Doggie Pictures

And for no particular reason at all, other than their utter gorgeousness... Doggie Pictures. Cole in one of his favourite spots on the fluffy bath mat. And Porthos, just being adorable on the spare bed. (if you look at his nose, those pinky-white spots are the remains of the wound he obtained while we were on vacation. It's healed nicely.)

I wasn't able to include these in my last post for some reason. But they're worthy of their own post.

Prince Prevails - So Sayeth the Toilet-Seat-Cozy Saboteur

So this weekend we went to a party on Friday night, and then over to Eak's sister's place on Saturday night. Then yesterday we slept the morning away, cleaned all afternoon and Tammy came over for dinner and Amazing Race (plus an unexpected hour of Desperate Housewives).

Friday night was a house-warming party for a friend and co-worker of mine that I seldom ever get to hang out with. Our biggest bonding experience was travelling to Detroit together to see Prince ("Musicology" tour). She's a huge Prince fan, as am I and it's really interesting how a love of music or one artist in particular can provide a bond strong-enough to base an entire friendship upon. That specific road-trip weekend lead to some deep, heart-felt conversations and a really memorable good time. I'm always grateful when I think about that. Anyhoo... her house is gorgeous and her friends are a lot of fun. I've never been to a party with so many folks smoking weed simultaneously. Needless to say; there was a lot of conversation. ha Some of it was riveting I tells ya. At around 1am there was a huge debate by the fireplace: Michael Jackson versus Prince. Given my little introduction, you can well imagine that my friend (Marty) and I were putting up the good fight for Prince, because there were a shit-load of MJ fans there. (I love Michael too - don't get me wrong, but when it all comes down to it... there's just no comparison. Prince wins on every issue that counts.) I find it disheartening when people base their entire opinion of an artist, on a period of their popularity. (Mind you, I feel that way about people forming fast opinions about just about anything or anyone.) For some people it's not enough to say, "well I haven't really ever been a fan" or "I haven't heard anything new from that artist for a long time". They have to grand-stand some curious hatred, in a mockery-laced tangent. Yeah, the debate got heated for some reason, for some people. (Just made me shake my head in wonderment.) And I won't even get into my feelings of astonishment at people saying they didn't like Prince because he was weird, whilst singing the praises of Michael Jackson. Marty and I tried to play fair by not taking any digs at poor Michael. Talk about biting your tongue. My biggest point on the whole issue/comparison was that "Michael Jackson's music is like junk food. It's really good when you're in the mood for light-hearted fun, but you can't survive on a steady diet of it." Whereas, Prince has music for whatever mood you're in, or whatever you're going through - and lots of it. They're both talented showmen. Both musically gifted. And both eccentric... to say the least. But sorry MJ fans... Prince sings better, has consistently better music, has a much better sense of who he is/what he stands for, a seemingly better sense of humour, and above all else: Prince has more soul. Long live both artists though. They're cultural icons and I'm certain there's much to be learned from either of them.

I should also add, that now that Eak's had the chance to get to know Marty a little better, we're very likely to spend more time with her and her bf. They're good people. And what a beautiful home!

And on to Saturday/Saturday night.

I didn't get to sleep until about 5:40 am on Saturday, so understandably, I was largely out-of-juice for the day. But that didn't stop us from going shopping with KittyCole. She bought a purple leather jacket from Danier. The girl loves purple... and she's not even Prince-obsessed.
We parted company and headed over to Eak's sister's (Melanie) place with our bread maker in tow. Eak made some decadent banana bread this weekend that started with that loaf. It was so good he made another loaf yesterday afternoon. Mark (Mel's husband) taught us how to play hearts and as always, we learned things about them that we'd rather not know. (Don't ask. Mark's the King of inappropriate outbursts.) I was amused at one of his terms of endearment though. "Whore Pie". Still makes me giggle. I was making up similar names for Eak as a result (and much to his chagrin). Funny how, Eak doesn't think "Sphincter Muffin", or "Scrotum Dumpling" are good pet names. Neither are quite as musical as "Whore Pie"... I'll give ya that.

While we were there, I played "Toilet Seat Cozy Saboteur". God I hate those things. I'm sure it's not very hospitable-guest of me, to keep popping the toilet seat cozy off the toilet seat at someone else's house. But hey - they're family, and Mel quite-obviously kept fixing it. 'Cause every time I went in the bathroom, there it was; all snug and prohibitively in place. Toilet seat cozies were specifically designed by women to agitate men in the most insidious way I've ever seen in action. I understand their aesthetic quality, and why they're the perfect addition to every bathroom where you want to ensure the seat is always down. But DEAR GOD in heaven, how I hate them. I don't ask much of this world, but let me pee in peace, without having to prop up the f*#king toilet seat... mmmkay??? So sayeth the toilet seat cozy saboteur. (I just like the way that sounds.)

In other news my neck is buggered. Has been since last Thursday. I think I just slept on it wrong, but I'm in enough discomfort today to use it as a valid excuse to go home and me thinks I shall. Sometimes I feel sorry for my neck... having to bare the beast of burden that is my ginormous melon of a head.

