that are considered competitive in the upcoming election, you'll understand why I scream at the telly, 'Shut up, shut up you dumb fuck!" every so often.

Matt made me dinner last night. I'm posting a pic of the tofu and carrot dish for Jonny. It was yummy. I'll tell you what, Matt is a good cook. And he showed me his new piercing. And he has pretty eyes and eyelashes. It is an adventure hanging out with him. We didn't waste our time swatting flies either. To tell you the truth, I catch bugs and let them outside rather than swat them. Robert would be proud of me.


Umm, ummm, good.

I’ll warn you. This is a long, rambling post. I spent a couple of hours going through my two boxes
of photos, looking for images. It has made me ponder self esteem, how I have view myself through the years. I wasn’t sure whether to start at the present and go backwards, or the do the opposite. As a historian, it made more sense to progress from the beginning, so let’s take a little walk through time.

I was born in 1963, a few months before Kennedy was assassinated. There aren’t many photos of me when I was a child- we were pretty poor and I was the fifth child, there was less interest in documenting my life and my mother had her hands full.

I was a skinny kid, undersized, gawky, and uncoordinated. Did poorly in gym class. So scrawny my mother had to sew my pants until I was 12 years old. By the second grade my teachers noticed that I was a tad smarter than most of the other kids. One complained on my report cards that I had read my entire English book in the first two weeks of class. At about the same time a teacher moved me to the back of the classroom, away from a map I liked and I burst into tears. I was sent to the office, they reasoned that it was because my grandfathers had both recently died. The reality was that I was so near-sighted that I could no longer see the chalkboard or the map. Finally, in fourth grade, they screened the kids and discovered I needed glasses. The ones I got looked just like Jan Brady’s- I was so proud of them. They didn’t last long, I soon had to get a new plastic pair- much more durable.


Homer in 1972, 1974, and 1976.

In 1974 my father stopped driving truck and we moved and started a dairy farm. Things were not so great- my father was gone much of the time when I was younger and suddenly he was there attempting to take on this role that he knew little about. He really hated farming, and we were never successful. The end result was a great deal of verbal abuse directed at me and my brother. I don’t know how many times I was told that I was worthless, no good, ugly. The first two didn’t stick, but being told you are ugly by your father can fuck your head up pretty good.

We struggled with farming for years. In 1979 my father abruptly decided we had to move to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan- he seemed determined to make things worse than they already were. Perhaps the only good thing that happened was that I got to go to a half decent school for three years, allowing me to at least escape in 1982 to the University of Michigan. I have to thank my mother for that, she was always behind me, pushing me, telling me that I could. Telling me to call my grandmother for the cash I needed to pay for tuition- the year my father tried to force me to drop out of college and return home to become a farmer.

I was still a skinny kid when I went off to college- I think I weighed about 145 pounds and was about six feet tall. I grew another two inches in the next three years- one result of having a very late puberty. I discovered that a lot of kids had nicer clothes than I, who went away to school with my single pair of shoes. I was also pretty ashamed to find that I was the only one with crooked teeth. Luckily the University of Michigan had dental school and I worked up the courage to make an appointment my sophomore year at the orthodontics college. The grad students who evaluated me were horrified- “Why didn’t you have braces?” they asked. I told them the truth, ‘We couldn’t afford it.” They accepted me and Grandma paid the $1000 for Anne Marie from Belgium to fix my smile.


October 1985, I brought Anne Marie a bouquet the day she took my braces off.

That was a pivotal year. I had stayed in the dorm my junior year and the guys down the hall decided to have a “No Fags” party. I sat in my room so angry, no one knew I was a queer. The next week I called the counseling center and went in and joined a “Coming Out” group that was forming. It was the best thing I have ever done.

Back in 1985 there was no gay presence in the media. A single movie, Consenting Adult, had appeared on network television. I watched that with Jeff from across the hall, who had a gay cousin. He doesn’t know how important it was to watch that film with him. There were no readily available magazines, this was pre-internet. The only gay people I had met were not role models. But in the coming out group I met Les, who has been my best friend ever since, the person I can talk about anything with. And I guess I blossomed. Les certainly helped with the wardrobe, as well as trips to Value Village in Ypsilanti. Still, there was still this idea in the back of my mind that I was homely Homer. It didn’t help that another person in that group had made some pretty evil comments to me, I guess in an attempt to ameliorate his own self hatred. I got the better of him when the braces came off in the fall of 1985, after only 361 days, and I suddenly transformed from the ugly caterpillar to some sort of butterfly. I met a guy and actually dated for a while before heading off to New Mexico for the summer for my first archaeology dig.


Rasmi and Homer at the Rosebud bar, Mountainair, New Mexico.

The following year I ended up dating the hottest gay guy in Ann Arbor, the one the jerk had always wanted. My new self confidence allowed me to apply for a job in the Park Service and off to North Dakota I went, where they actually paid me to dig. I met three of my best friends on that dig and 17 years later we still talk on the phone and trade emails all of the time. In the fall I came back to Ann Arbor where I applied to grad school, moving to Arizona State in 1988 after another summer with Pat and Melanie and Becky in North Dakota.


