This shouldn't be so difficult

As we reach the final stages of cleaning out the old family home (which Marc and I are going to extensively renovate before moving in), we find ourselves left with a lot of furniture for which we have no need. So we've been trying to give it away to charity.

I started with Goodwill Industries. They help people trying to get a fresh start in life, so it seemed like a noble use for all of this stuff. The problem is that they don't pick up furniture. If I'd like to rent a truck and bring it to them, they'd be happy to pick through it and take whatever they deem suitable.

Excuse me? They've got to be kidding. I really want to see these things go to good use, but why must they make it so difficult?

Others have online lists of what they'll take. One of them rejects all beds and mattresses. I understand their concern. I work in a hospital, and I know bad things can lurk in fabrics. We have a special case, however.

So I called this particular charity--one that specializes in placing homeless people in new living quarters--and explained that my Mom had purchased a new mattress and box spring right before she died. The thing still has the tags on it! It's brand new.

Nope. They wouldn't budge. If I'd like to buy them new mattresses, etc., right from a manufacturer, they'd take that. This set, however, they refuse to take.

Have all of these charities become so bureaucratic and short-sighted that they are rejecting gifts that could be helping the people they purport to serve? It would seem so.

There are all too many places in this world where people are lucky if they have any shelter at all. Some of those places are right here in the United States. People are living under highway overpasses or trying to survive on the street, and I can't get anyone to take several pieces of good, solid, useable furniture. Where have we gone wrong? This is truly depressing.

I don't want to put these things at the curb for the town to pick up. Granted, many pieces will be taken by people looking for free stuff (actually, town pickups usually are small, because the large amount that goes to the curb gets picked over before they get there... and we live in a nice area!*), but some of it will wind up in the town dump. That's just a waste, and I hate to see it happen.

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*If we lived in/near a more run-down area, I'd be happier about people picking over the stuff at the curb. However, these people aren't people in need. No, they're just looking for free stuff. How noble of them. If they gave more and horded less, maybe life would be better for everyone!

Doggie contempt

See this? This is a look of either 1) contempt, and/or 2) one of grudging tolerance.

It's amazing how these things develop. I should note that Mandy, the star of today's entry, is lying on my couch!!! This is the same Mandy whose entire life (except for a brief post-whelping stay at North Shore Animal League) has been spent under my roof, eating food provided by me (and/or Marc), enjoying toys provided by us.

Even so, I point a camera at her, and her eyes say, "fucking paparazzi... can I have no peace?"

Such a hard life. I wish we could trade places! :)

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http://jess466.smugmug.com/photos/8765094-L.jpg

(The above URL is there deliberately. I'm trying something new. Since I'm not savvy enough with HTML to post a picture that you can click on and get a bigger version, I'm putting the blog-size one up with a link to a big version... not that there's really a need for a big version in this case. I'm just giving it a try. If anyone wants to give me some HTML training, I'm willing to learn!)

Chocolate, Thai food & blue drinks

Yesterday, we decided to focus our efforts on saying Happy Birthday to Charlie in an appropriate manner. Since he was going to be working last night, that limited our options.

We began our time in Manhattan by visiting the Rockefeller Center location of La Maison du Chocolat. After acquiring an appropriate gift, we walked a bit, wandering into a street fair we didn't even know was going on. Now, we had heard that the Feast of San Gennaro was going on, but that was down in Little Italy. I have no idea what this was about, but it's always fun to be able to walk in the middle of closed streets in Manhattan. That alone, walking in the street with no risk of being run over, is exciting for a New Yorker!

After a little time there, we headed for the subway (yes, I put in a link for the subway; I'm link-happy today... so sue me! :) ), so we could get down to Greenwich Village for dinner at our favorite Thai restaurant, Lemongrass Grill. We had unsuccessfully tried to eat there a few weeks ago, so it was especially pleasing to pay a visit this time. After some great appetizers and big plates of Pad Thai, we tore into a small box of chocolates we bought for ourselves at La Maison du Chocolat (the big box was for Charlie, and that remained safely in the bag). :)

After thoroughly gorging ourselves on Thai food and chocolate, we noted that we still had a fair amount of time until Charlie started his shift at Townhouse. So we decided that we'd go for a leisurely stroll to the subway over at Astor Place. Now, a slow stroll for me means something different when compared to a slow stroll for Marc and Jeff (they're both several inches taller than me). Even so, it was a nice walk.

On the way, we stopped at a new clothing store (it was so new that they were still doing construction in there) so Marc and Jeff could buy sweaters to cope with the sudden plunge in temperature. For my part, I was happy in my short sleeves. I love cool, fall weather (even if it's a few days early)!

Eventually, after a walk of about, oh, I'd say, 863 miles (I may be slightly off in my estimate), we reached the subway station. We hopped on a train crammed with repulsively straight jock-acting Yankees fans. Apparently, there had been a game, and these people were on their way home.

Jocks can be fun to look at, but the appeal usually disappears when they speak. This was the case last night. Actually, there wasn't much to look at in this group, but it wouldn't have mattered. The moronic blather we had to endure would have been like verbal salt peter, even if they all were gorgeous.

Speaking of gorgeous, a short post-subway walk found us at Townhouse, where we were well cared for by Charlie's colleagues. One of these men, Juan-Carlos, was celebrating his birthday, as well. It may have been a special day for him, but just looking at him made it a special day for us.

We'd actually met Juan-Carlos on prior visits, but this evening had us sitting at his bar for some time, getting a very nice opportunity to admire his stunning good looks and beautiful smile. Being attached is a good thing for me, as it keeps me from making a fool of myself. Were I single, there's little doubt I'd be trying to get to know Juan-Carlos better, and, at least at this point in my life, I think the boy is out of my league. So there's another benefit of married life! :)

I started with a Malibu rum & Coke. Then I asked Greg, another of the bartenders (and not hard to look at either!), for a drink suggestion. His idea for me was a Long Island Iced Tea. After he poured the four main liquors into it, he asked if I'd like it to be blue for something different. I said that would be okay, so he finished it off with Blue Curacao.

This made for a fine drink, but we had a problem. We had timed our arrival to coincide with when we expected Charlie to start his shift, 9pm. The problem came when we didn't see Charlie and asked Greg where he was. "He doesn't start until ten." Ah, so that explained it. Even so, we planned to have a few drinks with Charlie. If we had to drink until he got there and then drink more, that could get to be unpretty! We hadn't planned to get trashed... so we carefully nursed those second drinks.

Meanwhile, to steal/paraphrase a line from M*A*S*H, Charlie, having taken a tramp in the woods, was lying in a ditch at the edge of town. Well, not quite, but he had grabbed a car service to get to work, only to find that the driver didn't know how to find East 58th Street!!!

This is one of the perils of life in New York. It seems that there's some sort of program run by the US Immigration Department that issues visas to people in foreign countries, together in a package with a New York driver's license and a job with a taxi or limo company. They land at JFK Airport and hop into a car for their first shift!

So Charlie fell victim to someone who was to drive him to work while he, the driver, was getting to see Manhattan for the first time in his life (or so it seemed)!!! This caused Charlie to arrive, somewhat frazzled (but still lovely, of course), around 10:30.

We exchanged kisses with Charlie--a moment that will occupy my fantasies for weeks (hey, Charlie, am I making you blush? or at least roll your eyes?)--and gave him his gift. As I explained to him, we'd have opted for a sexual gift, but we were afraid it would create too much of a scene in the bar. ;)

Even after his arrival in the bar, Charlie couldn't get any peace. At first, he was running his ass off at the back bar (it was very busy). Then they decided that they needed him at the front bar. Of course, we followed him. He kindly provided us with more to drink, as his treat. We stayed for a while and enjoyed a lovely time chatting with him between his serving other customers.

I couldn't possibly put Charlie's charm into words. If you haven't met him, you'll just have to use your imagination. What we really need to do next time is get together with him when he's not working, so he can relax and have some fun!

All in all, it was a nice evening. The main message was successfully delivered: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHARLIE!

Fun at the expense of a dear friend

Now, what can be more wholesome than teasing someone you love? So, with the help of the Internet, I stumbled upon some fun information and will now use it, at the expense of someone of whom I am very fond.

Someone many of us know and love has school information online. This appears to be a description posted by friends of his when he was in high school.

So what does this newly found information say? I'll show you:

"Spike", despite being an "A" student seems to be on a roll of stale jokes, dating back to birth. Where he dosen't joke however is the Computer Room, the Art Room, the classroom, and of course at the hairdresser.

Spike? Oh, this is good! I can guess where the nickname came from, but my guess takes away from how butch it sounds. :)

No, I won't say who it is. Of course, if he wants to out himself, he can do so.

One other way to find out--just hang out with us when the blogger boys go for drinks. There's little chance that I will be able to resist using the nickname for him, especially after I have had a few drinks. ;)

I'm ready for retirement!

I really don't understand people who don't have enough to do when they retire. I see them. I've met them. I just don't get it.

Sure, some people have health issues that keep them from being active, but I don't mean them. I mean people who are perfectly healthy but will tell you that they lack for things to do.