OH... and I can't forget to document that Eak is going to see Ricky Martin tonight. Courtesy of KittyCole yet again. She's got connections. It's a concert and meet-and-greet. And needless to say I had to agree in no uncertain terms that if opportunity should arise... I am not entitled to any jealous feelings, abandonment issues, or pesky infidelity hang-ups should Mr Martin even look at Eak with a twinkle in his eye for any kind of sexual hi jinx.
I said "go for it." I've got the same kind of dibs on Colin Farrell, so it's only fair. ; )
I told Eak "I want to know what Ricky Martin smells like. So pay attention." I just envision him having a very non-typical fresh/clean scent... like some fragrance you can only find on a mountain in Tibet or something. If he's stinky, or wears something like Joop, or CK1 my already marginal interest in him will diminish completely. I'm weird about the fragrance thing, admittedly.

My absolute favourite Prince song: "17 Days"

Called u
yesterday
U didn't answer your phone
The main drag
is knowing that
U probably weren't alone

So here I sit in my lonely room
Lookin' 4 my sunshine
But all I've got
is two cigarettes
And this broken heart of mine

So let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down

You've been gone
17 days
17 long nights
The main drag
is knowing that
You're holding someone else tight
I wanna to call u
everyday
And beg u 2 be near me
But I know
your head is underwater
I doubt that u could hear me

So let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down

Ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
17 Days
Ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
17 Days

Called u yesterday
U didn't answer your phone
If you're the one who's always lonely
Then I'm the one who's always alone

So here I sit in my lonely room
Lookin' 4 my sunshine
All I've got
is 2 cigarettes
And this broken heart of mine

Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down

Why don't you answer your phone?
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down
17 Days
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down, down
17 Days

Suckin' on a Weiner Dog

http://www.dogster.com/video/480639/Vacuum_the_hound


I will be posting more today, whether during the day or sometime this evening. But for now, may I draw to your attention: the latest in the Porthos collection of amusing videos (link above). He LOVES this. When I vacuum his doggie bed he'll purposefully come running and plop himself down on it so I can massage him before he'll let me finish vacuuming the bed. What a life huh?

Later!


PS... Shawn... what a great story in your blog! I can't believe all those SQUIRRELS!!! (for everyone else: visit Misster Kitty's Internal Voice.

Subway Follies

Hi Ho... the train ride home tonight was perfectly varied. It starts out completely normal, like the auto-pilot routine that is my commute on most days .... until I walk down to the platform. There was quite a crowd amassed there... I've got my iPod on... and yet... what's this I hear? Yelling among the throngs. Loud, heated, gonna-bitch-slap-you yelling. As I continue to walk ('cuz ain't nobody gettin' on that packed train sitting there as per usual at 5:05 on the Yonge line.) I can see that the yelling is coming from these 2 women standing just inside the doors of the second door of the second car. The pair are literally in each other's faces (whether they wanted to be or not - TTC random-act-of-God placement on a train truly can be cruel and unjust) yelling stuff like "Yeah!!? Well, go ahead and see what happens!" and "Well you should watch what you're doing blah, blah, blah!!" I say "blah, blah, blah" because I didn't deem the incident too life-threatening for anyone in the vicinity, thinking A) there wasn't going to be much room for fisticuffs should the urge overwhelm them, and B) about how people in general are not adjusting well to the surge in TTC ridership. (ie: temperament, courtesy, litter). But I was left without any resolve, because the doors closed and the train pulled away with these two women still yelling at one another and the people around them wide-eyed and wary of pepper spray. No interruption in service, so I'm guessing they were mature enough to just walk away with a vehement rant for suppertime. Anyhoo, this was the first time I'd seen a full-blown screaming match at rush-hour. I can hardly wait until the usual temper-flaring that comes with hot weather starts affecting this ever-growing group subway patrons.

And my subway ride only continued to be interesting... at the risk of depravity I must admit that the crowded-nature of my trip up to Bloor/Yonge got rather stimulating. Thankfully only 3 stations to endure... or was that regretfully only 3 stations to enjoy, amidst standing-room-only with this handsome brown-skinned man nonchalantly pressing his ass into my crotch. Before you picture anything blatantly obscene.... it wasn't like a scene from an after-school special, (me needing to put a school-book over my nether-regions), nor was it pornoriffic. Yes folks. I must admit I was slightly aroused by this. Cheap, jolly, thrills. But the subway was THAT packed, and I don't care what any of you pervs think. So there are advantages to a crowded subway. hee hee
Oh come on... tomorrow I'll be nose-deep in a blue-collar schlep-fest, no deodorant-required. I have to cherish the "kinky" with the "mundane" when the "kinky" is so scarce. We all know how much I enjoy foul-stench while trying to dodge a dandruff convention 2 inches from my face. Oh but wait... something like that DID happen on the next train. Again, I smile, only because karma also comes in a gaseous state...
My dirty thoughts were rewarded with little old lady farts. You know the Tim Horton's coffee-and-a-muffin blue-hair special blend... quietly squeaked out while gabbing extra loud to mask their arrival.
"Yeah, Gladys... everyone will think it's the fat guy next to us... let 'er rip!"
Scandalous biddies! Farting on the subway is not cool.

