Fattitude For The Masses

2012-01-05T01:05:00.000-08:00

Editing note: This was written on 12/7/11.

I wasn't going to blog tonight. I have just come home from a really [really] nice time with a handsome, well spoken, intelligent, kind man, and I was simply going to relax, surf and go to bed. Then I went to my favorite webpage: TED. As I scanned the pages, I keep passing up this one topic. It is about doing something for 30 days. It doesn't catch my interest. As I skip over it for the third time, my eyes happen to fall on the first have of the title: Matt Cutts: Try Something For 30 Days!!!! I know Matt Cutts. I joke with him. I have been in his house. I have a relationship with his wife. OMG I know a TED speaker. How fucking cool is that I ask you???

Of course I listened to his talk. It put me in the mind of what I did my first year I moved to SF. I called it "My Year of Failure". The idea was to try to fail at as many things as possible. Well, not really try to fail at them, but, more like try anything that came to mind with failing at the adventure being a viable outcome. When I failed I could add related memorabilia to my "Failure Wall".

1996-1997 was a great year.

I entered a sandcastle building contest which lead me to Susanna who taught me how to sculpt with clay that lead me to want to sketch that lead me to a month in Rome in 2010.

I walked in my first Bay to Breakers 7 K run, which was the start of a 5 year tradition.

I entered a bench that a friend and I painted into the Napa County Fair. Not only did we win a blue ribbon, but we won Best Of Show.

I asked men out with our concern for getting turned down. That gave me the confidence I needed when I walked into a grocery store several years ago looking for guy who had promised me a phone call but had not yet dialed the phone. That lead to an eight year relationship.

I applied for jobs for which I did not have a reasonable chance of being offered the opportunity. That lead to a comfort with the job interview process and allowed me to freely apply for a job totally out of my comfort zone. I still have that job today.

It was empowering to have the freedom to fail. It not only allowed me to try activities for which I had been hesitant to try before, it allowed me to do things for which I would have never even considered before.

The Passionate Kiss

2012-01-04T12:52:00.000-08:00

It was the passionate kiss.

That is what has stayed with me. He came up to me, said very little, his hand reached for my arm. I looked to him. He was in no rush. He kept his gaze to the other side of the room. Slowly, he turned his head, but not his eyes, until the last moment when they followed and locked with mine. It was an unblinking stare that held no promises, no commitments, just a simple offer. He offered me a few moments of attention, adoration, and contact in a simple context. His hand moved to my back. I moved mine to his shoulder. He turned his gaze back to his friends. He did not break the connection he had just established. I leaned into him. His hand was searching. He knew he had time. He stroked my spine with a gentle pressure. He moved his hand under my shirt. He went to my belt. His fingers teased the top of my jeans. He slipped them under. I reacted. I can never not react to the touch of a strong man's hand on the skin of the small of my back. My knees usually buckle. They failed me this time as well. Knowing he had found the weakness, he turned, met my expression and then kissed me, softly, without pretense, without concern but with more passion than I had ever felt. My hands would not remain still. I was under his shirt. I worked his nipple gently between finger and thumb and felt his legs bend. In one move I had found his weakness as well. We did no more than this, but this was much more than most were ever capable of giving me. That is what has stayed with me. It was the passionate kiss.

Sunsets

2012-01-03T01:03:00.000-08:00

Hippy TED

2012-01-02T01:02:00.000-08:00

http://www.ted.com/talks/nalini_nadkarni_life_science_in_prison.html
This is a little hippy for me but I like the idea of how far trees travel a year.

http://www.ted.com/talks/jae_rhim_lee.html
Talk about hippy... but it is an interesting concept.

Bust of Medusa by Bernini

2012-01-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

A rare treasure is at the San Francisco Legion of Honor. On loan from the Musei Capitolini di Roma. Hidden away for a bit, the bust has been restored and is on a very limited tour.

Background on the Myth of Medusa

Ok here is the down and dirty on Medusa... one of three sisters, the only one that was mortal, she was charming and stunning, known and envied for her beautiful locks of blond hair, so beautiful in fact that it caused Neptune to get randy. He, being Neptune, sea god that almost always got what he wanted, tapped Medusa in the temple of Minerva [or Athena if you want to do a total Greek version, but the blog is about the work of Bernini the great Roman sculptor so I am going with the Roman incarnation]. This, of course, pissed off Minerva cause who wants Neptune/Medusa santorum on their clean marble alter? And, don't forget, that the most violent fight between any two gods was the one between Minne and Nep over who was going to be the #1 god of the new city Athens. These two's bitching and crying framed the dispute "I rule the ocean and this city is going to be a great harbor of goods and commerce, I should get Athens." and, "I'm all wise and artsy and men will soon care more about learning than shopping one day so I should rule Athens.". Jupiter finally had enough and said whoever made the best gift for the city would rule the city. Ole Neptune threw down a magnificent warhorse and Minerva an olive tree. Minerva won and a thusly-riled Neptune tapped a young blonds ass on Minerva's alter proving that the war of the sexes has been going on for a long long time. Important point, because, it is believed that at the time before Medusa got the good news that she no longer needed to buy conditioner, it was women who had always had control over the earth and were on top of the Sex War Leader Board... more on this after Africa gets smitten with poisonous snakes.

So Medusa is all pretty one day with men buying her drinks and sending drunk tablet chiselings to her at all times of the day and night [kind of like drunk texting but without the iPhone, email, or paper] and then one good fuck and she is condemned to guard the gates of hell from mere mortals trying to pass through the rear portals prematurely. She ran this super blitz by turning any man to stone who dared to hold her gaze. This went on forever and ever until Acrisius had a kid named Danae whom, it was foretold, would bear a son that would one day kill Acrisius. Well the old man didn't like those odds so he confines his daughter in a tower that has only a little window, but this is ancient times and the gods can see most everything so Zeus decides to rain down upon this room a shower of gold, and in this shower he transports himself for a little one on one time with the rich man's daughter. With the promise of marriage [which, come on it's Zeus, you know he's got game with the ladies and this is just his way to get his lightening bolt dipped, if you know what I mean] she ends up having a son. Papi Acrisius discovers the kid, and fast forward several years he is still all focused on, "that grandkid, Perseus, is going to kill me one day". Papi devises a plan. He insults Perseus who, in a fit, says, "Is that right old man, well, I am great enough that you pick any gift in the world and I will bring it to you." Trap set, old man asks for Medusa's head.... blah blah blah, trials and tribulations and then when he is near giving up Perseus is visited by Hermes. Hermes gives him his winged shoes [think more Birkenstocks than Blahniks] and Minerva, who probably is still feeling the sting of the temple insult, shows up and ponies up her shiny brass shield and tells the kid to use it to see the reflection of Medusa, not to look directly at her ugliness. They dump a couple of other goodies in his lap and he is then off again. He soon finds the entrance, but, Perseus waits for the Medusa and her sisters to be sleeping, then enters the lair, uses his tools, chops her off Medusa's head and puts it in a Bloomingdales big brown bag.

Fun Facts and Subjective Reasoning about this Myth

1. She may have her head cut off, but this does not impede the powers of Medusa. Perseus uses this power to his own ends, and then gives the lump-o-head, now a military tactical weapon, to Minerva who staples it onto the her shield and goes out to defeat the enemies of knowledge and reason.

