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July 30, 2006

dragonflies & sweaty men

Today Homer and I braved the heat to go out to Kenilworth Park & Aquatic Gardens to see some wildlife and lily pads. We're both worn out from the heat and last night's excesses (more on that later), so I will be brief. Here's a pretty dragonfly (Perithemis tenera - the Eastern Amberwing Dragonfly, thanks Sea!) I caught trying out the macro setting on my camera:

Lots of beautiful lilies and lotus flowers there:
lotus plant

This is a swallowtail butterfly on a butterfly milkweed:

Homer said the lotus pods look like triffids:

I take the best heron pictures ever:
great blue heron

Sweaty gurls at Chrisafer's party:
Chrisafer, Jimbo and some adorkable guy

One more picture, compliments of EarlGurl, of me at the party when I realized my A/C had broken:
my precious air conditioning!

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July 28, 2006

bunny butt

I think bunny butts are cute too.

Gawd, this blog is going downhill fast...

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July 26, 2006

Ariel, Thundarr and Ookla respond to 'N Sync crisis

Ariel OMG Lance Bass is gay!
Thundarr Lords of Light! You mean the big hairy guy from 'N Sync?
Ariel No. Sorry Ookla, it's the bug-eyed blond one who tried to go into space and is dating
Limeskin Ripeswell or something like that.
Ookla >:' [
Thundarr Too bad it wasn't JT.

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Rough Trade Wednesday

Photo courtesy of Jocko and my inability to focus on my term paper and work. Again, I don't know who he is. Me and Jocko trade Trade pics sometimes.
tire iron boy
Before any of you submit your favorite Rough Trade Week Submissions, let's look closely at what Rough Trade really is, at least in my book.

Is a Bear an example of Rough Trade? The answer is no. Like drag queens are to femininity, Bears are a parody of masulinity. Scratch beneath the surface (a few inches or feet if you will) and he's still a JRs cocktail queen, only hairy and X-Large. Plus, despite their forced appearance of blue collar status via a group-identified uniform percieved to be masculine, many Bears are highly educated or cultured, which disqualifies them for Rough Trade status.

Is a leather queen Rough Trade? Again, no. It is yet another form of drag, not the real thing. While leather queens and Bears can be quite hot, neither are Rough Trade.

Rough Trade Is:
- unpolished, untrimmed, uncultured, unfinished, uneducated;
- frequently inked;
- calloused, in every sense of the word;
- the real deal;
- preferrably dumb, or at least dumb-looking;
- good with hands, blue collar profession;
- doesn't give a shit;
- flawed in some easily visible way (snaggleteeth, wart, scar, etc.) but wears it well.

Rough Trade Is Not:
- perfect, groomed, or attended to;
- something attempted, it is what it is;
- inked or blinged with anything symbolic or meaningful;
- a parody or an affected archetype;
- necessarily overtly masculine or hypermasculine.

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July 25, 2006

Rough Trade Tuesday

I have nothing to blog about, so what the hell. Let's make it a Rough Trade Tuesday as well.
Just an image I found on the Internets...don't know who he is.

Jeez, I'm feeling pressured to make this Rough Trade Week. Submissions welcome.

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July 24, 2006

Rough Trade Monday

Image of Chris Meloni as rough trade snatched from the Queer Beacon review of the very bad film Wet Hot American Summer:
"Hi Mom, this is Chris. He's a short order cook."


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July 23, 2006

I hope Homer likes spiders...

I just read in my post-surgery directions that I'm supposed to wear these fucking eye shields in my sleep for 4 nights after the surgery, but after 2 nights of not sleeping with them on my face, followed by 2 days of medical tape goop on my face all day, I said 'fuck it' to those things. They're supposed to keep me from scratching my eyes in my sleep but I don't think I've been rubbing (my eyes) at night. Photo courtesy of Littlebuddha73.

I could see all the way up New Hampshire Avenue today! It was pretty cool, but bright sunlight still makes my eyes ache a bit. My night vision does not seem to be impaired, however.

I'm going to have to go on another spider hunt in my basement apartment again, especially now that I can again focus my eyes down to that scale. They are everywhere, in every corner, and if I don't get them all I'll come home and find Homer wrapped up in a cocoon when he comes to stay at my house. It would be bad to have my spiders suck Homer dry. There's plenty of other creatures in DC who need the opportunity to do that...
Jimbo vs. Shelob, while Homer waits patiently in a cocoon
Since they don't crawl on me and seem to leave me alone, most of the time I let them be as they get the flies and skeeters that come in.

