Homer'sWorld

It has been too hot to sit in my backyard, but now it is rapidly cooling off. I sat in my yellow chair, exiled from the house because Puff and Joey scratched it too much, and chatted with Vince as he worked on his plants.


The back side of the house.

Vince has been gradually landscaping the area around the guest house, adding artwork and plants. It is amazing how changed the area has become in the last year.


Vince, gardening.

When he's not working, Vince sculpts futuristic mushrooms. They sit out on the patio he created from red slabs of stone.


Vince's mushroom and a pretty sunset.

As the sunset shaded the sky shades of pink, I wandered back inside to escape the mosquitos.

Two weeks until the election. Will the Democrats win control of the House and Senate? I was convinced that Kerry was going to win in 2004 (and maybe he did), so this year I'm not getting my hopes up. But I did vote and I did give some money to the Democrats and to the people trying to defeat Arizona's "Protect Marriage Stupidity Amendment."

I think gays and lesbians should be allowed to marry, so we can get our fair share of wedding presents and all the stress having a fancy wedding entails. I don't know how many presents I have given to straight couples getting hitched or to baby showers. And what have I gotten in return? That's a moment of honest greed, I guess.

I closed the back door last night- after being open since about May, it is finally cooling off here in Arizona. The yearly cycle commences- Halloween party at Ray's, my least favorite holiday- Thanksgiving, Holiday Party on December 11. However, this year, for the first time since 1996, my mother is not coming to Arizona. She has a new toy poodle, Darby, who isn't house trained and Mummy feels she needs to be there for the mutt. I am sad about that, I like having Mummy around.

I've been thinking about friends alot lately. Let's jump back to when I was a teenager. I had no close friends. I was a bookish nerd, not popular, my father refused to allow us to do anything but come home from school and work on the farm. When I went off to college I found it difficult to make friends, partly because I was in the closet. After I came out that changed, but to this day friends are extremely important to me. In some ways, living here in Arizona by myself, my friends are my family.

I'm going to be obtuse and not go into detail, but basically a friendship I was pursuing appears to have dissipated. I feel sad for what might have been, and wish it had been otherwise. It made me feel down at times, and at particular moments little things can bring feelings of sadness to the surface. But friendship goes both ways, and when one person decides not to push for it, what can you do?

And in other news, I've got to start thinking of a present for Patrick, whose birthday is coming up. And I've got to make a Halloween costume for Ray's party- I'm going to try something different this year.

Several bloggers have written on the outing of Senator Craig of Idaho, who is supposedly a tearoom, gloryhole, down on his knees cocksucker. Oh my! Comments on these entries run the gamut from "Yes, out him!" to "Oh, leave the poor, sorry cocksucker alone!"

So back in 1994 or 1995 I'm living here with in Tucson with my roommate "R." "R" tells me someone is coming over to visit. Ring! It's the doorbell. Who is it? Why, it's my Congressman, the Hon. Jim Kolbe (R). Coming over for a little kissy face man-on-man action with "R."

I was livid. Kolbe was a closeted homosexual at the time. He was well known in Tucson for chasing after younger men. He went on in 1996 to vote yes on the Defense of Marriage Act. His reasoning was that the majority of his constituents were in favor of it.

The Advocate told him they were outing him afterwards, so he stepped forward and came out himself. Since that time he has become an advocate for gay rights, despite the fact that the majority of his constituents don't agree with him on that issue.

Sometimes I wish I had outed him. He voted for DOMA, but doesn't have to worry about its provisions because he has a juicy congressional pension to support himself on after he retires from Congress in 2007 (something like 100,000+ a year).

So I say out the closet case Republican congressmen, out their staff members too. Ostracize them. People didn't make all nicey-nice with the people who collaborated with the Nazis during World War II did they? Closet case fags who work against homosexual civil rights are traitors and should be outed and shunned.

An interesting fact, if you search Kolbe's website for the word "homosexual" you get nada, nothing, negatory. I guess we don't exist.

I went to see The Science of Sleep last night.

One word review: Crappy.

What a waste of one hour and forty-five minutes of my life. I suspect the movie influenced the unsettling dreams I had this morning, one of which involved trying to carry a pair of penguins while following a wagon train. The other dream involved going to an ice cream store and realizing the two males behind the counter were not wearing pants, in a very unpleasant fashion. I should never fall asleep again in the morning, the dreams are too vivid and now I am actually anxious and jumpy.