Becky and Homer in North Dakota.

So if you don’t have a car in the Phoenix area your social life sucked. I still ended up meeting two guys who became boyfriends, hockey player Paul and German swimmer Philip. Oslynn and I started going to the gym and I lifted weights for the first time. Surprisingly, my body responded and I developed a chest and biceps, actually putting on 10 pounds of muscle.


Homer and Paul, 1991.

I remember being at the March on Washington in 1993, surrounded by all of those beautiful and political men, and deciding "What the fuck, I'm taking my shirt off." I'm pretty sure Les was mortified, but I didn't care. I think that was a turning point, deciding that sure I had been a mutty-looking kid, but that (as Al Franken would say), damn it I'm good enough, etc, etc


Les and Homer, March on Washington.

I moved to Tucson in 1993. I bought my first car that October, ending years of riding my bike 10 miles a day (geez, I had great legs back then!). Time has speeded up. I dated Larry in 1994, started losing my hair in 1995. Went through a couple of dry spells- it can be hard to find a good man in this town.


Clean cut Homer, 1995.

Jeffrey S. and I were an item in early 1997, and then I met the Ex in 1997 and really fell in love. I thought that was it, that I was happily ever after.


A Happily-Ever-After moment, 1999.

But in August 2002 he abruptly announced it was over, done with, finito. I had my little nervous breakdown, which most people never knew about. Went to the shrink, had some pretty pills for awhile. All of the self esteem issues came roaring back again. "He must have left me because I wasn’t cute anymore or I’d stopped going to the gym." It’s funny how we re-run certain aspects of our lives. Finally I realized he left me because of something inside of him, not because of the way I looked or acted. As you might guess, it's still a touchy topic.

About a year ago I snapped out of that whole business and decided, ‘Enough’ and decided that goddammit I was heading toward 40 and I was going to be happy. I grew a beard, shaved my hair off, I was like Madonna for a while, changing my image just because I could. And surprisingly, I decided that at certain moments I can be hot stuff and that gay guys really like a little attitude. So there you have it, a rambling, illustrated discourse on many of Homer's issues about body image and self esteem. I'm certain that I haven't covered everything- of wait, that goddam balding thing! But I'm pretty happy with life and I'm looking forward to whatever adventures happen in the future.


Scruffy Homer, 2003.

I'm going to go through my photos- you know, those archaic images that were once printed on Kodak paper- and find some of me. Panchesco and Mark have recently done so. Unfortunately, I was not as photogenic as those two cuties. Around 1972 or so I got slapped pretty hard with the ugly stick and did not recover until 1986. I have to find the senior picture taken that year. It happened to be the day Anne Marie, my cute orthodontist from Belgium, removed my braces and ohmigod I had perfect straight teeth. Prior to that I had been a candidate for Extreme Makeover.

In other news, I'm going to be in New York City from Wed. May 19 through Tues May 25. What adventures will take place?

Lastly, American Idol is on the telly as I type this. All of the contestants I've heard so far suck so utterly! It is embarassing to hear them, even the underage cute redhead. Do you agree??

At 3:54 in the morning the train passes through town, sounding its horn or whatever it is they call it. The cats are moving about in my bedroom, excited because I have just let them in. Puff decides to pick on Joey, and they growl at each other. I can't sleep and puzzle over things in my head.

A couple of days ago I tried very earnestly to thing of good things that George Bush has done in the three years and couple of months since he has been in office. Perhaps he "united" people after 9-11 and perhaps his initial efforts to subdue the Al Quaeda terrorists were worthwhile. But that is it. Nothing else. If one is a greedy religious person, then George Bush is a great guy. If you believe in ensuring that people are treated equally and fairly, in a clean environment, in not harming innocent people- Bush is basically a bastard.

I'm thinking about this because two people I know- one a gay man and the other a white woman married to a black guy- are planning on voting for George in November, primarily because they approve of his economic "policies." Apparently they agree that tax cuts are wonderful. I still don't understand how running up an enormous deficit is helpful. My sister Susan, who is a tax accountant, told me that the cuts are primarily going to her wealthy clients. Susan and I agree that it is better to pay your bills than run up debts and that rich people should help pay for the infrastructure and military that ensures they will remain rich. Susan voted for Bush in 2000. Now she says, "I'll never vote for that fucking idiot again." She doesn't swear very often, she's really a very nice person.

It is very upsetting to me that any gay person would vote for Bush. Hiss supporters hate us. They wish we would go away, convert into straight people, die. If George wins he will be appointing as many as three Supreme Court justices. Given that Bush has stated that admires Antonin Scalia, I don't think he'll be nominating people with favorable opinions on gay rights. What good will tax cuts be for gay Republicans when we will be treated as second class citizens?

The cats have started to settle down, but I'm wide awake, worrying about the future, wondering what will happen if the Republicans win (or steal the election again!). I hope for the best, I don't know if that will happen, but I can always hope.