I went to RFK Stadum for the first time ever yesterday to help out with a rugby team fundraiser, handing out hundreds of free t-shirts to visitors. I lost count of all the DILFs after a dozen spottings or so. By the time we were done handing out freebies the game was still going, but the distance and light was still too much to bear easily so I went back to my spider hole for a disco nap. Later that night Blowoff-Lite in the BackBar was a hoot, with all the usual woofy suspects and a few others.

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July 21, 2006

abused actresses, laser beams and wooly mammoths

This is how I felt yesterdaySuperGeek Trivia Challenge:
Name the actress and film shown in the movie still to the left. If you get it right, you are a Super-Duper Geek. No cheating on IMDB!

SuperGeek Bonus Round Question:
In which film did this same actress receive yet another round of unwanted cosmetic surgery? A clue is in the subject header of this blog entry. If you get both right without consulting the Internets, you are a Super-Mega-Zord-Geek.

We Have a Winner: Jeffrey at SuburbanNerd, with the answer: "Saturn 3 and Farrah Fawcett and Logans Run." A close second goes to Scott Brooks, whose answer came in minutes after Jeffrey's. Jeffrey, you are a Super-Duper Mega-Zord Geek! Scott is merely a Super-Geek.

This morning's check-up confirmed that all is well with my peepers. Athough she did not warn me before moving her fingers to prop open my eyes, an action that got a sharp reaction from me. I flinched and backed up and said like a Klingon: "Your finger is in my eye." To which she responded with an affirmation that her finger was there in order to prop it open. I wish she had warned me, because she had really long fingernails.

Anyhow, I can see clearly now the gunk is gone from my eyes, although there is a bit of irritation at times and my eyes feel tired. I'm working from home, doing my drops as directed, and napping frequently.

I just finished a great sci-fi novel by John Varley. Years ago I read his Titan trilogy (the other 2 being Wizard and Demon) and liked them a lot. Now you may not know, but I've always wanted a pet wooly mammoth, or at the very least a mastadon, but preferrably a war mammoth like in the Lord of the Rings movies, whom I will name 'Stampy'. Varley's recent novel, Mammoth, realizes all my birthday present fantasies and more. Archaeological mysteries, mammoth/elephant hybrids, possible time travel, tar pits, giant laser beams, metaphysic theory and beasts running amok in Los Angeles all made for a good read. It's sorta like Jurassic Park with fur, but the characters are more interesting and there's surprises at every chapter.

And now for something completely different: The Blair Necessities - a blog dedicated to spreading the Word of born-again Facts of Life actress Lisa Whelchel.

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July 20, 2006

turn the inner eye

I should not even be online right now to blog, but adding an entry is easier than replying to all your kind e-mails of support, which I will respond to when the monitor glow isn't making my frontal lobes ache.

The laser eye surgery went well, but having one's eyes forced open, poked at, cut through, momentary blindness, lasered, then painted back shut with something is REALLY disturbing. I broke out in a cold sweat while it was going on, even though my doctor looked like Mark Singer from The Beastmaster (hot hot hot). They all have hot doctors at the places I went to for this procedure, fyi. Anyhow, even though the actual procedure was only a few minutes long and very efficient, while it was going on my 'fight or flight' instincts were screaming bloody murder. My body was saying to me quite clearly "THERE IS SOMEBODY FORCING YOUR EYES OPEN AND POKING SHIT AT THEM AND IT IS NOW TIME TO RUN BEFORE THEY PUT MORE SHIT INTO YOUR EYES RUN RUN RUNNNNNN!!!! AAAAGH! HERE COMES THE LASER!!! WHAT'S THAT SMELL??!?!?! RUN FIGHT RUNNN!!!!!"

But then I remembered my Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear:

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

And now I can see and ride sandworms and augment my sonic weapons with deadly force. And bitch, if you poke that poison finger thing at me I will cut you...

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it's alright

I've been an Indigo Girls fan for over a decade, but I always thought the dark-haired one had the higher voice and the blonde one was the husky-voiced one, but after finally seeing them in concert last night for the first time I stand corrected. Thanks to Blogstar Brettie I was treated to a great concert out at Wolf Trap. Give right-of-way to the lesbians for sure. They played a nice set with a lot of favorites, including The Wood Song and Chickenman. The Indigo Girls will be the last musical act I will have seen with my original eyes before tomorrow's laser eye correction surgery.