Luckily, Jimbo alerted me to this video, which has a calming effect on me:

Thirty years ago a 21-year-old man named Richard Heakin was visiting Tucson. He went to a gay bar and as he was leaving four teenagers, aged 15 to 17, beat him to death. The judge reduced the case to manslaughter and gave the four probation. Injustice.

Heakin's death forced the City of Tucson to confront reality. There were homosexuals in the community and they needed help. The City enacted civil rights laws. The gay community organized and started a community newspaper and an annual pride celebration.

This year Richard Heakin's sister Lori Heakin Ryan was the Grand Marshall of our tiny Pride on Parade. After she gave a short talk about how much her brother had meant to her family, I stood a short distance from her and could see how happy, yet sad she was.


Lori Heakin Ryan.

Here it is 2006 and yesterday I filled in the little oval dot on my mail-in ballot for Proposition 107, which would prevent governments from granting rights to domestic partners. We still have a long ways to go.

Some pictures from Tucson's Pride Celebration.


Ray.


Cowboys.



John, Homer, and Frank.



James and Larry from Seattle.



Matt and Homer.



Gaysha.

I had a nice time seeing some people I hadn't seen for a while. At the very end something happened that is making me think some things over, I'll get back to you when I've figured them out.

Things to be ecstatic about:

- that coconut cake I made was awesome!
- Tucson's Gay Pride Parade is this Sunday. A whole block of fun!
- Someone told me I was hot recently.
- Tom Jones is still hot at age 66:


I'm glad everyone is happy today.

I love this song.

Effeminate straight men freak me out. I've been having to go to meetings with a man that you would assume was gay, except he apparently has a wife and kids. But his wrists flail about, he likes to write haikus, and (as someone said to me) he uses very florid language.

What's up with that? Very confusing. Effeminate gay men, don't bother me at all and, really, why should they? It is the straight guys that are nelly that weird me out. Are they closet cases? Are they just sympathetic? Do straight women dig that stuff?

Please enlighten me.

Maryann would probably be jealous, maybe Ginger too. Patrick mentioned that he wanted me to make him a coconut cake last time he was over, and Patrick's wish is my cooking command.


Coconut cake.

When someone like Chris comes to visit, you have to pose for the standard tourist pictures.


At the Mission of San Xavier.


I swear this kid was cute until I took his picture.



Yes, a saguaro.


Yes, the standard raise your arms picture.

Chris is in town for the weekend visiting with his friend Pete. We had fun hanging for a few hours. Next time I'm in New York City he gets to take some tourist shots of me.

A letter I wrote tonight to the local newspaper, after watching V is for Vendetta:

I am not afraid- of terrorists or immigrants or gay people. I am not afraid when the government raises the Terror Alert level and we are told to be very, very frightened. I stopped being afraid on September 12, 2001. I will not let the terrorists win. I will not let those governing this country frighten me. As FDR said, " All we have to fear is fear itself."

In this upcoming election we have the choice of voting for those who would like us to be afraid of people who are different, using that as a method for taking away the civil liberties earned by righteous men and women over the last 230 years. Or we can vote for a change and hope that the new people turn us away from this terrible path. Every election is important, but the 2006 election is especially so. It is a clear choice between fear or change.

Yes you are at Homer's World however your host can't be with you tonight. Instead it is I a carpet bagger from Buffalo, NY that will fill in for tonight's entry. Also known as Brady. Homer has asked me to write an entry for his blog tonight as he's busy reading. So you will forgive me for blabbing on as it's my first time. Thanks

Homer and I had a nice day around the house. We both got out of work early. We had dinner together and watched Venture Brothers online at adultswim. Had a nice time. I've been staying here with Homer since July more or less. Patrick's and my house is going through a remodel now and thankfully it's almost done. Homer was kind enough to put me up until it's completed. You couldn't ask for a better friend. I first met him at a horrible gay water park gathering last year. He came up to Patrick and of course my good friend Patrick never introduced us. He's like that. The next real meeting was when we went tubing on the Gila River. Homer rode with us and I started to get to know him. It ended up being quite the time though both of us were a bit afraid of that water. He and I swam together the last leg of the trip by ourselves. We talked and talked. Since then both last year and this year Homer has become a close friend. He's quite a bit of fun to hang out with too. Well that's about all I can think of at the moment. Homer will return tomorrow so look for him....Bye


Homer and Brady.

Some random thoughts.

- I thought 16-year-old guys were hot when I was 16-years-old. At 43, I find the idea of talking dirty to a 16-year-old to be really repulsive.

- My friend Dougie offered me some advice last weekend that I initially disagreed with, but later realized was completely correct. I'm glad that I'm not stubborn that way.