Indian food for dinner. With Bob and Steve, we talked about politics and pets and gossiped. They are such nice guys, I adore them. I'm a little full at the moment and a little sleepy, probably because I awoke last night from a yukky dream and ground my teeth when I finally fell asleep.



Pansies are my favorite flower- how appropriate is that? I miss the flowers of my childhood, where we would order seed packets and plant them and watch them come up. I haven't been able to master that here in Arizona, and so I end up buying nursery flower sets. Not the same, not the mystery of wondering what color the hollyhocks or zinnias might be. I really like flowers- if you've followed my blog long enough you'll know that because I like to take pictures of them. The ex gave me flowers maybe twice. The second time was on mother's day because I had been taking care of four orphaned kittens, bottle feeding them. Oh I cried and cried because he gave me flowers, it was so sweet. Sigh. Next boyfriend better get me flowers more often, that's an order.

I sit on my front porch and listen. What do I hear?

- the distant buzz of traffic on I-10
- the closer sounds of cars and trucks on Congress Street, Grande Avenue, and Palomas Avenue
- birds chirping and whistling in the trees in my front yard and in the taller pines across the street
- a few chickens cackling somewhere nearby
- the splash of water in the puddles down the street as cars drive through them

It rained again this morning and afternoon. My allergies should be better but I decided to clean out my bedroom closet and raised a lot of dust. Found that moths had eaten at my great-grand grandmother's crazy quilt pillow. Tossed a few things, sorted a few other things to take to the thrift store. As I wait for Matt B. to call Joey sits on my lap, she makes the little noise that means "Pet me" as she rubs her face on my arm.

What can you hear?

Overcast and quiet today. I sat on my bed reading a book last night and fell asleep at 8:00. I awoke and thought, it must be the middle of the night! Instead it was 11 PM and dreary- cold and rainy. So I stayed in bed and got up at 6:00 and spent the morning doing chores and reading. Just back from the pet store where I patted a couple of dogs. The uber cute guy that works there was missing, sending me over the brink of despair. So I went to Borders and got a couple of books- Middlesex (recommended by Poyser) and Eragon, as well as a CD, "O Brother Where art Thou," which plays as I type.

The palo verde trees are blooming all over town. The trunks and branches of this tree are bright green and the zillions of flowers are bright yellow with a spot or two or orange. Very pretty!


Palo verde in bloom.

So quiet and cool here- I'm ready for the rain to go away.

April showers. The rain continues... and continues... It was pouring a while ago and my feet are rather wet. The desert really needs the water, we have been going through a rather long drought here. But of course the grass that I trimmed on Monday will grow like crazy and I will have to weed whack again soon.


Raining on Tom.

Very quiet at work, I have been productive despite some ongoing computer problems. You would think that being an archaeologist was always exciting and dangerous and I'd be whipping people and findings idols. Instead I have to re-format documents and make sure the numbers add up correctly in tables.

Yesterday was Puff and Joey's fourth birthday. It seems like a moment ago I was lying in bed and I heard this little mewing sound and I realized that Calico [now Mama Cat] had started having kittens. She was a stray that came to the back door for food and one day I realized she was both pregnant and had some sort of lung problem- she was coughing badly. So I reached down and grabbed her and dropped her in the house. She didn't like that, but too late. She was caught. I took her to the vet and he said- "She's going to have kittens in a week." So six days later out popped five kitties. I kept two and the other three went to new homes. Joey was the tomboy- always doing everything first, while Puff was the baby, he just liked to snuggle with me. My mother noted that they have gender identity issues and I would have to agree. So four years later the three are still keeping me company. I just wish they could clean their own litter box.


Homer and Puff.

Zombie dream. I am at the local Catholic cemetery, asking the unhappy Hispanic girl to show me the location of a grave. It is unmarked and we talk about the plants as we walk back to the office. I admire one grave with really nice tomato plants. Suddenly the girl's co-workers are running toward us, screaming "Run! Run!" Something is wrong and I lose her as we start to run away as well. Across a street, loaded with heavy traffic. Someone gets hit by a car and there is a bunch of cars hitting each other as well as a bicycle. Standing on the sidewalk, I'm asking someone to call 911, "Something is wrong, we need the police!" And then the bicycler gets up and I realize something is really wrong. "Look at him!" I shout and he comes toward me. But someone else steps in front of him and the bicycler's attention is diverted and he pauses to rip the guys head off and immediately thrusts his mouth into the mess of blood and tissue of what was once the guy's neck. Everybody screams "Run!" and away we go. As I run into the mall, I'm screaming over and over, "Run!" The people walking toward us look puzzled, and I shout "Run!" at them again as the crowd swells and more and more people begin to run away.

And then I wake up, heart pounding like crazy. I've never had a zombie dream before- I suspect that reading about the Dawn of the Dead movie, which Chad and Ali saw last weekend, was the cause. Crap, that was a scary dream. Much scarier than the typical "Hurry, hurry" dream I have, trying to get people to leave burning buildings. In part the zombie dream is also the product of shitty current events that I do not want to see- peoples' bodies mutilated and that sort of crap. It's pretty awful when reality is as bad as a horror film.