Earlier this week I had dinner with Swede and Czech and Malajustin, both good company.

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July 18, 2006

tourist season annoyances addendum

Addendum to what Sean and Scott said about the tourists that visit DC and the things they do that annoy us:

- While riding MetroRail in large groups, keep moving once you've gotten to the train platform. Do not stop at the top (or bottom) of the stairs. The same goes for the train itself. If you stop right there at the doors, I will run you over, or even better, practice my rucking skills since you're about the same size as a rugby forward anyway.

- A MetroRail train is not a playground for your child. Sit your ass down and leave the pole alone. As for you adults, I've seen the pole dancer bit a thousand times, and it is tired and you are not funny. And we know you're a strong kid, but avoid doing pull-ups on the bars as well.

- When in a large group and walking down the sidewalk, do not walk 4-6 abreast. Some of us residents need to walk in the opposite direction, or pass your waddling ass. In ancient Greece, this formation was referred to as a phalanx. Except that you are no Hoplite soldier.

- Spare us the display of your reading skills, sit down and relax. You do not need to show your geographical prowess by eagerly reading the MetroRail station names aloud (and mispronounced) each time we pass a new one. "Luh-EN-Fant Plaza!"

- I know I have a fly haircut and I look like a very approachable Midwestern boy next door on the MetroRail platform. But do not gather close to me in lieu of standing next to or anywhere near the perfectly nice African-American who is on his/her way home from work, who is also a DC local like me. It's transparent racism, if not simply embarrassing behavior. Just because I'm white doesn't mean I'm not packing a nine and am about to pop a cap in 'yo ass, or am looking forward to a nice warm can of Steel Reserve when I get home.

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A Stalker's Pledge

No Harm Shall Visit The Bamber
for as long as I breathe.
His Auburn Halo shall glow for me.
His scruff forever present,
hot British accent barely held in check.

Hey Bamber Stalkers...a larger desktop version of this image with hi-rez scruff and chest fur can be found here.

Just ignore the inane Out magazine copy text, which undoubtedly conjectures whether or not Bamber is gay, whether or not Apollo is gay, blah blah blah. Neither are, but hotness sells magazines.

As my husband, The Bamber transcends gay/straight labeling. He is simply mine.

From Carl, some more definitions...I'm definitely guilty on both counts of being both a Cuddleslut and a Cuddlewhore. I was once most impressed by a very memorable Christmas trick way back when where the guy made it clear beforehand that he was a Cuddlewhore, and also made me pledge ahead of time that we would cuddle afterwards. That's my kind of guy.

Cuddleslut: A guy who loves to cuddle after sex, even if it's just a hookup. Can be a challenge to get rid of, though usually a spritz from a water bottle will get them out, just like a kitty out of the fish pudding. They must give off some sort of vibe, as they drive even average people to letting strangers stay the night. Even I've been seduced, and liked it.
Cuddlewhore: A guy who hooks up with you only for the purpose of cuddling afterward. Can often be a touch sanctimonious, as they feel they've "paid" for the cuddling, by putting out. The water spritz won't work. There may not be a way out, as far as I'm aware. Prepare for dreams of gnawing your own arm off, and pray you brought a sedative.

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July 17, 2006

Jennifer and the Giant Purse

I can handle this kind of heat just fine - as long as the humidity is low. It is supposed to hit 100 today in DC, but as long as my sweat actually works for me and that haze isn't blocking my view of the sky, I can do heat waves. Yesterday I even went for a nice bike ride up the C&O Canal Towpath trail with OMG DJ Timothy Mykael, showing him Little Falls and a secret and strange platform right near where the Potomac becomes very narrow. Does anyone know what that secret platform is for? I suppose if it's secret you won't know...

Saturday OMG DJ TM™ was spinning at Cobalt, and I stopped by to say hi and possibly shake it for a bit. I didn't have the energy reserves to fight the crowd at the Nation closing party. Did anyone go? How was it? Anyway, there were few woofers at Cobalt with like 1 or 2 exceptions. A few friends arrived and we danced for a bit, but because we are so old now (in gay years) we grew tired, our backs ached and we went home.

