Homer'sWorld

Trader Joe's is selling miniature pumpkins- about seven or eight inches tall. So I bought one and made a pumpkin pie last night.


Sliced pumpkin, waiting to roast.

It came out alright, despite the fact I had run out of cinnamon and the brown sugar was rock hard.


I used a store bought crust, though.

This is the first time I made a pumpkin pie from a real pumpkin. It tastes very good- I had it for breakfast.

I really need to force myself to learn how to make pie crust. Part of the reason I dread doing so is my small kitchen- I have to roll the dough on my table and I end up with a mess of flour everywhere. If I ever sell my house my next kitchen will be huge, have a dishwasher, and a nice counter space to do things on.

Fruity. I had the most excellent peach pie ever on Sunday night. I think my next culinary exercise will be a fruit pie.

What kind should I make?

So the weather is really nice and sitting inside is driving me crazy.


Click on me!

A coyote walked by the window at work and stared at me. I'm sure it was busy thinking about how dumb the humans are for being inside on a perfectly lovely Monday. Luckily, I should be out one day this week digging up something interesting.

So far today:

- I took some chocolates to my friend Karen
- I bought three shirts at J.C. Penneys
- I bought a striped rug for my living room, it makes the room much brighter
- the neighbor's six-or-seven-year-old girl was playing outside with an oversized devil's trident and as I waved at her she flipped me off

I may be wrong, but apparently I am racist, sexist, and classist for using the phrase "well-to-do white men." This was a surprise to me.

Last time I checked, "well-to-do white men" were still running most of the country. I'll use an outdated CNN story from 2003 to point out that at that time 40 of the 100 US senators were millionaires, somewhere between 35 to 37 of whom were white males. Times are changing, thankfully. Today, in 2007, there are 16 women, 2 Asian-American males, 2 Hispanic males, and 1 African-American male in the Senate. And 79 white men.

There are also currently 8 women CEOs of Fortune 500 companies. And 492 men. In 2006, four of those men were African-American. I didn't bother to check the number of other minority males, but I assume that many if not most of those 488 men are white.

The top echelon of political and business leaders in our country are mostly rich, white men. I admit not knowing the financial status of certain political commentators, and perhaps it was in poor taste to deem them "well-to-do." I am deeply flawed in this regard.

Last time I checked poor and middle-class people had very little power in this country. Less power in recent days because a certain unnamed political party, the leading politicians of which repeatedly refuse to attend minority-sponsored debates or meetings, have also developed elaborate methods for kicking poor and/or minority voters off of voter rolls in places like Florida and Ohio. This, of course, has influenced elections and helped maintain the status quo for certain people, mostly rich white men.

Am I racist? I was taught by my mother to view people as individuals. I have never discriminated against anyone based on their skin color, as least as far as I can tell. Pointing out that white people have more decision-making power than people-of-color is not a racist notion.

Am I sexist? Pointing out the unfortunate, that men have more political power than women is not a sexist action.

Am I classist? Yes, I will admit to a suspicion of wealthy individuals. I grew up in a relatively poor household. We were never hungry, but there was no money for luxuries, you know, those little things like visits to the doctor or the dentist.

I knew we were poor but I didn't know how poor until I went away to college with my one pair of shoes and a single suitcase. What an eye-opener to meet other students and learn about their lifestyles, so different from my own! I remember being told by someone (a well-to-do white male) that I didn't deserve to be attending the University of Michigan because I was there on financial aid. A few other, similar incidents tainted my impressions of rich people. I know I should just get over this and not judge people based upon their wealth. But wealthy people do have a lot of power in this country, and they have often used that power to make life more difficult to those who don't meet their criteria of what a good person is. Currently, that criteria excludes gays/lesbians/bisexuals and especially those darned transgenders.

This is, of course, a generalization. There are many fine wealthy people who would not dream of discriminating against others. It's too bad that there are also a lot of wealthy people who dream of discriminating against others.

What an endless ramble of thoughts! But I guess being called anything-ist disturbs me, because I try to be a good person, as much as I can. I try to do everything I can to make sure that everyone has the chance to live a good life.

I'll state this again, excluding transgender people from civil rights legislation that includes other sexual minorities is wrong. Nothing I have read, including the "tiny steps for now" and "transvestites were there at Stonewall, not transgender!" arguments have changed my mind.

At work today:

- computer issues continue, but at least I can use the printer.
- one of the computer guys isn't here because he got bit (twice!) by a rattlesnake last night.
- I've seen a pair of Arizona woodpeckers, some sort of yellow finch, butterflies, and little lizards outside my window so far this morning. The cottontails sit out there in the afternoon.
- I wore gender appropriate clothing to work.
- only 5.5 hours till I can go home.

Sometimes I am embarrassed by the loud-mouthed gays who claim to be our leaders. John Aravosis is one example. Today he wrote an opinion piece basically stating that transgender people should not be included in the ENDA legislation that is winding its way through Congress to meet up with ClusterFuck's veto pen. Let me channel John:

"I don't understand transgender folks. I don't want to sit next to them on the bus. They should have their own bus, even though we are going on the same way and people watching us often confuse us. Who let them on the bus anyways? They should get off the bus and shut the fuck up. If you disagree with me you are an insolent asshole. Because no one should ever question me. I used to work in Congress so I know better than you. Especially better than transgender people. None of whom I have ever had a conversation with. Who I can not emphasize with. Since they only recently got on the bus, they should be the first ones thrown off to make the politicians happy. They will really love us if we hate the transgender bus riders as much as they do."

Andrew Sullivan apparently agrees with Aravosis.

Does this surprise me? No, not really. Couple of well-to-do white men. Enough said there.

People who discriminate against gays/lesbians/bisexuals are not going to differentiate between this group and transgender folks. Excluding them from civil rights protections just makes them THE MOST HATED group. You see, G/L/B are awful folks, really, but they aren't as bad as those Ts.