- I'll be spending some time doing archaeology up in Phoenix. For our worksite safety plan we are learning about what to do with recently used heroin needles. Who says archaeology isn't romantic and exciting?

My brother joined the Amish church and when I go see him I usually see a bunch of their kids. The children wear smaller version of the adult clothes. They talk to each other in a version of German and are very respectful. They stare a little, because I am "English" and I don't wear the right clothes or have the right facial hair.

Bub (that's what I call my brother) is the columnist for the national Amish paper and for a monthly magazine. His letters describe the weather, who attended church from outside his community, whether there has been an illness or a family death. The Amish live an 1800s life, each community setting their rules for which technology they can or cannot have. My brother's community allows gasoline engine powered fridges and washing machines, but no electricity. It is all about self sufficiency.

I'm stunned that some cretin would go to a school and shoot little girls. The Amish are known for their belief in non-violence. He picked an easy target. I feel so sad for those families, I don't know what else to say.

My friend Mike has moved back to Tucson from Chicago after a seven year absence. Tonight I introduced him to The Amazing Race- he now understands why I don't answer the phone when that show is on.

An apparently Amazing coincidence- Mike is living with a woman with nine cats. Back in 2000 I had to find a home for two of Mama Cat's kittens- Blackey and Gefiltefish (I know, I know, weird name for a cat, someone at work suggested it). I put an ad in the paper and this woman called and I took the kittens over and she wanted them. Apparently, six years later, this is the woman Mike is living with. How odd is that?

It is nice to have Mike back, the last year has seen a lot of my close friends move away. I'm not a very good person at being alone, I like to be around people. I get lonely real easy, and sometimes when it is quiet and the phone doesn't ring I get a bit sad. The last couple of months have been really good because Brady has been staying part time at my house while Patrick's place is remodeled. So I haven't been so lonely.

Jesus, if they wrote a country song about me right now it would be "Lonesome Homer and his Long Lost Pussies."

What time is it?


Clock.

Time to have Jeffrey C. and Olivia over for dinner. Panchesco and Ken came as well.


Dinner salad.

I made lasagna, garlic and bruchetta bread, salad, and an (awful) yellow cake with apricot flavored frosting (note to self, I hate frosting with powdered sugar!).


Richard, Jeffrey C., Ken, and Olivia.

After dinner a craft activity is a must. We made plastic bead mosaics (it is better than crack!).

Bus tickets.

Panchesco's plastic bead mosaic was a repro bus ticket, very clever.

Nice time, except for the nasty cake, and the animals had a good time too. I had three glasses of wine and I guess I'm going to bed early tonight.

Living in Tucson, I sometimes feel like I'm a backwoods kinda gay guy. There are about 700,000 people living here. The gay community is large and fairly diverse, but the overall number of young people is small. A lot of the younger people move away to bigger cities like Phoenix, Los Angeles, and San Diego after they graduate from school. In turn, a lot of guys in their 30s through 50s, including many couples, are moving here because it is a relatively inexpensive place to live- housing is still quite affordable, especially if you have sold a high-priced house on the east or west coasts.

Tucson is slower-paced than other communities. In our gay community, there is less emphasis on body building- I don't feel really self conscious because I am not all rippling with steroid-enhanced muscles. I don't think a lot of the guys here use fancy drugs, at least that is my perception. Beer is the drug of choice. There is no gay uniform here either. In other places it seems like the guys all look alike. In Phoenix a few years back it was tight shirts, designer jeans, and clunky boots. In Tucson I can show up at one of the bars in a t-shirt and flip-flops and no one gives me attitude. I am also amazed when I smell cologne on someone.

So Tucson should be paradise, shouldn't it? At least if you value being yourself and being relatively close to nature (I hear the coyotes howling often at night when I'm in bed). But of course the downside of living here is if you are single, it is really difficult to find someone.

So how is life in your community?

Patrick, Brady, and I worked on masks for the All Souls Procession, which is taking place on November 5 this year. Brian is coming down from Phoenix again.


Mask making.

The Procession keeps getting bigger and bigger every year. They have craft workshops and you know me, I'm all about crafts.


Pluto, Patrick, and Brady.

Patrick is making a Pluto mask- appropriate because certain asshole astronomists (ASS-TRO-Physicists!) killed off Pluto this year as a planet.


Homo erectus mask.

I'm making an ancestral hominid mask.

It was a nice way to spend a couple of hours. I'm glad to escape some things going on in my head for a while.

