Homer'sWorld

Happy Blogday to me.

Mother Nature decided to celebrate by dumping a huge amount of rain on Tucson. After the computers died at work from some electrical thingy, I got in the trusty Saturn and came home. That was a nightmare.

Tucson's streets are not engineered for rain, since it is rather rare here. When it does rain, some of the streets become mini rivers.


Driving down Tucson Blvd.

From work I had to go down several streets where the water was anywhere up to eight or nine inches deep, running downhill really fast.

Firetruck.

Close to home, I parked next to the Santa Cruz River and went out onto the bridge.

Santa Cruz flooding.

Normally this is a completely dry river bed. Today water roared down it, carrying trees, a couch, bottles, and who knows what else.

A five-ft-tall garbage can.

I could see huge waves on the other side of the bridge so I went across and watched as a snake climbed out of the water.

10.4 ft of water.

At one spot a concrete ridge runs across the river bottom and there a giant wave formed, splashing up five or six ft in the air. It was pretty awesome to watch.

Self portrait next to wave.

At home the electricty had gone out and the cats were a little freaked, the storm must have been really hard here because the stop lights weren't working.

Such a change from the usual, boring weather here.

Tomorrow is the beginning of the fifth year of Homer'sWorld. Someone asked me this weekend why I started this blog and the best answer I could come up with was that I had always meant to keep a diary. I like to write silly things and post pictures of my adventures. I've met quite a few fellow bloggers (something like 46 of the people on my links list) and made some really good friends.

The question I have is why do you read my blog?

I had dinner with Michael and Doug and their spouses David and Leon last night.


Michael, Doug, and Homer.

Small world moment- Michael and I lived in the same dorm the same year at the University of Michigan. I need to find my college yearbook for that year and see if he's in his hall's picture.

I hung out with Forrest yesterday, made spinakopita, and had breakfast with Jeff and Sean. Today I was a lazy bum, had dinner at Patrick and Brady's (and saw a horrible movie- The Fountain), and then went and hung out with Jeff and Sean at the pool at their hotel. A very young, very blonde, very hot guy distracted me slightly.

And now back to normalcy and work.

My head hurts from the heat and humidity. I spent the morning out at the ranch I'm working at, watching as they remove debris from around buildings and collecting interesting artifacts or architectural pieces.

The farm animals are curious and watch me- horses, a donkey, a baby mule, and some calves.


Longhorn calves.

My pictures of the roadrunner and the baby owl didn't turn out, I really need a camera with a better zoom option.

Jeff and his bf Sean are in town from Toledo. I hope the heat and humidity aren't giving them headaches.


Jeff.

We ate at La Indita and then visited a local homo bar. It was nice hanging out and chatting.


Sean.

A couple of bloggers are coming to Tucson this weekend- I'm planning on hanging out with them too. It is nice to meet people in person who I've been reading about for so long.

Blog entries about dreams are pretty dull. So I am shamed to mention that last night I dreamed I was on the Poseiden (of the Poseiden Adventure) and was in the kitchen, all turned upside down, when I realized it was an Australian ship and that the cooks had really cool cookie cutters (kangeroos!) and I was trying to slow down the people in my group attempting to escape so I could sort through the cookie cutters and grab the cute ones.

There must be a lot of symbolism involved. Or therapy. But when I woke up I was disappointed I didn't have, in real life, the super cute cookie cutters.

Brady asked me to make him a pesto pizza, so of course who can say no to Brady?


John and the three pizzas.

Frank, John, and Forrest came over too, and we played Clue (Mrs. peacock, the wrench, in the billiards room) and ate a fancy puff pastry, whipped cream-cream fraiche, and strawberry dessert.

I won't be cooking for a while, my house becomes an oven and is just nasty. It is already very humid from the monsoon rains (three days in a row now).

When Jimbo comes to visit he always wins when we fight with our vacuums. Damn, it's like a fricken arms race. First I get a DustDevil with a special upholstery brush end and he goes all out with the Dustinator2009 and I end up in the emergency room, again.


He smites you mightily.