Which is precisely why transexual people, as a sexual minority, should be included.

The view from my window at work. I finished a couple of reports today, and felt productive.


Embalming fluid bottles.

Out in the exterior walkway a dazed lizard, who had been trapped in our library for a week, ran around.


Collared lizard.

I bent down and picked it up, planning to move it to a better place. On the way there Beth wanted to see it and it promptly grabbed her finger with its mouth. And wouldn't let go. Apparently it pinched.


Click to make a bigger lizard.

I see a lot of wildlife out my window at work- cottontail rabbits, ground squirrels, lizards, mourning doves, hawks, and the occasional coyote. The nearby Rillito creekbed serves as a wildlife corridor- even with the increased development I expect I'll still see animals.

Brian came down from his ghetto hood in Phoenix and we went to The Grill where I had the usual (spinach ravioli in pink herbed sauce and a salad with thousand island dressing). It was delicious and I only ate one of Brian's tater tots.

Afterwards we went to the Josh Rouse concert at Club Congress. He has a lovely voice and seemed to be enjoying singing in Tucson.

I did all my chores (include mopping!) yesterday so this morning I went over to Patrick & Brady's to feed Kitty Catt and then settled down to watch a little telly. I got sucked into Top Chef and was strangely enamored with mohawked Dale, who could be my Top Chef any time he wanted, as long as he made me vegetarian meals.

Attention conservative politicians and religious extremists. Among the disgusting, perverted things I have done in the last 24 hours:

- mopped the floors
- installed new toilet float
- gave a site tour to a City councilwoman
- watched Dr. Who on Brady's enormous 42-inch-wide telly
- cleaned up Mollie's accidental mess in the living room (this was the disgusting thing)
- considered giving money to Barack Obama (that's the perverted thing)
- planned a trip to the craft store

I know, I know. Many people would think that I spend all of my spare time tapping toes or sending nasty messages to teenagers, but really, that only happens if you are a Republican.

Things I like about Tucson:

- the weather. I don't really mind the super hot days (I think that is because I grew up in northern Michigan).

- the relaxed attitude toward clothing. No one cares that I wear sandals and socks- at the same time!

- my house, which I purchased for $85.5 k in 1999. It could use some upgrades (I hate my bathroom) but will be paid off in 10 years.

- my friends.

- my job.

- the fact that the desert is only about 750 ft from my front door.

I don't usually put pictures of shit on my blog. But look, there's Mr. Frowning Pile-o-Shit in the picture below, otherwise known as General Peter Pace.


Nasty person, inside and out.

We are at war! So we are supposed to be all patriotic and say only nice things about the military. It's too bad that General Pace can't stop saying nasty things about soldiers who happen to be gay or lesbian: "Are there wonderful Americans who happen to be homosexual serving in the military? Yes. We need to be very precise then, about what I said wearing my stars and being very conscious of it. And that is, very simply, that we should respect those who want to serve the nation but not through the law of the land, condone activity that, in my upbringing, is counter to God's law."

So let me be unpatriotic and note that the United States military has killed thousands of innocent men, women, and children in Iraq since 2003. Many thousands. Sometimes on purpose ("Let's bomb that restaurant because Saddam might be inside!"), sometimes sorta on purpose ("Let's shoot at a bunch of children in Haditha to avenge the death of a fellow soldier!" and sometimes by accident ("Oops!).

Isn't killing people a major no-no for Christians? As I recall, noting that I've never actually read the entire Bible because basically I'm not into fairy tales and myths, the sixth Commandment is something like "Thou shall not kill/murder/shoot carloads of children/ etc, etc."

It must be really nice to feel so fucking morally superior to other people. But then shit is always unpleasant stuff and its much nicer when you can't see or smell it.

Annoying things about Tucson:

- road construction everywhere. It takes me an extra 15 minutes to drive the 7.5 miles home from work in the afternoon.

- lack of direct flights. To get to most places you have to switch planes at some other airport. This makes flying anywhere a full day event.

- fall weather makes me stir crazy. And by this time my vacation time is mostly gone.

- don't get me started on the possibility of finding a bf!

Fall. Arrived this week, so sudden I had forgotten what it was like to feel "cold."


Scruffy.

Makes me want to lie in bed and look out the French doors and listen to the birds chatting. But instead I go to work and struggle with the computer and wonder why the computer guy doesn't come by and fix it. But that is a question involving faith and mystery and those can never be answered to anybody's satisfaction.

Things I didn't know, part 1: "Cupcakes are portable, cute and relatively inexpensive. They are also “feminine and girlie,” Ms. Kramer Bussel said, so the majority of cupcake bakers and fans are women." So sayeth the New York Times.

Ms. Kramer Bussel didn't attend my birthday cupcake party last week (wasn't invited, I'm guessing). She is all jealous or something, and decided to say spiteful things. I am not a woman (not that there is anything wrong with being a woman!) and yet I love me some cupcakes with frosting mounded on top. I like peeling the paper away (don't care for the more manly aluminum, that stuff is nasty if you get some in your mouth) and cramming as much of the cupcake in my mouth as possible. With my current bushy beard, that tends to make a terrible, yet masculine mess.

I remember taking cupcakes to kintergarden for my 6th birthday. My mother had put little plastic animals on each and I picked the one with the llama. Since Pamela wasn't there, I got a second cupcake (the one with the tiger). I can still see those plastic animals in my head. I wish I still had them.

I'm going to have a craft party sometime in the next few weeks. Because I can! You know, it's all about creating good self esteem. Lots of praise and finding good in other people. And in the end, when the guests leave with their creations, something to remember the event by.

So anyways, I think I'll have a "Make your own sandwich" spread and a selection of chips- you know, the fancy ones at Trader Joe's made from panda breasts and artichoke hearts. Finger food type things.

Problem: what sort of dessert should I make???? Cake is messy to eat, so is pie. Cookies don't seem like a real dessert. Suggestions for a dessert that you can pick up and eat with your fingers???