There were a large number of Jennifers at Cobalt, with requisite mega-purses, buffeting anyone in a 10' radius with their bag. My question to you, Jennifer, is this: what the fuck is in your purse that is so goddamn important, and why do you need to bring it to the club? Can't you leave it at your gay friend Chad's condo? All you need is an i.d. card, ATM card, some cash and your keys - that's it. I deal with Jennifers with giant purses by pretending to try to pick their purse pockets. I have no intention of stealing anything, but once Jennifer becomes aware that someone is fucking with her shit, she suddenly becomes acutely aware that she has a giant purse.

Some clarification and definitions:

  • Jennifer: frequent screechy, young, annoying female patron at any given gay club. Rarely welcome;
  • Mike: Jennifer's real straight boyfriend, who we rarely see because she's really in love with...;
  • Chad: Jennifer's gay friend who takes her out to gay bars all the time. Chad has a fauxhawk and pops his polo collar;
  • Molly: Jennifer's slightly overweight and quiet sidekick, a friend since undergrad at GW. Molly works at an environmental nonprofit;
  • Tricia: Tricia and Jennifer used to hang out, but when Chad broke up with Robert, Tricia split and started hanging out with Robert but not Chad and Jennifer. Jennifer hates Tricia, especially when she sees her out at the club, because she's the only fag hag in the house!

    I am very much looking forward to a Blowoff-lite this Saturday at the 9:30 Club Back Bar. There are usually no Jennifers there.

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    July 14, 2006

    In Memoriam: Seamus Houston

    Seamus HoustonMy friend Seamus was a frequent reader and commenter on this blog. He was one of the first people that I met when I moved to DC. Back in tha day we partied together - a lot, and it's quite fitting that Nation has it's last call on the same day as the rememberance service. He was a mentor in my career development as well, and now I do what he did, albeit on a less glamorous level. We both liked the same type of dumb-looking, hairy guys. The photo is of him and his late dog that he loved very much, Bacchus. Perhaps they are back together walking in the park somewhere now. We will miss you Seamus.

    SEAMUS HOUSTON - The Washington DC community lost one of its brightest and liveliest with the unexpected death of Geneseo, NY native Seamus Houston. A good friend to many, he will be missed by all that knew him. Houston, 46, died suddenly in his sleep, June 22. A resident of Washington DC since 1983, he spent more than 20 years in marketing, communications, public relations and event management in Washington D.C., working in the private, non-profit and government sectors. Recently, the director of communications and marketing for the Corcoran Gallery of Art and College of Art and Design, Houston started his career in 1983 as public relations coordinator for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. The Syracuse University Newhouse School graduate moved on to work as public relations director of Tourmobile Sightseeing; director of marketing for The Pavilion at the Old Post Office; national dinner manager for the Human Rights Campaign; director of marketing for Westfield America; director of marketing for The Mills Corporation; senior director of marketing and communications for the Downtown DC Business Improvement District; and director of North American operations for Artlumiere, a Paris-based large-scale artistic illumination company. The eldest son of the late Honorable J. Robert Houston and the late Judith Chandler Houston, he is survived by siblings Gertrude, Emmet, Eleanor and Kathleen Houston (husband Soren Thomas); nieces and nephew Felicity, Kate, Isabelle, James and Elizabeth Thomas and several close cousins.

    A memorial service will be held 2pm, July 15th, 2006 at St. Thomas' Parish, 1772 Church St NW, Washington, DC 200364. A reception to follow, 3-5pm at Annie's Paramount Steak House (2nd Floor Lounge), 1609 17th St., NW, Washington, DC. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made to the Genesee Valley Conservancy, P.O. Box 73, One Main St., Geneseo, NY 14454.

    Seamus was one of the first people I met when I moved to DC, and remains one of the most outgoing people that I have met in the 10 years I’ve lived here. While so many people in this town work with personal networks and contacts, it is rare when someone simply approaches you to say hello like he did. And even fewer people offer Pez when first meeting. He was always in a perky mood and had motherly advice to offer, even if it was along the lines of “Do as I say, not as I do.” It’s notable that we met at The Eagle, where the type that we both had an interest in could frequently be found. To quote the lyrics of comedienne Julie Brown “I go bar-hopping and when they say last call; I start shopping for a Neanderthal. I like 'em big and stupid; I like 'em big and real dumb.” And Seamus, if you had only waited for just a little while more, I understand that the biggest, dumbest member of the DC Metropolitan Police was at your side for several hours just a few weeks ago. I hear tell from the close friends who were there that you would have approved.

