Homer'sWorld

Scientific Monday. Today I went out to re-visit the site my company has been excavating since last April. There is only about a month left, and the northern portion of the site has proved to be very interesting since the houses that are being found are a little older- some going back to circa A.D. 500-700 . You can click on any of these images to see larger versions!


Shallow pithouse.

This is a typical pithouse- you can see the projecting entrance on the right, and a series of posthouse inside that once contained the posts holding up the ceiling and walls. All of the white circles that are visible are as yet unexcavated features. They are marked as they are found during backhoe scraping- it helps us keep track of things as the site gets dusty.



Deep pithouse.

Jeffrey C. is finishing up a much deeper pithouse- one that is very nicely preserved with a lot of the lime plaster intact. The above picture looks into the house through the stepped entranceway, towards the back wall.



Entrance plaster.

There are impressions of sticks on the sides of the entrance way, with the sticks placed there over 1,000 years ago.



Stepped entrance.

The entrance way is stepped, and the hearth is right in front of it. Originally the entire house was roofed and there would have been a smoke hole to let smoke out of the structure.



Plastered hearth.

The hearth is about 10 inches in diameter and is made from ground-up caliche (a type of hard soil that develops here in the Southwest).



Jeffrey C.'s pithouse.

Jeffrey C. is standing next to the back wall- you can see the impressions of the posts that supported the back wall.



1000-year-old wooden post.

One of the wooden posts was still preserved in place, unburned. This is extremely rare, it may be the first time I have ever seen this.



Pithouse map.

Jeffrey is documenting the house through written descriptions and hand drawn maps. Later a laser imaging device is being brought in to document this pithouse in 3-D.



Roasting pit.

Among the many pits scattered around the site are roasting pits, which were used to cook agave (a type of plant- the kind they make tequila from) and meat.



Roasting pit, half excavated.

These pits contain a lot of rocks that were heated up and the food was laid on top to cook.


The end of the desert.

Of course the down side of doing these digs is to see the desert removed to put up houses. Here are small barrel cactuses that have been removed, as required by law, and stockpiled. In the distance you can see where the desert is being graded away to put up homes.

Well, that's the science lesson for today.

Best Supporting Cake:


Oscar Cake.

and the Oscar goes to Yellow Cake with Coconut Whipped Cream and Bittersweet Chocolate Ganache Frosting.

Sorry Joey, but all your dreams are dead. Luckily, you are only a slightly unstable kitty cat who can't read or understand English, so this won't affect you. In contrast, Cute Down winner Brady may go on to win an Academy Award for Best Supporting Roommate.

My house is freezing at this very moment. I have the oven door open in the kitchen to provide a brief respite. I should wander in and wash dishes, so that I can dirty them again while making a dessert for tomorrow's Rome watching soiree. I'm thinking a sponge cake or a genoise with chocolate whipped cream or ganache. Of course, on the "No Snacks, No Shame" diet I can only eat a teensy-tiny piece and then the rest gets taken to work to be devoured by others less concerned with body issues.

Joey knows the creamy goodness of heavy whipping cream, and once I open that container she will be in the warm kitchen meowing at me. Unfortunately Joey, all your dairy dreams are dead, too, since you are very, very lactose intolerant and I don't want a repeat of Wednesday night when I complained to Brady that my bedroom smelled only to realize I was literally lying in a puddle of cat puke on my bedspread.

Totally random thought. I buzzed my hair off the same weekend Britney did and Entertainment weekly didn't put me on the cover. What's up with that?

In conclusion, I don't really have a concluding thought.

Cute with Homer. In homage, to my new favorite blog Cute with Chris, I offer my own version of the Cute Down.

Imagine me saying, "Who is cuter?"


Brady, a 33-year-old, furry, homeless bear.

or


Joey, an almost 7-year-old, cuddly, wuddly, formerly mental puddy cat?

Please vote in the comment section!

Post 1,199. Unfortunately, Tucson does not have a subway system or light rail. Sometimes, usually when I'm waiting at airports, I pull out a piece of paper and draw a map with my imaginery subway system. I invent names for the stations- the one nearest my house would be "Mission San Agustin" and the one nearest my workplace would be "Rillito." Up in Phoenix they are busy installing the first portion of their light rail. It comes very close to Adam's house. It will be fun to take a ride on it when it opens, whizzing past all of the cars.

I drive the trusty Saturn 4-door sedan to and from work, seven miles each way. I play a game- will I see someone I know? About two or three times a week I do. Tucson is still a small town, I guess.

My car is just a device to get me from A to B. I should wash it more, but figure I'm conserving water if I don't. The interior is grubby from dust and spilled diet Cokes and the fabric on the interior roof is ripped from past Holiday trees and other large items.

I didn't own a car until I was 30, rode my bike everywhere. But as Tucson's roads have become more crowded and people drive more aggressively or chat on cellphones, that isn't so safe anymore. I 'spose I could ride the bus, but have you ever seen a happy person at a bus stop here in Tucson? I haven't- everybody always looks grumpy.

If we had a subway system I could write funny stories about the people I saw. But instead I'll just write funny stories about myself.

How can you not love President's Day? Ohmigod, the slow build-up with the most excellent holiday cartoons. My favorite is the one where Rudolph goes back in time and meets Millard Fillmore, gosh the claymation is fabulous and when Franklin Pierce shows up I still get a little scared. I got up this morning and played "Hail to the Chief" while reciting all the presidents names in chronological order. Then I went to the store and bought theme paper napkins (James Monroe and Calvin Coolidge) for our party, where we played charades. I correctly guessed Rachel Jackson (everyone else thought it was Julia Tyler, so easy to make that mistake!). I wish every day could be this wonderful.

Honestly, President's Day is a waste-o-fuckin-time. I don't get the day off, no mail, no government services, not going to the stores to buy things on sale. So what's the point. And it is in February, who the fuck cares. Couldn't they at least put the day in June, when the weather is a bit nicer?