Panda picture groupie!


A red panda at the Chengdu Research Base Of Giant Panda Breeding on September 19, 2007 in Chengdu, China (photo by Paul Gilham).

Better watch out, they'll Eat Your Face!



I hope Miranda didn't get killed by vicious pandas! I noticed that her blog was deleted and I'm really fearful for her safety!!!

So 14 months or so until the election and I'm already so over it. I wonder whether Karl Rove is hunkered down in his bunker thinking of nasty things to say about the Democrats.

Speaking of comments, I rarely edit them. In the past I have removed racist or body fascist comments. I've edited comments to remove my last name since I'd rather people Googling me find my archaeological or genealogical materials first. You get 1,430 hits when you Google my name in quotes. When you just Google "Homer" I'm number 15. That's almost worth an exclamation point. !

I've removed a picture from my blog at the request of the person in the picture (he didn't want a shirtless pic of himself floating around the net). I removed a picture and text about a religious shrine, at the request of a friend who thought I didn't understand the solemnity of the shrine (I admit, I didn't).

I recently did not remove a post when someone asked me to, because the reasons they provided were untruthful, thereby proving the point I was making.

I don't make a big practice of editing or removing comments, but once in a great while it is necessary. I also do not restrict who comments, although I did ban someone once who made a threatening statement towards me.

This dull as dirt post is made possible by the chocolate cupcake I just ate.

Baboquivari



Yesterday I traveled out to the Tohono O'odham Nation to attend a meeting at their new cultural center and museum. Behind the museum the jagged Baboquivari Peak, where I'itoi, the Elder Brother who brought the O'odham ancestors to this land and lives in a cave, was visible. Hawks, vultures, and crows were gliding about in the strong winds blowing yesterday. Nice way to spend a Monday.

44 cupcakes, one for each year.


Patrick's lemon and chocolate cupcakes.


44th birthday self-portrait.

Thank you Patrick, Brady, Jeffrey, Forrest, and Tina for making me feel special.

Today's adventure. Locking myself out of the house. And leaving my cell phone inside too. I checked all three doors. Yes, they were locked. I wondered about the small bathroom window, and was able to push it open the rest of the way. It is 10 inches wide and about 2 ft tall. I propped the stepladder up against the wall and was able to go through, feet first, on my second attempt. I felt like a total idiot.

I didn't watch President Clusterfuck's speechifying last night because there weren't enough buckets lying around to collect all the vomit that would have been flying around.

Instead I thought about my upcoming birthday (Sunday!, 44!) and wished I looked forward to that day like I did when I was a child.

Instead, I'm starting to realize that even the guys my age mostly want 20 or 30-somethings. Brian and I laugh at many of the personal ads we come across online (example: ONLY CONTACT ME IF YOU ARE DEAF!), but it is mildly depressing that so many 40-something men want to date other men young enough to be their son.

And so on. When I was a young son my Mama would give us $5 on our birthday so we could pick out our own present. That saved her from having to figure out what we wanted. I mostly got Breyer horses, which were the right size for GI Joe to ride around on. Later it switched to books about Pompeii. Britney Spears hadn't been invented yet, so I didn't have to worry about purchasing her latest CD, which also hadn't been invented yet.

This year, no plans for the 44th anniversary of me being cut out of my mother. Maybe someone will surprise me (hint:Brady).

Up early so I could drive over to the old fort and finish the mapping we are doing. The fort was established in 1873, abandoned by the military in 1891, and the recently acquired part was used as a tuberculosis sanitorium from about 1908 to the 1940s.


Kitchen ruins.

The city and county recently purchased the last portion of the fort in private hands, and I've been preparing a report on the history of this portion.

In the afternoon Forrest called and we went to La Indita for dinner.


Forrest at night.

Afterwards we wandered up and down 4th Avenue and looked at tied dyed t-shirts at the hippy store. At the thrift store the records were too pricey, I wish I had a record player.

We sat outside the bar and watched the ants try to drag too-big bugs into their tiny hole. They just never wanted to give up. Silly little ants.

Potatoes. It is starting to cool down here in Tucson and I can cook again. I made roasted baby potatoes the other day. I could eat potatoes all the time. I like them mashed with lots of butter. I love me some tater tots. French fries! Least favorite- boiled.

What is your favorite way of making potatoes?

This blog entry is paid for by the State of Idaho and the Toe Tapping Association of Boise.

Vince's carrot cake birthday cake came out very well. I just had a thin slice for breakfast.


Slicing the cake.

Yesterday I sneezed a couple of times and a co-worker asked if I was sick. Nope, I'm healthy as can be. Except I woke up with a sore throat that is getting sorer and now I'm getting a tad feverish. Tres annoying.

So I'm staying home, maybe I'll watch some stories on the telly. Usually when I get sick I clean house (two unpleasant things at once!). But the house is mostly clean so instead I'll probably lie in bed and play with the cats.

Today's interesting fact. Barack Obama is my seventh cousin. Our common ancestors begin with James Welborn and Mary Isabelle Teague.

Later. TJ asked me to look up his family. Turns out he is a distant cousin of an ex-bf of mine.

My best friend Les is coming to visit the weekend of October 19th. He'll be super pleased to know that it is Tucson Leather/Levi Weekend. Les, please remember to bring your leather codpiece and that spiked collar, you know, the one your mom gave you back in '89. The invitation also says there will be a "hanky Flagging Party" and that we are to "Ask a Tucson Leather Committee Member for a Hanky Code."

Buster the Balloon fetishist will also be there and maybe Les and I will get a little liquored up and participate in one of his ballon blowing-up contests. What happens in Tucson, stays in Tucson! Except they videotape it and sell it to other balloon porn fetishists. I'm pretty sure Les has never been in a porn movie, but there is that weekend back in 1992 that he doesn't remember.