Matt makes yummy mashed potatoes. I went over to his house last night for dinner with his roommate, her girlfriend, and another friend. Blake made a banana dessert that we were informed was the best banana dessert ever. And who am I to disagree. Afterwards cards and then Matt and I discussed current events. He has such pretty blue eyes.

Today it unexpectedly rained. What? It's not supposed to rain until this summer. The plants in my front yard, including the two small tobacco tree seedlings I rescued, seemed to really like it. We are going to have a little cold spell (highs in 60s) and I put away my electric blankey. I guess I will have to find something else to keep me warm.

Avi calls me at 7:30 to tell me that there is a backhoe at the site that I worked at last year, the site we carefully covered in protective fabric and backfilled because the City is making it into a historical and archaeological park next year. In the meantime, the unexcavated areas had reverted to parking and the dumbshit guy managing the lot had decided to repave the areas we dug. Normally this isn't a problem, but in this case there are fragile mudbrick walls about three inches below the ground surface. And it would be really difficult to display the main wall in the glassed-in viewing area they are planning if it had big backhoe tire tracks cutting through it.

Thankfully I got there in time to stop it, although the dumbshit and a certain City official hate my guts. Like I really care. But it added an unwanted amount of adrenalin and stress to what was supposed to be an unexciting day. Sheesh!

In other news, I've never had sex with a woman. Does that mean I'm legally still a virgin? Talk amongst yourself!


Virgin of Guadalupe.

It's 4:00 AM and my mind is wandering as I wait for the anti-histamines to kick in. The orange and lemon trees are blooming and although the smell is quite pleasant, it fucks with the inside of my head and I convert into a mouth-breather. Little things like my new purple shower curtain, with its pleasing new plastic odor, or the freshly cut and raked yard can not stop the misery of congestion. It doesn't help that I just finished having a nightmare about my cat Clown, who my brother ran over about 20 years ago.

So what else? I'm pretty happy right at this moment, despite the swollen nasal passages. I've got some plans, some things going on. Some hopes and maybe a couple of dreams. I'm optimistic about some aspects of the future- I think, for instance, that the chances of Shrub being re-elected are diminishing as the press circles in their new vulture-like attitude.

In other news, I got to hold a cute turtle that Patti found on the road coming to work. Now, I've never thought reptiles were charming but this little turtle, with his little red and yellow spotted head and legs, was way charming. That turtle wrapped his little spotted legs around my fingers and looked at me patiently for a while before deciding he really wanted to be someplace else. I'm glad Patti rescued him, especially because he isn't a native of the Sonoran, he's an Eastern Box Turtle, and somebody's lost pet that awoke from hibernation and decided to talk a slow stroll across a busy side street. Now he is going to go live in Tanya's backyard with her other turtles and tortoises.

I made dinner for Matt last night- potato and red pepper enchiladas, a salad, and white bean hummus. I think it came out pretty good. Afterwards we made some plastic bead mosaic thingys and talked. I had a good time.

To answer people's questions from yesterday: 1). The quilt is the picture was made by my mother. 2). My old picture is still on in the archived entries, I thought I should have one that shows what I currently look like. 3). By forgotten I meant that my friends forgot to get me when they went hiking nearby. 4). No Lasik, my glasses mostly shine when I do self portraits- I got the frames as Lensmaster or someplace similar. 5). Puff is the nicest cat, he would never scratch anyone.

Any other questions that need to be answered?

I was forgotten so I didn't go. Instead the house cleaning was for naught and the pretty marigolds sit unnoticed in the pots. The cats lounge on the carefully straightened quilt my mother made, straightened just in case anyone saw it. Another slow Sunday. I'm about to head out for that elusive perfect shower curtain that will bring underwhelming joy in my consumer driven heart. If only I find just the right curtain, then world peace will bloom and my hair will stop falling out.


Puff and his green eyes.

At the protest across the street from the Baptist church there were about 150 people. The church was having an all-day conference on changing gays "back" to straights. Yawn. Some of the people came over and the one guy that wanted to talk to me was just creepy, plus I think he is probably a glory hole cocksucker. Anyways, I ran into a couple of people I knew and hung out with Jeffrey T., who told me about the guy who is dating that makes leather-clad teddybears. Nice!



Afterwards we went over to Curtis' yard sale and I made Jeffrey put on a preppy jacket and model for me.



Even with the dizzy-inducing jacket Jeffrey looked fabulous. He has Che Guevara tattooed on his lower leg. How many people can say that. Not me, I'm tattoo-less.

Geez, it's a bird fuck fest. Every morning in my backyard. Chirp, chirp, chirpppppp! So loud. It drives the cats wild, since all they want is a bird eat fest.

I hope the FCC doesn't spank for me for saying "fuck." Oh, I said it again! I am so naughty. Poop. Titty. Now I'm going to be grounded by Mike Powell.

I woke up after some silly dreams. In one I made out with a cute guy. I will have to tell him about that and see what he thinks. In another I had wings and was flying around a library vandalizing it. It was really fun to push over bookshelves. That was naughty too.