Other news, "No Snacks, No Shame" diet continues. Day 21- 203.5 (down from 212).

Mollie hates to have her picture taken, she knows that cameras are pure evil and will walk away as fast as her 15-year-old legs can manage. So I have to trick her to get a photo. One picture, and then she catches on and turns away.


Mollie and Homer.

She wants her supper early so I give it to her. On the stove the lemon bars I made are cooling.

Lemon bars.

They look nothing like the picture from the baking blog.

The birds are chirping outside, spring is here. My tulips and irises are poking up and it is t-shirt weather outside.

Filed my taxes today. Hefty refund, I'm using it to pay down debt. The one luxury I allowed myself was this painting by Kyle.


2 blue birds.


I'm going to hang it on my study wall right in front of my monitor.

Jimbo is coming for a week in March. Activity planning ensues. A Furry Friends of Homer Dinner Party (part 2) will take place. Richard, who is not furry but is nonetheless adorable in every way, will be invited. A trip north to the wilderness of Phoenix and then a jaunt northward to the Grand Canyon. Jimbo and I would really, truly like to see one of the 60 or so California condors that are flying around the park. It is rumored that the park also has a big hole in the ground.

In other news, my "No Snacks, No Shame" diet progresses. Weigh in tomorrow. After viewing Casino Royale (opening scene amazing, Daniel Craig sexalicious, rest of the movie so-so), Frank-John-I went to Denny's to enjoy the bad service and I broke down and had mozarrella sticks, the first truly, utterly fattening thing I have had in almost three weeks. Surprise- I wasn't all that excited by them. I think that is a very good sign.

Joey wants to sit on my lap, and is head-butting me. That means, "Pet me now or I will scratch you!" so I guess I better behave.

The last two weeks I had to go up to Phoenix for work and drive by the Science Museum there. The museum is hosting one of the numerous BodyWorlds exhibits and there is an enormous poster of a body posed on a skateboard draped on the exterior wall. You can't miss it.

A German scientist has developed a method of injecting plastic into once-living tissue to preserve it- muscles, organs, blood vessels, etc. He is now making a fortune by opening laboratories in China where human beings and various animals are processed. Mr. Von Hagen currently has three exhibits ongoing in the United States. You can order t-shirts with disected human body parts through his website. My favorite is "The Heart was made to be broken" with someone's dissected heart printing in color.

Revolting. Disgusting. Ask me how I feel about this. Wretched. Pathetic.

How many people want their bodies or the bodies of their friends and family members injected with plastic and put on view performing some ridiculous activity (skateboarding, ballerina pose, running with one's muscles flaying off). My guess, not many. That is, of course, why Von Hagen has his body factories in China where the bodies of homeless people or poor people, desperate for cash, sell Mama to be turned into a very lucrative example of gross anatomy.

I'm not religious, I don't believe in an afterlife. But I do think human beings should be treated with respect and dignity, even in death. As an archaeologist I routinely have to excavate and remove human burials. They are always treated carefully and returned to their descendants for reburial. The idea that someone is making a lot of money off of Third World corpses amazes me. I wonder whether anyone seeing these "exhibits" actually learns any science, or is just going for the lurid, sensational aspect.

My buddy Brady went to see the exhibit in Phoenix. He says you can smell the bodies.

And isn't it ironic that I went to see Casino Royale last night and the movie included scenes at a BodyWorld exhibit. Tell me it is respectful to the dead bodies to have them appear in a scene in which James Bond sticks a knife in the guts of a bad guy.

So tell me, oh smart-brained readers, what is your guessimate for the date George Bush orders fighter planes to bomb targets in Iran? My guess, probably sometime in early June.

I'm channeling the Great Decider for a few of those verb-noun things: "Gotta start getting 'mericans accustomed to the dangers of Iran's nucleer thingys. Gotta dribble out accusations from unidentified sources. Gotta get the fuckin' idiotic press to go along. Wonder if Andrea Mitchell likes coke as much as Ann Coulter and I do? Plus, if we bomb them, that means no troops on the ground, right? Nothing to worry about, 'cause all the other 'rab countries hate 'em almost as much as I do. Then, if we got to war against those Iraniacs, everybody will forget all about the fuck-up that Dick got me into."

Yep, early June, that's my guess.

Vince, who lives in my guest house, hosted a Valentine's Day party in his newly repainted casa.



Vince.

I behaved myself but did have most of a piece of carrot cake. Delicious.

When I lived with my ex's mother, while he was in Amsterdam, Valentine's Day rolled around. K. had grown up in rural Virginia, and had, a lot of the time, a hard life. She mentioned casually that she had never gotten a box of chocolates for Valentine's because her family had been too poor when she was a child and her ex-husband had certainly not been one to do such gestures.

So I went out and found the biggest, most elaborate heart-shaped box of chocolates that I could find and smuggled it into my room. Very carefully, because K. was a notoriously light sleeper, I tiptoed out into the kitchen in the middle of the night and put the box on the table and then back to bed. Sometime around 5 AM, I'm also a light sleeper, I heard her get up and wander out into the kitchen and then gasp with excitement when she saw her Valentine's present. She was so happy about what was to me a small gesture of appreciation. K. is a special person to me, and we are still good friends to this day. Recently she told me that she still has the box stored away as a special keepsake.

I may whine about being single, but I'm really, really happy about all of you attached guys. So I hope you all have a loverly day tomorrow with champagne, flowers, chocolates, and sodomy and all that stuff. I'm going to celebrate by having a little piece of chocolate myself!

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go vote for which t-shirt is best on Brian's blog. This entry will self destruct in 10 seconds. 10, 9, 8, 7....

In two weeks I've gone from 212 to 205.5, so I'm pleased with the progress. Ten pounds more to go. Of course I made vanilla pudding from scratch today, for the first time, and let me tell you it was yummy.



Puffy wants a taste.

Spring is here. Time for some clean up.



I need to borrow somebody's rogaine.