It is, of course, a charity event. The $3.00 donation goes to a pet charity. This afternoon when I stopped by the Venture there were two cute dogs wandering around the patio, one of whom came over for some head-patting.

Don't forget your Hanky, Les!

I forgot the golden raisins for Vince's birthday cake. Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. I've never made a carrot cake before, Brian was kind enough to find me a recipe since the Cake Bible didn't have the right one. I'll be sure to take a picture, but where's that food stylist bf? You know the one with the mad camera skills.

Otherwise a low key day, the highlight of which was a trip to the pet store to buy kitty litter. I know, I know. Life in Tucson is pretty superb.

Some fuckin' idiot wrote last week that gay blogging would be dead in a year. Yeah. Right. I had to laugh about that. Why is it that certain people get so melodramatic when they quit blogging? Just because they quit, I guess they want everyone else to quit too. So sorry.

I'll still be baking cakes, hanging out with my friends, and occasionally writing about by job in September 2008. I like being able to see what I was doing on this day in past years(in 2003, finding out that an ex had cheated on me while we were together! lol). And if people want to read about it, well, good for them. Maybe someday I'll quit, but I guess I'll have to find a good reason to do so.

Beard Friday.

When I'm not busy telling little children that the Easter Bunny isn't real, I'm busy taking care of old Mollie, whose health is slowly failing.

Blue door self beardtrait.

She's having difficulty walking and has lost strength in her back legs. My house has mostly wood or tile floors, and she can't stand on those anymore, her legs slip apart. So nows she's restricted to the living room, which has a rug, and has regained much of her agility. Still, she's about 15 1/2 years old and that's a lot for a hound dog.

I've never had to deal with an elderly pet before. My dogs (Pouncer and Curley) got old and passed on while I was in college. So this is all a little strange for me, wondering whether I'll know if it is time to call the vet.

In other news, some people have complained about the panda entry on their blogs. I've been accused of being a nasty person. Well, whatthefuckever. I'm clever enough, I guess, to make multiple blogs and comment back and forth on them. I just don't see the point. As an exercise in creative writing, I can see that a bored person might get into that. I guess these individuals have a lot of energy invested in their various blogs, because they go bonkers when someone points out a factual inconsistency or a borrowed photograph. Then there are long, convulated explanations followed by altered entries and deletions. And while this is happening the multiple personalities of the blogger are busy calling other people nasty names. Whatthefuckever.

What surprises me are the people who believe that "if it's on the internet, it's real." And who fail to distinguish between a chunk of computer memory and a real, living person. I feel like asking them, "Is it possible to hurt the feelings of a fictional character?" And what about the real people who have interacted with these fakes? Or listened to their medical advice? Or been called nasty names by one of their personas? At this point, my advice is believe what you want. The Easter Bunny is, in fact, real.

I'm trying to figure things out and sometimes feelings overpower common sense. It's one of those cryptic entries, and you know, when I go back and read the old ones I usually have no idea what they are about.

So I think I'll just say I wish things were different.

Post 1369. Patrick sent me an ITunes gift certificate (thanks!). Any suggestions on what I should download?

So what's the difference between being gay and being homosexual? In my mind homosexuals are people who desire sexual relations with someone of the same sex. There are certainly a lot of 'em out there. I used to think the 10 percent figure was maybe a little high, but nowadays, not so sure. There are an awful lot of married men on Craigslist looking for away-from-home loving.

The thing is, I'm not so sure I would call those guys gay. In my mind, perched up inside my cranium with its somewhat oversized inion, being gay means being open about yourself to your friends, family, and the people who happen to come across your blog. It boils down to being comfortable in your own skin. For me, I went from being a closet-case homosexual to being gay at age 21. Life got so much better.

It's unfortunate that there are tortured people like Senator Craig, never quite able to come to grips with the feelings they have inside. Craig said at his news conference, "I am not gay," and I believe him. Of course, he could not truthfully say "I'm not a homosexual," because as far as I know, there aren't many truly straight guys into sucking cocks.

But of course, I could be completely wrong about that.

Brian came from Phoenix and brought three gifts. It was like Christmas but without the myrrh. Instead I am now the owner of the Cake Bible and I will soon be making a cake from it.


Indian lunch.

We had Indian food for lunch. I love me some samosas. With that sweet tamarind/plum sauce.


Homer and Brian at the sewage treatment facility.

Afterwards I took Brian to a Qwik Stop. Why do they mispell Quike? We then went to the Sweetwater Wetlands to commune with nature and sewer smells. At one point he asked me if we should be walking down a certain path because the vegetation was growing so wildly. It was exciting. We saw a cinnamon teal and some turtles. Actually, the big surprise was to see some native fishes swimming around- that was the first time I've seen fish there.


Cobban.

In the afternoon Ray and Cobban came up and we went to karoake at IBTs. It was wretched. We then journeyed over to Venture Inn.


Homer and Ray practice tapping our feet.

We sat with Justin and Kevin and talked about our fetishes (redhead!). And there was a very cute redhead there.

This morning I'm making mac & cheese before I make a cake. I think I'll take a nap first to celebrate Labor Day.

So last night I dreamed I was Britney's new tour bus manager. The dream mostly consisted of me scrubbing and vacuuming the tour bus while encouraging her to spend more time with her kids. In real life I hate washing dishes. In dream world it was very satisfying knowing that by cleaning the tour bus kitchen, I was somehow putting Britney on the course back to normalcy and happiness.

Normalcy has returned to Tucson too. The U of Arizona is back in session and when I drive by the rec center on the way home from work I see all of the hotties, many of whom I'm now old enough to be their father. I don't feel that old. I'm pleased to see that muscles and scruff are apparently in, still. There are some young women going to college too, but I have only have a few seconds at the stop light to examine people from an anthropological point of view, and the guys get all my attention.