2. After the de-cap, the kid places the head in a bag.... I am thinking burlap. I mean, what else are you going to have lying around that will be sturdy enough to hold a severed head with snakes? With today's bags, one carton of milk and a good bump and your goods are spread all over Safeway’s parking lot. Any Houser, while Perseus is flying over Africa, the bag holding the head has a malfunction and drops of blood start to leak landing upon the sands of Saharan Africa and infesting it with poisonous snakes.

3. Some suppose that the story of Perseus is a tale originating from a warrior who concurred the nation of women known as the Gorgon. Medusa and her sisters were Gorgons. This is also the historical apex where in some literatures it is written that men over took women as influencers of the known world. Perseus and Medusa's battle is the symbol of that power change. {Medusa, the name, translates to "sovereign female wisdom" Perseus, the name, translates to "Destroyer"}

4. Medusa is still alive and well in our modern folklore.... Matty Walker [Kathleen Turner in Body Heat]; Basic Instincts; the Postman Always Rings Twice; Cathy in East of Eden; Catwoman; Poison Ivy; Hell, even Roxy Hart.

5. The coolest character of all Greek mythology was birthed from the decapitation of Medusa.... Pegasus.

6. Harry Potter even borrowed some lore. One of the deadly hallows was the invisibility cloak. Perseus was given the invisibility cap and this is what he used to escape the lair when chased by the other two Gorgon sisters.

7. Athena [Greek version of Minerva] is credited for inventing the flute for the purpose of imitating the sound of the hissing that the snakes made when Medusa's head was parted from her neck.

The Baroque Period, which started in Rome at the dawn of the 1600's, was about larger than life works with great detail, which involved capturing big exaggerated motion. Bernini was known to use story or character transition as his movement. His greatest works involve he being the midwife capturing the moving of characters from one plane of life to their next.

The Stone Master Bernini

Apollo and Daphne ~ Bernini chooses the moment of their story when Daphne has pleaded with her father and mother to make her ugly so Apollo will stop hunting her. Daddy does her bidding and this statue captures the transition of her becoming the laurel tree.

Bernini's David ~ A prime example of Bernini's transitional movement. David, as he is starting his deadly strike that will change not only his life, but the lives of his people as well.

Bernini's Ecstasy of St Teresa

And the happy lady herself.

Bernini uses the life defining moments of his subjects and then displays those heated malleable intimate transitional moments in the cold hard unmoving medium of marble.

Two Views Regarding this Representation

View 1:

Bernini created this piece when the new Pope thru him out with the old Pope's silk dresses. All upset with the public embarrassment of being out of courtly favor, he wanted to create some works that showed how powerful a master he had become. He looked for many angles, and in using the myth of Medusa, he was able to demonstrate a stark difference from other famous works on the familiar subject.

Berni worked the Medusa transition from the front end of the story not the back end. Instead of creating a piece about the ending of the monster, he created a piece about the birth of the monster. As we all know, Minerva not only went all "Super Cuts" on her hair, but she fucked Medusa's face up too. Bernini creates a bust between the moment of post-hair transformation and pre-facial distortion. His capture is the moment of Medusa's realization of what she has lost and the fear of what more she is to loose.

The style of the bust is not 100% usual Bernini. The snakes do not match the polished style of his other works. Remember, he was showing off his full set of skills and desired to push himself. The roughness of the serpents increases the drama.

View 2:

This is not a bust by Bernini. This is not a bust at all. Biovan Battista Marino writes some where around 1630 a poem about the piece. Part of that work reads:

"Non so se mi scolpi scarpel mortale, / o specchiando me stessa in chiaro vertro / la propria vista mia mi fece tale"

"I don't know if a mortal chisel sculpted me / or whether by looking at myself in clear glass / the very sight of myself made me this way."

I like to think that Perseus defeated Medusa, but not by skill and stealth, but by Medusa stoning herself while looking into Minerva's shield. Perseus was then able to chop her up, and claim victory. Whatever the truth, the work is fantastic, do yourself a favor and go take a look.

Happy New Year.

Referenced in this article

seducedbyhistory.blogspot.com

www.heartsthroughhistory.com

http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/bogan/medusamyth.htm

http://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/Creatures/Medusa/medusa.html

http://www.webwinds.com/thalassa/medusa.htm

I AM ON VACATION. SEE YOU IN JANUARY

2011-12-16T23:13:00.000-08:00

This blog is closed

Good-Bye

2011-12-12T20:49:00.000-08:00

My ex had a sister. She rocked, God rest her soul. She and I would cut through all of the bullshit anyone was throwing at us, and we would size them up, find their weaknesses and strengths, and if we decided we liked them, they were safe. If we did not like them, then we would have a field day. It was fun. We kept that shit to ourselves, however, trying not to hurt anyone, but, just sometimes, not really caring if we did. I was 27 and still immature.

I shared that same type of relationship with that sister's daughter. At least when she was a teenager and I was a part of her life. Since then she has grown up and become a woman. I, however, continued to think of her as the same person I knew 20 years ago. That was my down fall. I let the affection I once had for her and her mother blindside me. I forgot that the acts of life causes our filters to change and we become different people. It is human nature. We must evolve and change in this life time.

A couple years ago, my ex's first husband passed away. He had never been a kind man to me. I cannot hold him at fault for this. He had good reasons to not be kind to me. I did fuck his wife, after all. She then proceeded to leave him and marry me. And, least we forget, I was an open gay man in midtown America. Yea, his wife left him for the town fag. That had hurt on more than one level.

He would take his frustrations out on me in unusual ways. I remember standing in the veggie isle at the corner store just down from our house on 5 East Powell. I am looking at some canned need, when all of a sudden a can of Campbell's Tomato Bisque whizzes past my head. Following the trajectory to the point of its origin, I see jaded lover.

When he passed, I was contacted by a mutual friend. The details were not pretty. He had a GI bleed. He was dead before he could get his car out of the drive way. The ex had to go over and clean up, yet one more time, the mess that he had made. I know she did this so their son would not have to see the horror that it must have been.

My mistake in this story was my contacting my niece and treating her as if our relationship was the same. I was very unkind in my words about his passing. Though not an excuse, I understand now that it was a reaction of the pent up pain I had related to his demanding that I not be allowed to see their son after our divorce. I was told that money won out, and since she needed the child support she was going to follow his wishes and she would not allow me any further contact. I blamed both of them for many years. It has taken me a long time to see my part in this trailer park play. I should have let the past lie in the past and kept my opinions to myself. I didn't, and though I am sorry for the pain I cause, I am actually OK with the outcome. The niece told my ex what I said. The ex contacted me and unloaded a verbal rant. It was very interesting to be able to step back and watch myself react to the words. “I wished it had been you. It should have been you dead in that pool of blood. I wish, oh God, I wish it were. You are dead to me. I never want to hear your voice again.”

I have made no efforts to contact her and I have no plans to do so. Though the ends do not justify the means, I like the idea of all ties being broken. And, with that thought, we come back full circle to the niece. She contacted me today saying that she will be in SF and wanted to know if I would have time to see her. We have not communicated since his death. She emailed me via facebook. She hit 'replay' to the original offending email. So not only seeing her name in my inbox, but also seeing the evidence of my crime caused me to have a rush of feelings this evening. I felt it necessary to say my peace. I did so by replying to the email. I told her what her actions had caused, her aunt being hurt needlessly, and, that though I am ultimately to blame for that hurt, she to holds responsibility for forwarding the information and for breaking my trust. I told her that I was not able to see her and I wished her a life of happiness. Another era comes to an end as I separate myself further and further from my past.