Farting on an elevator is cool. 'Cause it's concentrated but brief. Of course the default condition of that being cool depends entirely upon whether you're the "farter" or the "fartee" of course. (...Of course.)

As high-brow as this entry is... I really must be getting to bed. Survivor was good tonight.... but not as good as last week. Hearing Boo's knee audibly "pop" back into place was a little too sound-effects-intense for me. The fact that he stayed in the competition amazed me. You "know" it was excruciating!

No song... 'cause it would be from the infectious new Hillary Duff album. Yeah. Seriously. I just can't bring myself to do that, even though it's pretty damned good.

3 Dollars and 6 dimes

Y'know sometimes my sweet little Cole looks up at me after I've been screeching at Porthos to behave, (shut up, drop it, NO, Bad Dog) and his eyes almost tell me he's thinking "I was never that bad, was I daddy?". And I have to agree. 2 more different dogs have never existed. Cole was always such a good dog, and smart as a hound can be. The only thing he ever chewed that he wasn't supposed to was a pair of "Joe Boxer" underwear, and he was house-trained by 11 weeks of age. This week it would seem Porthos is having some psychological issues. He's house-trained, but for some reason, the post-meal trip outside is causing him some anxiety lately. He'll run for his crate and pee, either on the way there, or while he's in there. (I cannot tell you how much extra stress and laundry this brings to us.) Last night, I showed remarkable restraint by the simple act of "not" killing him.
Mind you, taking him outside the other night (a night on which he had also peed inside) I walked past this guy dragging a Rottweiler puppy outside yelling: "No caca en la casa"!!!
Now friends, I don't speak Spanish. But I've watched enough Sesame Street to know what that means. hee hee I felt like telling the guy how much I could sympathize. (Cute puppy; Cuter guy!) That was the good thing about it too. It made me feel like I wasn't alone in the struggle to domesticate a pooch without succumbing to primal rage. Besides that: we've been lucky in the poop department with P-Dawg. It's just his bladder he can't seem to keep a handle on. (sigh)

As long as this entry is bordering on the completely frivolous, I'm gonna babble 'bout TV for a second or two. First off: Survivor. Tomorrow is another episode, but before that is upon us, can I mention just HOW MUCH I loved last week's episode? Yes folks, an immunity idol was played at long last! It was completely smoked-out and wasted... but it was played for the first time ever! And so much scrambling and back-stabbing to get to it. What frickin' fun!

Ah... Ted is home and there's more pee to clean up. sigh

Here's an oldie but a goodie: "On & On" Erykah Badu

Oh my my my
I'm feeling high
My money's gone
I'm all alone
The world is turnin'
Oh what a day
What a day
What a day
Peace and blessings manifest with every lesson learned
If your knowledge were your wealth then it will be well earned
If we were made in his image then call us by our names
Most intellects do not believe in god but they fear us just the same

Oh on and on and on and on
Whew on and on and on and on
I go on and on and on and on
Ohh on and on and on and on

I was born under water with 3 dollars and 6 dimes
Yeah you might laugh
'cause you did not do your math
Na qua 2..3. Damn, y'all feel that?
Oh...Qua 2..3. The world keeps turning
Oh what a day what a day what a day

The man that knows something knows that he knows nothing at all
Does it seem colder in your summertime and hotter in your fall
If we were made in his image then call us by our names
Most intellects do not believe in god but they fear us just the same

Oh on and on and on and on
On and on and on and on
I go on and on and on and on
On and on and on and on

I am feeling kinda hungry 'cause my high is coming down
Don't feed me yours 'cause your food does not endure
I think I need a cup of tea,
the world keeps burnin'
Oh what a day, what a day what a day

You rush into destruction 'cause you don't have nothin' left
The mother ship can't save you so your ass is goin' get it
If we were made in his image then call us by our names
Most intellects do not believe in god but they fear us just the same

Oh on and on and on and on
On and on and on and on
Ooh ooh wee on and on and on and on
On and on and on and on

Send a Cand-E-gram

http://www.minglewithsingles.ca/cand_e_gram.htm

In great haste the other day I made a post linking to the site that I did some voice-work for. After re-reading the post, I thought it best that I delete it and post again at my earliest convenience (which happens to be today), just to be extra careful about how I was representing the site. (Hey - they might want more voice clips right?) Not that I'd said anything bad per say, but I just wanted to make sure I wasn't doing myself a disservice, by posting a picture from their site etc, etc.

To be clear, I'm just the on-line voice of "Kit". I'm not affiliated with the site, or Rogers Publishing... I'm just as much in awe of what a cute/fun site it is as the next person. But if you want to hear my contribution, click on the link above and the little "cassette" icon near the bottom, right hand corner. I'm going to be sending out an e-mail (eventually) encouraging people to send Cand-E-grams. They're cute... and if the site's successful, maybe I'll get more voice-work. I certainly had fun doing it. (and no, that's not my day-to-day "speaking" voice for those who might not know. wink)

Thar Be Pirates in Radio ARRRRR

Just an additional quick note that I won't be around tomorrow. I'm going to a Creative Seminar for my job. (conducted by "Pirate Radio") (ARRRRRRR, shiver me timbers.) I'm really looking forward to it because they're renowned for their cutting edge commercials. They win awards where ever creative awards are given. So it should be fun.