There are so many ways to fill the days! On days off, even without planning anything, I have plenty to do. The nice part is that I can do it at my own pace.

With just the littlest bit of thought, I can find fun, interesting ways to fill my time. Between my hobbies and all of the places to go (which, I'll grant, is easier in New York than in many other areas), I'd never lack for things to do.

Now if I could just work out the money thing. Lacking personal wealth, I have to do that nasty thing--going to work.

Speaking of that, what's the deal with Lotto? I've played it lots of times, but they have yet to give me millions of dollars. I play $1 for each regular Lotto game (here in NY, as in many other places, they also have megamillions, daily lottery games, etc., but I just play the one game). Still, no millions. What a ripoff! ;)

I actually agree with Marc (that it's a "tax on people who can't do the math"), but I have to play. It's my Dad's fault. He never played and never would...but it's still his fault (I guess I can explain that in another post). :)

A modest legislative proposal

Earlier today, Patrick sent an e-mail, proposing that the usual suspects go out for drinks.

Of course, this is Rosh Hashanah. Now, I'm not the most observant Jew--obviously, if I'm posting to my blog today--but I can't really go out drinking on such a holy day. So I propose the following new program/legislation:

No Jew Left Behind

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, join me in proclaiming that we will stand together to defend the rights of Jews everywhere to go out and get drunk with their friends. The days of haphazard binge scheduling must come to an end! The cruel days when we leave gay Jews home, sobbing over their lack of liquor, must be a thing of the past! Say it, people! Say it loud! We will leave no Jew behind (or "no Jew's behind" for Jewish bottom boys...but that's probably a different program)!

:)

L'Shana Tova!

As we begin Rosh Hashanah, one of the holiest times in the Jewish calendar, we enter a new year. Considering what my family and I have endured in the year just ending, I hope and pray that the year to come will be better for us. It can hardly be worse.

For my friends and loved ones--in fact, for anyone who reads this--I pray for a healthy, happy year; a year filled with many good things and as little heartache as possible. Most of all, I pray for peace.

At this time of year, we of the Jewish faith pray that those we care about be inscribed in the book of life for a good year. Therefore, I will close with...

May you and yours be inscribed and sealed for a good and sweet year.

So many men...

This evening, I had a meeting in Manhattan. This meeting was held at the BMW Building on West 57th. Would you believe they don't give you a BMW to take with you just for visiting? What's the deal with that?

Anyhow, trips into Manhattan have a lovely side benefit--all of the gorgeous men to look at! I don't know what the deal is, and it's not like there aren't hotties out here (and in just about every other place), but the number of hotties per square mile (or even square block) in Manhattan is beyond belief.

I tell ya, when I'm elected king, I'll never have a free moment. It'll all be taken up with the men from Manhattan I'll have my servants round up and bring to me for days and nights of passion! ;) Yes, I'll share with Marc. After all, he'll be my queen! Actually, he's already... oh, never mind. I'm already in enough trouble when he reads this (I love you, sweetie!). *snicker*

Woe is I

Setting: This evening at our house.

Me: "Let's make love."

Marc: "I have a headache."

[pause]

Me: "This is what we've come to? After all these years, all you can offer is, 'Not tonight, dear, I have a headache'?"

Marc: "No. I really have a headache! And I didn't say, 'not tonight', just not now."

Well, I guess, "not now" isn't so bad, but I really was worried for a minute there! A headache... if he's starts being that un-original, I'm in big trouble! :)

We had a gay old time

Today, we had a full day planned. We were going to see Broadway on Broadway, then to a movie and then out for drinks. So Marc and I got up at what I consider an unspeakably early hour for a Sunday and headed into Manhattan where we met up with our friend Jeff.

Things started in Times Square, where the stage was set for Broadway on Broadway and thousands of people crowded into the closed streets. Before the show ever started, I saw one thing that I found interesting: two British bobbies in full uniform, mingling with New York police officers. Apparently, they were in New York on some kind of exchange program. I'd read about these things, but I never saw British officers in uniform on New York streets.

Of course, there's a clear opportunity for learning and an exchange of knowledge in this arrangement. I'm looking forward to the day when I hear New York City Police Officers using phrases like "quite right, old chap." On the other hand, things in Britain might require some adjustment after the first formal ceremony for the Queen when their Officers are heard to respond to questions with "Fuckin' A!"

Well, they can use something new, being so stuffy at times. :)

Now, about Broadway on Broadway. It's a sampling of tunes from various Broadway shows, some new and some long-established, performed by each show's cast members. It drew a nice crowd; not huge by New York standards, but pretty big for any regular town (about 50,000 people). Here's a cellphone picture from our vantage point:




The selections in this year's event were the following:

"My Darlin' Eileen" from Wonderful Town
"For Good" from Wicked
"I Wanna Be a Producer" from The Producers
"All I Ask of You" from The Phantom of the Opera
"Shadowlands" from The Lion King
"What You Own" from Rent
"SOS" from Mamma Mia!
"Astonishing" from Little Women
"Run and Tell That" from Hairspray
"Life After Life" from Dracula, the Musical
"All I Care About" from Chicago
"Once Upon a Time" from Brooklyn, the Musical
"Shakalaka Baby" from Bombay Dreams
"A Change in Me" from Beauty and the Beast
"It Sucks to Be Me" from Avenue Q
...and a dance was performed from Forever Tango

Some numbers were certainly better than others, but I'll save my opinions for another time, except for one. I think we'll be seeing Brooklyn, the Musical when it opens. We definitely were impressed by that performance.

After the B on B festivities ended, we grabbed a cab and headed to the Clearview Chelsea Cinemas to see the new movie Testosterone. It received some pretty bad reviews, but we thought it was okay. Not amazing, but okay. Of course, the lovely boys in it made it much more palatable than other "okay" movies. Add to that a nice, if brief, shot of the penis of Antonio Sabato, Jr., and the movie became a real winner. ;) Speaking of that, the boy's good looks are matched by a lovely piece of meat, from what I could see in that quick shot. As for the movie itself, as I said, not bad, although the events in the movie were described by one of my movie-going companions as "too fucked up for words."

After the movie, we headed to the West Village...




There, we went to an old favorite bar, The Monster...




It's a nice bar, but the crowd seems to have gotten older since our last visit. I have nothing against an older crowd, but it was old enough for me to feel out of place. While there, Jeff's new friend/boyfriend (Jeff's still trying to decide where it's going), Steve, joined us, so we had the pleasure of meeting him. After a little while and a single drink, Marc and I said goodbye and headed home, so Marc could make dinner and I could vacuum and do some laundry. We took the subway back up to Penn Station...




...and then the Long Island Rail Road back home.

Oh, one last note: to our various friends whom we invited to join us for Broadway on Broadway but still declined, don't worry. We won't report you and put your FAG Cards* at risk, despite the shocking manner in which you failed to flock to Broadway on Broadway. ;)

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*Definitions:

FAG Card
n.
A flat, rectangular, laminated document, issued to members in good standing of the Federation of American Gayboys, the national licensing body for male homosexuals. Failure to adhere to the standards and by-laws of FAG can result in suspension or revocation of homosexual licensure. (Examples of violations include demonstrated dislike of show tunes, failure to respect Broadway show-related events, inability to coordinate clothing colors, etc.)

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Post-script (10:54pm): MAK tells me he never got my text-messaged invitation to join us, so that explains his otherwise shocking disregard of FAG standards. ;)

Ain't married life grand?

(Foreword: I know what day it is. I was working at a hospital in NYC when IT happened, but life goes on. So many others are blogging about the date, and there's nothing new for me to add. So I remember our losses, and then I will let life go on. Now, on with this blog entry...)

First, in case any Republican-Conservative types stumbled on my blog, let me translate the title of this entry, so they'll understand it:

Ain't "Over nine years together, more committed than most married straight couples and loving each other more than life itself but can't be married because we're gay" life grand?

Now to really offend the R-Cs. :)

So today is a slow-to-start kind of Saturday. We have things to do, but we also puttered around the house. Okay, I puttered and Marc mowed the lawn. Anyhow, after he showered, we wound up making out. That led to something known by a number (hint: it's a number close to 70). This then led to a "see who can hold out longer" contest--not that we actually said that to each other. It's just one of those unspoken things...and such a fun thing, too!

Yes, "can't be married" life is grand. Hey, W, we're still out here, living our lives and paying our taxes (and doing things that you don't want to think about but can't help yourself). :P

Kiss my ass, W...you and the rest of your bigoted friends.

Woo hoo!

First, let me say that my good luck with cute medical people continues. Until getting an update from my doctor (and, therefore, lacking medical news), I was considering titling this entry "A Vu to a Thrill".

Why? Well, today, Dr. Vu, a young Asian resident (as in doctor-resident who is Asian, not someone living in Asia), stuck his needle in me. Well, it hurt, as such things can, but his cute face and lovely smile made it all worth it.

Okay, enough of my silliness, let me get to the really important stuff!

Today's visit was for yet another thallium heart scan. Now, I had already had an echocardiogram, a stress test and a thallium heart scan.