Abe liked his found-art piece I made for him. I like it better than the one I made for myself.


Missing the Canadian Rocket.

Panties on too tight? What's up with Condi Rice? She looks soooo happy! I bet she just won a trip to Disneyland. Or maybe George just touched her and told her, 'Smells good." Or maybe she suddenly woke up out of her coma and realized she's dealing with a bunch of jackasses. Or maybe... oh who gives a fuck...

My Dinner with Matt. After a-not-too-strenuous day at work I came home and made a piece of art for Abe (I'll post a picture after he gets it) and read a silly sci-fi novel. At around 7:30 I went over and picked up Matt and we went to have Chinese at Dragon View. Matt is a fellow Tucson blogger, he works with Panchesco at a local cafe. It's the first time we have met in person and it turns out he's a really nice, fun guy. He's vegan, interested in plants, hasn't figured out quite what he wants to do, and is heading off to Colorado for the summer. Oh, and he's really cute!



When I was his age I was super skinny (I think I weighed 147 pounds), closeted, a total geek. But times have changed. I kinda wish that I had some of the options that being young allows- not being tied down to a mortgage or car payment, experiencing things for the first time. I think its easier to be gay now than when I was 20, when there were no role models, tv shows, magazines, etc available. But like I said, times have changed.

After dinner I brought Matt over to my casa and we played Upwords and Gin Rummy and talked. The cats circled around, competing for attention. It was nice. Did I mention he's cute?

These are the enemy. The new Nazis. Religious folk. Evil. The people leading the effort to guarantee that discrimination against gay people will be written into the Constitution.



The American people are sophisticated enough to know the accusation of discrimination is false," said Representative Marilyn Musgrave, Republican of Colorado, the chief House sponsor of the proposal. and



Senator John Cornyn of Texas, the Republican overseeing the hearing, dismissed as a "myth" any idea that gay marriages have no effect on society.

I called their DC offices today. Their staff members don't like to talk to fags. I asked Cornyn's intern whether he only had sex in the missionary position. "If he is so interested in my life, I'm going to be interested in his." I said. Musgrave's gal intern assured me that it was a bipartisan measure. Yeah, maybe a token Democrat will sign on, but this is a Republican endeavor.

What to do? I'm all about love not hate. I also doubt that two-thirds of either the House or Senate will vote yes for the amendment, so it will wither and die. But still, the sickness of those people. The smug superiority. Makes one want to become an anarchist. Oh wait, that is what they want, isn't it. Instead I will send happy thoughts that Musgrave and Cornyn will maybe have some butt-fuckers for grandchildren. Wouldn't that be special?

10 shallow confessions.

1). I've never shop lifted. Sometimes if I leave a store without buying anything I worry that the store people will think I am stealing.
2). I hate cologne on men. Except for Philip L. in Lincoln Nebraska in December 1990. I loved it on him.
3). I hate the swab test!
4). I once stopped dating someone because his back hair was longer than his chest hair.
5). I sleep with my feet sticking out from under the covers.
6). I am distantly related to George Bush through both my mother and father. My mother, who voted for John McCain in 2000, said "Oh, I'm not proud of that."
7. In first grade we learned to read with "Fun with Dick and Jane."
8. I liked Nancy Drew better than the Hardy Boys.
9. I think Patsy Cline is a zillion times better then Kylie or Britney or Madonna.
10. I spend way too much time on the internet.

Three unanswered questions about urine answered.
1). Why did my pee smell so bad tonight after eating asparagus? According to the Boston Globe, 50 percent of people have that problem. See the link for the two competing theories as to why it happens- sulfur breakdown gene vs the smelling gene.
2). Now that Princess and Bear are living with Karen, why has Joey's urinating-on-furniture behavior stopped? Apparently Joey was intimidated by pretty little Princess and was expressing her anxiety by marking the furniture with urine.
3). Why is my urine usually yellow? Because it contains the waste products of red blood cells!

And there you have it. I hope you aren't pissed off at having wasted your time reading this.

Plasticpiece. So I painted a canvas brown, per Steve G.'s suggestion, went to Ace and bought a glue gun (twice, the first one didn't work), laid out some of my finds and made a whatever-you-wanna-call-it.



I'm not totally in love with it, but it was fun and David G. and Abe admired it when they came over. I realized that one reason I have been droopy today is because there is a bunch of plant pollen floating about and I am having some ugly allergies. So that was the excitement today.

A little walk in my neighborhood. I go down Palomas, past the house with the vicious barking chihuahuas, like I'm afraid of them. At the end of the street is a makeshift horse corral with perhaps a dozen horses and some chickens. I stop to pat each of the accessible horses on the head and give them a little attention. I grew up on a farm and hated farming, but I really like animals- perhaps that's why I've been a vegetarian for 21 years.



I live in Menlo Park, which was developed beginning in the 1910s. My house was built in 1927. Sometimes I find prehistoric pottery in my front yard. There is a 2,000 year old village site beneath the stables and a Chinese farmer's house from the 1880s nearby. I mosey down a couple of blocks to the south. Diana lives in a house built in 1877 and has a shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe built into the adobe wall next to her driveway.