Absolutely LOVING the new NIN album "Year Zero". My favourite track is one called "Vessel", but the lyrics aren't really that awe-inspiring when you see them in print rather than hearing them in the song. This song's (below) a close second or third for title of favourite.

The Beginning of the End

Down on your knees
You'll be left behind
This is the beginning

Watch what you think
They can read your mind
This is the beginning

I got my mark,
see it in my eyes
This is the beginning

Well my reflection
I don't recognize
This is the beginning

We think we've climbed so high
Up all the backs we've condemned
We face a consequence
This is the beginning of the end

You wait your turn
You'll be last in line
This is the beginning

Get out the way
Cause I'm getting mine
This is the beginning

God helps the ones
that can help themselves
This is the beginning

May be too late
as far as I can tell
This is the beginning

We think we've come so far
On all our lies we depend
We see no consequence
This is the beginning of the end.

On *Beeping* My *Beep* *Beeps*

Upon reading other people's blogs, and the comments posted by their readers. An interesting topic came up, or at least I found it interesting: "Self Censorship". That's with reference to not really talking about "everything" that's on your mind in your own blog simply because you know who's reading it and you don't want them to be privy to certain aspects of your personality, life in general, or frame of mind. Or similarly holding back because you don't have the slightest clue who's reading your blog.

I think I've fallen victim to this a little myself. But in general, I'd say there are no friends or loved ones reading the contents of my blog that I feel I need to shield myself from. (to my knowledge) And as for the strangers... well... I don't know them, and my mess-ups aren't likely to provide anyone with much fodder. (naive?? perhaps. I dunno to be truthful.)

It's safe for me to say I have the hardest time writing when I'm sad. (which is often, granted) That's a large part of my personality. Because, not only am I under a doctor's care for depression, but I'm uber-sensitive, and I have low self-esteem issues. This kind of stuff isn't something I routinely talk about, because we've all got our burdens and as much as this blog helps me vent and just "void into the void"... it just doesn't seem like an appropriate place to air all that crap (not all the time). At least not if I'm at all interested in people continuing to read what I have to say. 'Cause let's face it: Moping and belly-aching gets "old" fast.
Not to mention: our world is a mess. Every sentient creature on the planet knows this. Sometimes you can't tread any longer and you get a mouthful of the drink, but overall, you have to keep swimming or events like this Tuesdays shooting in Virginia, the wars in the middle east, Global Warming, Animal Cruelty, and any garden variety atrocity or act of human injustice will drag you under. It just will. I'm very affected by all of this stuff, and as a person who suffers with depression, you worry about the stigma that comes along with it. 'Cause some would have you believe it's not normal to be sad "all the time". To some degree, I agree with that, but I also tend to hold "constantly happy" people at arm's length with a healthy dose of mistrust. (forever the cynic) Maybe that's just because I don't know where happy people get the fuel to fire a perpetually sunny disposition. Religion and faith just don't cut it for me, and I tend to think that happiness in either/or both use a wide-reaching "avoidance" tactic to cope with hardship. I know that's cold and blasphemous of me, but that's the way I feel. That's not to say I begrudge anyone the happiness they derive from their faith/religion - I've just been there and I have no desire to go back.
So what other constant happiness (joy) is there? I believe in love. And respect. And kindness. And charity. And a positive attitude doesn't hurt either when you can swing it.
All of that (and many other positive attributes I'm undoubtedly leaving out) can maintain your hope and keep you going.

Hah... I didn't know I was writing a page in the John Shannon's Self-Help Book today... What do I know really? But I still find the topic of self-censorship pretty damned fascinating even if I haven't really explained why.
I guess I'm still a big chicken, 'cause although one of my cousins reads my blog, no one else in my family knows I even write one (or what the hell a "blog" is for that matter). One day they may find out and read it for a little insight into who I am. If that comes sooner than later, I think I can deal with it, but otherwise it remains shrouded, perhaps so I have a place to deal with them in writing when I'm feeling the need. There's not much I censor otherwise.

I'm not even entirely certain why I blog much less what I purposefully omit. I've "edited" my blog entries on occasion after walking away, then coming back to find that I haven't quite said what I meant, or left something open to misinterpretation.
Blogging is a good way to let friends know what's going on in my life, since I'm dreadfully bad at returning e-mail, letters and even phone-calls. It's way better than not being in touch at all. I love a helluva lot of people donchaknow.
As for the "hit counter" and the acquisition of new readers... I know a hit counter is a little bit tacky/egotistical... but it's in my nature to be curious. "How many people are reading what I have to say"? "Is anyone reading at all"? "Ooooh new hits"!
I like the idea of someone I don't know reading what I have to say. I don't really have a forum anywhere else, and I'm an interesting/entertaining guy sometimes... so yeah... give me an audience of potential new friends. I'm up for that. Maybe I can encourage someone, or adversely let someone know they're not the only one having a shitty day. Maybe I can make someone smile with my unique spin on what my dogs are thinking or inspire interest in some of my favourite music.
Or maybe I'll end up just talking to myself. It's not like I don't do that anyway.