Earmon Mark Sammie Paul

2011-12-09T23:26:00.000-08:00

Seems the men who taught me how to be a man have all died. Earmon was the last to go. Last Saturday he was playing basketball when he passed out on the court. The coroner said it was a heart condition. I think that might have been fitting for Earmon, to go so quickly and without warning. He would not have wanted the fuss and finality of a long, or even short illness.

Laura texted me today to say that she was going to go to the funeral home to see Earmon tonight. The same parlor where Mark Sammie and Paul were shown before their interments. It would have been nice to have been there for her... to have given her love... to have given her support... to have laughed out loud about the old days.

Paul was the one who showed me that being a man had nothing to do with sexual orientation. He also showed me the power of forgiving those who had taken advantage of one in their youth. Paul kept trying, but couldn't stay clean. He overdosed the week I moved to San Francisco. The first message I received in SF was from Laura telling me he had died.

Mark was the one who worked with me on a daily basis for almost four years. He was the one who put up with my immaturity and stupidity. He confided in me years later that he was never sure that I was going to make it or that he was going to be able to put up with me. We ended up loving each other as well as respecting each other. He told me once of a time when he was homeless and unable to score any drugs. He said he came up with a plan that sounded full proof for getting high. He got into the house of a friend and found the gun he knew to be hidden there. He took the gun and sat thinking over his plan and again, knew it to be a solid for getting high. It was, a good dope fiend idea. He pointed the gun at his foot, thought about it one last time, pulled the trigger, and then, he said, in the moment from the time he pulled the trigger until the bullet hit, he came to realize it was, actually, a bad idea, but he couldn't get his foot out of the way fast enough before the impact. We laughed and laughed. Mark died during a drug relapse by putting a shotgun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. To this day I wonder if he tried to get his head out of the way before impact.

Sammie was odd and determined. He taught me that it was OK to cry. It was OK to feel. And, that it was OK to be odd and determined. He taught me about the need to be social and the need to be socially savvy. He died of cancer. The moments before he died, it is reported that he said, "wow, there is Mark and Jesus, waving to me." I have no doubt Mark was, yet again, telling one of my brothers to follow a certain path... that he had been in the same place before and to follow him because he knows the way around.

Earmon was the one who taught me to not judge a book by its cover. He taught me to focus and stay close to those you trust. He taught me to stick by your responsibilities and make good on them. He taught me to keep my mouth shut and to not tell all of my business out on the street. He was a good man, and from all that I can tell, lived out this last years with honesty and hope.

I came out as a gay man at the age of twenty one. That was in 1980. I have lost more friends to the ravages of substance abuse than I have to the ravages of HIV. I see friends who abuse far too many substances without concern or care. I hate loosing the ones I love.

Bye Earmon. Tell Sammie to get out of the way and give Mark and Paul a big old hug from me.

Poems

2011-12-06T21:18:00.000-08:00

po·em/ˈpōəm/

Noun:

A piece of writing that partakes of the nature of both speech and song, and that is usually rhythmical and metaphorical.

http://www.ted.com/talks/rives_controls_the_internet.html

http://www.ted.com/talks/david_byrne_sings_nothing_but_flowers.html

http://www.ted.com/talks/terry_moore_how_to_tie_your_shoes.html

http://www.ted.com/talks/mitchell_joachim_don_t_build_your_home_grow_it.html

http://www.ted.com/talks/rives_tells_a_story_of_mixed_emoticons.html

2011-12-04T19:36:00.001-08:00

http://canyoucrackit.co.uk/

Just for kicks

2011-12-03T17:04:00.000-08:00

These first two I remember my brother and his friends always playing these guys
http://youtu.be/zwCZt6jEnJg
http://youtu.be/cScJZqKpMq4

Pretty boy gets pounded!
http://youtu.be/sb1HyPU_qmc Different angle, same kick http://youtu.be/M0-UZ2y8skY

I just had to, dont hate me
http://youtu.be/zZOxUIFsFCs

decisive
http://youtu.be/Mfj0e7--WL4

The best kick of this blog is delivered at the 1:48 mark in this clip

http://youtu.be/Y7rjpStup5I

And lastly, not a famous kick, but a teenager is half naked and holding his balls in pain... what's not to like about that?
http://youtu.be/gKWjmKyYgsc

And for an added bonus, this is for Oswald
http://youtu.be/sU2PMt-jGSc

Damn it I am sick again.

2011-12-02T20:29:00.000-08:00

Damn it I am sick again. This time It is a GI thing. It is one of those, "if i'd just vomit I'd be OK" things.

So dehydrated. This is the worst I have seen in a long time. I am forcing fluids but am not able to keep them down. I was very near heading to the hospital then I decided to try proctocysis therapy. It did the trick.

I woke with a markedly dry mouth, moderate grade nausea and a headache as a pain grade 6. I knew the dry mouth was more than an effect from the C-PAP. When I stood, there was the dizziness. I drank about fifty ccs of water and went back to bed. The emesis came later when I got up a couple hours later and tried to drink. I knew I was in trouble then. I took my blood sugar. I was twelve hours fasting. I came in at one seventy. Something was wrong. I have not had a significant cold or flu since I started monitoring my BS, so I am not sure how I respond to illnesses. I do not believe I have an infection, a reason that would cause a spike in the BS. There were only two choices left and one could be done at home and on in hospital with IV therapy. Best to try the home option first.

As I was rehydrating, I felt my mood change and the nausea ease. The warm shower felt good also. Afterwards, I was able to take in a steady amount of oral water. Around three pm I started with the chicken broth. It has stayed down and has eased everything except, my head is still killing me. How I hate h/a's. I am up to a 7 now, it was an 8 earlier. I haven't had a 9 in many years, and they have all sent me to the ER as well. Fortunately I stopped having them in my twenties.

But, life is good. My stomach is back to the low grade nausea I have had on and off for the past couple weeks. I can control the slight dizziness that occurs on standing, by standing slowly. I am going to try some solid foods here in a bit. And, I am reading a good book. I know this is a cheeky excuse for a blog, but I am too tired to write and this will just have to do for today. Besides, I cannot WAIT to see what JaJa has to say about this one. [I am feeling better]

OK, Wait a min..... I am feeling better. As I was researching for a pic to find I ran across this story in the

Journal of Indian Association of Pediatric Surgeons

I will publish only the xray here, but provide the link if you wish to see the related photographs.

I publish this not to make fun of anyone. This is an illness that can have fatal effects. The child needs, and hopefully received, significant mental health guidance. I am simply fascinated by what the human body can stand and by what we humans try to do with that body.

Sheikh MS, Hilal RM, Misbha AM, Farooq AR. Colorectal lithobezoar: A rare case report. J Indian Assoc Pediatr Surg [serial online] 2010 [cited 2011 Dec 2];15:62-3. Available from:

http://www.jiaps.com/text.asp?2010/15/2/62/70642

Journal of Indian Association of Pediatric Surgeons

Official journal of the Indian Association of Pediatric Surgeons

Users Online:18

Click here to download free Android Application for this and other journals Click here to view optimized website for mobile devices Journal is indexed with PubMed
CASE REPORT

Year : 2010 \| Volume : 15 \| Issue : 2 \| Page : 62-63

Colorectal lithobezoar: A rare case report

Muzamil Shafi Sheikh¹, Rizvi Malla Hilal¹, Afsheen Malla Misbha², Ahmed Reshi Farooq³
¹ Department of Surgery, Sheri-Kashmir Institute of Medical Sciences, Soura, Srinagar, India
² Department of General Surgery, SMGS Hospital, Jammu, India
³ Department of General Surgery, SMHS Hospital, Srinagar, India

Date of Web Publication

24-Sep-2010

Correspondence Address:
Muzamil Shafi Sheikh
Nawab Bagh Baghwanpora, Lal Bazar, Srinagar, Kashmir
India

DOI: 10.4103/0971-9261.70642
PMID: 20975785

Abstract

We report an unusual case of a giant lithobezoar that was extending from the caecum to the anal canal, and the patient had no features of absolute constipation or peritonitis. It is believed to be the first such giant colonic lithobezoar in the literature.