I was told that the prior tests showed too little blood flow to part of my heart. Not one of the key parts (in other words, I wasn't in need of immediate surgery or anything like that), but it still wasn't a good thing and might need something done. One possibility was that this was a first indication of coronary artery disease. Another possibility was that I had once had a "silent" heart attack.

Now, my doctor told me not to jump to any conclusions, because we still had to do another test. Also, he reminded me that, aside from being overweight, I had absolutely no risk factors for heart disease. My cholesterol levels have always been excellent, my family history doesn't fit with it, my pressure is good, I don't smoke, etc.

Even so, when they say the test could be wrong (in this case, that what they found could be an "artifact"--in other words, a false reading), I know enough not to bet the ranch on it. I'd rather face the hard facts, if that's what's needed.

So what did today's test show? The problem on the prior test WAS AN ARTIFACT!!! :) The area of my heart where they thought I wasn't getting enough blood, an area that they thought might not be working right, is, in fact, getting all of the blood it needs and is pumping just fine.

They have ruled out my having ever had a heart attack of any type. Also, while they may want to play it safe and do an angiogram (and I understand this, as we want to be as safe as possible and make sure I'm 100% healthy), they're now unsure of whether it's even worth the effort.

I can't begin to say how relieved I am. My heart is healthy and pumping away--in fact, I have reason to believe it's pumping as I type this very entry (such a good heart it is)! :)

Whew!

The Stress test of the Lambs

Sometimes a little thing will only bother me a little at first but will build inside me as I think about it.

During yesterday's stress test procedure, they had to shave little spots on my chest to place electrodes. Okay. I mean, it still itches, but okay, if that's what they need to do. That's not what bothered me.

What bothered me is that the person heading up the procedure turned to Evan, the cute med student who was there to learn, and said, "sometimes you need shave their chests if they're hairy."

I know, I know. So what? Well, excuse me, but if you're working on me at the time, you could at least say, "if the patient..." or state it in some less impersonal way. "We're shaving spots on Jess' chest, so the electrodes stick." For that matter, I'd be tickled if they used my last name, but that level of manners has all but disappeared. So...

"They"? Am I an object now? Trust me, it was cold. Not nice bedside manner. It reminded me of one thing in particular--a scene from The Silence of the Lambs...

"It rubs the lotion on its body..."

Lovely. Just lovely.

Oh, one last thing. "Evan the med student", if you happen to read this (which is about a one in a bazillion chance, I know), be sure to say hi. I'm sure Marc would like to meet you as well. We could say thanks in some appropriate way for you being so nice to me yesterday! ;)

Such fun!

Life can be so interesting (and frightening). A few weeks ago, I wasn't feeling well.

As a precaution, my doctor decided to do an echocardiogram. While it appeared that there was nothing cardiac involved with my feeling sick, he wanted to play it safe.

Well, my sick feelings had nothing to do with my heart. That was the good news.

The bad news (or maybe it's good news, since it has been found) is that there may be something else wrong.

Now, my obesity aside, I have no risk factors for heart disease. My cholesterol is low, the balance is good, my "cardiac enzymes" are negative, my blood pressure is good, etc. Yes, kids, you can be 38 years old and fat and still be in good health. Granted, being fat is certainly a risk, but I'm working on losing weight anyhow.

My doctor and the cardiologists who are now picking over me can't put their fingers on why anything should be wrong. Still, there it is--something doesn't look right in all of these tests.

The echocardiogram showed something troubling, so today I went for a stress test, as well as something where they inject radioactive dye into my blood and then use a giant machine that looks kinda CAT-scanish (but moves around a lot) to see how my blood is moving.

So they seem to be confirming what they saw with the echo. It seems that the "apex" of my heart (somewhere near the bottom, actually, which is interesting considering the word apex) isn't showing good blood flow.

The good news is that the main chambers of my heart are pumping just fine. So they don't think I'm in imminent danger ("Just one last stand, General Custer. Then you can go home.").

What's scary is that they have no real handle on why this is happening. It doesn't fit with being obesity-related, because it's just this one area (and besides, the cholesterol and such are low, as I mentioned, so there shouldn't be buildup), it doesn't fit with much of anything else they've found. Actually, there's nothing else they've found.

It could be a congenital defect that has been hiding there all my life. Since all other tests show my heart functioning well (and always have), there's no way to know. One concern would be that some other coronary artery disease could be lurking, so there are more tests in my future.

The funny thing is that my little episode of a few weeks ago has turned out to be a good thing. Whatever the outcome, it's best to know of these things and deal with them if they need treatment. So, even though this actually has nothing to do with my illness of a few weeks back, it was that very episode that sent me down this road. I guess, considering that it did, it's just as well that it all happened.

So why I am I so worried?

Megaphones and machineguns

We got lots of things done today, but aggravation was literally around every corner. It seems that there is a large portion of the population that doesn't get behind the wheel, except for holidays and weekends. When they do, look out!

Today, being a holiday with nice weather, got them all out. So we had the joys of people making right turns from the left lane, people looking for an address--not by using a map or asking directions but, rather, by driving 15mph in a 40 zone--and every other brilliant driver who isn't out during a normal day.

So I've decided that I need some extra options in my next car. For one thing, I need some kind of public address system, so I can freely express opinions like, "hey, dumbass, get out of the way! If you don't know where you're going, get off the road and figure it out, instead of wasting everyone else's time!"

Selfish pricks.

See? I'm a lifelong New Yorker, and I'm very laid back about driving! :)

Now, for some people, like those who cut me off so they can do brilliant things like suddenly deciding to cut over to an exit or make a right turn when they're in the left lane, I need something a little more impactful. (Oh, and let's not forget people who run red lights/stop signs, which seems to be accepted freely these days, those who weave in and out of traffic at high speeds... well, the list goes on and on.)

For those who really push my buttons, I will need the "machineguns option package" in my next vehicle. Seriously, I used to say that I wanted fifty-caliber machineguns in my car, but I suppose that's a bit much.

Thirty-caliber should be fine! Maybe forward-mounted twin thirties, and I'll need some sort of eye-controlled targeting to pick off the weaving ones with precision.

I really think this is a small thing to ask, especially since the DMV keeps ignoring my lists--is it so much to ask them to revoke the licenses and registrations of people whose plate numbers I take the time to mail in? I don't think so!

So I need to take action!

One last idea: if Scotty ever gets the transporter working again, cute boys who drive like idiots will be spared the machineguns. Instead, they will beamed directly to a holding pen where they can wait for an opportunity to earn their freedom. ;)

A day of sadness, fun, sadness

Yet another day of hard choices at Mom's house (what to save, what to let go, etc.) took a turn for the better when we got home and fired up the barbecue. With a hearty serving of health food (burgers & franks) hot off the grill, my mood picked right up. With Marc's sauteed squash and his cucumber salad, it was a lovely meal.

Then, lacking anything else to watch on TV, we put on the Jerry Lewis telethon. To be perfectly honest, we first switched it on to see if Jerry looked any better than last year.

So we've now had it on for about three quarters of an hour, and what have we just watched? A tribute to Mattie Stepanek, the 13-year-old boy who was famous for writing poetry. It's very noble that they are taking time for "Remembering Mattie Stepanek".

One could see this as a cheap attempt to raise more money, but, unlike so many other efforts to rake in cash, this one seems on target. The poor boy died of muscular dystrophy, so it's appropriate that he is remembered this way.

Even so, I guess I can kiss my lightheartedness goodbye for the evening. sigh

Oh well. Maybe I can go look at the pictures of Koji Murofushi on Wayne's blog for a little pick-me-up. Okay, so this will be about the tenth time looking at them today. What can I say? Wayne has good taste.

Yet another lovely evening

After a relatively uneventful day, Marc, Jeff (visiting this weekend and again generously helping with cleaning out my Mom's house) and I were joined by Matt and John. By the way, that link is to Matt's new blog.

I have to give Matt credit. After years in the tech workforce, he has gone back to school to pursue a career that he will find more rewarding and fulfilling. He's becoming an RN. It's really great, and he has started a whole new blog as he starts this new phase of his life (his old blog was The Ideal Rhombus).

So Matt and John took the train to Mineola where we picked them up. Then we stopped at DSW Shoe Warehouse in Carle Place, so Matt could get some shoes for his nursing training (he needed white rubber-soled shoes). I wasn't planning on getting anything, but they had a nice pair of sneakers in my size, so I walked away with something after all.

After that, we headed to Huntington and had dinner at a favorite restaurant, 34 New Street. It's a great place. The food is excellent, and the prices are very reasonable.

More important than the fine food was the excellent company. We had a wonderful time. So far, it really has been an excellent break from work. Of course, they've been calling from work with questions and problems, but not enough to ruin my fun.

I already know Tuesday will bring some serious stress for me, so I'm doing my best to revel in this fun and relaxation.

Who keeps ringing that (Falun) Gong?

No one told me that the Falun Gong had invaded Manhattan, but it seems to have happened. Just when we've gotten rid of the infestation of Republican delegates, I can't go anywhere without tripping over a Falun Gong representative.