My great-great-great grandfather, Robert Pierce, was born in South Lopham, Norfolk, England in 1824. He came with his parents and brothers and sisters to New York in 1829, sailing on a ship for 10 weeks. The family moved on to Jefferson County, New York, and eventually on to Lima County, Wisconsin. Robert and his wife, daughters,and son ended up near Traverse City, Michigan.


Robert Pierce.

Robert served in the Civil War as a volunteer soldier. Later he claimed a pension, stating that he suffered from piles (hemorrhoids) that were caused by the chronic diarrhea he developed as a soldier. He worked as a farmer and in the winter he worked in the lumber woods. One time a tree rolled over him, crushing his leg.

Robert died in 1904. I've been to his grave and wondered what he looked like. A few years ago I went to the tiny local historical society for Fife Lake, the community where he lived, and they had a family photo album that contained two of his pictures and the pictures of two of his other daughters. That was an exciting day.

In other news, life sucks.

So have you seen this Daily Show clip with Paul Cameron? Cameron is well known in anti-gay circles and is frequently called upon to spew his opinions on the topic. My friend Jim has investigated his publications and finds them to be filled with inaccuracies.


The Daily Show, better than network news.

I'd never seen Paul Cameron speak before and, ohmifrickenlord, the guy is a total fagosexual. He's nellier than Nellie Olsen (who rocks, by the way). His mincing, prissy ways makes Paul Lynde look super butch.


Nellie.

Cameron is obsessed with man-on-man butt sex. Obsessed. Now, I'm pretty sure that my straight male friends don't spend much time thinking about homo anal "hog sex." But then I think they are probably spending their time thinking about how they can convince their girlfriends and wives to do anal. I could call them up and poll them on their views on homo butt sex, but that would be all scientific and in these Return of the Alchemists times, no one really gives a fuck about science, just like no one gives a fuck about polls anyways, right?

So Paul Cameron is a big ole closeted pansy, in my opinion. I have a Master's degree so my opinion must mean something. What is it with creepy, pansysexuals like Cameron and Karl Rove. They just look and act like freaks. Couldn't they just get on ManHunt and find some fellow closeted conservative to have "Intermission" with?

I introduced Brady to Venture Brothers on Adult Swim last night. Earlier I had made Forrest chocolate chip cookies, he's feeling a little homesick for North Carolina. Before that I went to the grocery store- where has Byron been, he's never there anymore. And so on.

Nothing particularly exciting, lots of little things. Some things I wish were different, others I wouldn't change. Today is the first day of fall- guess I should cut my hair, maybe trim my unruly beard. It feels more like summer though, albeit a little cooler and less humid. The upcoming weekend is all about yardwork, maybe fixing up my potted plants- a trip to the nursery. I wish I didn't feel so unsettled though. Must be the change in season.


Post haircut.

Somehow, despite eating portions of four cakes last week and getting very, very intoxicated on Saturday night, I managed to lose weight.

I noticed that this morning while putting on monkey clothes (slacks, a jacket, and tie) for a proposal interview up in Phoenix. This makes twice this year I've had to dress up for work. Mostly I wear shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops or sandals. Archaeologists are very, very casual.

In other news, all three of my cats have been having colds. This is the first time they have been sick in over five years (the last time they went to the vet was on September 11, 2001, a rather memorable day). Joey reminded me of this when she sneezed all over me this morning. I wipe their little noses and pop pills into their mouths and none of them ever say thank you.

The birthday that won't end.

On Friday, Adam and Andy came over for pizza, salad, and plastic bead mosaics. They brought me a tasty chocolate cherry cake.


Adam and Andy.

On Saturday, Patrick, Brady, Forrest, Paul, and Tina arrived with cake. We made plastic bead mosaics while waiting for the bowling alley leagues to go away.


Rat cake!

I loved my cake, decorated with voracious rats. Paul was particularly good at making plastic bead mosaics. I think he has a fine future in that fine art.


Paul and Forrest.

The best thing about bowling alleys is getting to put on the beautiful shoes.


Shoes! Ohmigod, shoes.


Brady and Homer.

I discovered I bowled better after a few beers. But Tina totally whipped our behinds.


Tina strikes a pose.

My, what big balls you have Patrick!


Patrick.

Alright, so I'm never drinking again. I woke up with the worst hangover. Headache, body aches, and nausea. When will I stop feeling dizzy? I had a lovely time, though. I was supposed to go to Phoenix to play pool volleyball, but I had to call Roger and explain how bad I was feeling. It's 9 PM and I'm finally feeling better. Never again!