Home life has returned to normal. Mollie the elderly dog was in bad shape last week. Her back legs didn't want to help walk or stand up. But she has regained strength and can stumble around, tail wagging whenever it is treat time. I've never had to deal with an elderly pet before. She isn't in any pain, but the slow decline has started. Also on the homefront, the ant infestation (it was horrible) was ended through the placement of a few ant traps. I no longer have long lines of ants tromping through my house looking for dinner.

Three day weekend coming up. Brian is visiting from beautiful south Phoenix on Sunday. I think he will like the cooler temperatures here. We are having Indian buffet for lunch and then I'm taking him to a couple of places, one of which will be a mystery till we get there.

What are you doing for Labor Day weekend?

I've been following with great interest Synaptic Blue Al's posts about his close friend Miranda, who is a Sierra Club employee and is having a grand adventure. She endured a long flight from Canada to China via Air China, where they served pickled tripe as an onboard snack!

Miranda has been sent to take care of an orphaned panda cub named Nanuck at some research facility in the southern provinces of China. She emailed Al pictures of cute Nanuck and also another cub, Lola. It is a good thing she mentioned they were different cubs, because, honestly, all great panda cubs look alike to me! It was helpful that the pictures were labeled "B11nanukbearbaby," "B16nanuckplaypen," and "B41panda6" although I was a bit confused because the second panda is named Lola.

Here's a couple of screen shots I borrowed from the site. Just so you know, that material is protected by copyrights, so I'm making sure I mention that it came from Al's blog.

Nanuck and Lola, posted on 30 August 2007!


Nanuck, posted on 28 August 2007!

I did think it was a little odd that there is an English language sign in the background of Nanuck's tupperware photograph posted on August 30th. You can even sorta read the words: "---sonian National Zoological."


Nanuck!

Since this was China, I would have expected that the signs would be in Chinese, but maybe Miranda's Sierra Club employer had some signs made up special for their English-speaking staff. I know it must be real tough flying overseas to take care of darling, orphaned cubs!

Well you know me, I really can't tell the difference between one great panda cub and another. Why only a couple of years ago Chrisafer was campaigning to have the cub at the Smithsonian National Zoo renamed Butterstick. That didn't work, those darn zookeepers named it Tai-shan instead! That's because the Chinese view pandas as part of their national patrimony and require that all cubs get Chinese names! That's kinda interesting, because Miranda's cubs are named Nanuck (a Native American name!) and Lola (a Spanish name meaning strong woman).

So I really wanted to see more cute panda cub pictures, especially of lil Butterstick, and I did a Google image search for "panda Smithsonian" and up came their delightful website, just chock full of pictures of little Tai-shan and his mama Mei-Xiang.


A screen grab of some pictures of little Tai-shan at the Smithsonian National Zoo! Taken in September 2005!

Look at all of the adorable pictures. And like I said, all great panda cubs look alike to me. Even the little tupperware containers they hang out in and the signs partially visible in the background look exactly alike. I guess there is some unwritten rule that baby pandas have to be raised in exactly identical surroundings in Washington, DC and in the southern provinces of China. Who knew? I feel like such an idiot.

Well today a certain someone emailed me and told me I was an idiot. Well; that may be the case; but at least I'm real.

Warning: Super dull blogbud entry alert!

I have 102 blogs on my bloglist at the moment (I have a couple more cued up to add). Of those 14 bloggers (count 'em!) have been inside my house, including three from SF (Moby, God of Biscuits, Sam), one from DC (Jimbo), three from NYC (Patch, CFSCON, and Glennalicious), a couple from Phoenix (Aristoi and Cheapblueguitar), one currently living in Australia (Banal Chew), and four from Tucson (Boltgirl, Panchesco, Box Turtle, and Urswine Addiction). One of the new bloggers I'll be adding, Lopaka Lounge, has also visited several times and I've been to his house twice.

Beyond that, of the 102 bloggers on my list, I've met 47 in person. That's a lot; I guess I'm a sociable kinda guy. But the main point is, it really isn't that hard to meet another blogger in person. Generally the image they present on their blog is about what you see in person. I'm guessing people who meet me describe me as "smart ass." I'm also guessing that not many people would call me an idiot; however, I expect there are a few "people" out there who would disagree (TJ, is that a proper semi-colon usage?).

There are still some bloggers I haven't met who'd like to have dinner with. This is who would be sitting around the dinner table if I could magically transport them here:
- Durban Bud
- Large Tony
- AngryBlackBitch (she rules!)
- Journey by Myself

So which four bloggers on the internet do you want to have dinner with?

Just to be clear, I'm really not into dates in "tea rooms" because the Muzac really kills the mood and there isn't anyplace handy to set out all of the different brands of poppers I like to have around and most of all, most bathroom stalls don't have the necessary attachments for a sling.

I about yawned when I read that Senator Craig was into tap dancing. Those who speak loudest sorta thing. I did wonder, briefly, whether Jimbo or TJ had ever pooped in a stall next to him while he was busy peeking through cracks with his beady eyes. That would be just creepy. And smelly.

Why is it that all of the closeted Republican politicians are so fricken hot? It seems a shame they all live in faraway DC! I remember when my local, closeted Republican politician came over to have sex with my roommate (true story!). He got outed later on and ended up being an advocate for gay rights. That was the nice thing to do, in that sort of situation.

A reader wonders, "Is it possible for two bloggers to meet in person? Isn't that impossible according to the laws of nature or physics?" Why yes, dear reader, in certain circumstances, primarily on the east coast of the United States, it is difficult. But here in Tucson, I've had the pleasure of having Frank, Panchesco, Jimbo, Glenn, Brian, Jim, and Moby inside my 1927 Spanish Territorial style burnt adobe brick homestead in 2007, and nothing terrible happened.

It helps to have Roger as your friend. He is a physicist by training, he makes the unnatural natural and the impossible possible.