    We logged many hours on the dance floor together - and it's fitting that Nation has it's last call tonight before closing for good. Should I have the reserves this evening I’ll try to be there on the dance floor towards the front, just by the stage under the lights where we always regrouped. Our regular troupe may have dispersed over the years, but the memories of all the fun we had at Millennium, the Colors of Fall party, the Reaction Dance and Nation will remain.
    When I moved here after a brief career as a park ranger, then as a dot-com web designer, Seamus helped mentor me through my career development with sage advice on how to work through the system in this town. Success here ultimately involves people, which were his forte. Today I work doing marketing and communications, and Seamus played a large role in helping mold my career into something that I enjoy doing, that he also enjoyed and excelled at as well.

    After a difficult breakup of mine, we had many long lunch gabs during the time I was un- or under-employed. If Seamus wasn’t able to get a lunch on the house from knowing everyone at any given restaurant, he would cover the lunch during those difficult times. Even more valuable than the meals was the dating advice or urban survival tips which he gave freely, giving the best advice when I was in the worst shape. He was full of such advice the last time we spent time together on a shopping trip. I needed new pants for work, and always shop for clothes with a discerning friend. Remembering tips he gave me long ago, such as “No Short-Sleeved Dress Shirts – Ever” and “No Braided Belts,” I thought he’d be a good shopping partner. This time he consoled me through the reality that I was no longer a waist size 32, and had to move up to 34, or possibly 36 due to winter’s bounty. The horrors of this reality hit me hard, but he did his best to help with firm consolation, as he always did.

    Seamus, we will miss you.

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    July 13, 2006

    I got examined by Chris Evans today

    Miss Piggy and friendsDear Washington Post Express Weekend Pass editors: the Muppet cinema classics "The Muppet Movie" and "The Great Muppet Caper" are not 'animated' films. Muppets are frikkin' real, not cartoons. Although at your age you may only be aware of the nauseating "Muppet Babies" cartoon, thus your ignorant assumptions. Kids these days...

    Both classics can be seen at the AFI Silver (Spring), the former at 7:30pm tonight, the latter at 12:30pm on Saturday and Sunday as part of the AFI "100 Years...100 Thrills" movie series. It's a nice, quiet grownup theatre that attracts few cell phone addicts, fyi.

    Today I Metrorailed up to the White Flint station on the Red Line to get my eyes mapped in preparation for next week's LASIK surgery. All is in readiness, and my only regrets at this point is the bill. My doctor looked like a cute, younger, adorkable, Jewishy version of Chris Evans, with thick, spiky eyebrows. Needless to say I obediently did everything he asked me to, and would have done anything else he didn't.

    After the appointment I went to the White Flint Mall to grab something to eat. I think I was the only nonbreeding person there, as it was filled with Caucasian suburban mallwalking housewives with strollers. These women are intense...they will clip your ankles with the stroller, run you over like a piece of dirt, and roll over your twitching carcass without so much as an "Excuse me," if they even notice you at all. It's All About The Babies. And if they have the mega-plastic red multi-child Humvee-sized strollers provided by the mall, you're just a piece of masticated roadkill in their eyes. Look out for the mallwalkers at White Flint Mall.

    Today's shallow beefcake post is of 30 year-old, 200# Buffalo Sabres hockey stud and 2006 Olympian Chris Drury. Hockey players grow beards during the playoff season, which turns my crank. Befur and aftfur:
    He has a nice schnoz too. Both Chris' make my Smurf itch.

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    July 12, 2006

    town criers and screeching harridans

    Yesterday's sandwich post generated a remarkable amount of comments - even more than a typical woofy beefcake photo would.

    You people are weird. FYI, you can order this Wonder Bread sandwich container here. I do not use Wonder Bread in my sandwiches, by the way.

    Someone asked why I have a sandwich before leaving work. I eat about 5 small meals during a typical weekday. My largest meal is breakfast - every day no matter what. At the very least cereal, yogurt with fruit, and 2 eggs. Sometimes oatmeal on top of that. I have a light lunch around Noon. Not too much food that would make me groggy though - like sushi, soup, or a hot dog. I eat a sandwich before leaving work and going to my workout. I eat a banana immediately after my workout, then a light supper (greens and a chicken breast) when I get home.