Keywords: Colon, lithobezoar, pica, rectum

How to cite this article:
Sheikh MS, Hilal RM, Misbha AM, Farooq AR. Colorectal lithobezoar: A rare case report. J Indian Assoc Pediatr Surg 2010;15:62-3

How to cite this URL:
Sheikh MS, Hilal RM, Misbha AM, Farooq AR. Colorectal lithobezoar: A rare case report. J Indian Assoc Pediatr Surg [serial online] 2010 [cited 2011 Dec 2];15:62-3. Available from: http://www.jiaps.com/text.asp?2010/15/2/62/70642

Introduction

Bezoars are rare foreign bodies in the gastrointestinal tract. The stomach is the most common site. Primary colonic bezoar is an exceptionally rare situation. Colonic lithobezoars are very rare findings in children.

Case Report

A 9-year-old male child was admitted with a 3-year history of pica, recurrent constipation, abdominal pain, failure to thrive and painful defecation. Abdominal examination revealed moderate distention with multiple palpable intraluminal masses along the rectosigmoid, descending colon and the ascending colon up to the illeocaecal region, with no features of peritonitis. Anal inspection revealed stone pellets protruding through the anus. The rectal examination revealed hard, prickly masses filling the dilated rectum. It was impossible to negotiate and pass around the masses occluding the rectum.

A plain radiograph of the abdomen showed numerous opaque shadows of different sizes scattered throughout the colon [Figure 1]. Under general anesthesia, following anal dilatation, 1,025 pieces of stones were completely recovered manually, with a diameter ranging between 5 mm to 2.5 cm [Figure 2]. He had uneventful recovery. After evacuation, the patient was given laxatives as well as proctoclysis enema and he used to pass 40-60 pieces of stones a day for 7 days. On the 8 ^th day, another radiograph of the abdomen revealed no residual stones. Mental health assessment by the pediatric psychiatrist did not reveal any gross abnormality. The patient was subsequently discharged on day 9 and was followed-up for a period of 6 months and was put under strict parental supervision. He had increased appetite and gained weight.

Figure 1: Abdominal X-ray at presentation

Click here to view

Discussion

Pica is persistent eating of nonnutritive substances for a period of at least 1 month. It is considered normal for children <2-years-old to put anything in their mouth. After this age, eating nonfood items is thought to be abnormal. The cause of pica is unknown, but multifactorial etiology is suggested. Some causes include iron deficiency, psychological factors like poverty, maternal neglect and abuse, lack of parental supervision, disorganized family situation, mental retardation, autism and brain behavior disorders like Kleine-Levin syndrome ^{More Details}.^[1],[2],[3] The various nonfood items include amylophagia (laundry starch, corn starch), geophagia (clay, sand and dirt), lithophagia (stones, gravel and pebbles), pagophagia (ice), trichophagia (hair) and coprophagia (feces). ^[4]

Bezoars may be composed of hair (trichobezoars), vegetable matter (phytobezoars), milk curds (lactobezoars), sand bezoar ^[5] and, very rarely, stones (lithobezoars). Twelve children with primary colonic bezoars were reported in the literature until 2004, of which only three had colonic lithobezoars. ^[6],[7] Up until 2007, only four colonic lithobezoars had been reported in the literature. ^[8] All the previously reported cases had lithobezoars confined to the rectosigmoid and descending colon.

Clinically, these patients often present with signs and symptoms of bowel obstruction. A palpable abdominal mass is occasionally found. On rectal examination, the presence of the "colonic crunch sign" can increase the suspicion of bezoar obstruction. The colonic crunch sign is defined as the palpation of a prickly mass on digital rectal examination and can be found in sunflower seed bezoar and lithobezoar. ^[9]

Plain abdominal radiograph is especially important in the diagnosis of this kind of colonic intraluminal mass. The scattered radioopaque nature is typical of lithobezoar. This unique appearance on plain abdominal radiograph was called as "corn on the cob." ^[10] Anal dilatation under general anesthesia also helps in the dislodgement of the mass. ^[11]

We conclude that pica is not as rare as once thought, and can lead to an array of surgical complications if left untreated. These patients can be managed conservatively in the initial stages, but frequently need surgical intervention if complications occur. Finally, these patients should be kept under strict follow-up and psychiatric assessment should not be forgotten. Strict parental supervision is the single most important factor to be considered if the disease incidence is to be decreased.

For Jason: The Club House 66

2011-12-01T22:44:00.000-08:00

Yes JaJa, one of the homes we lived in while I was growing up was, well, technically, an old roadhouse. The name of it was Club House 66. It was a bar and dancehall way out past the city limits. Grandaddy Willett brought the property and turned it into a pig farm. There was indoor plumbing, but for the first few years that I remember the grandparents living there, it didn't work. That was ok cause there was nothing wrong with the outhouse out back. By the time we started living there in the summers, the plumbing worked [most of the time] in the main house, but the toilet in the Big Room never did function. The Big Room, as my family referred to it, was the dancehall and bar. We used it as storage. Thats a proper way to say it was a room half as big as the house that was filled with unorganized junk. The property is still there, but when daddy sold it, it was made into a subdivision. [On a personally intimate note for me, the tree I use to enjoy climbing is still there.] I am sure the Big Room would not look anything like what it did when I set the kitchen on fire--another blog. There are stories to be told about Club House 66, but not just tonight-- many other blogs.

I am copying the related pages from the urban dictionary, just cause some of them are funny, and because I have not yet decided which "roadhouse" I am going to give Jason. Please note, I am not female so one of them is off the table, but I would be interested in know what a 'roadhouse' is called when not a woman, but a man does number 6. Here is the link to that what I have copied below:

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=roadhouse

thesaurus for roadhouse:
swayze road house boot ganon ghost patrick road-house roadhead standing position suspended congress texas roadhead wall sex more...