For anyone who's never heard of the Falun Gong, I got this description from a website set up on behalf of the movement: "Falun Gong is a traditional Chinese spiritual discipline that includes exercise and meditation." The website says it has no religious affiliation, but I had thought it was in some way a Christian sect. Also, one of their representatives told me all about local "churches", so there's some piece of the puzzle missing here.

So what's going on in NYC these days? Thursday night, in the midst of my near-drunkenness, Marc and I were riding the subway to the Village. A young woman--a frighteningly stereotypical Chinese immigrant--was handing out information. She appeared almost desperate for someone to listen to her pitch.

Now, here's the thing: I'm a happy drunk. I wasn't quite drunk, but I was sufficiently toasted to be in quite a friendly mood. So I decided to act interested. Well, she sat down, told me some about the Falun Gong and showed me where I could attend church with them. (I didn't bother telling her that I was incurably Jewish. Why ruin her fun?)

I could see Marc, who was sitting to my right as Ms. FG was on my left, looking at me like I was insane to even be speaking to this person.

When we reached our stop, I took my Falun Dafa Reader and went on to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Fast forward one day. We're walking through Union Square, on our way to dinner. This time, there was no way to avoid the FG pitch. There was a huge Falun Gong display (for lack of a better word) set up in the square, and there were lots of Falun Gong people handing out information.

For a persecuted group from China, they look like they're flourishing around here! Good for them, I suppose. From what tiny little bit I know about them, they seem like a decent enough group. That said, just leave me alone. If I want to convert to your religion, practice, group, etc., I'll give you a call. Unless, of course, I'm drunk. Then you may feel free to tell me all about it. Just don't expect me to give a shit once I sober up! :)

Two in a row!

Not too bad. Marc and I just finished our second day of recreational activities, including two nights in a row of going out for drinks in Manhattan.

I know... big deal! Well, it has been a while since we relaxed and got out this much. We even have something planned for tomorrow night (dinner with two old, dear friends), so we will continue the fun.

Today, we went to see a show--a matinee of Golda's Balcony. It was an interesting, entertaining show. Not the usual sappy Broadway fare that we've been exposed to on a regular basis over the past several years. Don't get me wrong. There are some excellent shows on Broadway, but some of the recent ones are, well... how shall I put this? Something polite and delicate is called for. Oh yes, I know just the word: crap!

Not only were many not worth the eighty to one hundred dollars (or more) each ticket cost, but quite a number weren't worth the price of a movie ticket (not to mention the time out of my life)! Even when we went on discounted tickets, many of the shows were disappointments.

On the other hand, Golda's Balcony was a fine show. It was thoughtful and interesting. Others could take a lesson from this show. It has a cast of one. Nothing moves or flies about on stage (Phantom and its silly chandelier ccertainly could take a lesson), but it is compelling and the whole show goes by very quickly.

Maybe this could start a new trend for shows. Instead of having lots of effects or costume changes, they could follow this show's lead and have an actual STORY! (Yes, I know, I'm a dreamer.)

So, after the show, we headed downtown to Chinatown. Were we in search of something Chinese worth eating? No, actually, we were continuing our efforts at planning the perfect remodeling project by visiting a number of lighting stores. Among them were Lighting by Gregory and New Generation Lighting.

We looked at all different styles of lighting (pendants, track systems, sconces and so on) before running out of time. We were limited, as we had a dinner engagement.

We were meeting my ex-boss. Today was her last day. She's moving on to a new chapter in her life, after many years in the healthcare HR business. She has lots of exciting things planned, and we wanted to take her out to celebrate. So we met up at the excellent Union Square Cafe.

After a wonderful time and an excellent meal (and a standing invitation from my friend and ex-boss to visit her and her husband in Puerto Rico, where they have a home and are opening a business), we said our goodbyes and went for another subway ride.

This time, our destination was the Townhouse Bar. We met our friend Jeff for drinks and had a lovely time with him and our friend/bartender Charlie. Charlie doesn't know it, but I am planning to have a second husband (it's a sort of a gay Mormon thing--if that could happen; of course, I'm not a Mormon, so what do I know?). Actually, this would be a surprise to Marc (my partner of 9+ years), as well.

Okay, if I can't have a second husband, then I need to ask a question: Charlie, would you have my baby? Or, if you prefer, I could have yours! ;)

(Oh boy, am I ever going to be in trouble after that!) :)

Hey, the man is gorgeous and charming as can be. So I can't be faulted! :) Just watching him work, moving, as has been noted by others, like a jungle cat behind the bar is a lot to resist! Like I said, it's not my fault. He's a gay siren, drawing me in with his song. :)

Needless to say, it was a full, satisfying day!

I’m not so think as you drunk I am!

Last night, Marc and I joined several friends at Barrage for some “quick drinks.” Aside from seeing folks we already knew and loved, we got to meet some people we'd only met or heard about online (I'd list them here, but I'm afraid of forgetting someone!). All of the folks, new and old, were lovely to spend time with.

As for the drinks, I started with a couple of Malibu Rum & Cokes and then progressed to something they called the “Pearl Necklace”. Now, what gay boy could turn away a drink with a name like that? I forget the other ingredients, but I know it had a lot of vodka in it.

Thanks to a round generously bought by Bob, I even had an extra one of these lovely drinks after having decided I’d had enough. (Of course, Bob didn't know I was done, and it was very nice of him to buy another round for us. My mistake was drinking every drop of it!)

What’s eye-opening is how easily I can get nearly-drunk. As I’m sure I told a number of people last night at Barrage, I felt like a complete lightweight. Thinking back to my college days (a period that, sadly, is getting to be so many years ago that I should stop comparing myself to me in those days), the amount I drank last night would have just given me a bit of a buzz.

Instead, both Marc and I were really feeling the EtOH last night. I suppose that's good in a way. If I wanted to get a buzz, at least I could do it more cost effectively now. :)

So Marc and I made an exit from Barrage around 10:15, having decided that we wanted to go get some Thai food at Lemongrass Grill in the Village. Unfortunately, they were closing up when we got there. So we made our way across the street to Bleecker Street Pizza and had a couple of slices.

Then we began our trek home. I must say, I have never, in all my years as a New Yorker, seen so many police officers in one place as I did in Penn Station last night. Fortunately, they had very little to do, as did we at that point, and we made it home in one piece.

I'm just a living legacy to the leader of the band

As anyone who has talked to me about my parents knows, I had wonderful parents. I was very lucky to have such wonderful parents! Still, some lessons just didn't take. It's not a lack of good examples from them. I just think some things don't fit with my circumstances.

I grew up in nice, middle class surroundings. We never were spoiled, but we didn't want for any of life's necessities either. Also, my parents managed to put me and both of my brothers through college and graduate school. Now, I worked while I was in college (and for years before, actually), but I can't, by any stretch, claim to have put myself through. What I made and put toward my expenses was a pittance compared to what my parents spent.

The point is that they did okay. They worked their butts off--my Dad worked way too hard for most of his life. They were also careful with money. They were generous to me, my brothers and many others in their lives, but they didn't spend frivolously.

Hand in hand with this sensibility was my Dad's desire that nothing go to waste. I think this may have been common to Depression-era babies! Also, he took pleasure in little tasks on Sundays. He enjoyed chopping wood in the yard, cleaning the gutters, etc.

So, as we clean out my Mom's house (the task that seems to go on forever--but actually should be done soon, and then we can finish my grandmother's place), I have been finding little reminders of my Dad's projects.

One example is this...




Here's a close-up of his work...




So what's the deal? Well, the laundry baskets would break over time. These were basic plastic baskets. My Mom wouldn't spend a lot on something as basic as that.

When they broke, they could have been replaced easily enough. It's not that we couldn't afford new ones, but that wasn't the point. My Dad saw things like this as a challenge.

So, as you can see from these pictures, he'd take a broken basket downstairs, drill strategically placed holes and wire them back together. Every time the basket broke in another place, it was time for a repair.

I'd venture to say that the wire he put into the basket was worth more than the basket itself cost! More to the point, my Dad's time was sure worth a lot more than a new laundry basket. Of course, he wouldn't see it that way. He got satisfaction from these little projects, and there's where the disconnect happens. That's just not something I would do.

In my house, a broken laundry basket is a gift for the trash guys. I just don't get that same satisfaction from such projects. That probably is a mark against me, but I can live with myself! :)

This should be interesting

Thanks to some kind of Blogger server error something-or-other, this is my second time writing this entry. So you're getting the short version!

I try not to spend much time on politics here, because I fear it would become a rant. The current President is not my cup of tea, to say the least, and his administration gives me fits.

The real point is that there's a bit of news that W isn't going to want to get a lot of play... and I am hoping it becomes the story for a while. In case you haven't heard, there is a man named Ben Barnes who was Lieutenant Governor of Texas back when W ducked Vietnam service in the National Guard and didn't even manage to show up and do his duty in the Guard.

Barnes recently said he was "very ashamed" of his role in this. Now, according to Salon, Mr. Barnes will be telling his story on 60 Minutes. Okay, let's see how W's handlers spin this one.