Yeah, that's a funny place to stop today.

"Blue Jeans" (the Illicit Club Mix) by Yasmeen

Oh...oh...oh...oh...oh...oh...
Oh...oh...oh...oh...oh...oh...

I’ve been checkin’ you
And I like the way you walk
Your sexy B-Boy style
That confidence you flaunt
So let me take a minute
To introduce myself
‘Cause you don’t need to know
Anybody else

Here’s my number, you can call (Call)
Any time you wanna talk
That’s exactly where I’ll be
When you wanna get at me
If you wonder what you do
That’s got me into you
It’s your blue jeans
The way that you rockin’ them blue jeans, baby

No one else makes me feel
The way you do inside
Sensation is so real
Hit me day or night
So keep this nice and safe
Somewhere near your heart
Wouldn’t wanna lose this
Love before we start

You got everything that I want,
that I want
You got everything that I need
That I need, yeah

Here’s my number, you can call
Any time you wanna talk
That’s exactly where I’ll be
When you wanna get at me
If you wonder what you do (Wonder)
That’s got me into you (Into you)
It’s your blue jeans
Way that you rockin’ your blue jeans, baby

(Call me) Call me
Anytime you feel the need,
you can
(Call me) Call me
‘Cause I like what you do to me,
won’t you
(Call me) Call me
Oh, baby, you’ll like this ring
(Call me) Call me
Somewhere there’s a G

Here’s my number, you can call (Hey...yeah...yeah...)
Any time you wanna talk
That’s exactly where I’ll be (Where I’ll be)
When you wanna get at me
If you wonder what you do (Wonder what you do)
That’s got me into you
It’s your blue jeans
The way that you rockin’ them blue jeans, baby

When a Basett Can't Take No More

Porthos had a very "Jackie Collins" moment last night. In a moment of doggie desperation... a cry for help... a last-ditch effort to command all of our attention... young Basett hit the pills.

No suicide note or nuffin'.


I joke about it now, but at the time he scared the shit out of us. You see, I had a chiropractic appointment last night and I called Ted to come and pick me up when I was done. Since we've been "testing the waters" for short periods with P-Dawg being out of the crate when we're not home, Ted left him in the care of Cole. It wasn't going to be a long stint, so no worries right? Well... Ted left his gym bag on the floor, and in the gym bag is a small Tylenol bottle with both Tylenol and Advil inside that Ted totes around with him. We came home to Pordiddly, poppin' pills. Specifically, the Advil with their irresistibly sweet coating. (Why is that anyhow? Does anyone actually prefer Advil for the taste?) "Why no dear puppy; those aren't M&M's".



By Ted's best estimate (based on how many pills he believed to be unaccounted for) Porthos had eaten at least 4, but no more than 6. Like we do in any after-hours canine health crisis, we hit the internet to find out whether we should be trying to get him to throw up, rushing him to a vet, etc, etc.
Luckily, it turns out, for a dog his size he would've needed to down a whole lot more than that to do any significant harm.


Little drama queen just had a headache.


Any how, he was fine and we were relieved. That dog is trouble. And here I had been griping that I was going to kill him if he'd been eating the plants again. Little fucker. Sometimes I wonder what Cole thinks of Porthos' impish behaviour. 'Cause he was never like that. Ah well. For all I know, Cole offered him some "candy". Above "eliminating the competition"? I think not.

I bought two new CD's last night (post chiropractor/pre-O.D. attempt). One was "Life in Cartoon Motion" by Mika, and the other was "Back to Black" by Amy Winehouse. And coke-head or not... Miss Amy just wails. I had no idea. She's astounding. Classic soul sound/2007 mentality. Knock me over with a feather. And knock her over with a Betty Ford brochure. Girlie likes her substances.

"Rehab" Amy Winehouse

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said 'no, no, no'
Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know
I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine
He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go

I'd rather be at home with Ray
I ain't got seventeen days
Coz there's nothing
There's nothing you can teach me
That I can't learn from Mr Hathaway

I didn't get ol lucky at class
But I know it don't come in a shot glass

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said 'no, no, no'
Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know
I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine
He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go

The man said 'why do you think you here'
I said 'I got no idea
I'm gonna, I'm gonna lose my baby so I always keep a bottle near'
He said 'I just think your depressed,
kiss me here baby and go rest'

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said 'no, no, no'
Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know
I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine
He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go

I don't ever wanna drink again
I just ooh I just need a friend
I'm not gonna spend ten weeks
have everyone think I'm on the mend

It's not just my pride
It's just til these tears have dried

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said 'no, no, no'
Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know
I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine
He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go

Of Trying to Be a Better Man

(with typical enthusiasm:) "Hello?"
(me:) Hello. How are you?
(cold and defensive:) "Hello."
(me:) How are you mom?
(equally cold and defensive:) I'm fine. You haven't called me in a long time.
(me:) Well, I'm calling you now.
(normal tone:) We're going to pick up your Aunt Jean at the train station at 2:15. It's her first time returning home since your uncle died.