1.	Roadhouse	171 up, 22 down
	A badass one word response that can be applied in a variety of situations.. for example: hello, goodbye, yes, no, fuck yea, its a good possibility, i agree with what your saying, lets do it, that's a nice flower blazer your wearing, what are you doing tonight, that could potentially be gay but im gonna go along with it, i don't feel like paying 5 extra dollars so were getting keystone, ect. guy 1- "Dude, you fell down the stairs and pissed on the rug last night" guy 2- "...Roadhouse" buy roadhouse mugs & shirts road house fuckyea badass swayze patrick by Blackshaft Mar 28, 2010 share this add a video
2.	roadhouse	72 up, 31 down
	the act of kicking someone in the face in a Patrick Swazye manner. Made famous by badass Patrick Swazye and by uber badass Peter Griffin After kicking someone in the face you immediatly say "ROADHOUSE!" buy roadhouse mugs & shirts roundhouse kick swayze boot kick dropkick by cash benjamin Dec 21, 2009 share this add a video
3.	roadhouse	41 up, 26 down
	A roadhouse is a tavern, inn, or the like, usually located outside city limits. It usually serves barbecue and alcohol for refreshments and possibly has some sort of live entertainment such as live music or exotic dancers. It was the subject of the single "Roadhouse Blues" by the Doors, released on the album Morrison Hotel in 1970. "Ah, keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel Yeah, we're goin' to the roadhouse Gonna have a real a-good time" ~The Doors, "Roadhouse Blues" buy roadhouse mugs & shirts the doors beer fried chicken dancers live music by Malac Apr 21, 2007 share this add a video
4.	Roadhouse	12 up, 4 down
	Pooping twice in one day. The bar in the movie was called the "Double Deuce". Pooping twice in a day would be going #2 twice, hence a "double deuce", or a "Roadhouse" After emerging from the bathroom after his second dump, he told his roomate he just pulled a Roadhouse. buy roadhouse mugs & shirts poop turd number 2 crap dump by kjw36 Dec 22, 2010 share this add a video
5.	roadhouse	2 up, 1 down
	to hit one on any part of the body, and yelling thus word. hit bob on the arm "ROADHOUSE" buy roadhouse mugs & shirts hit hurt head body yell by bobbbbbbbbbbbbbbb12 Mar 8, 2011 share this add a video
6.	Roadhouse	12 up, 10 down
	The act of a female "motorboating" a man's jewels. Dereck was roadhoused by Courtney. buy roadhouse mugs & shirts motorboating roundhouse dereck dennis shane jen by dereckscoworker Nov 4, 2010 share this add a video
7.	roadhouse	12 up, 23 down
	The act of wearing jeans with no undergarments beneath, made famous by Patrick Swayze's charater "Dalton" in the film "Roadhouse." In short,freeballing or going commando in jeans is "pulling a Roadhouse." Dude, I didn't pack enough underwear for my trip last week so I had to pull a Roadhouse on the flight home. buy roadhouse mugs & shirts swayze commando freeball jeans underpants by rak5877 Nov 28, 2007 share this add a video

Roadhouse

8 up, 21 down

The act of driving a beater car to work and saving the fancy car for home/personal use - more specifically when the work pays well.

From the Patrick Swayze movie "Roadhouse": Swayze hides his fancy car and drives a beater to work - thereby roadhousing his nice car.

My boss roadhouses his Porsche and drives a Tercel to work.

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car roadhouse roadhousing hiding pretending
by Sakrifice Apr 15, 2009 share this add a video

roadhouse

7 up, 21 down

To casually, but vigorously and lustfully, engage in promiscuous sexual or pre-coital activity, usually with a person with whom one is not in the least bit romantically involved. It's what "cheaters" and "fuck buddies" do. The implication is that the couple meet discreetly and stop by an outhouse/ roadhouse/ motel etc. to do their naughty business.

I don't think I would ever go out with her, but I'd roadhouse her in a second.

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10.

roadhouse

5 up, 19 down

Another place for already fat rednecks to go overeat, drink, and talk about bangin' each other's cousins.

Ahm hungry! Let's go down to the Roadhouse and grab a few steaks and some waitresses.

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buffet country cookin' cheap beer incest poor
by City folk Mar 26, 2007 share this add a video

11.

Roadhouse

7 up, 21 down

Cock lover; A road to dick and a house as a sanctuary of man meat.

Chris is a total roadhouse; Miss piggy lives in a moderate roadhouse.

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dick eater cocklover ass pirate rectal ranger whorenado
by The Whorenado Jan 19, 2010 share this add a video

This is what was Club House 66. When I lived there, this was the only building on the property. There was a barn to the left, but daddy burned that down years ago.

This is the side of the building where the Big Room was. It had its own front entrance, but exit and indoor plumbing, but I don't think it had a Lady's Room. I cannot remember.

This is about where the outhouse was. I don't know what that round thing is to the left of the arrow, but that is just about were the water well was. Now why on earth the outhouse was so close to the well is beyond me, but, maybe someone thought it would make a quicker trip in the depths of winter when you had to use both.

They called me, Dirty Butt

2011-12-01T05:44:00.000-08:00

This is the most embarrassing story of my life.

That is not said to be dramatic. It is issued as a statement of fact. It can be measured and given proof by acknowledging that I was so fearful this story would come to light that days before Steve was to meet my family, I fretted and worried about no other issue. The fear that my sister, Sheila, would tell this story kept me awake more than one night. I worried about this before the family's arrival, during their visit, and at each subsequent visit there after where Sis would be within story telling distance of Steve.

This is the most embarrassing story of my life.

One of the purposes of this blog is to give light to my fears and exercise the demons. Blogging this story is part of that process, though to commit to full disclosure, I am of the mind that the story causes much more damage in the dark and solitude of my mind than it will in the light of divulgation.

This is a memory, not a yarn spun by family so often that it has become an assumed or even presumed memory. No, this story plays in my head as if captured on super 8 with my eyes as the lens. I do not play this memory and see me in the field behind the weather beaten gray wooden wagon hiding from other children playing tag. I see the gray wood, the wheels with the rusted bands of steel, my hand meeting the baked gray texture as I steady myself too crouch down out of sight of my family.

I could not have been much more than five. My dad, without mom, had driven us kids to visit someone a good distance from home. I have no idea where it was or who we were visiting, but I know I was never on that property again, so I have to believe it was not family but an acquaintance of dad's. Also giving credence to this is that I was not comfortable with talking to the owner of the home we were visiting. As with all country people, had we been on family soil, I would have treated the house as my own.

It was one of those hot Midwestern-Near Atlantic Indian summer days late in the year when the wasps were gone, the grasshoppers had mated, no longer hungry and thus not really a bother, and the dogs, though the day was hot, were off the porch and chasing us around. There were many children playing in the yard, running and yelling and just having fun. Ronnie was there, Sheila too, and one or two of my cousins from the farm near The Club House where we lived. I know this, because the car ride on the way home was filled to capacity... thus causing even more embarrassment at the time.

A point of clarity for you city dwellers, when a country boy uses the word yard, he is not referring to the 6 foot by 10 foot grassy space one uses a weed eater to keep trim. No, this yard required a tractor to cut the grass and though there was an old six seater wagon abandoned in this yard, it was so far away from the house that a fleet of cars, trucks, motorcycles, and tractors could fill the space between so that the next three-county Freemason's meeting could be held here and there'd be room to park to spare.

As we were running and playing tag, I noticed the urges. I knew what those urges were. I knew what needed to be done. But, I wasn't in a familiar place, I was having fun, and I ask you, what five year old boy thinks past the immediate enjoyment of fun? There is not an understanding of causality and effect related to inaction for a very young boy playing outside on a great day. Unfortunately for me, the fact that I was enjoying myself did nothing to stop the naural process itself. My body did not care that I was having fun. It only cared that there was something that needed to be attended to and either I willingly participated, or I could suffer the outcome of unwilling participation. I had to poo.

As my five year colon prepared for the final push I was near the wagon. Knowing what was coming, and knowing that the time was nigh, I rounded the corner, squatted behind the wagon and let go. Though instantly relived, that what I produced was not a Type One on the Bristol Stool Scale. Oh, no, it was more along the lines of Type 6. [Google is your friend]

Though the act was finished, the job wasn't over. I was faced with the need to 'finish up'. Of course there was no TP, or large leaves for that matter. I grabbed the only thing I could, used it the best way I could, and pulled up my shorts just before Ronnie came round, and asked me what I was doing.