I need to give myself a haircut. A new shirt or two would be nice. The diet is going nicely, weigh-in tomorrow. I have good self-control.



Myrtle.

Yardwork tomorrow, I can see the tulips, daffodils, and irises poking up. The cold that we had a few weeks ago was probably to their liking.

I've discussed my anti-man mood with Archerr. Since the evil V-day is coming up, I think every gay couple should be forced to adopt one of us single guys for the day. They should buy us flowers, take us out to dinner, and spend some quality time in a hot tub afterwards. Doesn't that sound like the decent thing to do?

When I was in graduate school in the early 1990s a small lump developed in the front of my throat. It started out as a little speck, then became a pea, and within days it was the size of a grape. I went to the Arizona State University health service and they were perplexed. One doctor thought I had been exposed to tuberculosis or maybe had HIV. Those tests, anxiously awaited, proved negative. Another thought I had an infection and gave me antibiotics that made me turn beet red and extremely itchy, the band of itchiness starting at my head and slowly descending to my feet. And the lump kept growing.

I started having problems swallowing and I was sent to a throat specialist who decided that it was fetal thyroid tissue that had somehow gotten into the wrong spot inside my throat. She scheduled surgery. I was uninsured and nice Grandma sent me $2000. It is amazing how cheap doctors can get once you tell them you have no insurance. Overnight stay became outpatient. The nice suture material replaced with the cheapest brand. And so on.

On the day of the surgery my friend Korri drove me to the hospital. She brought along her camera and took a picture of me with a tennis-ball sized lump sticking out of the front of my neck. The day before the surgeon had offered an alternative diagnosis. Cancer. At that point I didn't know what to think, I just wanted it gone, since I looked bizarre and had to hold my head a certain way to swallow.

100...98...97...96... I fell asleep. A moment later I awoke in a different room and promptly vomited yellow bile. "Korri, don't take my picture," I said to her. We laughed. After I got home I looked in the mirror- I had a three-inch-long incision across the front of my neck. It looked like a second set of lips, sewn together with coarse black thread.

The surgeon had said it was some sort of cyst or a benign growth. The biopsy report came back merely stating it wasn't cancer. The stitches came out and the careful work of the surgeon prevented the scar from being visible, it is in a skin fold and you can only really see it when my beard grows out there.

A few years later my sister had the same thing happen to her. She went home from the doctor's office after she had told her that the doctor thought it was non-Hodgins lymphoma. Sister was too startled to ask what that was. At home nice Grandma Reader's Digest dictionary from the 1960s provided a concise answer: "Non-Hodgins lymphoma, a terminal cancer." Needless to say, Sister didn't sleep well. In her case, a real diagnosis was made after the doctor asked her if someone else in the family had the same condition. After being told about me, she said, "Oh, you have sarcoidosis."

It is a condition with a genetic component and my great-grandmother Maybelle apparently have had it as well. You can how much her neck was swollen up in the picture below. Everyone thought it was a goiter.

It's a strange story, the closest I have come to facing my own mortality.


Great-grandma Maybelle, back row fifth from left.

A week until my least favorite holiday (Thanksgiving is a the next-least). Blech. Single. No box of fancy-schmancy chocolates (not that I want any, I'm still being very careful about calorie intake). No flowers (not that I want any, the cats would just chew on them and barf everywhere). No card (okay, that would be nice). Remember, its the thought that counts and when no one is thinking, well, that's why its my least favorite holiday.

Maybe its because I haven't figured out the right craft activity. I could have a Valentine's Card Making Party. But then, the couples would come and make perfect cards for each other and the single guys would make mediocre cards and who but their mother or sister to give them to?

I think I'll just hold off on the whole celebrate-a-holiday thing until Non Denominational Egg Coloring and Boiled Egg Hunt day in April.

Meet my future ex-boyfriend Chris.



He has a very entertaining videoblog, Cute with Chris.

The copier machine repair man is wearing so much cologne it makes me want to vomit. I don't understand how anyone, anyone, can wear that much nasty smelling stank.

My computer monitor at home passed away yesterday afternoon so I enjoyed spending money on a new, larger one this morning.

Last week one of the local television station did a "news" story on gay men gettin' it on in the park. Woohoo! My buddy Jim has the lowdown on the down low and you can watch Ms. Jennifer Waddle get her panties in a bunch because, ohmigod!, those queers are gettin' online in order to get some. She spends some quality time discussing how Craig's List is a fabulous place to arrange cocksucking and other salacious thangs, but forgets to mention that it isn't just the gays posting adverts, but also those darn Lebanese and, amazingly enough, Heteros. I didn't look to see if there was a "reporter4reporter4sex" area on there, and if there isn't, well that's a crying shame. It is ratings month, I guess.

In other, unrelated news Chip, noted blogger Homer lost three pounds last week on his "No Snack, No Shame" diet.

Rambling thoughts. In the middle of the night I had a nightmare and threw my right arm out for some reason and pulled a muscle running from my neck to my shoulder. Even loaded up on pain killers it is agony to stand up or move. Sitting at my desk typing is actually one of the few things I can do.

Superbowl Sunday. Snore.

Looking through online profiles of guys in their 40s. Half of them say things like, "Only 18 to 25 years old." What's up with that?

I feel very lucky I haven't developed extra ear hairs.

Mary Cheney pointed to her belly and announced:

'This is a baby. This is a blessing from God. It is not a political statement. It is not a prop to be used in a debate by people on either side of an issue. It is my child.'

Sorry dear, your fervent support of the political party working most fervently and successfully to deny gay people basic rights, well that kinda makes any little thing you do, from what brand of diapers Lil Satan wears to what ultra exclusive pre-school Lil Satan goes to a political issue.

I wonder if Mary will encourage Lil Satan to join the military in 2025, at which time the War On Terror will be 24-years-old and still ongoing. I'm sure Co-Presidents Jenna and Barbara Bush will personally attend the ceremony in which Lil Satan swears to uphold the Constitution and the Signing Statements by which it stands.