I always wanted one of those ant farms toys when I was a kid.


Pretend that is me.

Years later, in my 40s, my dream has come true. My entire kitchen has become an art farm. They march in the back door and head for the dogfood dish, the table, the counters, the silverware drawer, and so on. They have walked across the floor so much they have left a visible trail.

I'm against using chemical poisons because, well, they contain poison. I've tried more natural, less nasty methods, like vinegar, but these ants have been intelligently designed to resist that method. So once or twice a day I freak out and sweep them out the back door and yell at them, "The power of Christ compells you!" but even that doesn't work.

Oh, it is monsoon season finally and thankfully the ground is absorbing water and my back wall has shifted back to where it is supposed to be. I can even lock my back door so I don't have to worry about that hot blogger who won't be named but who has perfect chest hair and enormous biceps and ummmm.... breaking into my house and terrorizing me.

Can you tell it is Monday?

What is it about the internet that allows people to be rude? I do a lot of genealogy research and have posted some of the material on a website, last updated in 2003. They changed MicroHell Frontpage and I have never gotten around to updating the website. So there is some outdated material and mistakes.

Today I get an email from Eleanor. Here are a few comments from the email:

"I wrote to you a few years ago to correct some of the mistakes you put out on the internet. Now it is time to do that again."

"Please do a bit more checking before you put information on line."

"I assume you know that Long Lake township is in Grand Traverse County."

"I'd like to sit down with you sometime and check all your genealogy to make sure it is correct."

The mistakes she wants to correct are so minor, but you'd think I'd murdered someone or started a war using dubious information.

My response: "You know, I spend a lot of time and money doing research and providing the information to people for free. In return, I expect people to be courteous to me when informing me of errors, because everyone, at one time or another, makes mistakes. Your email to me was rude. I don't really appreciate your attitude. Maybe you need to read a book on manners."

Fuck off Eleanor.

Down in the dumps. A couple of thousand feet east from my house the old landfill from circa 1950-1958 is being removed for the new park. I had to go down into the massive hole to collect some junk for the future museum exhibit, which will include a section on the dump.


The giant hole.

People don't realize that when their trash goes to a landfill, it basically sits there and doesn't rot away, since it is sealed in tight and bacteria can't get water or oxygen to decompose the material.


About 120 truck loads a day are removed.

The horrible smell that pervaded my neighborhood has stopped after they started spraying some sort of deodorant on the stuff they were digging up.


Squished tires.

The giant excavator sets aside tires as they are found, they are being sent to a recycling place to be ground up for new street surfaces.


Fancy tire.

They did a program of injecting air and water into the landfills and it was mostly successful in decomposing the waste. Still, pockets of organic material, especially paper, remained intact.


A bowling pit, plastic doll, and a woman's nylon stocking.

Pieces of newspaper, receipts, raffle tickets for a Cadillac, and old magazines are visible as you wander around in the bottom of the 30-ft-deep hole.

Bread wrapper and phone book.

Down at the bottom the trash stinks really bad. I had to take a big plastic bin of junk in my car to our storage locker at work, the smell was terrible.

1957 phone book.

I'm very good at recycling and composting. My garbage can usually only has cat litter and plastic wrap in it. Except I went through my closet the other night and threw out all of my old plastic computer disks, including some 5 1/4 floppies (I took one to work and was actually able to pull files off of it from 1992!). I wonder if someone will someday find those?

Ninja Joey.


She'll tear you apart!

Don't try to break into my house. Ninja Joey will pounce on you, rip your guts out, and meow at you afterwards. Don't mess with her, she's evil catsonified!

Pimping the vote. Dear readers, visit my buddy Frank's blog and tell him which facial hair configuration looks best on his handsome mug. Thank you for doing your patriotic duty.

Five movies and dessert. I watched five movies this weekend and cleaned house. A busy body makes for a less busy mind.

Strangers with Candy- mediocre.
Transformers- robotic.
Alien- hadn't watched in a long time, holds up very well.
Crank- Jason Statham is a hottie and a half.
Kung Fu Hustle- pretty amazing.


Patrick in his new kitchen.