"Nothing"

And I joined in the play, again.

As the visit ended and my caper forgotten, we all pile in the car for the ride home. The long ride home. The long ride home on a hot day. The long ride home on a hot day in a crowded car. My mistake may have been sitting in the middle of the back seat. This position afforded me the chance to scoot forward, stick my head between the front seats, and ask dad questions. This left my little butt tilted up and opened to the air. It was Sheila who first gave notice.

"What smells so bad?"
Cousin: "Oh Yuck"
Brother: "Its Kirk"
Dad: "Oh, hell son, did you shit your pants?"
"No! I didn't poop in my pants!" Scooting back in the seat to regroup and get attention away from my ass.
Brother: "No he pooped in their yard"
Dad: "WHAT? You shit in their yard?"
"I didn't mean to, I just had to go really bad, and, and, and so I went."
Dad: "You didn't wipe?"
"I wiped!"
Laughter and coughing
Dad: "With what?"
"A corncob"
More laughter
Dad: "You Wipe Your Butt With A Corncob?"
Someone: "Kirk's a corncob butt"
Dad: "Kirk's a Dirty Butt."

For months they called me Dirty Butt. I have to think my mother put a stop to it. That was the only way pain inflicted by a sibling (or a parent) was stopped in our house. Thank goodness it passed. But the shame and the embarrassment and the horror can still be felt in twinges today, but I haven't heard my family mention it in years. This story will be a good test to see if Sis is readying my blog. If so, I would not be surprised to see my Christmas card addressed to, Dirty Butt Willett.

Wonderful Concept, Wonderful Execution

2011-11-29T23:33:00.000-08:00

http://www.ted.com/talks/natalie_merchant_sings_old_poems_to_life.html

Short Film on Deaths and Poor Working Conditions Where Apple Products Are Assembled

2011-11-28T21:58:00.000-08:00

http://www.aljazeera.com/programmes/activate/2011/09/201194144739197637.html

Direct copy with link.... Why The US Police State Is Attacking It's Citizens

2011-11-27T22:37:00.000-08:00

The shocking truth about the crackdown on Occupy

The violent police assaults across the US are no coincidence. Occupy has touched the third rail of our political class's venality

- Naomi Wolf
- guardian.co.uk, Friday 25 November 2011 12.25 EST
- Article history

Occupy Wall Street protester Brandon Watts lies injured on the ground after clashes with police over the eviction of OWS from Zuccotti Park. Photograph: Allison Joyce/Getty Images

US citizens of all political persuasions are still reeling from images of unparallelled police brutality in a coordinated crackdown against peaceful OWS protesters in cities across the nation this past week. An elderly woman was pepper-sprayed in the face; the scene of unresisting, supine students at UC Davis being pepper-sprayed by phalanxes of riot police went viral online; images proliferated of young women – targeted seemingly for their gender – screaming, dragged by the hair by police in riot gear; and the pictures of a young man, stunned and bleeding profusely from the head, emerged in the record of the middle-of-the-night clearing of Zuccotti Park.

But just when Americans thought we had the picture – was this crazy police and mayoral overkill, on a municipal level, in many different cities? – the picture darkened. The National Union of Journalists and the Committee to Protect Journalists issued a Freedom of Information Act request to investigate possible federal involvement with law enforcement practices that appeared to target journalists. The New York Times reported that "New York cops have arrested, punched, whacked, shoved to the ground and tossed a barrier at reporters and photographers" covering protests. Reporters were asked by NYPD to raise their hands to prove they had credentials: when many dutifully did so, they were taken, upon threat of arrest, away from the story they were covering, andpenned far from the site in which the news was unfolding. Other reporters wearing press passes were arrested and roughed up by cops, after being – falsely – informed by police that "It is illegal to take pictures on the sidewalk."

In New York, a state supreme court justice and a New York City council member were beaten up; in Berkeley, California, one of our greatest national poets, Robert Hass, was beaten with batons. The picture darkened still further when Wonkette and Washingtonsblog.com reported that the Mayor of Oakland acknowledged that the Department of Homeland Security had participated in an 18-city mayor conference call advising mayors on "how to suppress" Occupy protests.

To Europeans, the enormity of this breach may not be obvious at first. Our system of government prohibits the creation of a federalised police force, and forbids federal or militarised involvement in municipal peacekeeping.

I noticed that rightwing pundits and politicians on the TV shows on which I was appearing were all on-message against OWS. Journalist Chris Hayes reported on a leaked memo that revealed lobbyists vying for an $850,000 contract to smear Occupy. Message coordination of this kind is impossible without a full-court press at the top. This was clearly not simply a case of a freaked-out mayors', city-by-city municipal overreaction against mess in the parks and cranky campers. As the puzzle pieces fit together, they began to show coordination against OWS at the highest national levels.

Why this massive mobilisation against these not-yet-fully-articulated, unarmed, inchoate people? After all, protesters against the war in Iraq, Tea Party rallies and others have all proceeded without this coordinated crackdown. Is it really the camping? As I write, two hundred young people, with sleeping bags, suitcases and even folding chairs, are still camping out all night and day outside of NBC on public sidewalks – under the benevolent eye of an NYPD cop – awaiting Saturday Night Live tickets, so surely the camping is not the issue. I was still deeply puzzled as to why OWS, this hapless, hopeful band, would call out a violent federal response.

That is, until I found out what it was that OWS actually wanted.

The mainstream media was declaring continually "OWS has no message". Frustrated, I simply asked them. I began soliciting online "What is it you want?" answers from Occupy. In the first 15 minutes, I received 100 answers. These were truly eye-opening.

The No 1 agenda item: get the money out of politics. Most often cited was legislation to blunt the effect of the Citizens United ruling, which lets boundless sums enter the campaign process. No 2: reform the banking system to prevent fraud and manipulation, with the most frequent item being to restore the Glass-Steagall Act – the Depression-era law, done away with by President Clinton, that separates investment banks from commercial banks. This law would correct the conditions for the recent crisis, as investment banks could not take risks for profit that create kale derivatives out of thin air, and wipe out the commercial and savings banks.

No 3 was the most clarifying: draft laws against the little-known loophole that currently allows members of Congress to pass legislation affecting Delaware-based corporations in which they themselves are investors.

When I saw this list – and especially the last agenda item – the scales fell from my eyes. Of course, these unarmed people would be having the shit kicked out of them.

For the terrible insight to take away from news that the Department of Homeland Security coordinated a violent crackdown is that the DHS does not freelance. The DHS cannot say, on its own initiative, "we are going after these scruffy hippies". Rather, DHS is answerable up a chain of command: first, to New York Representative Peter King, head of the House homeland security subcommittee, who naturally is influenced by his fellow congressmen and women's wishes and interests. And the DHS answers directly, above King, to the president (who was conveniently in Australia at the time).

In other words, for the DHS to be on a call with mayors, the logic of its chain of command and accountability implies that congressional overseers, with the blessing of the White House, told the DHS to authorise mayors to order their police forces – pumped up with millions of dollars of hardware and training from the DHS – to make war on peaceful citizens.

But wait: why on earth would Congress advise violent militarised reactions against its own peaceful constituents? The answer is straightforward: in recent years, members of Congress have started entering the system as members of the middle class (or upper middle class) – but they are leaving DC privy to vast personal wealth, as we see from the "scandal" of presidential contender Newt Gingrich's having been paid $1.8m for a few hours' "consulting" to special interests. The inflated fees to lawmakers who turn lobbyists are common knowledge, but the notion that congressmen and women are legislating their own companies' profitsis less widely known – and if the books were to be opened, they would surely reveal corruption on a Wall Street spectrum. Indeed, we do already know that congresspeople are massively profiting from trading on non-public information they have on companies about which they are legislating – a form of insider trading that sent Martha Stewart to jail.