Internet cowards

One sad property of the Internet is that it lets small-minded cowards make nasty comments with no repercussions. Today, I was checking my e-mail and found that some anonymous person had left a nasty comment on my blog. Nothing specific was said... just nasty words. Okay, I'm a big boy and can deal with that, but I'm not going to let some moron with a small penis and the attendant frustrations get his jollies on my blog.

So now I've set the blog so you can't post comments anonymously. Since the real comments are usually from named people, it shouldn't make much of a difference. It's just sad that some double-digit IQ reject caused this change.

This reminds me of the old days when I used to chat on IRC. I was in there one day, and some guy came into the channel. It was a nice, friendly, no-sex-talk-allowed channel. All was lovely until this guy shows up and starts gay bashing, so we threw him out.

Never one to let someone like that off easily, I messaged him directly and let him have it. He then told me he was going to come to my house with a baseball bat. Now it got amusing.

I explained to this young man that my job at that time involved my carrying a badge and a gun (all true, btw) and that he was going to look really dumb, lying dead on the ground with a baseball bat in his hand and a bullet hole in his forehead. For some reason, this stopped his tirade.

The really interesting part for me was that the guy was actually a teenager (like 15 or 16, as I recall) with sexual identity issues. After assuring him I was not kidding, he apologized and then told me he was scared. We chatted for quite a while, and I was able to talk to him about his issues and his fear that he might be gay. That, I suppose, is a story for another day.

In the meantime, sorry for the change, if it inconveniences anyone other than today's guest coward.

One day, the sky may fall (or, at least, the car may crash)

I don't know what it is about me, but things in the sky have always held a fascination for me. Today, I found myself admiring some unusual cloud formations on the way home.

I'm not the type to say, "hey, that looks like a dragon." No, I like to try to remember which is cirrus and which is cumulus, and so on. I also wonder about what is causing the strange clouds when I see clearly different types interacting. Today, I suppose the collision of a front and some tropical air was causing it. I'd like to say I can actually tell this by looking, but I cheated--the weather forecast helped! :)

I did consider meteorology as a career (along with a number of other careers I considered to one extent or another). I even took a course when I was an undergrad at Johns Hopkins. I'm not sure if it was the headache from studying fluid dynamics that dissuaded me from pursuing this line of work, but it still holds at least a passing interest. Actually, any of the many amazing forces of nature have the ability to fascinate me.

On the other hand, man-made things in the sky can get my attention, too. When I worked in Brooklyn, my commute took me right alongside JFK airport. When the winds were right, the flight path of landing jets went right over the Belt Parking Lot (officially called the "Belt Parkway", but who are they kidding?).

So, on good days, I could open my car's sunroof and watch as 747s and other large jets went right over, a mere 3 inches above my car (okay, it may have been a little more than 3 inches, but it didn't seem like much more!). The roar of the engines was such a rush.

The ultimate was one special morning when my timing was just right. I'd seen this particular plane takeoff and land many times, but this time it came right over the car. I was in heaven. As far as I'm concerned, this particular plane, The Concorde, was one of the prettiest planes I'd ever seen. In flight, it looked like a bird of prey. As it passed over the car that morning, the roar of its engines drowned out every other sound. Beautiful!

So how have I spent all these years looking up and never crashed? Dunno. I suppose I'm careful enough to leave plenty of space between myself and other cars, but maybe, just maybe, someone is looking out for this overgrown kid whose eyes still stray to the heavens in fascination for what's up there.

The Constitution and cleaning house

The effort to clean out my Mom's house goes on. Marc and I spent time there this weekend, going through many pieces of family history. I try to look at things dispassionately, because too much thinking about what each thing is (and how each item connects to a piece of my life and/or the lives of my parents and brothers) would just crush me. It's bad enough that Marc had to hold me while I cried for a few minutes tonight.

I don't cry easily, but I've got a lot of pain buried in me. I miss my Mom and Dad. Plus, having lost my Mom and grandmother within 16 days of each other earlier this year was a blow that will take me a long time to put in its place. So sometimes I think too much and the tears come out.

Anyhow, one part of today's cleaning/sorting reminded me of my mother's patriotism. Now, I don't mean patriotism in the mindless "either you're with us or against us" way that so many seem to see it. These people, many of whom I consider to be evidence of the ongoing failures of our educational system, are stupid and ignorant. What's the deal, people? Why can't we understand that we need to pay teachers well, so that you'll attract the best people? Nowadays, there are some (my younger brother leaps to mind) who are very smart and dedicated, teaching kids because they care. Unfortunately, many others who would make fine teachers instead move into more lucrative professions. The result? People who think this is meant to be a Christian country, to the exclusion of other views, and think their way is the only right way.

Anyhow, back to Mom. She was a patriot, in the way that smart, educated people know the word to mean. She believed in equal rights, freedom to express one's opinion (even if--or especially if--it was unpopular), all of the freedoms we're supposed to hold dear, although the current President has made a mockery of our traditions.

Hey, President Dumbass, let's start with a schoolbook of my Mom's that I found from 1947. The Pledge of Allegiance was in it. Guess what! The words "under God" don't appear in it. That's right. Not there! People like you added the words for political reasons in the 1950s. While we're at it, there's a document my mother held dear that you might want to read (at least if and when you decide reading is something you might like to try). My Mom had a calendar put away that may give you a hint...




Yes, the Bill of Rights. If you haven't heard of it, ask your Attorney General. He's been using it for almost four years now to wipe his ass. Assuming we have a new President come January, I will regret that my mother will not be here to see it. I just hope she'll know, wherever she is.

Anyhow, we have been pulling tons of stuff out of the house. There's so much to go through, but we're finally getting near the end of it all. We need to finish soon, so the renovations of the house can begin. One thing that reinforces the reality of my Mom's demise is how the front room of her house looks.

Sadly, I don't have my Mom's ability to maintain a neat house. I try, but I really am way too adept at saving receipts, too slow at throwing out newspapers, etc. Anyhow, my Mom kept a neat home. So there's no way she could still be alive and let me get away with this...




Sorry, Mom, but it's just temporary, as we go through stuff. We'll have it cleaned out soon. Promise!

I even have my best helper with me...




Isn't he cute, all mussed like that? Makes me want to jump him.

Speaking of that, I think I'll end this post. I just thought of something else to do! ;)

So that's what I am!

While fellow bloggers (Charlie, for example) are finding/taking quizzes to see what kind of people they are and what kind of things they like, I found something really important! Presenting...

The What kind of dog are you? test! My results?

You have completed your test; your doggie nature is:

Rottweiler: Sit, fella, sit! And pick on someone your own size!

I wouldn't have picked that breed, but who am I to argue with such a fine, scientific analysis? :)

YES!!!

As I mentioned before, the Joint Commission survey (inspection) is, to say the least, a challenge to hospital administrators.

My area, human resources, has many responsibilities that are tracked and tested as part of the process. Today, I faced one of the big hurdles: a meeting with one of the surveyors who checks what training we've been doing, questions how we ensure that staff members are competent and fully trained to do what they need to do in order to provide patient care, checks the completeness and accuracy of our files, and reviews any number of other things.

As an old friend and colleague said to me, "HR always gets hit for something." Well, NOT THIS TIME!!! :) I am so happy. Even with some screw-ups by the Nursing Department that threatened to tank the meeting, I managed to pull it out of a nosedive. I know I'm bragging, but it really went great. Best of all, the big bosses know it.

So, a week full of stress (union negotiations, JCAHO survey, bouncing payroll checks (another story)) has ended very nicely.

To thank several of us for our work, one of the big bosses took us here...




I had a lovely Malibu rum & Coke. Then Marc and I went out to a great dinner tonight. All in all, a tough week but a lovely ending.

Paramedic butts (or, “What I would want for Xmas, if I were Xian”)

Working in hospitals, I have seen my share of EMTs/AMTs/Paramedics (hereinafter “paramedics” for simplicity’s sake). When I worked in the city, they usually worked for the NYC Fire Department (although some worked for ambulance companies or hospitals). Out here on the Island, there are many ambulance companies, offering a veritable smorgasbord of men.

Whatever the sources, this is a group of men worth watching (by the way, there are certainly women on these ambulances, too, but I just don’t seem to find myself watching them, for some reason). Granted, I’ve seen any number of these men who aren’t worth a second glance. Even so, on any given day, there’s an excellent chance of seeing a boy worth watching/drooling over.

Why, you ask, are there so many yummy ones? Glad you asked, because I have a theory! Being a paramedic is a hard job, and they seem to move on to other things after not-too-many years. So the population of these men tends to be relatively young. That always helps. Then there’s the way they dress.

The paramedics usually wear either cargo pants and blue polo-style shirts or one-piece jumpsuits. In either case, the seats of their pants invariably hug nicely to their butts. In this age of baggy pants (and someday I will find whoever started that trend and kill him/her), these tight pants are refreshing!

No, I guess refreshing isn’t the word. Whatever the word is, the sight of these boys over the years has often made me consider writing a dirty story about them. The rough plot outline would have me getting knocked unconscious and opening my eyes to the smiling face of one of them (who later would ask me on a date and ravage me). ;)

With my luck, if it ever happened in real life, I’d wake up to a guy who looks like Keith Richards. Oh well, I suppose fantasies are fun! :)

Give me a break, people!