...and the conversation continued... not once to include a discussion of anything relevant to our situation. Yes, I made a few "us" & "we" comments (referring to Ted and myself) but those were skirted over and largely ignored. So thus is the relationship I have with my dear 69 year old Pentecostal mother. My first conversation with her since January 21st. But it's a start. And I'm trying not to be too bummed-out over it because I know that given all the time in the world, she is not going to surprise me by coming around. So I might as well take what I can get and just be grateful that I never have to lie to her again. That's what's important to me I guess. No more lying.
***edit inserted hours later**** I just reread what I wrote earlier today, and I must seem really self-absorbed to include only the first line of my moms conversation. I should have also mentioned that we did have a heartfelt conversation about my aunt, and she had the opportunity to tell me more about how my aunt's been coping with the loss. I was just a little saddened by the fact that after 3 months of not talking, she couldn't at least ask a few questions of me. (I mean about anything other that just "How's your job?") She hasn't really known much about me for 10 years. But again, I guess my last big announcement is probably a lot to handle... she probably doesn't want to hear another thing in case I have a freezer full of babies, or some illegal gay prostitution ring operating out of our apartment like she suspects of all gay people. tee hee hee I'm already in a better mood.

I'll also add, that there is an actual positive side of this Sunday's phone call. And that's an open (albeit awkward) line of communication between my mother and I now. Which has kind of taken on a new dynamic with boundaries. She didn't say one offensive thing to me on the phone, and although she wasn't interested in dealing with anything serious, she did enjoy talking to me and listen as I spoke about trivial things. Like cars and vacations. (y'know... the pryings of the secular world... Ha) She never does that. So it may not be perfect, but my mom might actually be a part of my life. And if she respects my boundaries about "my beliefs and my being" versus "homosexuality is a sin", then maybe her silence is her way of offering peace?? That'd be something positive. *****end of edited entry****

****a paragraph is now missing it caught the "too depressing" computer virus and was quarantined****

I mope, and elsewhere in this horribly sick world another shooting massacre occurs at a school. 31 people dead for no reason in Virginia. Truly... I am fortunate and blessed by comparison. Incredibly so. I hope the families of the victims can find peace at the end of the grieving.

On to other things, more pleasant things, namely Six Feet Under. Ted and I have all 5 seasons of this genius HBO series on DVD, and we just finished watching season 1 last night. I was surprised to see how many episodes I had missed, considering I thought I'd missed 1 or 2 (from the entire series) tops. I love this show, perhaps more than I've ever loved any television program, movie or book I've ever immersed myself in. It never, ever ceases to amaze me with it's tenderness and just how "bang-on" it is with the human condition. It's one of those shows with such richly developed characters, I'd be hard-pressed to come up with a definitive answer to which one I relate to most. Because at one time or another, I think I relate to each and every one of the core characters. I do think Claire is my absolute favourite though. She's got such a good head on her shoulders, but is just so disenchanted with the world she lives in. She's a good person with deep convictions and a functioning moral compass, and yet she's constantly on the outside, looking in. (She's also the youngest.)

I've loved Six Feet Under since the first time I saw an episode. It doesn't hurt that I watched it in marathons on the movie network because I was cooped-up with my back out and nothing to do but pop Advil and pray for death when I first started watching it. That's a great way to form an addiction on so many levels. But it's funny how a show essentially about a family living in and operating a funeral home can be so much about death, but so much more so about life. I'm really enjoying the revisiting of this favourite show. It's full of some genuinely, hysterical humour too. For those who might not have seen it, and assume it's contributing to my mopey disposition as of late. Hah... I can't even deny the possibility of that, but if it is, it's worth it.

****Since it's hours later... I have another song in my head. After George Michael. ****

Song in my head "You Have Been Loved" by George Michael.

She takes the back road and the lane
Past the school that has not changed
In all this time
She thinks of when the boy was young
All the battles she had won
Just to give him life

That man
She loved that man
For all his life
But now we meet to take him flowers
And only God knows why

For what's the use in pressing palms
When children fade in mothers arms
It's a cruel world
We've so much to lose
And what we have to learn, we rarely choose

So if it's god who took her son
He cannot be the one living in her mind

Take care my love, she said
Don't think that God is dead
Take care my love, she said
You have been loved

If I was weak, forgive me
But I was terrified
You brushed my eyes with angels wings, full of love
The kind that makes devils cry

So these days
My life has changed
And I'll be fine
But she just sits and counts the hours
Searching for her crime

So what's the use of pressing palms
If you won't keep such love from harm
It's a cruel world
You've so much to prove
And heaven help the ones who wait for you

Well I've no daughters, I've no sons
Guess I'm the only one
Living in my life

Take care my love, he said
Don't think that God is dead
Take care my love, he said
You have been loved

****Now This is Shameless pop. But well done, clever and infectious. Given how much I enjoy Scissor Sisters, this is not a far stretch. The lyrics make me think he's offering up his commentary on internet relationships****

"Grace Kelly" by "Mika"

Do I attract you?
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?
Am I too dirty?
Am I too flirty?
Do I like what you like?
I could be wholesome
I could be loathsome
I guess I'm a little bit shy
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me without making me try?
I try to be like Grace Kelly
But all her looks were too sad
So I try a little Freddie
I've gone identity mad!
I could be brown
I could be blue
I could be violet sky
I could be hurtful
I could be purple
I could be anything you like
Gotta be green
Gotta be mean
Gotta be everything more
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you walk out the door!