Since Occupy is heavily surveilled and infiltrated, it is likely that the DHS and police informers are aware, before Occupy itself is, what its emerging agenda is going to look like. If legislating away lobbyists' privileges to earn boundless fees once they are close to the legislative process, reforming the banks so they can't suck money out of fake derivatives products, and, most critically, opening the books on a system that allowed members of Congress to profit personally – and immensely – from their own legislation, are two beats away from the grasp of an electorally organised Occupy movement … well, you will call out the troops on stopping that advance.

So, when you connect the dots, properly understood, what happened this week is the first battle in a civil war; a civil war in which, for now, only one side is choosing violence. It is a battle in which members of Congress, with the collusion of the American president, sent violent, organised suppression against the people they are supposed to represent. Occupy has touched the third rail: personal congressional profits streams. Even though they are, as yet, unaware of what the implications of their movement are, those threatened by the stirrings of their dreams of reform are not.

Sadly, Americans this week have come one step closer to being true brothers and sisters of the protesters in Tahrir Square. Like them, our own national leaders, who likely see their own personal wealth under threat from transparency and reform, are now making war upon us.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/cifamerica/2011/nov/25/shocking-truth-about-crackdown-occupy?fb=optOut

Now Check Out The Pics Referenced In The Story
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2011/nov/18/occupy-movement?INTCMP=ILCNETTXT3487#/?picture=382017237&index=0

99 Pictures of Men [about 268 of them]

2011-11-27T21:38:00.000-08:00

FYI: Diabetes

2011-11-26T20:58:00.000-08:00

http://khanacademy.org/video?v=rPLjSY00JlE

Steves

2011-11-25T00:21:00.000-08:00

I had noticed this some years ago. It wasn't until recently, as I was counting the number of men named Josh that Ben knows, I was reminded of the oddity. I wonder if this holds true for many people....

I have dated a large number of people who had a variance of the same name. That name is Steve. Clairee Blecher's declaration in 1989 aside, this is odd. In San Francisco alone, of the nearly 1 dozen men I have dated in the past 17 years, 5 of them have been named Steve.

Stephen and I were in a relationship that started more than ten years ago, and continues today, however, it now being the ex-partner relationship paradigm that gays, for all of there misgivings and relationship woes, have actually gotten right.

There was my first boyfriend in SF. Steve. He was Jewish [my first, and thus far only, seder]. The most memorable aspect about that Steve was that he had a dating check-list. He had a wide variety of 'types' that he wanted to date. I was the bear. His next boyfriend was wheelchair bound. [No hating here. That man was HOT. I was envious that I didn't meet him first].

There was Stephan. European. Young. HIV+. Troubled. Emotionally unavailable but damn the sex was good. He ended that short stent by sending me a Hallmark Card in which he wrote his goodbye. The card had 5 poodle dogs in different colors on the front and a "thank you" on the inside. I was baffled.

Estephan. Beautiful body. Well endowed. Funny. Sweet. And, the last time I tried being a top in a relationship.

And lastly, in so many ways, Steve. Though I profess this blog to be 100% truth most of the time, and dropping to 80% when I want to practice a poetic license, I do not change the names of people nor soften the events to protect people and their, a, 'good name'. I tell the truth. If someone wants to bitch, then let see what happens. However, there is an exception to every rule, and lets just say that I fully and totally opt out discussing this bastard simply to protect my own hide. No need to reopen that can of worms. Let's just say, "He is a lovely woman."

Prior to SF, there was the Steve that I met in a dinner in Evansville, IN. It was raining on an autumn night. I walked into the Tennessean for a cup of coffee. This guy was sitting at the counter. We chatted. He offered me a ride. We had sex in the back his car. It was my first exposure to the scent of Lagerfeld. I still become sexually charged when I'm near that cologne. That sweet smell, the steamy windows, the care and gentleness of an older man. OK, Macy's run later today.

There was Steve the poker player, Steve, the arcade guy, Steve, the hippy who lived in a tent, but, then, there was the first Steve. I will always remember, the first Steve.

I was attending Indiana University. It was March, 1978, just after my 19th birthday. I had left the Wilkie Quad to buy some staple items from the store. I was in no rush. The weather was wet, but warmer than that cold winter had let us feel for some time. In my grocery bag was a six pack of sodas, laundry detergent, a couple packages of Twinkies and a Hustler Magazine. At that point in my life, I would be more embarrassed to be found with a Hustler Magazine. Today, I would blush at the reveal of the Twinkies.

It was a very strange time for me. I was not out to myself, much less anyone else. I was a virgin. I did not fine sexual excitement in looking at the pictures of nude women, but I was very aroused to look at the pictures of nude women having sex with men. I told myself I was into looking at the act of sex. Today I know I was into looking at the naked men, but, back then, I just could not process that information. It wasn't that I was purposely hiding or denying that I was gay, it was that I hadn't explored anything about sex other than being alone in the bathtub for an extra ten minutes. And, besides, I was working so hard at trying to fit into society that I was just trying to find a girl to date so I would be like everyone else.

That March night, I took the long way back to the quad, just because I was enjoying the weather. But soon I realized I was lugging a heavy bag of stuff and I was a good 30 min walk from home. As I was crossing the outer boarder of Dunn Meadow, I saw a campus bus pull up to the stop. I started running. People got off, the bus started to pull away. I yelled as loud as I could, "Hey", but the bus kept going. As the "Hey" left my lips, one of the disembarked passengers whipped his head around and looked at me. It was very odd. He was a good distance from me, going in the opposite direction, but, he had turned when I yelled. I remember standing there thinking to myself, "Why did that guy look?" and then, all of the sudden, he turned and looked at me again.

For being as naive and foolish as I was, I caught on that there was something in that look. For reasons I may guess and question today, but then, for which I had no idea why, I followed him. Not quickly, not with any purpose, but, if only to ponder what that look meant.... bam, he turned again. My stomach flipped. My feet knew to keep walking, my mind knew to keep questioning, and my glands knew to keep pumping hormones.

Two blocks from the bust stop, he turned right onto Fess Street. My feet followed. Being off the main drag, this street was a black mirror from the wetness of the midwestern transition from winter to summer. The street lights reflected a diffused light that mirrored, too, my emotions and desires and reservations that were, for the first time, coming to my cognitive surface. Nothing sharp and in focus, just diffused and unclear.

My feet following and his head turning, kept up for several blocks. And then, as suddenly as the confusion and excitement appeared, it left. My mind snapped and asked myself what I was doing? I was now much further from home, still had hold of this heavy bag, and I am following a stranger for no good reason. The sidewalk's path darkened, I could no longer see the guy in front of me, my emotional stupor ended. I turned up 13th and started for home. It was only a half a block before I noted movement to my left. I saw this tall, tight curly blond, well built bus rider sprinting through the back yards of houses trying to get in front of me. I am now confused, and, in hindsight, aroused, and not sure of myself or the situation... I simply turn around and head back towards Fess Street.

As I approach the corner, he steps out of the shadows, having sprinted back to Fess Street himself, and waits for me to approach. "Hi". "Hey" I say. Silence.