Yet again, traffic on the Southern State Parkway was a mess the other night. It dragged and dragged. When I finally got to what was slowing everyone down, they weren't rubbernecking a hideous accident or Dean Cain doing naked jumping jacks on the shoulder of the parkway. Nooooooo, it was something terribly rare. Nothing you'd see too often.

A State Trooper had pulled a car over. Okay, and what else? Nothing else! I have to have a long commute home because someone was speeding? People, please!

Is it a fear thing? Do they all think the cop may change his mind and come after them instead?? Like the cop will be in the middle of ruining the day of guy he pulled over and then look up and decide he likes someone else's car better!

"Hey, that other car is dark green. I hate dark green! Ever since Aunt Etta was killed when that case of frozen spinach fell on her, I vowed to eradicate dark green objects wherever I found them. Sir, you may go on your way. I need to go pull over that other motorist, instead, and shoot him."

People, the cop is busy already. You may safely drive past him! He's not going to do anything! More to the point, can't we at least go fifty-five? If he scares you, just obey the law for that brief moment, but I don't see the need to slow to an absolute crawl! Geez!

Quick! Someone lash me to the mast!

Oh, the temptation! It's just not right. I've been dieting for months, taking it slow (the smart way, I think), so I don't want to make any major missteps.

So what does the Dietary Department send us for our JCAHO prep meeting? Lunch, including lovely brownies (a lot lovelier than my cell phone's camera can show here). Like the Sirens calling to Odysseus, I felt them drawing me in.

I resisted temptation, but it's not easy, especially now. These are days of major stress, and my crutch is food. That's always been my crutch. Some people drink, some smoke... I eat. Well, at least I resisted! :)

You go, Garrison!

If I didn’t already like Garrison Keillor, this interview would have made me a fan.

With straightforward statements like What a disaster this shallow and deceitful president has been!, he speaks his mind quite clearly.

Keillor also acknowledges that the Republican Party of today is not the one it used to be. This really strikes a chord with me.

When I was growing up, I had friends and loved ones who were committed Republicans, but they weren’t the narrow-minded hate mongers we see in the GOP today. Rather, these were people who believed in individual rights (a term W doesn’t even understand), felt a need for fiscal prudence (unlike this President and his greedy friends) and didn’t see the environment as a dumping ground.

Rather than rehash the whole thing, let me just recommend the interview. Click here and read it for yourself. It’s worth the time!

Some flowers to brighten the day

I took this at a flower show. It's the best way to get such shots--the flowers usually look nice, and, not being outside, there's far less risk of getting a bee sting! :)

Lunch and memories of pretty lights

Today, I had a lunch meeting at the bar association. As it happens, the bar association is right across the street from the county executive building—this is where I worked for several years.

I hadn’t been in the neighborhood for a while, so some memories came back to me as I visited the area. I remembered some of the fun I had when I was a Deputy County Attorney and also remembered some of the headaches when I was the county’s HR Director.

The HR Director’s job was a powerful position, but the boss was a pain, and the job had many, many headaches. So, as I drove away from the area, I felt that life was better since I left that role.

Then came a reminder of one thing from the job that I really wish I still had. As I was driving back to work, this moron in her little car cut into a turn lane a couple of cars in front of me. I assure you she wouldn’t have gotten in had she tried it right in front of me. Unfortunately, she found someone less offended (or more timid) than me and managed to cut the line—and it was a long line waiting for that light!

So what did the old job offer that would help with something like this? It offered a company car. As a concession to my 24-hour-a-day job and my responsibilities, supervising a work force of 15,000 (including a police department, hospital, etc., etc.) and a recognition of the ground I had to cover, they provided a car.

Well, not the usual type of company car. You see, like my current vehicle, it was a Ford. Unlike my current Ford, however, this wasn’t an Explorer. No, this model was called the “Crown Victoria Police Interceptor”. Neat name, huh? That’s the actual model name. Yes, the county provided me with an unmarked police car!

It came nicely equipped, courtesy of my colleagues in the police department—lots of pretty lights, a neat radio, etc. Oh yes, in those days, people either behaved around me or I scared the shit out of them.

On the way to work one day, this woman ran a red light, cut me off and then yelled at me when I had the nerve to blow the horn. She was literally yelling at me…right up until the moment I hit the red lights. Then she proceeded to cry. She actually burst into tears! The funny part was the other drivers in the intersection practically applauding me.

The truth is, it took a lot for me to do anything. I only occasionally used the fun toys, and it was usually for something more than a driver-attitude correction. One time, I helped an ambulance weave through tight traffic on the parkway (and it’s amazing how many people are oblivious to red lights and a siren—pull to the right, people!). Another time, part of police headquarters was on fire, and I had to coordinate assistance from other departments once the flames were put out, so things could keep running.

Even so, there are moments when I really miss those pretty lights—like today when I really wanted to tell that woman what a selfish bitch she was!

Travels with Jess

So what excitement awaited me at the end of the day today? (Having tossed the snapshot camera in the car—a nice camera, actually, but it’s not the SLR—I can drag you along for the whole boring ride!) Yes, it’s the Southern State Parkway! Expecting the usual delays, I was pleased to see…




What a treat! So that made it easier to go get a little shopping done. I know what you’re thinking: “so how did you get where you were going?” Well, I’m glad you asked. But first, I need to answer the question that has been plaguing America. “What is in Jess’ truck’s front seat console?” Well, without further ado, here it is…




Yes, it’s exciting, isn’t it? We can see the bulb I put in the truck to replace the burned out one in the hallway of my late grandmother’s apartment. We’ve been there at least twice since I put it in the truck, but my early senility has kept me from remembering to actually bring it inside with me. Other exciting items: the remote for the GPS system, a small tape measure, the fallout from this morning’s Claritin-D tablet (again, remembering to carry it into the office and throw it out was too much for my addled brain to handle) and other odds and ends.

Now, back to our route…




Yes, we’re going to take the wonderful Meadowbrook Parkway. It’s actually rather scenic (well, if you like trees—not much else to look at)…




So what exit did I take? I took Merrick Road east…







“But why? That’s not where you live, Jess! Where were you going to do your shopping?”

Well, where else would a smart Long Island gay boy go to shop? To a store that has a yellow brick road…







Yes, it’s Trader Joe's!!!

And what vital supplies did Trader Joe’s have to offer? What else? Low-carb ice cream…




Yes, that vital item, brought to us by the wonderful people at San Francisco’s Double Rainbow, allowing me to have some sweet stuff while staying on my diet.

A few other things were purchased as well, one of which was…




The rule in our house is, if Jess or Marc enter with Trader Joe’s bags, they must contain treats for the dogs. Otherwise, Jess and Marc may not enter the house. This rule is enforced by Bernice. Being a Doberman-Shepherd mix, she is prepared to enforce the rule.

Not wanting to sleep outside, I always make sure I put some biscuits in the basket! :)

A mohawk? A mohawk?!

This afternoon, I looked out the windows of the HR/Payroll building toward the nearby ballfield. No one was on the field itself, but some kids (and a couple of their fathers and/or coaches) were on the grass closer to our building, practicing their catching and hitting.

While wondering how long it would be until a ball came crashing through one of our windows, my gaze was drawn to one of the boys. No, not because he was a 22 year old college hottie. No such luck! Once again, sadly, these were kids.

The kid in question was about 9 years old, give or take, and had a mohawk! No, not the "high and tight" military-style haircut. I mean a full-on mohawk.

Not only have I not seen a mohawk in many moons, but who lets a little kid get one? I'm probably just too much of a conformist or something, but I feel like such a haircut on a small child should be sufficient grounds for a full investigation of the parents by Child Protective Services!

Okay, okay. Maybe not, but I still can't believe anyone let the kid get a mohawk! :)

Memories, like the corners of my mind...

The effort to clean out the family house continues. Since I grew up there, I continue to find items full of personal memories. One of those items (and one that holds no pain, unlike some of the ones that really pull at my heart) is a shirt from the 1977 blackout. We found it in a corner of the basement, grimy and somewhat the worse for wear. Still, my Mom (who bought it for me when I was 11 years old, after I was caught in the blackout) put it away, as she put away so many things that belonged to me and my brothers.




When the big blackout of 1977 hit, I was visiting my aunt and uncle in Brooklyn. They lived in a large apartment building, and I was there with them and my cousins when the lights suddenly went out. When they did, we ran to the terrace to see if it was just our building or the surrounding ones as well. From there, we could see whole sections of the city as they blinked out. It was wild. Not just a few buildings at a time, and not the whole place at once. Instead, big chunks of NYC went black one after another.

We then spent the blackout more-or-less trapped in the apartment. It was a high floor, so no one wanted to go outside. While the walk down might have been tolerable, the walk back up the stairs would have been a killer.

I saw some interesting things during that involuntary confinement. The people in the building were actually rather resourceful. Some on the lower floors would fill buckets with water lowered from the upper floors by people stuck there.