I surprise myself at how revolting I find the entire Cheney clan. The only redeeming thing they have done is Lynne Cheney's lesbian western novel, and of course that is one of those things they wish we'd all forget.

Guys were hot in the 1970s. Especially gay guys, with their big bushy moustaches and natural bodies.



As a kid they would show pictures of San Francisco Gay Pride on the news, Walter Cronkhite noting in his regal voice how many people attended. Of course the cameras focused on the drag queens, but usually a few "clones" would be there, dancing in their cut-off jean shorts.



Then there were the Village People, who everyone knew were gay, but no one really knew if they were really gay. As a kid the Construction Worker seemed the hottest, nowadays the Leather Daddy seems more appealing.

When the 1980s hit everything went to hell. Androgyny, preppies, the super-smooth look. I remember my best friend Les being horrified that I found hairy chests attractive. I was glad when that ended and guys could be regular guys again.

Wonder what will be considered "hot" in the future, what's your guess?

Diet hint! Don't look at recipes in cookbooks.

Fantasy: Cookies. Cake. Pie. Onion rings. Mac & Cheese. Garlic bread. Peanut butter and jam on whole wheat toast. Potato chips. French fries.

Reality: Steamed broccoli and cauliflower. Apple. Banana. One cup of cereal. Three crackers.

Lol. Whimper.

Okay, so I had a revelation last night. I went over to Jim and Chris's casa to watch Rome and Extras and afterwards Chris and I stood on the fancy-electronic scale and I discovered I weighed 212 pounds. After gasping in horror (last time I weighed myself I was 195 pounds), I realized that holy shit I need to stop making delicious cream puffs and other fattening desserts. As of this morning, I am on a diet.

I can remember being super skinny in my early 20s- at one point I weighed 147 pounds in college while at the same height. When I hit 30 I discovered I had to watch what I ate. When I hit 40 if I looked at something the calories magically transferred themselves to me. Somehow over the last year I've managed to add 17 pounds. According to my Body Mass Index (at about 28), I am overweight. That's fracking amazing.

Well, if there is one thing I'm good at, it is willpower. I'm going back to my normal weight by the time naked pool volleyball starts. Rice crispies and one percent milk for breakfast. Bananas and apples for snacks. Salads. No chocolate. No desserts. No peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with lots of crunchy peanut butter. Sigh.

So do you have a "type"? In talking with a couple of friends this last few days, the issue of having a physical type that they are attracted to came up. Person "X" likes really, really hairy guys. Person "Y" likes African-American or Mexican men. Person "Z" only dates plump blonde guys. And so on.

In some cases, this can be rather limiting (for example, if you lived in Alaska and were really into Brazilian hotties). Or sometimes it isn't- if you like Mexican guys, then Tucson is the place to be.

Makes me wonder how a type gets set and whether strict adherence to looking for this type can have consequences. As in, never finding what you want or when you have it, always on the look out for a better specimen of that type.

In looking at my past boyfriends, there really isn't a physical type:

1). smooth, extremely muscled brunette
2). furry stocky hockey player-engineer
3). smooth blonde German swimmer
4). furry, muscles English scientist
5). short, brunette, furry Jewish scientist
6). lean, brunette, former model
7). skinny, balding intellectual

I guess, I tend to go more for brains rather that a specific physical type. However, if I had to choose a certain look- furry, beefy redhead- that would be it.

So do you have a type?

I attended the Tucson premiere of Eating Out: Sloppy Seconds last night. One of the producers, Michael Shoel, is a former Tucson resident. It was an entertaining comedy- I had a good time.



Ohmigod, full frontal nudity alert. Marco, below, drops his towel in one scene.


Marco Dapper.

Afterwards, a late snack with Frank, John, and Scott S., and then a short visit to the Venture Inn, where I saw some other friends. This morning I made breakfast (French toast, hash browns, and fresh-squeezed OJ) for Patrick and Brady. A nice weekend so far.

He said to me, "I'm not a slut, if I only abused myself." He was referring to a date with a sex toy, and yes, I guess that is the truth. It was funnier in person.

Went a party with the A-list gays here in Tucson. Jimbo would have liked the very woofy furry blonde, bearded hottie who attended the party with his boyfriend. I was amused to see that none of them were people who typically attend my craft parties. I don't hang out with the very well-to-do crowd, I guess.

Went to see the musical Altar Boyz. It was amusing. The Jewish guy Abraham, played by Nick Blaemire, is a total hottie. Tucson doesn't have enough gay Jewish guys, in my opinion.

Nick.

Is it somehow appropriate that instead of watching the State of the Fuck Up address tonight, that I will be attending the premiere of the zombie short movie I was an extra in?

My buddy Brady started his full-time job with the county yesterday. Only 4,999 work days until retirement dude! I laughed when he said to me, "I don't want to go to work tomorrow."

Dick Cheney's eldest spawn, Liz, wrote a sophmoric editorial for today's Washington Post- all about how Hillary is evil and how the war in Iraq is like a Barbie Dream Vacation for dumb trash who don't know about how to stay out of the military and other blah-blah-blah stuff that makes my head hurt. I was amused to see the hundreds of comments. My favorite was "Just remember, everybody who has an opinion also has an anus." Every member of that family is just plain vile, but is course that is my anus.

Just want to state that I don't think our soldeirs are "dumb trash." As far as I can tell most of the men and women in the military are there trying to earn money for school or to learn a skill. I have been against this war from before it began because I did not want these soldiers to die for a worthless cause. In contrast, neo-cons like Liz Cheney don't give a shit about the deaths of these people.

A few more snow day photos. Before going to work I drove up the side of the mountain next to my house and took some pictures. Many of my Mexican-American neighbors had taken their small children up there to see the snow. I'm sure for some of those kids, it was the first time they had thrown snowballs. I went to work feeling very happy, strange how that happens.


Homer in the snow.



Palo verde tree.



Tumamoc Hill.