So I made three kinds of pizza. Trader Joe's pizza dough is a lovely thing although I wish they would put a smidgeon more dough in the bag so that the pizza would fill the entire pan. I called Brady to alert him to the pesto pizza with artichoke hearts, pinenuts, and spinach and he said tersely, "We're having an emergency, I'll call you back." I fretted through the entire party, wondering who was in the hospital, before he called to tell me that he or Patrick had spilled soda on the new wood floors. He then discovered that I had made pesto pizza and was suitably bummed out.


Frank and John, aren't they handsome?.

I also made a salad.

I had a little pre-party anxiety, worrying that guests wouldn't show up because of some exciting emergency, but in the end a total of ten arrived. Twenty percent of whom have a blog!


Moby and Brian, aren't they handsome?

After the first and second course, I had everyone wash their fingers in little bowls of perfumed lemon water (that's a lie!) and then we played Mexican loteria. Roger, unfortunately, is a terrible loteria player and was the only one not to win a 99 Cent store prize. Hopefully his nice boyfriend Richard will share one of his prizes. Frank and Moby hopefully have pictures of this happening, to prove it happened, because I was busy reading aloud the loteria images "Number 9, El Barril, Number 9, El Barril." Really, my Spanish couldn't get any worse.


Pineapple upsidedown cake, isn't it handsome?

I then made whipped cream. Forrest would later comment that until recently, he didn't know how one made this dessert sprucer-upper. It is really easy (not a lie!) and here's my little secret- I add a little bit of coconut extract along with the vanilla extract. It makes it taste extra yummy.


Frank, Homer, and Moby.

I really had a most excellent weekend. The only downside is that it is Monday and I have to go to the dentist to have a deep cleaning done (early periodontal disease!). And for some reason between 4 AM and 6 AM I had some truly scary nightmares, one involved me not being able to reach the brake pedal with my foot. Another one of which resulted in my shouting out loud, thereby waking myself up. Even now, half an hour later, I still out of sorts.

And in case you are wondering, Moby and I had a lovely time and nobody is mad at anybody. Did I mention how much my friends and pets liked Moby? That is not a lie.

My skin is salty from Richard's pool. I made 4-bean salad and went over and grabbed Patrick and we went up to play volleyball.


Forrest and Homer.

There were 12 of us and we played really well. The Phoenix team cancelled their scheduled appearance, but Roger and his friend Toogie finally showed up. We had a most excellent time.


Juan.

Among the topics of conversation was circumcision and I think everyone agreed that it is pretty nasty to cut parts of little boys penises off.


Roger.

I came back home so tired that I climbed right into bed and fell asleep.


Sunset.

So my soap opera was a detective show yesterday but today it was all home improvement and nature. I'm out at the ruins of a military fort, with the county obtaining the last portion. Watching as the backhoe scraped drainage areas and workers removed fallen debris. I get to sort through the mess to collect architectural elements and weird things like big concrete blocks with newspapers from 1920 stuck to their underside.


Fort ruins.

Suddenly the backhoe operator gets off his hoe and comes over and announces that a bee swarm had just shown up.


Africanized bees.

The bees gathered underneath the decrepit roof of a porch. If you click on the picture it gets bigger. The bees on the outside were busy fanning their wings, attempting to cool off the queen. Probably by tomorrow they will have moved on to some other location.

Besides this I saw three types of lizard, cottontail rabbits, and a very long green and yellow snake that freaked me out.

It's strange how many animals manage to live in urban Tucson.

Let's cut through the bullshit. Why should I care that a certain blogger is a fake? Maybe because he decided to involve real people in his adventure.

On July 17th, "Steve" announced that he had been mugged and that the muggers then went on to attack other people, one of whom was an 11-year-old epileptic girl who was shot after having a seizure. Two days later, on July 19th, he claimed to have attended the girl's viewing: "Additionally, I went to that girl’s viewing (apparently she had an epileptic seizure, which freaked the robbers out; and that’s why they shot her). I had to go. It was difficult. The family was extremely poor, and the mother was in hysterics. One couldn’t help, but cry; in reaction to the mom. I ’looked very rich‘ compared to the other mourners (I, and my friends, were the only ones wearing suits). I was afraid to tell them who I was.". On August 21st, he claimed the first of two trials was starting and in the comments for that day stated: "But my eye did catch the faces of the murdered girl’s parents. They recognized me from being at her viewing. So I walked over, introduced myself; and treated them to lunch. I feel so bad for them."

So back on July 17th I read this entry and then the girl's obituary. Something made me pause and Google the girl's name. No newspaper or television station accounts of her being shot. Not a whisper. To this day, nothing. No news about the "trial" starting. Nada. How likely would it be that the murder of an 11-year-old epileptic girl would not make the news? No police report. Nothing. And by the way, the father of the girl is a building contractor, the mother is a registered nurse, somehow it seems unlikely they are "extremely poor."

Apparently, I wasn't the only person who wondered about this. Yesterday a commenter, Bailey, raised the issue (see comment 27). Within minutes the link to the little girl's obituary disappeared from the original July 17th entry. Bailey was then attacked by "Steve" in a lengthy diatribe and accusations made that Bailey had left comments under multiple names. How likely is that?

So let's look at the facts. "Steve" used the obituary of a girl who may or may not have died from epilepsy to spice up his blog. This girl has a family who are grieving for her death, and he converts her death into a murder. If you were the father or mother of this child, how would you have felt if you came across the July 17th blog entry?

Last night I had a talk with a friend (a real person whose picture has appeared several times on my blog). He is a public defender for major crimes (homicide, attempted murder, etc) for Pima County. I asked him how long it takes for a trial to begin after a serious crime. He told me that it is on average 6 to 8 months and is often much longer. I then asked him whether it was possible for a trial to begin 25 working days after the crime was committed. He laughed and said, "That's totally bogus."