Patrick made salad, string beans, and potatoes au gratin. He is a very good cook.

Chris and Brady.


Chris brought along a selection of desserts from Beyond Bread. I liked the lemon cupcake the best.


Beyond Bread desserts.

Certain aspects of my life tend to repeat themselves. Usually this is not a good thing, like forgetting I've written a large check and then writing another. I should know better when the circumstances arise and I repeat, but beneath every rational person are certain irrational impulses.

One of these irrational impulses has contributed to my mood tonight. I'm sitting here alone in my hot little house feeling rather alone. Feeling rather sorry for myself. Why do certain things have to be so hard? It would be easier sometimes not to feel anything.

Pity party, party of one.

Otherwise, watched Transformers today. They were after my youth (I doubt anyone will ever make a movie about Tinker Toys) and honestly I couldn't tell them apart when they were untransformed. Nice special effects. Anyways, it kept me from thinking sour thoughts for a few hours. Thanks Mike!

Today's Dear Abby column:

DEAR ABBY: My husband and I raised our two sons and two daughters. One son and both daughters married well. Our other son, "Neil," is gay. He and his partner, "Ron," have been together 15 years, but Neil's father and I never wanted to know Ron because we disapproved of their lifestyle.

When I was 74, my husband died, leaving me in ill health and nearly penniless. No longer able to live alone, I asked my married son and two daughters if I could "visit" each of them for four months a year. (I didn't want to burden any one family, and thought living out of a suitcase would be best for everyone.) All three turned me down. Feeling unwanted, I wanted to die.

When Neil and Ron heard what had happened, they invited me to move across country and live with them. They welcomed me into their home, and even removed a wall between two rooms so I'd have a bedroom with a private bath and sitting room -- although we spend most of our time together.

They also include me in many of their plans. Since I moved in with them, I have traveled more than I have my whole life and seen places I only read about in books. They never mention the fact that they are supporting me, or that I ignored them in the past.

When old friends ask how it feels living with my gay son, I tell them I hope they're lucky enough to have one who will take them in one day. Please continue urging your readers to accept their children as they are. My only regret is that I wasted 15 years. -- GRATEFUL MOM

DEAR GRATEFUL MOM: You are indeed fortunate to have such a loving, generous and forgiving son. Sexual orientation is not a measure of anyone's humanity or worth. Thank you for pointing out how important it is that people respect each other for who they are, not for what we would like them to be.

You could have learned that lesson long ago, had you and your husband contacted Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) when you first learned that Neil was gay. Among other things, the organization offers support groups and education for parents who need to learn more about gender issues. (The address is 1726 M St. N.W., Suite 400, Washington, D.C. 20036.)

Mollie is 15 and a half. She is getting wobbly, a bit senile, and sometimes she accidentally poops in the house. She has her good days and her bad days.



The good days still outnumber the bad ones. I try not to think about what is happening to her. She is still the sweetest dog in the world.

Except she absolutely hates to have her picture taken.

So next month, new glasses. It has been since 2002 or so since my last pair, which were the nice nerdy black plastic ones that all of the non-nerds have nowadays. I tried on many pairs, but couldn't make up my mind.

Help! Please tell me which ones look best on me.


A. Gold rimmed, oval.


B. Black, rectangular



C. Elton!


D. Clear, oval.


E. Gold, round.


F. Bedazzled!

In which I observe that I would rather listen to Paris Hilton bleat or see a picture of Britney's shaved public parts than to see pictures of David Beckham and his once-interesting Spice bride. I would also like to exile the Iphone and Islam and Iraq, those dreadful words that begin with I, because I'm just sick of everything having to do with them and those people who talk about those three Is are totally cultish in their attitude.

And no it doesn't surprise me that the Louisiana Senator, Vitter, stuck his pecker inside a hooker. Those politicians certainly like to fuck the rest of us too. The thing is, Vitter thinks us homos are evil and such but Jesus Fucking Christ I somehow managed to not have to pay for sex in the last 22.5 years of being a professional faggot.