If you're wondering why they would need to do this, water in tall buildings is drawn from tanks on the roof. To get there, the water is pumped up to the roof. No electricity, no pumps. No pumps, no water (at least not after whatever is on hand when the lights go out is exhausted).

It was an interesting event. One of those breaks in the regular flow of life by which we may mark a moment in time. So we found the shirt. It's of no real use to me. It doesn't hold cherished memories of Mom, and I'll never fit into it again, no matter how well the diet goes, but it serves as a reminder of one of life's interesting moments.

What a day!

Today, we held our big garage sale. This was a long time coming, and the actual event was an experience to remember (in the vein of a bad car crash!).

Okay, so it wasn’t quite that bad, but we sure attracted some odd folks. My brother, Charlie, and his wife, Trisha, held a garage sale of their own a few weeks ago and warned us that this would happen. They were right!

Even so, this needed to be done. We held the garage sale at what was my parents’ house (my Mom died earlier this year, and my Dad has been gone for six years now). We’re going to be moving there eventually, but first we have to clear it out so we can renovate it. Since we have a house of our own, we decided the smart move would be to do the construction at the new house before selling our current one. After all, why live through the mess if we can avoid it?

Okay, back to today’s sale. We took some things from here (“here” being our current home, since that’s where I’m typing this) and added to the many things we had to get out of my Mom’s house. It’s amazing how much there was to sell.

Really, we weren’t looking to make money on this stuff. It just didn’t feel right to throw things out when they could find a new life in someone else’s home. Of course, there was a ton of stuff we did throw out. Over the past several weeks, we’ve taken “contractor” trash bags (these are huge, heavy weight plastic trash bags we get at Home Depot) to my Mom’s house and dragged out literally dozens of these bags full of trash. Also, family members took many important items, from pictures to furniture.

For all of that, after weeks of cleaning the house out, we were left with things that weren’t of use to us but could be of use to someone else. My old desk, the bunk beds I shared with my younger brother when we were kids, various fans, lamps, pots and pans, items collected from trips to other parts of the world, and so on.

Well, we got an early start, or so we thought, getting there by 8am. What I quickly learned is that 8am isn’t early for the garage sale crowd. We couldn’t even get everything outside before they were swarming. It helps that the house is near a big street, so I only had to hang out a couple of signs on the main street and they began to swarm.

I must admit that some of the people were very nice. Some were a little odd, and others… well, what is it with people? We were selling things for prices that were just above giving them away. Still, people needed to haggle.

One item we dragged over from this house was a large halogen floor lamp. It was nearly new, worked perfectly and was tagged by us at a whopping five dollars. So this strange fellow asks if it works—-fair question, so we plugged it in to show him. Then he wanted to know if it had three setting levels. Marc explained that, in fact, it had two.

This wingnut then questioned Marc, arguing that most such lamps had three levels. His point? No idea, as this one has two. We didn’t build it, and we can’t do anything about it, but the man was troubled. Or he pretended to be.

So did he buy the lamp? Yes, but he needed to haggle, because five dollars was just too much to spend. Um, okay, whatever. He wanted to pay three dollars. Whatever, you cheap weasel, just take the lamp and hit the road. Maybe that was his point in being troubled by the lack of a third setting.

Anyhow, we got a lot of stuff sold, and that’s good. It needed to go somewhere other than the dump. Sadly, some of the items will wind up in the dump. Others will get picked over when we put them at the curb for the town to pick up, because there’s another subculture that loves to find things sitting (free!) at the curb. This I’ve seen here when we’ve put items out for pickup.

Really, the day was quite productive. We were happy to see so many things go happily on their way. Also, we had a visit from an old friend of my Mom’s, a lovely lady named Connie, of whom Marc and I are quite fond.

We also had a visit from my brother, Charlie, and his wife and son, Owen. Owen got some free toys from the collection we had on sale. That, of course, is a great thing.

At the end of the day, we had a visit from Patrick and Greg. I had text-messaged them about the garage sale, but I didn’t know if they’d be able to stop by. Of course, by that hour, we were grimy and sweaty. So it’s not like we were at our best (I hope I didn't reek too seriously!). Even so, we got to show them the “before” version of the house we’ll soon be renovating. More importantly, it’s wonderful when good friends stop by. So, thanks boys!

Add to this a meeting with our general contractor, a meeting with the central air conditioning contractor, and a visit from a moving company that took furniture up to my brother Al's house in Chappaqua, and it truly can be counted as a full and productive (if unusual) day!

Feeling just a wee bit guilty

We all have our guilty pleasures, I suppose. On the other hand, I guess I shouldn't even categorize this in "pleasures," but I do find these things fascinating.

All my life, I've been amazed by nature's power. Put a hurricane, tornado or earthquake on the television, and I'll watch like a deer in the headlights.

Since I'm sitting home today (recuperating from my annoying little virus), I'm able to watch the latest developments in the Hurricane Charley saga. As a child, I saw no downside to this.

Now, as an adult, I realize that these things bring terror to other people. There's certainly more than enough to fear in this world, so we don't need more. If my life, loved ones and/or property were in the way of this monster, I'd be, to use the scientific term, shittin' kittens.

Even so, I can't help but watch. Like seeing a bad car wreck, I'm glad I'm not in it, but I'm still curious.

Guilt aside, this is amazing stuff. The power of the natural world is so far beyond anything within the power of puny humans. Watching it all play out is just astounding.

By the way, why is it spelled Charley? I've known guys who spell their names that way, but it's unusual. The usual spelling is Charlie. The hurricane boys really need to get out more.

Oh, great. This is just what we need!

I will freely admit that I have never liked Jim McGreevey. New Joisey's current governor always rubbed me the wrong way. It was hard to say why he bothered me, but he always did--maybe it was just that he came across as such a disingenuous stereotypical politician.

So what's his news? He's gay. Under other circumstances, I might applaud his honesty at coming out. Unfortunately, there's more...

He is married and has kids. Also, he had an affair with a man, cheating on his wife. Okay, that's bad, but it gets worse.

His boyfriend, for lack of a better term (or lack of one I can think to use at the moment), was on the state payroll. Not only on the payroll, but Jimmyboy made him NJ's homeland security advisor, a very important, high-paying government job. That is, until the federal government said the guy couldn't do the job, since he isn't an American! No, the guy is Israeli. I guess I should be glad he wasn't a Saudi from the bin Laden family.

So now all of the ignorant homophobes out there have an example of why we gays are trouble. "See? They can't be trusted! They have fake marriages and cheat on their wives. And they're willing to risk letting the terrorists kill us just so they can get sex!"

Thanks a whole bunch, Jim.

The kid is scary!

You may recall meeting Dodger in a prior entry. Well, today I came home feeling pretty icky (to use as scientific a term as the "we don't know whatcha got" diagnosis I got earlier). While sitting in a chair, Bernice and Dodger both came to see what I was doing. Mandy, apparently, was occupied with her knitting or something.

Bernice planted herself about 10 feet away, so she could keep an eye on me and look down the stairs at the same time. Mister Dodge, on the other hand, came in to say hello. When he did, he stood up on the side of the chair and sniffed me. I asked him for a kiss, but he didn't give me one. Then he went around to the other side of the chair and sniffed me again, completing his inspection. Again, I asked for a kiss, knowing that doggie kisses are healing and would, no doubt, help my condition.

After refusing my repeated requests, he began walking out of the room. At that, knowing my dogs and the way they are like young siblings (always jealous of each other and fighting for attention), I tried one last thing. "I know Bernice will give me a kiss if I ask her." At that, Dodger (whose grasp of English is scary!) turned around, ran to me and planted a big, wet doggie kiss on my cheek.

Doggie kisses: better than any medicine! :)

Don’t get sick in a hospital!

Yeah, I know. What the heck is that subject? What are you talking about, boy?

Well, as my faithful fans may recall (both of you?), I was a bit under the weather early last week, but I quickly got back on my feet and headed back to work. Unfortunately, today brought a recurrence. I haven’t been 100% since last week, but I thought the main symptoms had passed. Well, maybe not.

Early this afternoon, I again felt feelings of nausea and chills. So I said to my boss (the hospital Administrator (who is also an RN)) if there was a thermometer nearby, so I could just check my temperature. Oh yeah, there was a thermometer, as well as various other pieces of medical equipment. Yes, I let her lead me to the Emergency Room. I thought they’d just check my vital signs and send me on my way, but noooooooo.

Instead, I got a complete check… and I mean complete!

Yes, they heard “nausea” and other symptoms and decided to rule out heart problems (despite my having had a checkup just two weeks ago and no prior evidence of heart problems).

They checked my vital signs, took several vials of blood, did an EKG, checked the oxygen saturation level in my blood, took an x-ray of my chest and then proceeded to give me a saline IV.

They even called a cardiologist. It’s certainly nice to know that I’m very healthy in a cardiovascular sense, but I really just wanted to make sure I didn’t have a fever. Oh, and the diagnosis? “WEAKNESS/FATIGUE UNKNOWN CAUSE viral syndrome” (that's an exact quote from the sheet they gave me, right down to the perplexing choice of upper and lower case letters)

In English, they think I have a virus, but they don't really know what's wrong. Uh huh. I think I knew that.