He then went on to list some of the steps needed for a trial to take place, including:

1). the detectives must complete their reports
2). evidence must be processed. DNA and fingerprint evidence has to go to the relevant laboratories and reports prepared.
3). all witneses have to be interviewed, typically on camera, and these interviews have to be transcribed.
4). the defendants lawyers have to receive copies of all of the evidence.
5). a jury has to be selected.
6). and so on.

Anybody who believes that a trial can begin on the 25th day after a serious crime, hey, I've got some swampland to sell you too.

Again, why does this piss me off? Because "Steve" used the identity of a deceased little girl to spice up his blog. Not once, but three different times. How would each of you feel if someone did that to one of your close family members?

So no, "Steve" I'm not jealous of your popularity. I have a strong aversion to liars. I'm also very curious how come no one named Marc (or Mark or Marcus), born in 1975 died on 20 August 2006. That's another very curious and bizarre story, apparently.

And by the way, Jimbo inside's are perfectly lovely.

Trash talk. I'm in the dumps. Literally.

Fake Bloggers.

Every once in while another fake blogger pops up. There was that Bent Collective thing (which, I've just discovered, is still stringing along folks). The guy in Australia that was supposedly bashed and in a coma. Some other guy who supposedly died- some chick did that one. Have I forgotten any? Oh look, there's a new one!

Here are some handy hints to figure out if a blog is fake or not.

1). Pictures. Fake bloggers typically have few, if any,photographs of themselves on their blog. And if they do have photos, often you could swear they weren't the same person. Often they claim they don't own a digital camera. Ask yourself how many people do you know, aged between 20 and 50, who don't have access to a digital camera. My Amish brother is, of course, one of those people. But he is the exception. He doesn't have a computer. Or electricity. I did convince him to take a picture with mine when I visited him in April. So he's real.

2). Extraordinary circumstances. If Blogger X seems to have a series of amazing, unbelievable things happen to them, then it is likely that these events are fictional. Examples can include frequent, bizarre accidents and the resulting trips to the emergency room, immunity from fatal or deadly diseases, organ transplants, surviving a criminal attack and then being asked to help in the investigation, and so on. If it smells fishy, it probably is. I once had a pathological liar for a roommate and he would slowly feed us amazing stories. Individually they were believable. But if you lined them all up, it became obvious that there were too many extra special events happening to the same fellow.

3). Inability to meet other bloggers. Sometimes the extra special events coincide with a planned meeting with another blogger. "Sorry, Blogger X, Blogger Y couldn't make it because he is on life support with a potentially lethal virus!" That actually happened to a fake blogger a couple years back. If a blogger refuses to meet you, despite living around the corner, what's up with that?

4). People dying. Lots of people die every day. Fake bloggers seem to revel in death. They have extremely elderly relatives (103!) who pass away. Those are the best kind of relatives to have. Or a mother who died in a terrible car accident and they found out in some particularly tragic way. That usually gets lots of sympathetic comments. And sometimes they die themselves. Alright, here in the United States everyone is required to have a Social Security number to do basic things. Like have a job or a disability check. When you die, this is reported to the Social Security Administration and it gets listed on the Social Security Death Index. So if you are a fake blogger, and you say someone dies, it is relatively easy to check their name (even using just their first name or a part of their first name) and date of death to determine if someone actually died or not. Similarly, if someone gets murdered, it is relatively easy to get on the internet and locate newspaper articles or police files on the event. Except when someone is not really murdered.

5). The Power of Google. It is really hard to create a fake person and then get all the facts right. Annoying things like how old one should be at a certain time. Police procedures. Healthcare protocols. What majors are offered at certain universities. Membership in a certain group. Thanks to the internet, it is super easy to snoop on people/places/events/facts and find out things. When I Google my own name, I get 1,470 hits. So people who write fake blogs should make sure they
never write about anything specific, because it is way easy to determine what is the truth and what is not.

Moral of this entry. If you want to write a fake blog and convince people you are a living, breathing person instead of a chunk of computer memory, do so. But don't get all upset when we find out and expose you for being a fraud.

Moby is coming to Tucson this weekend and I'm having a pizza party on Sunday night. What kind of cake should I make?

A). Coconut with coconut cream cheese frosting.
B). German chocolate.
C). White cake with whipped cream and fruit
D). Pineapple upside-down cake.

Satan.



If I believed in Satan he would look like Karl Rove (or perhaps Dick Cheney). What a sorry result of an orgasm. I'm sure if his father had known what kind of nastiness he was he'd have slapped a rubber on. Or two.

So he's off to "spend more time with his family." I wonder if he bothered to ask them whether they wanted to spend more time with him?

The new glasses.

Regular ones.


Reading glasses.

I decided to skip bifocals for now, I'm not that old yet,

Thanks to other people's shitty mortgages, my 401K is worth 89.71 percent of what it was a month ago, despite the profit sharing and my own contributions (currently I'm putting away 11 percent in that account). It's all magic money anyways and the likelihood that I'll ever be able to retire and take up painting nudes or becoming an opera queen is pretty minimal.

For my fifth birthday my Mama took me to the Ace Hardware on Front Street in Traverse City and I got to pick out a present with the five dollars that she gave me.

I remember walking down the aisle of toys they had there, past the Breyer horses, and there was a beautiful light blue house trailer.


Nylint house trailer.

You could lift off the white roof and look down into the two rooms. It was filled with furniture and pots and pans. I still have the piano and a frypan with tiny fried eggs inside.

My father thought it was terrible that I loved that toy. I had PeeWee dolls and I would place them inside and pull the house trailer around. Sometimes (often) there were tragic accidents and the trailer would roll over and the furniture would fly about. It was very exciting.

Mummy has the trailer at her house and I think next time I'm at home, I'll bring it back to Arizona. (the picture is from one selling on ebay, where it is over $200 at the moment)

I was going to have a pool party nipple identification quiz, but then the whole stress of figuring out which nipple to include and which ones to exclude was just too much. Plus I had too much sun yesterday and only just now am I recovered enough to enjoy life in the slightest.