Virgin of Guadalupe.

Across the street is the remnants of the old Mission, established at the site of the original Tucson. I walk across the Mission Gardens and there is 1,000 year old pottery everywhere. Beyond is the garbage dump that the city put in in the 1950s. I brought a sack with me. Last weekend I went to my friend David A.'s art opening . He does a lot of "found" art, collages made from scraps of wood, bone, and metal. A couple of years ago I took David over to the dump and we collected trash, some of which has since been incorporated into his pieces. I want to do one of my own, focusing on the plastic things that are eroding out of the dump.

I wander over the edge of the dump where erosion and bottle hunters have exposed some of the trash. There is a lot of plastic- the 1950s saw the start of the plastic revolution. It's amusing to see that all but one of the pieces is stamped, "Made in the USA." The exception says "Hecho en Mexico." I find a lot of interesting pieces- avoiding things like shoe soles and most of the combs. Instead I pick up toys, bottle caps, fragments with interesting shapes and designs. When my bag is full I bring them back and wash them off next to the guest house. Mike comes out to admire my eccentric project.


Future art.

I'm still feeling a little droopy today, I dunno why. The dinner party went well last night, my house is immaculate. The cats are attentive and behaving themselves. Partly it is because it is already frigging hot here. Partly it is because it is so frigging quiet at my house. I've got a plan though, get out, do things, make things, go places, kiss somebody, forget the weeds in my yard. No use sitting about moping, no sirree.

Nobody's perfect. I was having fun last night at the bar. I was on, the right clothes, the right attitude. I wore this tight 1970s black polyester shirt with the widest lapels. The hot leather man eyed me as did the scruffy blond boy, I was on, that's for sure.

Chris said let's sit down and chat. And everything kinda crumbled after that because it turns out that he knows the Ex fairly well, although how never became clear, and there's one thing that is very clear to me- it is better not to see or talk about Him. After a year and a half it still feels like a dirty knife being stuck in me and twisted, leaving behind a hollow, disenchanted feeling.

I'm not perfect, even with my pretty shirt and too-tight jeans. I sometimes feel a little depressed because I'm lonely. Sometimes I wish the phone would ring a little more often, at moments like that I can be surprisingly pleasant to telemarketers. I miss cooking meals for two, the silliness, the driving someplace together. It's sad to miss the imperfection of that relationship, but that's the way it is, that's the way I feel. I'm hoping that someday I will meet another person to be best friends with and now that I have only three cats and new curtains I'm guessing I look a little less like a ghetto welfare mommy. Maybe if I lose a few pounds, maybe if I act butch-er, maybe if I cut the weeds, maybe that's a bunch of bullcrap but self improvement helps according to Dr. Phil and Dr. Laura and Oprah but not Martha. But who knows what will happen on Homer's World, the writers haven't let on and I missed the last few moments where they showed the upcoming scenes. Damn, I wish I had TiVo.

In today's episode of Homer's World our lead character signed important paperwork. He edited one page of text. He cleaned house. Later he went to a store and impulsively bought new curtains for the dining room, which will have to be hemmed, and two tablecloths, one of which is covering the once-nice-but-now ugly light green couch. The store was having a fabulous sale and the clerk was a very cute blond guy. Our protagonist is pondering what to make for tomorrow's Spanish dinner party. He thinks he is going to just go and buy some fresh exotic fruit and cut in up- fig, pomegranate, starfruit, etc- things one would likely find in Spain or one of its former colonies. In the cooking portion of the episode, he tried out a potato omelet, as suggested by Patti, [vivacious, Samoyed-loving co-worker] but didn't think it was in any way special. Tonight's cliffhanger will involve Homer going out to the bar dressed in his button-less tuxedo shirt to say hello to some of the other characters that live in Sim-Tucson.

Going to NYC. May 21st through 25th. Goals: 1). See my best friend Les, who I knew back in the days when I was sweet and innocent. 2). Go to Second Hand Rose and look at vintage wallpaper and linoleum. 3). Spend a night partying with Mark, Wayne, and anybody else who happens to be in town.

Nightmares all night long. I'm a tad stressed because I'm refinancing my house (5% at 15 yrs) and I thought I would end up with a slightly reduced payment but made a booboo- the online rate calculation didn't include escrow [and didn't remind you about it at all, hmmm...] so my payment is actually going up.

This wouldn't be a problem, if only I was able to manage money better. I'm really good at putting it away for retirement, when the total sum will probably be enough to buy a box of adult diapers and a candy bar. But if I have cash in the bank- gone! So I sat down and made a budget and tried to figure out where the extra money goes to and who knows? It's not like I live a particularly luxurious life- I think the most spendy thing is my cable internet and kitty litter. I don't buy expensive clothes or fancy foods and haven't traveled much lately. But still I don't have any savings and I basically live paycheck to paycheck. Sigh. It isn't like the 1960s when my father supported a family of five while being a truck driver.