My guidelines for opening my mouth and speaking:

1). tell the truth.
2). lie.
3). say nothing at all.

I won't do Number 2, despite what that certain City official suggested at that certain City meeting last week. Most often I do Number 1, because it is much easier and besides that, I watch Passions online and Pilar said very forcefully that the truth always comes out.

Number 3 comes into play if you ask me whether you look fat or whether your hair looks nice. Lord knows I want to keep my testicles intact.

Okay, a disappointing day in many ways. Can you say "fucking idiots?" I can, and I can point them out to you, if you really wanted.

A couple of hours in the pool at Victor and Scott's house was time well spent. Time to cool off a bad mood.


Gecko.

At home, a pair of Mediterranean geckos were hanging out around the porch light, eating insects. I took this picture of a paloverde beetle for Doug, who is coming to Tucson in a few weeks (he's a bug scientist!). The little thing sticking out of the beetle's behind kept moving in and out. I was almost scared. I could swear it was making noises too.


Palo verde beetle.

The Day So Far:

6:00 AM- bowl of Safeway raisen bran with 2 percent milk.
9:00 AM- small banana
12:15 PM- Progresso Minestrone soup.
1:00 PM- peach
3:49 PM- I'm officially starving.

I had to start up the No Snacks, No Shame diet again. I had been enjoying too many snacks, many of which are now hidden beneath the skin of my chest and belly. I'll spare you the offensive pictures.

Half way through cutting my hair, the clippers died.


Buzzed.

That was inconvenient. Too late to go to the store. I experimented with taking the clippers apart and was able to get them working long enough to finish. Then they died again and I tossed them away. Isn't anything manufactured in China made to last?

I'm awaiting a pool party confirmation call. Anything to escape from the oppressive heat.

I rented a DVD of Shortbus last night. Excellent film, I really liked it. If you haven't watched, do so.

one of the actors is Jay Brannan. He's adorkable and has a lovely singing voice.

Half-Boyfriend.

Hey, we are having a heat wave here! 110 degrees in Tucson, or something like that.

Some goals for the next few months:

1). New glasses- I need bifocals, I can't read with my glasses on.
2). Dentist
3). Physical (cough!)
4). A trip to San Francisco in September.
5). Watch the snacks.
6). Do something different.

The best one, except one edge it cut off.


Click on the picture for the full effect.

I spent the afternoon at Ray and Cobban's place in Hereford. We hung out at the pool, chatted, ate. I had a nap and then dessert. The drama started after I left their house and discovered brush fires had closed the highway.


Smoke.

It took me an hour to detour past the fires and then in Tucson I made an Interstate mistake and added another 20 minutes driving time. I got home and the fireworks show was almost ready to start. I did some artsy photos (click on 'em to make enormous).









I actually missed the final set because I came inside, thinking they were over.

Skyrockets in sight! Except for when you miss 'em.

I want my pardon/commutation too.

1). On more than one occasion I have driven over the speed limit.
2). Twice, late at night, I grew impatient at super long red lights and went through, after making sure there were no cars around.
3). I dropped acid on my 27th birthday. I spent the night staring at lichen on giant boulders.
4). Before Arizona repealed its sodomy laws I violated them.
5). Sometimes I like to wear socks and sandals, together.

Most boring post ever, 1314.

Waiting for the electrician to come fix Vince's swamp cooler. Will he ever arrive? Now I understand Jimbo utterly, completely.

Fingers worn down to little nubs from transcribing old newspaper articles.

A vacation day spent with little vacating done. Is it quitting time yet?

Best Saturday. After a morning of relentless house cleaning, I went to Richard's house to play pool volleyball.


Roger and Richard.

Richard and his boyfriend Roger are super hosts, although I was a bit horrified by one of the snacks that Richard picked up at an airport in Japan:


Japanese crab snack.

I convinced Forrest and his visiting friend Jason that pool volleyball was a million times better than going to Phoenix. Eventually there were twelve of us playing and amazingly enough, I was on the winning teams.


Jason.

So I had a good time hanging out with my friends. I wonder what kind of trouble I can get into today?


Homer and Forrest.