Don’t get me wrong. Once again, it’s nice to know they care. It was nice that the Director of Nursing and various other department heads came to check on me. It was nice that the CFO checked on me before I was sent home for the day.

Even so, I think I just needed to go pull the blankets up over my head and sleep, only to be awakened from time to time by Marc, so he could give me chicken soup and then molest me once I feel better. ;)

I know you've all been wondering...

My millions... er, thousands... hmmm... hundreds of fans? Okay, the couple of you who may be reading this might have some slight interest in where I work. Now you can see it!

This is the main entrance to the General Hospital building (btw, we have four divisions: general hospital, psychiatric hospital, physical medicine & rehabilitation, and the nursing home):




This entrance recently got a facelift, so it looks pretty nice (although I think they were pretty sloppy in how they put my name on it). ;)

My office isn't in this building. The hospital center actually sits on 31 acres of land and has quite a number of buildings. So am I in an even spiffier building? Is HR housed somewhere sleek and modern? Or is it, sadly, in some little old house that still says "Personnel" on it, even though we've been called "Human Resources" (or, as I prefer, Human Racehorses) for many years? Well, take a look:




sigh

There are some positive points, however. We're in a nice, suburban setting. Right next to my office is a nice big field, followed by a baseball field.




When I started working here last year, I hoped that the field would see regular use by hot college boys. Instead, it sees regular use by little kiddies. I suppose that's for the best. College hotties would be too much of a distraction! :)

It's a rabbit!

This summer, we've had a rabbit visiting our yard. Marc told me about seeing him, and the dogs certainly seem to be looking for him; every time they go out, they look carefully through the fence around the garden. (Of course, we've been doing our best to keep them from getting to the rabbit.)

I grew up not far from here, in the house we're now renovating and to which we will soon move, and rabbits were regularly sighted back then. Over the years, however, something happened to virtually wipe out the rabbits in this suburban setting. I don't know if it was predators or pesticides, but you no longer saw the little brown rabbits running wild in our suburban yards. To see them, you had to head down near the beaches where they lived in abundance in the high grass.

So the reappearance of these rabbits has to be a good thing, as well as being something cute to see! I had heard of them showing up in some yards around here, and now we have our own.

Better yet, yesterday I walked out on the deck and there he was in the garden. He looked healthy and happy, hopping along through the strawberry patch (yes, we actually have a strawberry patch). These are the things that bring a smile to my face. A rabbit in the yard, and all is well with the world! :)

It beats the view of East New York

Last year, I changed jobs. My old job was in Brooklyn, on the border between the Brownsville and East New York neighborhoods. So a short drive to the east would reward me with the urban poverty of East New York.

Now I work in Amityville (yes, as in, The Amityville Horror, but that's literally another story). Amityville is on the south shore of Long Island.

Late today, I decided that it would serve me well to get out of the office. I took some paperwork that I needed to review and hit the road. So, is the view a little east of me better than a drive through East New York? You tell me...




That's the Fire Island lighthouse. It's at Robert Moses State Park, on the western end of Fire Island. It's the only part of Fire Island to which one may drive.

On occasion, I will grab some work and go down there. There's a beautiful beach, and my favorite thing to do is park in the lot where I can see and hear the waves rolling in. Not only is it relaxing, but I actually get a ton of work done without the distractions of the office.

My only regret is that I don't more often take advantage of being on this beautiful island. We have so many lovely parks and beaches, and I only occasionally get out to enjoy it all. One nice thing about having friends come visit is that I have a reason to get out. So somebody come visit already! ;)

(Actually, our friend Scott is visiting and is sitting five feet from me as I type this, but I had to work today, so I couldn't get out with him.)

All in all, not a bad day

It was a long day at work (about 12 hours), but it was nice that so many people asked how I was feeling. It said two things to me: 1) I was missed (not a great thing, since it means they give me no peace when I go on vacation, but it's still good to be needed); 2) My colleagues care about me (and that's really nice to know).

I know that I have friends at work, but so many people asked me after just one day out. That was nice.

Now that I'm home, it's nice to relax, watch a little TV and sit here anticipating the next episode of Rescue Me. There are some real hotties on that show! Daniel Sunjata alone is reason enough to watch.

Of course, I've had a thing for Daniel Sunjata since we saw him on Broadway in Take Me Out. Not only was he lovely to look at, completely nude on stage, but he was also a sweetheart when we met him after the show.

Helping Daniel out are other hotties like Michael Lombardi and Steven Pasquale. As an added bonus, the couple of episodes I watched so far have been pretty good--and not just because they show the boys' butts in the shower. ;) If they didn't do that, it would still be a decent show! :)

Introducing Mandy Moosedog

This is Mandy. Mandy is our "middle" dog. She was raised by Bernice, our eldest.

Mandy is a dog of many names--so many that I can only give a sampling here. Her most frequently used nickname is "Moose". Just let her land in your lap once and that nickname will become self-explanatory.

Other nicknames:

1) Mandlebrot--I was reading an article about mandlebrots, and Mandy got a new nickname.

2) Brot--from the above.

3) Bratwurst--see #2.

4) Mander.

5) Manderpotamus.

6) Mandel--another from mandlebrot.

7) Mandela.

8) Winnie--from #7.

Trust me, the list goes on and on. Marc could probably spend 15 minutes reciting all of them. The funny thing is that Mandy picks up on all of them. She knows which ones are hers and doesn't respond to names that refer to the other two dogs.

She's a sweet kid, despite her occasional issues (like eating our furniture, walls, carpet). Despite her desire to consume the house, we love her.

You scared us for THAT?!

I'm a lifelong New Yorker, and I'm unfortunately used to a certain level of threat. When I was younger, New York had a serious crime problem. Just as the crime went away... well, we all know what happened.

Okay, so now we have to worry about terrorists. Just to fill things in, let's remember that a terrorist is, by definition, someone who employs acts of terror for political ends.

The key to this is that terrorists want us to be frightened--that's their goal. They know they can never kill all of us. So they want us to cower in fear.

So who is making us cower in fear now? Not the terrorists. No, the real fear is being generated by our own government!

Since I'm home today, recovering from my lovely illness, I have plenty of time to catch up on the news. Included in this, of course, is the latest on the orangutan alert issued by the Smirking Chimp and his buddies just this week.

So what was so compelling that made all of us run in fear? The terrorists were "casing" various key buildings in New York City and elsewhere. They also told us that this was as good as information got--it was absolutely solid and reliable.

Now we get to today's news. I was looking at the Associated Press website, and what did I see? THIS! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, much of the "intelligence" that had everyone running scared is three or four years old!!!

Of course, the very circa 1933 Germany-sounding Department of Homeland Security explained that some of it was updated as recently as January. Oooh, wow. Now let me go hide. My favorite quote was Tom Ridge saying, "We don't do politics in the Department of Homeland Security." Spare me. All they do is politics! Well, that and helping out their oil-rich friends.

I'm beginning to think these morons (the terrorist morons, I mean, not the other ones) pulled off one good hit on us. After that, we started bombing the shit out of them--and God bless our troops who truly are fighting to protect us (even if W sent them to the wrong place last year)--and, since then, the terrorists are just trying to hide. Well, good, but these "alerts" are ridiculous.

Some bozo they arrested in Pakistan said whatever they wanted him to--anyone would, given what an arrest in Pakistan leads to. Believe it or not, you're unlikely to hear Miranda warnings over there. So they found documents showing casing of NYC targets from years ago? Big deal! And they were updated in January? Why do I think this is as real as some pimply geek sitting in his dorm room fantasizing about how he's going to nail the supermodel whose poster is on his wall? (Was this "terrorist" even in New York in January or did he doodle some grand schemes in his Pakistani dorm room? Sheesh!)

You know you're sick when...

This morning, I woke up feeling a little off, but I chalked it up to Monday morning blahs. Just hard to get going.

So I went to work. Early this afternoon, I was standing outside the CEO's office when I suddenly felt nauseous. Now, our CEO is a nice guy, so it wasn't that! ;) I also got so dizzy that I had to grab the copy machine to keep from falling over. Looking pathetic, I held on to the wall and slid over to the bathroom to try to compose myself, telling passing staff members, "no, it's okay; I'm fine."

For several minutes, I didn't know if I could even drive myself home. Fortunately, the dizziness reduced, and I was able to pull myself together. Not that I was in good shape at that point--our COO, who showed up a few minutes later, took one look at me and told me to go home.

So is it this to which the title of this post refers? No, actually.

I mean, I knew I wasn't well. I even took the radical step (for me) of calling my doctor. Still, it only got scarier after that.

On the way home, I saw a young man who was quite clearly very handsome. He had dark hair and a dark complexion, and the pants he was wearing showed off his magnificent butt beautifully. This is when things got scary.

Normally, such a sight would get me to wondering about sweet, wholesome things, like how it would feel to slide into that nice butt and what kind of look of ecstasy I could see on his face as I did. ;)

But what happened? Not a thing. I noticed him, but I felt so sick that I wasn't even turned on.

Terrifying. Truly terrifying. Things like this almost make me drive directly to the nearest emergency room!