    I am completely moved offices at work now. Some of my coworkers have commented on how chipper I've been since then. I have followed my predecessor into a banished existence from the administrative staff office area. It's no coincidence that we were both eventually exiled out into the hall. It seems that both she and I require near-silence in order to perform our step-intensive work with HTML, InDesign, or Photoshop - or at least no interruptions. Not everyone in our workplace needs to be informed of every event that goes on in the office by the near-deaf Town Crier (as I call her). "It's raining!" "Your package arrived." or "He painted his room!" I also didn't need to constantly hear business matters discussed loudly in the hallway by the Screeching Harridan (as I call the other person), who feels she needs to yell at maximum spine-splitting volumes and tones - often right outside my office.

    I can now think clearly and perform step-intensive jobs that require concentration. It's only been 2 days and I've created three overdue brochures already. I can answer the phone without worrying that the caller thinks I work on the floor of the Stock Exchange. Work is much better now.

    I just noticed the giant oak tree outside my new office looks kind of like the one that ate the kid in Poltergeist. Plus it has giant limbs that could snap off in a storm and break my window open. I hope I'm not here when that happens.

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    July 11, 2006

    my sandwich brings all the boys to the yard

    I make a nice-looking sandwich. When I prepare them they are attractive and look delicious. Since I eat a sandwich every afternoon before leaving work, all my coworkers covet and comment on my sandwiches nearly every day. This spring I prepared one as a snack for a weekend rugby match, and while I was eating it one of the big, tough, straight, butch Marines on our team was walking by and commented, "Nice sandwich." No one can resist my sandwiches. I really didn't think anything could further enhance the quality of my sandwich until I saw this attractive Wonder Bread sandwich container at the grocery store last night:
    It is absolutely adorable, and keeps my sandwich from getting squished on the ride to work. Plus, I reduce the amount of plastic sandwich bags I might otherwise use up.

    One secret to making an attractive sandwich is to use fresh lettuce (romaine, but never iceberg), and have the rounded edges of the lettuce leaves stick out around the edges of the crust. Don't say I don't relinquish my valued secrets here on this blog.

    Posted by jimbo at 1:31 PM | Comments (25) | TrackBack

    July 10, 2006

    bring your hottie to USDA day

    When I go to my credit union to cash a check or whatnot, I'll often have lunch with a rugby teammate who works there. I'm a member of this credit union where I used to work (USDA) back in tha day. Today must have been Bring Your Hottie To Work Day today at USDA, for in the period of a mere lunch break, I spotted SIX USDA hotties. I worked there for 2 years and never saw that many when I was an employee.

    Cute little bearcubOr maybe everyone looks like a hottie since my mojo was lost some time in March, I think somewhere in Tuscon. I told Homer to e-mail it back to me in the form of a compressed .zip file, but he hasn't complied yet. I hope he brings it with him at the end of this month when he visits. I would like my mojo back.

    Apparently JoeMyGod was homebound much of the weekend as he kept sending me YouTube gems like this one of a cute furry red-bearded bearcub lip-synching 'You Made Me Gay' with Yukon Cornelius. I find his buzzcut contrasted with wooly beard, plus his slightly crossed eyes to be somehow attractive. Although my favorite from the Bears Gone Wild series is the one of the bear recanting Fiona Apple's memorable Grammy acceptance rant. If you caught the original, the cover is even more hilarious.

    And speaking of hotties...introducing yet another gay Scandinavian blogger from DC - Swede and Czech.

    Posted by jimbo at 1:50 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack

    July 9, 2006

    changing channels

    In accordance with a resolution to get out and meet more people and be more social, I signed up for a tubing trip down the Shenendoah River organized by a friend who lives near me. It was a lovely, relaxing Saturday, and the weather cooperated, making for a lazy, but short three-hour drift through the green river valleys.

    While I enjoyed myself for the most part, I hadn't felt so socially awkward since high school much of the day, as the group of some 50 gay boys wasn't my usual posse. Sometimes I drifted alone on my tube, sometimes linking up to rafts of boys here and there, but not having much to contribute to chats during the trip. While I wouldn't call the group the A-List crowd, they might have been somewhere near A- or B+, concerned largely with teeth whitening, how many weekends they have reserved in P-Town (but not Rehoboth, for God's sake) and who's going to hook up with whom. I could count the number of people among the 50 who had untrimmed chests like mine on one hand. After about 20 minutes of hearing about who had the biggest cock, I was content to de-link from this raft or that and try another channel in the river with a different gathering of tubes.