Tomorrow version 43 begins.

I picked out a toy house trailer from Ace Hardware when I was 5. I took cupcakes to school on my 6th birthday, each with a little plastic animal on top. I wish I had the llama. I remember thinking that 13 was old. The chocolate cake I had when I was 17 made me throw up. My college roommate surprised me on my 21st birthday. I did acid on my 27th birthday. I flew to Greece the day after my 33rd birthday. My 39th birthday was spent sobbing uncontrollably. The last three birthdays have been chronicled on here. I'll post pictures of the get together with my buddies Patrick, Brady, and Forrest.

Time for a new passport photo.


1986.



1996.


2006.

While catching up on blogs, I saw that Dop has been researching his family and found some new ancestors. I know how exciting it is to make a new discovery, I've been studying my own family since 1977, since I was a teenager.

The given names of my father's great-great-great-grandparents, who were born in the United States in the 1790s through 1820s were:

Ensor and Elizabeth
Daniel and Esther
Andrew and Susannah
Sheldon and Margaret
Alden and Lucretia
Benjamin and Sarah Alvira
Joel and Hannah
Zedekiah and Isabelle
James and Mary
John Jeffrey and Rebecca
John and Mary
John and Sarah

Just looking at the names, you can see a couple of trends. People were just beginning to move away from Biblical names (such as Joel, Hannah, James, Mary) to ones inspired by the romantic novels of that period (Alvira, Lucretia). Prior to the 1790s very few people had two given names, but afterwards more and more people were given two by their "modern" parents. A few males were given family surnames as their given names (Ensor, Jeffrey, Alden, Sheldon).


Alden and Lucretia's family, 1850, Trumbull County, Ohio.

I'm still making new finds, especially because a lot of records are now becoming available online. Every time you solve one mystery, another one appears. I guess that is why I like doing genealogy.

Somehow I have managed to get on the American Family Association's email list. This bunch of moronic far right freaks (I swear, I am fair and unbiased) sent me the following email this morning about the CBS 9/11 documentary:

Dear Homer,

This past Sunday evening (Sept. 10), some CBS network broadcast stations aired the "9/11" documentary. During the course of the program, CBS affiliates chose to broadcast multiple obscenities over the public airwaves at a time they knew children would be watching.

CBS had been warned about allowing the "f" and "s" words on the air. The network could have easily muted the obscenities. But they chose not to. The network stations purposely chose to violate Federal and FCC law by airing the program.

The documentary was filmed by a pair of French brothers following a group of firefighters on that horrible day, just happening to catch the first plane impact. The firefighters and the film makers ended up inside the lobby of the north tower. As debris and bodies slammed into the ground outside and panicked workers ran by trying to get away, the firemen said things like, "Holy shit!" and "Fuck!"

These guys are heroes. I'm not one to really believe in heroes. But those men were heroic that day. They saved people, they did impossible things. 343 firemen died.

The American Family Association wants to fine CBS affiliates because some stations decided to show what those heroes did that awful day. Some of them swore. Can you believe that, that those firefighters facing the most unbelievable event, did not carefully watch every word that came out of their mouths? Many of the men shown heading upstairs were crushed within the next hour. I wonder what Donald Wildmon, fucking shitty cretin, was doing that day?

The American Family Association. Is it any wonder that the last name of their group starts with Ass? I sent them an email, "TAKE ME OFF YOUR FUCKING LIST YOU LOUSY FUCKS!" I forgot to use the "s" word, but I think if someone bothers to read it they will get the idea.

After the hike we tried to hitchhike a ride back to the car, but no one would pick us up.


Watch out for the bear!

The trail we had taken wound along the north side of the Catalinas- at one point we were probably at about 8,000 ft and could see a long distance toward the San Pedro River. Lots of beautiful wildflowers blooming and many small trees sprouting to replace those burned in the 2002 fires.


Homer and Forrest.

I thought the walking along the road would be shorter than going back along the trail. I was wrong, very, very wrong. Forrest was a good sport.


A rock alongside the road.

At one point we scrambled down a steep slope in an effort to cut a half mile off. I am part goat, I discovered.


Sundown.

As the sun went down Gordon Lightfoot's "Sundown" kept circulating through my head. Will I find you creeping down my backstairs?

So I'm in a bad mood. Like, ohmigod, what's up with that. Something weighing on my mind- lots of why nots and what ifs.

More importantly, what can I do to make myself feel better.

Bake a fucking yellow cake with goddam dark chocolate butter-fucking-cream frosting.