How can I help it
How can I help it
How can I help what you think?
Hello my baby
Hello my baby
Putting my life on the brink

Why don't yo like me
Why don't you like me
Why don't you like yourself?
Should I bend over?
Should I look older just to be put on the shelf?
I try to be like Grace Kelly
But all her looks were too sad
So I try a little Freddie I've gone identity mad!

I could be brown
I could be blue
I could be violet sky
I could be hurtful
I could be purple
I could be anything you like
Gotta be green
Gotta be mean
Gotta be everything more
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you walk out the door!
Say what you want to satisfy yourself
But you only want what everybody else says you should want
I could be brown
I could be blue
I could be violet sky
I could be hurtful
I could be purple
I could be anything you like
Gotta be green
Gotta be mean
Gotta be everything more
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you walk out the door!

Circling the Bowl

Bad Blogger. Bad, bad Blogger. I know I sort of made a half-promise or at least the inkling of "tune in next time" that I was going to make a valid post this evening. But it just hasn't turned out that way. Nor have I watched an emotionally overwrought film with which to cleanse myself of excess build-up. (Build-up of what... I dunno... mucous? Excess pent-up feelings? - Hand me a box of tissue 'cause mucous is easier to be rid of.)

In stead I ended up talking to a friend in the industry about the sorry state of the radio station where I work. Long story short: the latest ratings book was not kind to us. In a "we're-circling-the-bowl-not- unlike-this-morning's-turd" kinda way. At any rate, that wasn't at all good for my emotional unrest. I've never worked anywhere where I actually cared how we did in the ratings. Or perhaps, I've never worked anywhere where I actually cared about the management, and the people I work for as much. I wish there was a quick fix. But I don't see it coming easy. I hope they have vision. That's all I can hope for since I don't really feel it's my place to offer up any suggestions. At any rate, I'd rather go down fighting for a company that treats their staff well (like where I work) than be on top at a station that treats their employees like shit. (where I used to work.).
It's hard to watch people with so much heart and spirit, discovering that their best just doesn't seem to be good enough. I work with some really, really good people. Almost the entire staff. It's so rare. I guess that's the positive side though, so I'll just be grateful for the whole bunch of them. It's strange to realize how strongly I feel about my workplace, considering how much I truly hate my job. Bit of a paradox; that one.

Anyhoo... How 'bout another song ...one I just finished listening to. Oh so smooth and comforting at 1 in the morning when you feel like eating a tub of ice cream (good thing I don't have one.) Sade (that's SH AH DAY) for the uninitiated. hee (the mispronunciation of her name makes me giggle - not with superiority mind you, I used to call her SAY'D in the "Smooth Operator" days. But she's been around for so long... y'just have to get with the program, don't you think?)

Anyhow - enough of my babbling. "Good night", and "a dream you don't want to wake up from" to you.

Cherish the Day ***love the hip hop "jeep beats" finale.

You're ruling the way that I move
And I breathe your air
You only can rescue me
This is my prayer

If you were mine
If you were mine
I wouldn't want to go to heaven
I cherish the day
I won't go astray
I won't be afraid
You won't catch me running

You're ruling the way that I move
You take my air
You show me how deep love can be

You're ruling the way that I move
And I breathe your air
You only can rescue me
This is my prayer

I cherish the day
I won't go astray
I won't be afraid
You won't catch me running
I cherish the day
I won't go astray
I won't be afraid
Won't run away

You show me how deep love can be
You show me how deep love can be
This is my prayer
I cherish the day
I won't go astray
I won't be afraid
Won't run away
Won't shy

I cherish the day
I won't go astray
I cherish the day
I cherish the day
I cherish the day
I cherish the day
I cherish the day

Vacancy

Holy moly, what a busy, nasty, demoralizing week at work.

I'm hoping to do a full-fledged blog posting this evening. I feel really... emotionally taxed as of late. So I'm either going to write deep, inwardly insightful things in my blog, or sit and watch an incredibly sad movie just to have a good "waaah". As stupid as that sounds, it seems to be the only way I can let anything out. I'm feeling rather "vacant", and I don't know why. At any rate, I'm sure I'll snap out of it soon, or at least that's the plan.

Until I actually have something valid to talk about... (hopefully later tonight)
the song in my head is by Annie Lennox: "The Saddest Song I've Got".

Darling are you feeling
The same thing that I'm seeing
The troubles of the day
Took my breath away
Took my breath away

Now you're no longer talking
And I'm no longer hearing
There's nothing left to say
Said it anyway
Said it anyway

And I want you
not
I need you
not
I'm dying
Cos this is the saddest song I've got
The saddest song I've got

Darling are you healing
From all the scars appearing
Don't it hurt a lot
Don't know how to stop
Don't know how it stops

Now there's no sense in seeing
The colours of the morning
Can't hold the clouds at bay
Chase them all away
Chase them all away

And I'm frozen still
Unspoken still
Heartbroken
Remembering something I forgot
Something I forgot

3 Days in Aspen

Who wants to see a few pictures?