    I'd hung out with this crowd before when I lived closer to Shaw, and felt the same discomfort, rarely having much to contribute during cocktail conversations. The 'type' of people I feel comfortable hanging out with hasn't changed much since high school, only the mutual age of those I'm with has changed. The tubing trip made me think a lot about who I did enjoy hanging out with much of the time: introspective bloggers, the Alterna-Bear crowd at Blowoff, the well-traveled and educated, creative types, dedicated couples, sci-fi geeks, and people with passions outside of hooking up. I like to be with people who have met adversity some time in their lives or have spent some time skidding on the pavement of life and are unashamed and unafraid to talk about it. People for whom propriety is not a priority, who don't put up a facçade of affected normalcy, people for whom difference and being different is the norm rather than something to aspire to. People who are not hung up on their perception of masculinity. People who see it and call it like it is. The freaks and the geeks are my peeps I guess.

    The barbeque following the river trip wasn't that different in character, as the majority of the crowd was buzzing amongst each other, sizing each other up, playing a game I was never good at and largely avoid. I overheard someone say something to the effect of, "Don't hate the player, hate the game," but I wasn't sure I agreed. Eventually the sun, heat and posturing drove me to the shade of a tree, where I sat with a cluster of other PWBF (People With Body Fat/Boy Friends). I'm not saying I'm asexual, but if two people want to get together, I'm not one for ceremony or courtship displays. Those are for the birds that I watch through my binoculars.

    The sun, beer and social interaction had me in bed by 10pm, and I slept for 10 hours after that, well caught up by today for an unlikely gathering of people with whom I had more in common with. We were together at Annie's to coordinate the funeral arrangements for our mutual friend, yet I somehow felt more at ease with this group than with the previous day's gathering, despite the sad circumstance. I guess it's all about mutual interests, whatever they may be.

    Posted by jimbo at 4:41 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack

    July 7, 2006

    I'm talkin' 'bout resolution

    OK guys, I can't take it any more. It's time for another etiquette lesson, this time on the rules of online cruising, either by e-mail or on cruisey hook-up sites:

  • flash.jpgNice digital cameras don't cost all that much these days, and the resolution quality of web cam and camera phones is still sub-par. I want to see follicles and pores! 300 pixels per inch! Go out and buy a nice new camera, or borrow your friend's camera. Even better, have your trusted friend take your photo as to avoid the ever-tragic bathroom mirror flash effect.
  • Show your face, pussy. The conservatives and Republicans haven't been that frightening for you, have they? What are you hiding from? I'm especially vexed by faceless pics from the heart of gay ghettos like San Fran and NYC. Plus, I like face pics more than pictures of cocks and puckering buttholes, which all sort of look the same to me. If I don't see your face, I'm going to assume you're a closet case or horribly deformed.
  • Pictures of you from far away don't show me much either.
  • Unless you are an experienced graphic artist, photomanipulations of your face or other body parts will be detected. Don't try it.
  • I am not interested in landscape pictures, or of your experimental photography. I am on these sites for one purpose only.
  • Kuato.jpgPictures of select body parts, with no picture showing your whole body, will only lead me to assume you have a conjoined symbiotic mutant partner named Kuato attached to your abdomen.
  • Smile in at least one of your pictures. Scowling does not make you "masc", it just makes you look scary. Smiling makes you appear approachable, and usually better looking.
  • Usually if a guy says he's 'masculine' or that he's a 'Renaissance Man', he probably isn't.
  • If you send an e-mail to someone proposing to hook up, always attach a variety of images of yourself to that initial message. Do not send an e-mail without attached images and ask me to send you my pics. Do not say you're going to send pics if asked. You will get no response.
  • Check the file size of your attached images. Send cropped, optimized images in .jpg format. Do not send raw images straight off your digital camera. Do not send .gif or .bmp images.

  • (Exception: Humongous, high-resolution raw images may be e-mailed to me if said images are of your chest or face, especially if you're blond, red-head, scruffy and/or furry.)

  • In chat rooms please be polite, use complete sentences and proper grammar, even when asking to have your hole violated.
  • A compliment is not a proposition to marry. Don't flee in terror when someone says something nice to you. A good response when showered with compliments via e-mail or in a chat room is to say "Thank you."
  • And always have a trusted friend review the pictures you've uploaded. They're looking out for you and your image online.
  • Posted by jimbo at 10:20 AM | Comments (15) | TrackBack

    July 6, 2006

    from this place I blog

    I just moved offices. Before I moved into this new one, I gave it a new paintjob, and cleaned out a lot of excess crap and files. I'm going for the whole tidy Santa Fe upland desert oasis look:
    And here is the view from my chair, featuring the aquarium that is a bitch to move. My office is so welcoming that everyone who walks by has to stop and say hi, even when I'm on the phone.
    Fortunately I can close my door when I need to get work done.