So the nightmares revolved around my father, who was much worse about money than me, but it is rather clear that I was comparing myself to him. Whenever I have these sort of dreams it is rather unsettling, and I'm still pretty tense. I'm going to go find a cat to hold for a while, and everything will be fine.

Yuck. Someone in my office has really bad breath. At this very moment it is floating around coating everything in stink-plaque. What do you tell the person? {----}, you really need to floss/brush/gargle/sand blast/vacuum/hose out your oral cavity! Your mouth is a Superfund site! Is that Jimmy Hoffa lodged behind your second premolar?

And now for something totally unrelated. Puff, my black cat, likes to jump up on top of the shower door and watch me shower in the morning. What a cat perv. This morning he decided to reach down and pat me on the head. I'm like, "Puff, what are you doing?" Finally I realized he was wickedly trying to scratch me with his freshly trimmed claws. So poor ole Puff ended up taking a shower with Homer. He didn't like it, but it was probably good for him as he is shedding like crazy. Now if I could only find a human volunteer to take showers with.

In recovery. Wow, I was pretty messed up after getting home. The weird thing about the whole experience is the amnesia. Gavin drove me home but I have only vague recollections of that. What I do remember is the very pleasant feeling of lying down on the couch and the fact that it was so soft, much softer and snugglier than I have ever dreamt it could be. Even now, seven hours after getting doped up, I'm a tad woozy. Not enough to stop me from going to the store to get some frozen onion rings which I have been craving totally for some bizarre reason.

So what's next? Mark has mentioned going to NYC this May and suddenly I'm thinking, well wouldn't that be fun to go see my best friend Les and hang out with Mark and Wayne? Maybe Steven as well.

This is Homer on drugs, Valium and Demoral. Woozey, uncoordinated,m having triubkle speekking,

The colonoscopy and ednoscopy went well. THe monentb the drugs were oumoed in I fell asleep and the next thing I know I'm awakened by a nurse in the recoveruy== room. ABut 5 ninutes and tghen out the door. Gavin drove me back as my klips slowly became unnumbed, But as you can tekk I;m readlly woozing and it is impossible to tell the figures which keyes to hit.

Nothing wrong, although I have a small hernia on my left side that will hav e to be fixed sometime.

I won't torture people any more. Time for something to eat.

Food, food, food. I'm busy fantasizing about food. Really salty french fries and tangy catsup. Vanilla ice cream with fresh strawberries. Squash with lots of butter. Captain Crunch. Cashews. Chocolate. A really fresh peach. Twenty four hours now without chewable food and I can understand how the people on Survivor must feel. Especially because the nasty laxatives are truly, wonderously effective. Do not attempt this at home, they ought to say. From personal experience I tell you, don't attempt to nap after taking some of that stuff. Very bad decision. Very. Bad. Bad.

I'm sooo hungry. Fasting sucks and everybody at work seemed to be talking about food or consuming yummy smelling things. I had to come home anyway, so I stopped at the pet store to buy some litter and my favorite clerk was there. I forgot hunger for a moment as I looked into his pretty blue eyes and admired the bracelet made out of chain links. He is a looker, that's for sure.

Joey got a pretty pink collar with a tinkling bell. She is so happy now that Princess and Bear have gone to live with Karen. No fights, no messes. She has decided to be a good kitty. Yeah!

Blech, I just drank some nasty stuff. I am going to be such a whiny bastard for the next 24 hours.

I've added links to several blogs. I met Sushil online and he is a sweet man from India. I'd like to read more about life in India and how it contrasts with life in Mississippi. Palochi is an easy-on-the-eyes guy [stud?] from Chicago- hey I'll be there sometime this summer! Billy leads an interesting life somewhere on an island in the southern US- he has some very adult adventures. Hope everybody is having a lovely day. I went to Crate & Barrel and back-ordered a rug for my living room.

I had to buy a new tee shirt before John's birthday party. A trip to the mall, where pedestrians apparently think crosswalks are actually crosswalkslowlys. It took forever to find a space and forever to walk to Old Navy and not a cute guy to be seen.,

I go to Gavin's place to pick him and Kevin up.



I'm in my new white tee shirt, my torn jeans, my favorite wingtips- purchased for a dollar in 1985 at Value Village in Ypsilanti. Gavin and Kevin look mighty fine as well, we are a trio of heartbreakers.



Perhaps not as pretty as some, such as a pair of well-done-up gals.



I suspected that Panchesco would be there, and sure enough there he was, looking cuter than the devil. Jamie was excited to be introduced and discuss photography.


Cowboy Dick.

A quick stop at IBTs afterwards, and then a longer visit at the Denture, where I chatted with Reuben and David B. and Jamie and Richard. Everyone was smiling and happy, it was like one of the ladies' club parties my grandmother held in the 1950s.

I got a few compliments- on my new haircat, my clothes. When I was younger I had a terrible self image and it still surprises me to hear someone say, "You look good." If you had told me 19 years ago or so that someone would tell me that, I would have been astounded. Now, as a 40-year-old, it still startles me like a deer in a headlight. I guess you are supposed to say 'thank you,' but I always end up tongue-tied. Sorry about that.