Here's my less-than-inspired recount of our trip. Not that it was awful but since we're neither rich nor famous... we were forced to the conclusion that Aspen is not our kind of town. It is however quite beautiful. Let's see here...

The picture above and to your right is one of the nicest shots we took from the plane window flying into Aspen. Breath-taking. One of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.

BUT

Can you say altitude sickness? Yucky, nasty pounding headaches that build to a throbbing crescendo awaited fair Ted and John and put us out of commission for the first afternoon/evening. Oh... hah, incidentally our first afternoon/evening started 24 hours after everyone else, because we misread our boarding passes and ended up stranded in Pittsburgh overnight. "John and Ted, I'm sorry to inform you... you are the last team to arrive and you have been eliminated from the Amazing Race". ...ok, so it didn't happen quite like that. (poor Uchenna & Joyce though) That might have been more entertaining actually. hah

But we did finally take in "The 300" movie. Hordes of insanely hot, scantily clad men or not... that movie is the very definition of gratuitous violence. Not terribly enjoyable beyond the first 2000 gallons of blood splashed across the screen. But hey - did you know that movies are still only $4-$5 in the US?? Wow. Even after exchanging our lowly loonie that's still a bargain. Anyhow... back to the trip, right? This picture (lookie-here)... is at the base of Aspen mountain. Our hotel is a little more than a block to the right of what you're looking at. Dinner was at the top of this mountain on the first night (for us) and "D'oh" if we didn't forget to bring the camera with us to catch all the glorious, beautiful mountains from a cranium-pounding altitude at sunset. We took that lift (a fifteen minute ride - ...the recent 8-million dollar upgrade that the city's quite proud of) up for free that night, thinking "ok, we'll get the camera and go for a ride tomorrow". Nuh-uh... $23 dollars per person to go to the top. And ladies and gentlemen, the Tedster and I are not cheap... just po'. Or rather too po' to fork over $46 American for another trip up the slope to something we'd already seen. On our second day, after a morning cooking class with a professional chef (Glenn Smith - totally funny, great guy) we walked and walked and walked every inch of the "boutiquey" downtown core. (I'd post the pictures, but although nice, they're not that interesting unless you've been there, or so I'm guessing.) That night was the formal awards gala. Ted's whole reason for being there in a sense. It seems silly to not have taken a picture of what he wore to the dinner, but he wears a suit every day, so I guess we didn't deem it too important. Now "me" in a suit... there's a purple elephant sipping jello through a fire-hose. (in plain-speak - it's RARE.) Exhibit A:

Cherish this one folks, it's the funeral and special occasion monkey suit. That's taken on the little balcony of our hotel room incidentally. If I look half as awkward as I feel than it's an adequate picture. Where are my jeans? Where is my hoodie? Who put this noose around my neck? I look respectable don't I? Church flash-backs. Church flashbacks. Don't make me go 5 times a week. Please.... NOOOOOO!

Ahem... I'll stop being Not-Funny now. Here's my handsome Ted. Enjoying that balmy Aspen weather. (I'm not kidding; it was colder here at home than it was there.) Ain't he a hottie? One picture from the afore-mentioned walk and a second from the hotel balcony in his freshly christened ski-bunny sweater. (give the gay-guys the room over the entrance, it's good for business - no seriously... our neighbours were gay too. Small world in the gay, gay, hotel & hospitality industry. We were everywhere!! Mwah ha ha ha)

Overall, it was a fun trip, but far from our most memorable vacation. Blame it on having no money to spend, blame it on the altitude, blame it on nothing to do in a frou-frou community of 5,000 where you might as well go home if you're not the outdoorsy type. Boy did I feel like chubby white trash by the way. Everyone is tall, fit, and pretty damned hot in Aspen. So there was plenty of eye candy to look at. Hell - the hotel staff alone were beautiful to the majority. Alan... Jason... we love you even though you don't know we're alive. hee

Other things of note: it's a dog-town, which we loved. Dogs EVERYWHERE, and what a wonderful environment to have them. We met a little basset hound tied-up outside a shop downtown and while we were petting and fawning over him, I read his name tag... ..."Porter"! Hah! Isn't that cool? All of the dogs made us miss our babies though.

Oh... and for gifts as only Starwood can dole out. Ted and I both received Colorado Timberline ski jackets (Ted did go skiing at Snow Mass on our last morning.), a whole mess of snacks and wine and vodka, and the gift to top all gifts: a digital picture frame. That thing is very cool.

How dare I complain about anything really. It was a fun time away, and nothing went terribly wrong at home and work while we were away either. Nice. Well, to amend that slightly, Porthos had a huge gash in his nose from being bitten by our dog-sitters (who shall remain nameless) dog. That wasn't so great. But he's recovering and both Cole and Porthos slept all weekend; content to be reunited with their doting daddies.

Just as happy as we were to see them I'd wager. All's well that ends in sleeping puppies.