Snow day. Well this is a first for me. I've lived in Arizona since 1993 and don't ever remember having a snowy morning like this.


Orange tree.

Of course I had put my potted plants back outside yesterday. So they are now officially frozen.



I've been waiting to go into work, apparently the roads are very icy. Talk about icy, my house is freezing!

I read the newspaper of the town I grew up in online. The letters to the editor reveal a growing demand by born-agains to replace science education with Bible-based fantasy. A letter I wrote in response was printed today.

It wasn't always like this. In kintergarden we did basic science experiments- I recall melting bright white snow only to discover the masked dirt and pollutants. We did simple experiments and learned the differences between hypotheses and theories. As I grew older the experiments became more complex, involving smelly chemicals in chemistry as well as the disgusting dissections of worms and frogs. One of my most valued Christmas presents was a Visible Man. I find science fascinating. I'm less interested in living my life based solely on texts written a long time ago by people who thought the world was flat.

Religious conservatives- Christian, Muslim, and otherwise- would willingly drag the human race back to the days of alchemy and burning witches. You can see this underway in Iraq- where university professors are one of the top targets for assassination by those who want their version of Islam to tell the other version to fuck off.

I'm less inclined to think it could happen here, especially after the last election. But the gulf between reason and fantasy seems to be growing. The Park Service sells a book at the Grand Canyon visitor center that states the canyon was a result of Noah's flood. If our government can give credence to this sort of garbage, what can we expect in the future?

I'm debating whether I should run for president too. I think I could do a better job than ClusterFuckBush, but then, a deformed Latvian albino llama could do a better job than ClusterFuckBush, so that's really not saying much, is it?

So anyways, the newspaper the other morning had a headline about the "Vomiting Illness" coming to Tucson. Something to dread, I guess. Well, I seem to be suffering from a related illness, one which I will not go into great detail about because I know my refined readers don't want to go there.


What's that sound?

There are only so many hours you can lie in bed mentally writing your will as your digestive tract relentlessly churns, or so many online episodes to watch of Passions (who raped Fancy? Was Grace really on the exploding bus? Who put JT's dead-in-drag corpse inside Whitney and Chad's wedding cake?), so I think I may actually get in my car and go somewhere- maybe the grocery store to buy some milk.

Sometimes when I hear about the "homosexual lifestyle" and the "homosexual agenda" I wonder exactly what am I missing. But then I get distracted searching for vice presidential contenders on bigmusclebears, and I forget exactly what I was wondering about.

Important goals for 2007. So I won't forget.

- floss daily.
- eat more vegetables.
- give more to charity.
- revoke vows of chastity.
- write memoirs, "My Boyfriend, the Porn Star."
- become a hypochondriac.
- call in sick.
- point out other peoples' grammatical errors.
- take more blurry photos.
- learn obscure Eastern European language to impress friends.
- train cats to clean own litter box.
- just be more fabulous.

They gave me tofu soup to eat before I have my talk at the history meeting. Halfway through the 40-minute talk I began to develop horrible pressure in my insides. Two hours later I'm making a vow- no tofu ever, ever again.

To make matters worse, I pulled the parts of me that include plastic mesh from my December 2004 hernia operation. This happens every once in a while and for a day or three my left side hurts. Combine that with tofu gas. Ouch.

In other news, I watched the American Idol show last night with Patrick and Brady. We agreed that the show was focusing on people with learning disorders or behavioral problems. It was very strange to watch, in fact at certain times Patrick and I couldn't look at the telly, it was so awful. I guess they have to make Paula look normal somehow.

My next boyfriend should be a plumber. So handy with pipes, they know what to do if something freezes up or is leaky.


BJ

BJ, above, was featured in today's paper. He'll do.

Brady bought a box of Captain Crunch but they seem to have changed the formula and they aren't as shiny-crispy, scrape-your-palatey as they used to be. He and Patrick are watching American Idol tonight. I deliberately stayed away from the telly, instead I have been transcribing a document from 16 March 1848, which lists 70 men in Tucson and tells their age. In handwritten Spanish. For many of these men this document is one of a handful that provide information on their lives. I've been gathering them up for the past few years and creating biographies. I'm hoping the book will be finished this year, and then I can move on to something else.

I'm not one for making resolutions, but perhaps this will be the year I finish a few of the many projects I have started. It would be helpful, I guess, if I didn't start any new ones first.

For those graphically inclined, Flickr has a set of 2,820 WW II government posters. The artwork varies dramatically, as does the themes (I was surprised that appendicitis was the topic of one poster).

Damn, it is fricken cold here in Tucson. I've been monitoring emails from work, where the sewer lines are frozen and the bathrooms aren't working. I'm not planning on going in until that mess gets taken care of.

At home I've got the two space heaters going and for a while I stood in front of the oven with the door open, basking in white trash heat. It only gets cold here three or four days, so older houses (like mine) aren't well insulated and don't have central heat. So I turned the electric blankie on and curl up in bed with the cats and pretend I'm a polar explorer.

In other news- Children of Men is a great movie- interesting, makes you think, and Clive Owens is certainly nice on the eyes.

Redhead Sunday.

Joey.

I dropped $336 at the Saturn dealership. They figured out my engine was going "click-click-click" because a valve gasket was cracked and all the oil had leaked out. Some more money went for two new front tires. The mechanic complimented me on how nice my engine was. I blushed. He said it didn't look like it had hardly been ridden. I blushed again.

In the waiting room there was an auburn-headed cub with a full, red beard. Beefy, red chest hair curling out the top of his t-shirt. I wanted to tell him that we had so much in common, Saturn cars and all, that we should register for a domestic partnership. But I'm pretty sure he was pretty straight, so that was yet another car dealership repair waiting room fantasy dashed.

An important question. When you sneeze, do you usually sneeze once or twice?

I almost always sneeze twice. Why that is the case I don't know.

So, once or twice?