So that's what I did tonight. I had to slice the top of each layer to make them flatter and I've been eating that scraps with frosting on them and drinking some milk. It is really tasty.

Unfortunately, it hasn't made me feel the least bit better.


Fucking cake.

Unlike yesterday, I did not step in cat diarrhea when I got up. Luckily for me, Puff is feeling much, much better.

My company is doing a major dig north of Tucson and today was the staff tour. I called up Chris and Forrest and invited them to come along with me.


Chris and Forrest.

The middle of the site, where the densest archaeological features are, is being preserved. The outlying areas will soon be bulldozed for condos. So far over 200 prehistoric pit structures, where people once lived and worked, have been found. Because there are so many, we can't even dig all of them.


Hohokam pit structure, circa A.D. 1000.

If you are a long-time reader you can skip the next bit, where I explain what a pit structure is. The Hohokam (and other prehistoric Native Americans in the Southwest) dug shallow pits for the foundations of their homes. The shape of the pits changed through time- from round, to subrectangular, to rectangular. A ramped or stepped entrance way usually stuck off one side, with a small, plastered fire hearth just inside the house. A number of postholes once held posts to support the roof and walls. Plaster, made from ground caliche (a limestone hardpan layer that develops in this area) was often smeared onto the floor and walls. The outer walls and roof were made from bundles of grass and reeds, with mud plaster coating the exterior.

Sometimes you find storage pits in the floors where the people stored food or unused tools. Storage houses, with very large pits, were present in pre-Hohokam days. After the development of pottery, these storage houses disappeared.

About 70 percent of Hohokam houses found are burnt, sometimes with the possessions of the people still inside. It is thought that houses were burnt by accident (by grassfires or when hearths sparked and caught interiors on fire) or on purpose, perhaps when someone died.


House with artifacts lying on the floor.

This house had burnt and had a number of pots, including one unbroken scoop, along with many manos (grinding stones) lying on its floor.

It is somewhat depressing knowing that the areas we were walking over will soon be the homes for rich people moving here from other places, most of whom could care less about this region's history. On the other hand, our excavations will have recovered a lot of information and artifacts that will be used to write the history of this prehistoric community.

My birthday is coming up (September 16). I'm thinking about what kind of cake I should make myself. Suggestions?

I made Forrest breakfast. He likes boysenberry jam, but then who doesn't.


Forrest at breakfast.

We went hiking in Saguaro Park West afterward. The desert is so green right now, with flowers blooming in surprising numbers.


Yellow flower.

On the way up the trail we talked and talked, so many things to talk about.

Whispering a secret.

As I was being silly and taking the picture, we were talking about people eating dirt.


Caterpillar.

Lots of insects including giant grasshoppers, various butterflies, and a moth that looks like a hummingbird.


Tiny blue flowers.

At the top I pointed out where the Twin Peaks had become a single peak after the other one was mined away. I don't know people have to be so destructive to our earth.


Saguaro cactus.

It rained on us on the way back and I was soaked by the time we got to the car. Forrest and I are becoming good friends, I'm glad he's my buddy.

I feel almost human again. After four days of coughing, fever, runny nose, bubonic plague, and leprosy.

Well, maybe no leprosy, but you never know. Thank goodness I'm not a hypochondriac.


Me, feeling better on the back porch this morning.

It is cloudy outside as the fringes of Hurricane John arrive, having headed north from Mexico overnight. Maybe some more rain- I could live with that. Right now it is lovely and cool outside.

No plans yet for the weekend. Forrest and I are supposed to do something on Sunday. Time to call friends who have pools!

I remember the Vietnam War. I'm old enough to remember Walter Cronkite tell us every day how many American soldiers had died and the body count of the enemy. On and on, as a child it never seemed to stop.

My oldest brother turned 18 in 1972 and was eligible for the draft. They used to broadcast the draft lottery live on television and I remember watching, standing behind my mother in her chair, as they drew birthdates out of a wire cage. Luckily for my brother, his birthday (March 13) was one of the latter ones called. So he didn't have to go off to fight in that worthless war.

We were supposed to be the biggest, bestest country in the world. And yet there it was on the tv, people lined up trying to get on helicopters to get out of Vietnam as the North Vietnamese closed in. We lost. No amount of blathering and speech making could alter that fact.

It seems strange now to be going through the same thing, this time in Iraq. No amount of name calling and finger pointing by Bush, Cheney, or Rumsfield will change the fact that they fucked their pet war up and we've lost. I wonder how they sleep at night?