I was naked when I took this picture. I had just finished giving myself a haircut. I haven't gone to a barber or stylist in a couple of years. I figure, given the amount of hair I now possess, why pay somebody when I can do almost as good a job by myself. Almost is the important aspect, since I have had a couple of hair tragedies where the clippers kinda went out of control and I had to buzz everything really short. Tonight's version looks rather respectable, maybe I have hairstylist genes?



Last night I had dinner with David G. and Abe. Abe's a good cook and it was a nice last meal before the upcoming rectal event. I'm sorry, but the special diet totally sucks and I am craving not-allowed foods like crazy, which is all psychological, I guess. On the other hand, I foresee losing a couple of pounds and that would be quite acceptable. Weekend plans? Going to a party tomorrow, maybe hiking on Sunday. How about you?

What's happening? Today I have to start my butt-probe diet! Now that sounds pretty disgusting, but for the next three days I have to eat low fiber foods, I guess to slow everything down prior to taking mega doses of laxatives on Monday and Tuesday morning before the doctor shines his light where the sun don't shine. I mean, I'm pretty certain that no light has ever shined two or three feet up inside my rectum. So I'm getting to masticate [I love that word, sounds dirty but it's not!] things like corn flakes, cottage cheese, applesauce, custard, wax beans, creamy peanut butter, and pancakes. No gristle! Not like I would ever eat gristle [Ihate that word, it does sound dirty!].

Speaking of butt probes, Expurgate's Other Half is coming to town and they are going to have lots of man-on-man action. They are both hot, virile manly-men and could charge good money to allow boyfriend-less guys like me to watch. I bet Senator Santorum would pay to watch as well, if you could get him away from his dog humping. Now I have horrible gaydar but whenever I see his simpering highness (lowness?) on the television I think "Oh geez, he's a total closet case queer!" It is so obvious, which explains why he is such a fag hater. What a sad person. And if that isn't correct it is even sadder because then he doesn't have any excuse for his yukky anti-sex obsessed behavior.

Has anyone else watched Extreme Makeover? I watched the other night and somehow the guys always come out looking like freaks afterwards. The one exception is "Anthony" on their website, who was kinda cute when chubby and became a little stud afterwards. Personally, I look in the mirror and can't envision getting plastic surgery. Even a hair transplant seems kinda silly, however, maybe in ten years I'll change my mind on that.

It is difficult for me to understand how a person can casually leave bombs on a train or carry a sign saying "God Hates Fags." But those are two things that happened today. Intolerance and the hatred of others seems so main stream, so accepted.

I'm an atheist, I've never believed. Never been to church and I'm thankful for that. Many religious folks would call me immoral and evil. Whatever. My personal philosophy is that because I think each person has only one life and then nothing, that I will never do anything to harm another. I don't want to hurt anyone else, and would hope that other people would feel the same way.

Unfortunately, many so-called moral, religious people seem to think that it is perfectly acceptable to bring pain and misery onto others. I was vehemently against the war in Iraq because I knew that thousands of civilians would suffer. The reactions of pro-war people was so immoral- either denying that these people were being wounded or killed, or somehow rationalizing that their pain was alright as long as the United States achieved some abstract and as yet unrealized goals.

The same crowd of people largely support the anti-gay marriage amendment. I've asked pointed questions to local and federal politicians- How does gay marriage harm anyone? And they can offer no rational reason or tell me personal anecdotes of how gay marriage has hurt one of their constituents. It is rather depressing to realize that their ideas are based on hate. As far as I can tell, it takes a lot more energy to hate than to love, and I think love is a much better emotion.

We're lost. Don't you hate that when it happens. The roads signs in the San Rafael area are pretty poor, and twice Gavin and I (well, I was the driver) went down the wrong road. We spent about an hour traversing dirt roads. We stopped and ask Cow #43 for directions, but she told us to just "Moooo-ve on."


Redhead cow.

Finally I spotted the ranch and we drove up and had lunch on its long porch, feeding scraps to the two dogs hanging out.


Lunch with Gavin.

After completing the survey work, back we went. The scenery from San Rafael to Patagonia is pretty spectacular and largely unspoiled.


Heading towards Patagonia.

It was nice spending time with Gavin and talking about all sorts of things. I'm glad we are friends and that we got lost for an hour, just gave us more time to gossip.

Road trip. I have to go down to San Rafael today to survey three small areas to make sure there are no archaeological sites on them. I'm grabbing Gavin and taking him along for company. Should be fun to chat on the way back and forth and Gavin has never seen the prairie there.

Spring is suddenly here- no need for the electric blanket, the back door stands open to let the sun and air in. The cats are happy. Princess and Bear went to go live with Karen, who is excited to have them. Joey suddenly has stopped fighting and it is so quiet now. I'm hoping her other problem will be solved, so far no annoying puddles. Of course the moment I think this she will pee on something.


Daffodils next to porch.

Pretty pictures. Richard is a wizard with the camera. He can make anyone look good. Here's a pic of me and Jeffrey S. at the movie theatre on Saturday night.