The gays love science fiction now. Battlestar Gallactica. Serenity. Shawn of the Dead. When I was younger it seemed like I was the only gay guy that wanted to go see the Star Wars movies. I distinctly remember lusting after Gil Gerard on Buck Rogers in the mid-1970s.

When I was a very, very little child I remember being at my father's friend Ken's house and an original, first-run Star Trek was on the television. It made a huge impression on me because my father hated science fiction and we were never, ever allowed to watch it. That didn't stop me from borrowing science fiction books from the library- instead of watching it on tv or the movies, I could imagine the scenes in my head.

It is more difficult to find good science fiction nowadays. I'm not really interested in the wizard and magic stuff that takes up too much room on the bookshelves at Borders. I like problem-solving stories, time travel, and what ifs.

I recommend the books by China Mieville- he has an amazing imagination. I have a small set of books that I re-read every few years- Malevil by Robert Merle is one of my all-time favorites.

So what's your favorite science fiction movie and or book?

My buddy Rod and I had supper at a vegetarian restaurant. He had the lasagna and I had the Picadilly loaf (ground nuts and mushrooms) and mashed taters.

Rod.

I was so pleased to have a healthy meal. Then when I came home, Brady had bought Double Stuff Oreos. Damn him to partially hydrogenated hell!

There is nothing a food stylist can do to make Velveeta recipes look attractive. All of the pictures on the Kraft website look like barf or worse.

Aaron asks how I learned to write Letters to the Editor. There are several important factors to getting them published. First, shorter is better. Second, use an unusual word or phrase ("human sacrifice" and "misadventure" appear in my last letter). Third, a little sarcasm appeals to the person reading the letters at the newspaper- they have to wade through endless dull ones, something that makes them laugh will leave a good impression.

Richard's birthday party was held at Mark A.'s house, outdoors on his patio. I admit, it was fricken cold, I am so aclimated to the usual warmth here.

I had gone in the afternoon to a hobby store and found a Visible Man kit. They were having a remote control buggy race at the hobby store. Holy Hot Daddy Alert! Which one to casually look at first? Or perhaps the beefy redhead employee? I needed a valium afterwards.


Richard and the as-yet-invisible Visible Man.

The party was lovely and despite the cold, I had a nice time. Richard was very pleased with his present, I'm pleased that I have a good sense of what people want for presents.

Mark and his doggie.

Spent today making a couple of loaves of bread, which are busy baking inside the Visibake. As I type this the smell is making my tummy rumble!

Another letter to the editor.

Going to Mexican Safeway hasn't been the same since Byron quit. I wander up and down the aisles, listlessly dumping over-priced groceries into my cart. I squint as I read the fine print to discern whether the bigger container is cheaper or not. At least my cute across-the-alley neighbor was there today. He is very fine, but I doubt he knows it- nice skin, good teeth, the sexy moustache that many young Mexican-American guys have. We chatted for a while, I made a comment about his huge package- of Velveeta. Turns out the neighbor's dad uses it to go fishing. Who would have thought?

Thank you to whoever sent me the Pasta book from my Amazon wish list! I'm going to try to make ravioli sometime soon.

An article on changing fashion in the New York Times:

Think of how hipsters have suddenly started looking like Paul Bunyan. Think about how the grizzled, bearded look now affected by half of Williamsburg this winter was only a short time ago derided as an affectation of gay bears, a small minority of hyper-masculine men who affect potbellies, clodhoppers and lavish chin whiskers.

We are talking full shrubs here, not mangy soul patches, the kind of beards that gay bears once seemed to be the only ones to flaunt (the better to attract each other at bars and roundups like the annual Bearapalooza or the Furball in Canada).

I was fashionable and didn't know it, but then I trimmed the facial hair and I guess I am no longer a hipster.

I was hoping for a fourth funeral for President Ford, but they buried him instead. I guess I was supposed to feel patriotic and fond of him (I well remember seeing him and Betty ride by in 1975 during the Cherry Festival Parade in Traverse City), but I felt the same way about President Raygun's funeral- a bit contrived and this feeling of being forced to be fond of him. Actually, Gerald Ford was an honest, forthright man and we could use a president like him right now.

While I'm on the topic of Our Great Leaders- I was imagining how empty the current President Bush's presidential library will be when (if) it gets built. All of the documents have already been through the shredder or are so top secret that no one will be able to look at them until the third or fourth term of President Jenna Bush's administration.

Changing the subject completely. Meg sent me to a wonderful recipe site and I made Blueberry Pudding Cake with Buttercream sauce. Very tasty and fattening. I had to use blueberries instead of cranberries, which all of the stores threw out on New Years' Day- apparently it a social taboo to eat them after that day, but a taboo no one informed me about. I was pleased to see that there were no recipes that included tofu, which is a most disagreeable and smelliferous ingredient as far as I am concerned. Alas, no more fattening recipes for me for a while. With the little raise I'm getting at work I'm probably joining a gym to get some exercise and part of that effort is just-say-no to all delicious foods. Say an atheist prayer for me.

I would go back to the farm for Christmas break when I was at the University of Michigan. Going to school had been an escape from dreary farm life. My father quit truck driving in 1974 and started a dairy farm. In 1979 we moved to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, a short time before Ronald Reagan’s administration cut the milk subsidies. That was the start of the end for small, family farms. Times were hard, we barely scraped by. The only reason the farm didn’t go under was that my nice grandmother sent my mom money every week.

We had about forty Holstein cows in our drafty barn, along with a small number of Brown Swiss cows my brother was raising. In the summer I would go out twice a day and bring them up to the barn to get milked. Once the ground froze they were locked up inside until spring. It was too cold outside- this was back before global warming, of course.

Dairy cows have the same gestation period as humans- nine months and a week or two. They come into estrous about once a month, you could tell when it was happening because the other cows would mount them and vigorously hump away. Lesbian cow action, no wonder I’m gay. We only had bulls a couple of times- they could be aggressive and dangerous. The second time my father borrowed one from his buddy Chum and that huge bull chased me across the pasture onto a hay wagon, bellowing at me in anger. Luckily I had a pitchfork with me and was able to escape. My father didn’t believe me when I told him what had happened. I think he thought I was a big pussy. The next day he had the same experience, and the bull was sent that afternoon.