    Posted by jimbo at 2:57 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

    July 5, 2006

    solemn and dignified

    My toy box of insecurities and anxieties has been filled to the brim lately with funeral arrangements, an office move, and the resultant falling behind at work in things I need to get done during all this. It's been hard to get to a consensus in organizing the friend's rememberance service. The first challenge in organizing any event is that it will always be harder and take longer when you make decisions as a group. Adding to that is that each person helping out is going through the grief and loss differently, including myself. So, you'll get random emotional outbursts, unclear responses, or simply withdrawl from the whole mess. But I think we have it all pinned down now, with a date that is sooner rather than later. I figured it would be best to get it organized early to help people process better and sooner. Funerals aren't always for the dead.

    Regardless, the upbeat honored probably wouldn't appreciate a solemn ceremony, unlike the service I attended today for a friend who recently lost his father to illness. It was held at Arlington National Cemetery, and is so far the most interesting funeral I've ever been to. It featured an honor guard, 21-gun salute, dignified ceremonial folding of the flag, "Taps", the whole works. And I didn't realize that cemetery was so vast. It was also mercifully brief, as they conduct about 24 burials every weekday and have to keep things moving, so to speak. Regardless of all the services they conduct in the heat, the Marines performed their routine in today's humidity with dignity and respect. It was quite moving.

    But I'm totally going to hell for lusting after them during the service.

    Posted by jimbo at 9:12 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

    July 3, 2006

    I wish there was a gay Garanimals clothing line these days

    Looking for photos from my time as a park ranger, I came across these awkward reminders:
    Little JimboRockin' the buttcrack 'do
    I rocked that Garanimals shirt, and on the right I rock the feathered buttcrack 'do. I don't know exactly how old I was in each of these photos. I would guess 1st and 9th grade?

    Posted by jimbo at 12:51 PM | Comments (15) | TrackBack

    July 1, 2006

    the cat factory

    Today as I rode home on my bike from a shopping trip to the Soviet Safeway, grocery bags hanging dangerously from my handlebars (and yes, Carl and Mari, I wear no helmet), I spotted a man dragging an old computer printer and throwing it in the yard of The Cat Factory.

    The Cat Factory, as I call it, is across the street from my back yard. It could be a beautiful house, but no one lives there and it's been vacant for some time. I see yuppie couples pointing at it, and even from afar, I can read their lips saying, "Yes, let's buy this one too! We'll gut it!" But I'm sure they've inquired and I'm sure it's one of those houses whose owner cannot be found, or the owners don't want to let go of it for whatever reason. And so it sits and rots, becoming more expensive to improve by each passing month. A number of feral cats live in it, and I see them coming in and out of the broken windows. At least they are taking care of the rat population, or getting their asses kicked by our huge rats.

    Anyway, the house produces cats, and neighbors or visitors into DC also dump their garbage in the front yard of The Cat Factory. Furniture and other garbage will sit there for weeks until someone calls to get it removed.

    Anyhow, I stared at the man, who saw me looking, and he looked very guilty. He yelled something at me, and I suggested he throw it in his own garbage, or into the public receptacle not 50' feet from where he decided to throw it on the ground. But he continued to justify his actions, clearly illegal dumping no matter what his excuse, on the fact that it was just laying there in the alley. "That's illegal dumping!" I yelled back at him. He cursed and scowled, and seemed to think that dumping it in someone else's yard is OK. So I set my bike up against a streetlight post, walked over and picked up the printer, and threw it away myself as he watched me.

    Does anyone remember the commercial with the crying indian dude from like the late 70s or early 80's? Or Woodsy the frikkin' Owl? "Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute!" Has anyone seen a similar ad since then? I think we are due for another round of public anti-litter campaigns, but clearly it will have to wait for support from another administration...

    Photo taken Summer 1990, Chugach National Forest, U.S. Forest Service, Girdwood, Alaska. I was 20 years old:
    Woodsy, Smokey & Co.
    give a frikkin' hoot
    Can you believe I was not yet out when this picture was taken?

    Posted by jimbo at 10:34 PM | Comments (17) | TrackBack