So instead, why don't you watch this lovely Dirty Vegas video instead?

Pool Volleyball, part 1. As always, splashing around in Richard's pool was an excellent way to spend a hot Sunday afternoon. I made salsa and a cake and took them along.


Pico de Gallo Salsa.


Yellow cake with raspberry filling and bittersweet chocolate frosting.

Most of the pictures I took of people in the pool didn't turn out so well or had stray penises in them, so you'll have to look at these two.

Jeffrey.


Patrick.

I was so tired out afterwards I came home and went to bed early.

Post 1348. I broke two weed whackers trying to whack my weeds. My Ipod is defunct. I think I have a cavity. I broke a drinking glass recently. The mirror in my dining room fell suddenly from the wall and the fancy frame broke. My new glasses cost $700 when all was said and done.

I'm hoping this string of bad luck ends, like yesterday.

Totally unrelated: I had drink and dinner with Ray and Cobban last night.


Ray.


Cobban.

Middle Eastern food! The waiter was beautiful and a Jimbo-like butt.

Oh lord, Brian turned 29 today. Again. For the ninth time. I swear I don't know how he manages to remain so young and nubile. I suppose it is the "selling my soul to satan" thing.


Homer with the birthday man.

Why don't you go over to his blog and wish him "Happy Anniversary of his Departure from His Mama's Womb."

Conservative Christians spend an awful lot of time fretting about male sexuality. Back in the 19th century it was all about those damned polygamous Mormon men, fucking their multitude of wives. In the 20th century it was about controlling woman as a way to control men. The 21st century is about finding ways to demonize the gays. Yawn.

To me this is what the fuss about the San Diego firemen is all about. They are suing the City of San Diego because they were asked to drive a firetruck in the Pride Parade. Some spectators did inappropriate things, they say, like kiss each other, touch their niblets, or yell out phrases such as "give me mouth to mouth." I read through their affadavits of complaint filed to the Department of Fair Housing and Employment and several things struck me.

The first was that all four had been coached in their statements. Each statement is very similar, in the order of how they described the events and the exact wording of several offending phrases. Could the fact that they are being represented by a conservative Christian law firm have anything to do with this?

The second is that this is just the first of these sorts of complaints gay people will be seeing. Sexual harassment laws are very vague and broad. Basically, anyone can claim to be sexually harassed if one witnesses something one considers offensive. Know the route of the annual gay pride parade? If you are a fundamentalist Christian you could get yourself hired at a business along the route, and once the parade passed, you could claim harassment because you witnessed men kissing, dancing, groping, or doing anything that heterosexuals routinely do, but because gay people do them, they are somehow more lewd and disgusting. How soon before parade permits are denied because cities don't want the legal expenses involved.

Clever way to work the system. And those firemen, ask me if I believe they are telling the truth.

So many things to learn about. Every day I acquire many useless facts. This morning I spent precious moments watching music videos including several by a seemingly Charo-esque woman called La Tigresa, one of which had been watched over two million times. I'd never heard of her before, my loss.


La Tigresa del Oriente- "La Anaconda"

In my almost daily chats with Brian, I relate to him some of these obscure facts and observations. Yesterday it was the fact that not all gay men have superior grooming habits. At a recent pool party I was horrified to see someone with long, untrimmed toe nails. And I mean long.

Now Mollie, the elderly dog, freaks when I attempt to trim her toe nails. One time she pooped while I was doing so. I suspect there is some toe nail trauma in her past. But there is no reason, and less likelihood of a poop incident, for an adult gay male to not trim their toe nails. As Brian would say, "I'm just saying."

And as Mizzbird states in her blog (she's just moved to Tucson!), this is perhaps the best video of the mid-1980s. So full of energy and I always thought the guy with the moustache was hot (and he probably had trimmed toe nails):


Relax.

The pesto pizza went over well. So easy to make and everyone thinks it is hard. I know some bloggers like that.


Jigsaw.

Jigsaw was a littole doggie vacuum, looking for food everywhere.


Panchesco.

The pool was too cold for me, I have delicate parts.


Hot tub!

The hot tub was too hot for me, I have delicate parts.


Ken and Hiram.

The birthday boys blew their candles out twice for the camera. A good time had.

How I spent the rest of the day on Friday.

Nothing interesting happened to my penis in the last 24 hours. Or to my left eyeball or my right glenoid fossa. Did you know that the little bone between your nostrils rhymes with my name. It is called the vomer.

The computers at work have been down for three (count 'em!) three days. It is really hard to do anything at work when you can't do anything. So I'm sitting at home waiting to hear whether the computers get fixed and thinking about how humid it is (all of my kitchen cupboard doors have swollen shut).

I have a secret internet blog crush. If I told you who it was then you would know, so it is my little secret. I've seen a revealing picture. Damn!

Oops, the computers at work aren't working. Maybe I'll make a cake instead of working.

This weekend I'm attending a birthday party for someone named Hiram. That was my great-great-great grandfather's name. I'm very excited about meeting someone with that name. I'm taking along a pesto pizza, because I can.

Nothing exciting has happened to my penis since I started writing this post. That is probably for the best.

You can learn many important lessons while watching re-runs of America's Top Model while lazing about on the couch. Last night's episodes taught me to never sass handsome British fashion photographers because they are so important, serious, and full of themselves, that they can't understand something called a "joke." I also learned that modeling involved a lot of passion and hard work, and that sometimes one's body above the waist wants to model while the portion below doesn't. Who knew? I certainly didn't! I also learned that should I ever become decide to become a flamboyant runway walk coach, I could also get a job tearing young women apart because their cheekbones make them look some certain way that lots of computer manipulation can't fix.

This is the problem of not having fancy cable and it will only get worse once NBC drops Passions in September. My daily dose of trash tv will only get trashier. Goodness, whatever will I do. There are only so many hours you can stare at the hot guys on BMB or Seancody!