Most of the time my father or brother would artificially breed the cows. About three or four months after they had given birth, and when there were signs of estrous, the metallic gray tank was opened up and an ampule of semen selected. We would get these catalogues that you could order cattle semen from, with glossy pictures of the bulls prominently positioned to show off their enormous testicles. Lots of statistics on the milk production of their offspring. The company would deliver the tubes of semen and recharge the liquid nitrogen in the tank. Once they emptied the tank completely out and found a bunch of ampules that had fallen into the bottom- some of which were from long-dead bulls and that had become very, very valuable.

These ampules were unthawed in warm water, the end nipped off, and inserted into a really long syringe. Then my father or brother would put on a long, clear plastic glove and stick their arm down the cows behind. The cows did not enjoy this. I’m pretty sure my father and brother also did not have a good time. The syringe was inserted into the cow’s vagina and the hand-in-the-bum would feel for the syringe going into the fallopian tubes. Once there, a quick push on the plunger and- voila- the cow usually got pregnant. Very romantic.

One aspect of this whole business was that cattle were being bred for size and the resulting calves often had enormous heads. Heads that had a hard time sliding through their mother’s pelves during birth. Sometimes you had to take drastic measures- including using winches to yank the poor calf out. While this was going on the cow would be mooing loudly and sometimes the calves would die. In the winter the calves sometimes tried to stay inside their mother- when their little feet came out they would feel the cold and pull them back in. Add in all the placenta and fluids and cow poop, it was a big mess.

So two years in a row, a cow started giving birth on New Year’s Eve and the calf got stuck and me and my brother were sent out to get the calf out. Both times my brother had to prop the cow up, if she sat down that made everything much harder, while I had to reach in and grab those slippery little legs and pull. No gloves- they made your hands just slip right off their slick legs. I had to pull as hard as I could to get the head to come through and then out, and then really pull hard to get the rest out. Splat, the calf would slide out and fall to the ground- the sudden jolt usually served to make them cry out and start breathing. You’d carry the bloody calf around to the mother’s head and she would energetically start licking it, mooing in the special way new cow moms mooed. The other cows would look on in interest and then go back to chewing their cuds.

Oh, the good old days. So glad I’m not a farm kid anymore.

Au revoir, 2006. Not a bad year, I think.

End-of-year portrait.

Had several successful parties, spent time with my best buddies Jeffrey, Patrick, and Brady. Met some new people, said goodbye to some others. Spent time with Brian, Jimbo, Archerr, Moby, Brett, and Chris. Made a fool of myself once or twice. Had a good cry a couple of times. Laughed more often. Made many fattening desserts- who knew I would become an expert at meringue pies and coconut cakes?

The future seems a little brighter after the November elections. Still, we have to spend another two years with that moron in charge. But I refuse to let that sour my good mood.

Who knows what 2007 will bring- I can't wait to find out.

So Bush got his Christmas wish and Saddam is dead. I wanted to puke when I read the first couple of sentences of Bush's post-execution statement:

Today, Saddam Hussein was executed after receiving a fair trial -- the kind of justice he denied the victims of his brutal regime.

Fair trials were unimaginable under Saddam Hussein's tyrannical rule.

This is from the Great Decider who has ordered people locked up without trials, no access to lawyers, not able to see the secret evidence against them. Sounds like tyranny to me. Ordered a war in which 3,000 US soldiers and 100,000s of Iraqis have died. Sounds pretty brutal to me.

I don't see any difference between the two men. Both are/were pathetic excuses for human beings.

I'm grumpy, tell me a joke. Dammit.

While watching Tim Burton's Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which made me crave chocolate immensely, a tremendous hailstorm started.

Hail falling.

I peeked out the front door, and then the back. The windows were rattling and the hail started piling up.


Back patio.

My back patio was covered, I feel sorry for my potted plants. I brought in my hoya plant, which has been in my family since 1947.


In this picture you can see the extension cord that I use to power "Martha," my mixer. My kitchen isn't wired for fancy modern electricity!
I could have had a snowball fight, but alas, no one to throw snowballs at. Feels almost like being back at home, except Mummy says that with global warming and all, they don't have any snow at her house in northern Michigan.

An ex told me I was fat. Sigh.

What compells people to tell you that sort of thing. I have been assured by other friends that I'm not fat. They must be telling the truth because these are the friends who are more than willing to tell me I'm going bald.

I tried to think of a snappy comeback like, "Well, XXXX, you are amazingly fit and handsome!" but that would be taking the high road and sometimes the one percent evil in me wants to be 99 percent mean and tasteless.

Yes, I could lose 10 pounds. Yes, I hate exercising alone. Yes, fancy laxatives and vomiting food up is really trendy among Hollywood Celebs, but I'm just a Tucson C-lister so I don't think that will happen.

Yummm, I just had leftover French bread pizza for lunch.

However you celebrate, I wish you the very best.


Holiday tree, 2006.

Holiday weekend update.


My attempts to make peanut brittle failed- I burned the sugar as it melted and it went downhill from there.

Finished watching season 2.5 of Battlestar Gallactica. Very surprising ending.

Finished holiday shopping, chatted with Mummy and was glad she got her presents yesterday.



I'm sporting a short beard and a scruffy goatee- not sure how long that will last.

I had my friends over for mac & cheese, mashed taters, asparagus, and (of course) lemon meringue pie.


Jay, Mike, and Larry.

Afterwards we retired to the living room and made holiday cards, using a set of Mexican Loteria cards for inspiration.


Holiday cards.

I'm looking forward to the three-day weekend. Just me, my new DVD player, and Battlestar Gallactica and Rome. YEAH!!!

In five words or less, explain why KLF's "Justified and Ancient" is the best pop song of the early 1990s.

Worst Christmas present ever...

Snowpants. I was 10. I wanted that book on Pompeii so bad. What was my mother thinking?

What was your worst Holiday season present ever?

Santa came early in the form of Patrick and Brady who gave me a very shiny, thin DVD player. They are the best buddies ever! And it comes with a lovely remote control- I'm so staying on the couch and pointing and clicking.

In other news, my throat hurts still from making all those zombie noises. I'd never make a good professional zombie.

I was Extra Number 13, the Zombie Cowboy, in a student movie today.

Before zombification.

Over a 5.5 hour period I chewed on baby brains, was spattered with blood and gore, and impressed the film crew by allowing them to ruin my cowboy hat (it was too tight anyways, next year I'll be Zombie Cowboy for Halloween.


After zombification.

The short film (they said it will be about three minutes long) focuses on a political rally and the zombie-like following people have towards certain politicians. I'll get to see it on January 23- I can't wait.

A useful talent. For some reason I can piece together broken pots really fast and make everything fit well. Give me a pot, a conservator-approved glue, and some masking tape- in an hour or two I'll have it reconstructed.

Last week the ceramic expert at work asked me to put together a very unusual pot. It is actually uncommon to reconstruct pots nowadays- they take up more space at the museum we send the artifacts to, and that costs more money. So generally, they get sent in the way they come in from our dig sites- bagged together and broken.

In this case, the fragments of the pot had unusual round areas where something had broken off. I thought it was an effigy vessel- made to resemble an animal.


Side view.

I laid the hundred or so pieces out and started at the bottom, quickly determining that the round areas were the places where ceramic legs had once attached and broken off, way back when the pot was being used. The red-on-brown designs indicates it dates to around A.D. 1100-1350. As I fit on the pieces making up the curved sides, I found that a head that had been at the front of the pot had also been broken off and lost. The little pointed tail was intact. I finished by attaching the round opening at the top. It took about two hours. The next day I removed the masking tape. Everyone who looked at the vessel were amazed at its large size and unusual shape.


Bottom showing round areas where legs were once attached.

Originally it was probably a dog, deer, or bighorn sheep. It may have had some ceremonial significance, but this is uncertain. After the legs broke off it was still used, as seen by wear on the vessel's base. It was found on the floor of a pithouse, lying among several other vessels left behind when the structure burned down.

Just to be clear- the last thing I would do is sell artifacts or loot sites. So many sites have been destroyed by people looking for artifacts to sell- often digging through graves to look for pots or other items. Everything I find ends up at a museum, where they are kept for future researchers and some of the more interesting items placed on display. The reports that I write describe the sites and artifacts in detail. Any burials (including all artifacts) are returned to the descendant communities for reburial.

What was your best Christmas present ever?

Here's my confession, I can't think of one present that I got that blew me away. Okay, that's a terrible lie because I just now remembered how excited I was to get the Visible Man- that was a fucking great educational toy.



Someone told me I was hard to buy for. That's a terrible lie, as seen by my Amazon wish list, where I basically keep track of things that I would get myself, if I ever had the inclination to do so.

So what was your best Christmas/Holiday present?

My friends Mark and Sandy are in town from Sydney- Sandy has just completed his doctorate and is now Dr. Sandy.


Mark and Sandy.

We went out to the bar and watched a drag show- goodness, those gurls wear elaborate outfits. Unforts, my pics did not turn out.

I don't think I'd make a good female impersonator- especially at this very moment with the very bushy beard I'm sporting.

Tofu will make your cock shrink and grow man-tits. This is according to James Rutz, chairthing of MegaShit Ministries. It can also turn you into a simpering effete fagmo because soy has so many mega-powerful female-mones. I should know, I've had tofu on more than one occasion. And look at me, gosh, my wrists are so limp I'm signed up for a pisiform-greater multiangular-capitate transplant.

Educational moments, courtesy of Wikipedia: Tofu is made by coagulating soy milk and pressing the resulting curds. Although pre-made soy milk may be used, most tofu producers begin with their own soy milk, which is produced by soaking, grinding, boiling, and straining dried (or, more rarely, fresh) soybeans.

FYI: In Chinese, the term "to eat tofu" (吃豆腐) is a commonly used euphemism for implying the unsolicited groping of a woman's breast or other body parts. And: Also in the Cantonese language, the term "mash tofu" is slang term for lesbian sex.

If tofu is so goddam awful, why isn't it included in the list of prohibited unclean foods in Leviticus?

Personally, I know tofu and other soy products are Satan's curse because if I open my somewhat feminine lips, masticate those tainted substances with my prissy teeth, and then swallow them into my very homosexual innards, the MOST AWFUL GASSEOUS EXPLOSIONS EVER take place. I am not exagerating here. You don't want to be in neighboring states or standing on the San Andreas Fault after I eat tofurkey or soy ice cream. The seismometers at the University starting vibratin' and the scientists sigh, "Oh, Homer had Chinese food again!" The smell makes my cats leave the room, probably because they are aware that just breathing in the gas will make them super femmy pussies.

So yeah, I don't need some nitwit Xtian telling me soy/tofu is/are evil, I already knew that.

Scruff and Puff Tuesday.

Homer and Puff.

Ohmigod, why does Homer have a tie on? Answer: Because he can. About twice a year I wear a tie to work. It confuses everybody, since archaeologists are notoriously casual and sloppy dressers. Of course, I am also wearing sandals and socks, but you can't tell that by the photo.

Puff knows how to get the back door open if it isn't completely closed. So he'll use his claws to pull it open and then run outside and then totally freak because it is the outside with all those wierd smells and growing things and birds. But what is even more annoying is that Daddy always grabs him and takes him back inside because he doesn't want Puff to be a snack for some neighborhoodd dog or coyote. Or get fleas from Outside Kitty, who lives under the bush and glares at me if I don't keep his food bowl full.

So I've procrastinated enough, I guess it is time to hop in the Saturn (with a new back windshield!) and drive to work. Wonder what adventures I'll have today?