Kirk: Hey, I'm looking for 7th street. I have an appointment tomorrow and I was trying to find it. Any idea how to get there?

Bus Rider: Sure, come on. I'll show you.

The moving conversation was akward. He said he was a local, not attending school. Said he was just hanging out. By the time we made it back to Dunn Meadow, all discussion about 7th Street was lost. He kept saying, "I've got a place to show you." Every time I relive this story, I am amazed that at this point in this experience I am not having any thoughts of a sexual context. I am sure I was overpowered by the hormnones that my body was producing in those moments, but, not once did a consideration of possible sexual activity enter my mind. I was clueless as to what we were doing, what his intentions were, what my intentions were, or where we were going. All I knew was that I needed to follow him.

As we crossed Dunn Meadow he took me towards the wooded section near the garage enterance of the Ballantine Building. He kept telling me to follow him, and to keep up. We entered the wooded grove and soon we were under the building itself. It was a section of the ramp that was built from one street level to the next. Though it was obvious this place was visited often, we were alone and totally hidden from passersby. It was within the next moment when my lifelong defense of denial failed. I bent over to sit my grocery bag down and as I straightened up I remember asking myself, "I wonder if he will kiss me?" And then he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on my hips, pulling me in for the first kiss of, what in a moment was to be defined as, my young queer life. I let him guide me throgh the next ten minutes. His kisses, his touches, his movements, his desires. He reached down and placed his hand below my belt. I reached for him as well, following his lead. I could feel his hardness beneath his corduroy jeans. As he lead me to the wall, he undid my pants and proceeded to introducement to maturity. A few minutes later and with only sight hesitation, I returned his favor.

As I physically fumbled with new levels of testosterone I turned him and attempted to enter him, but neither of us were prepared for this. I not knowing how to execute and he in the mood for satisfaction, not teaching. We did both finish. And, as one would expect this story to end, as soon as the hormonal rush was over, so was his caring and concern. He made quick flight, insturcting me to stay behind for five minuets before I left. I have never forgotten standing in that arched way, looking out from the dark of the cavernous abyss into the lighter wooded patch, and saying to myself.... "In an hour I am going to be really disappointed and depressed and mad at myself for doing this, but right now, at this moment, I am the happiest I have ever been."

I have seen him three times since that night. The first was a month later, as I was in the Student Union. I saw him studying. My heart soared. I attempted to follow him but lost him by the bakery [Best Gingerbread men ever!].

A few weeks after that, I was at my buddy Bruce's dorm room. We were headed out, but he was changing so I stepped out into the hall. I saw [I lie to you not] Steve, a guy from Michigan who I had a class with the first semester. He lived on Bruce's floor. Steve called over, we chatted for a couple minutes, and then he said, "Hey, Kirk, I want you to me my roommate. His name is Steve, too" I lean in, and there he was. Lying on his bed reading. The Bus Rider. He looks up from his book and with no reaction nor any emotion says, "Yea, we already met." and goes back to reading.

The last time I saw him was on the evening before my leaving IU that first year. He was backing out of the parking lot. I was with Bruce. Bruce called out, saying, "Hey, I'll see ya next year." In a dejected look to Bruce and with a lot of sadness Steve said, "No you won't, I am going to Purdue." Then he shifted his looked to me, locked with my eyes, closed his door and pulled away.

It has been a long road from Bloomington to San Francisco. I have had to invest large amounts of resources to bring myself to a point where I can consistently live in the moment as if standing at the Ballantine arch with the abyss behind me, the lighted woods in front of me and my living life in that moment of happiness and not in the fear of what the next hour will bring.

2011-11-24T16:55:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving.... I am sick.

I sit alone in my apartment cycling through periods of nausea, fatigue, stasis, and sleep. I do not believe it is the result of a contagion, but of a bad meal. Ah, a curse to have salmonella before the Thanksgiving Feast. I don't feel as bad now as I did this morning, but I will be in the apartment the rest of the day. So, I am going to take the time and work on a blog I have been hammering out this week. Hopefully I will have it done by tomorrow, and, then, I am going to start on a new idea. This will take a few months, but, with winter coming on and I sworn to limit my expenses this next year, I think it will be a great idea for me to spend a few months on a project that will only cost me electricity and a possible RSI.

Happy Holidays to everyone.

Kirk

two steves and a buddy

2011-11-24T11:02:00.000-08:00

Random Ben Day

2011-11-23T11:02:00.000-08:00

An Old Building Day

2011-11-22T11:02:00.000-08:00

40 shots of a bridge

2011-11-21T23:01:00.000-08:00

Birth - Play - Surveillance

2011-11-17T20:18:00.000-08:00

http://www.ted.com/talks/alexander_tsiaras_conception_to_birth_visualized.html

http://www.ted.com/talks/charlie_todd_the_shared_experience_of_absurdity.html

http://www.ted.com/talks/hasan_elahi.html

I Am What I Am

2011-11-10T20:01:00.000-08:00

OK, I have to admit it. I am a man. No matter if some of the stereotypes of being a man offends me, I still have to readily admit that I am not above some of those stereotypes and that I am, well, a man.

The two stereotypes that I see in myself regularly are that men are overly competitive and overly sexual. Within me there is the 13 year old boy [he controls my competitive nature] and the 39 year old man [he controls my dick and is watchful for all those that would interfere with said appendage's fun]. Start playing in either one of their said boxes, and either will come out without any governance.

To my point, I asked Steve, my ex-partner, if he would pick up the new dishwasher I had just purchased. He fell over himself to be johnny-on-the-spot-helpful, and agreed. The morning of, he called to asked if I was going to meet him at the store. I said that our friend Ben had canceled and that he could just pick me up. Steve hesitated and said that he couldn't because he 'would not be alone'.

"Ooooo, who you gonna have with you?"

"Jamie is visiting."

I got genuinely excited. I knew very little about the man named Jamie, but I knew that Steve had visited him over the summer and that if Steve liked him, he was probably good people.

I got to the store early. I got the hot [and I mean HOT] young sales associate to get the machine pulled and out to the curb, and then Steve's truck pulls up. Steve hoped out. And, then, "He" got out...

My thoughts, stated in order of appearance:

Damn, he looks just dad
Shit, he's hot
Damn, his hand shake is as strong as a longshoreman's
Shit, he's hot

Queue insecurities. Queue the 39 year old Kirk.

Jamie asks "How are you?" I nod to the sales associate and say, as if we just agreed to be married in Tahoe that next weekend, "Hell, I am great! I got a new dishwasher and the hottest man in the store to help me carry it." [Sales Associate looked at me as if he were going to cut me]. Sales Associate and I lifted the dishwasher onto the truck. Sales Associate fled the scene. The rest of us headed to my house in two separate vehicles.

I had to stop by the bank. I then got held up by traffic. This left Steve and Hunk-O-Matic at my place for at least 10 minutes before I arrived. When I finally did arrive, I got out of my car and I saw with a great dread and certain displeasure that Steve and the Man O' Steel had not unloaded and hauled my new device up the stairs. I then realized that the mating dance would have to leave my head and enter the physical world.

Steve: "What's the plan?"

Me: "I take it up stairs."

Silence

Hot Newcomer: "What's my job?"

In my head: "You have failed miserably at your job. If I had been be in your shoes I would have already had it unloaded, up the stairs and I'd be halfway back to Steve's house."
Out of my mouth: "Oh, nothing, I got this."
In my head: "Kirk, you are an idiot. He has longshoreman arms and probably lifts heavy things all day long. You are a queen and can hardly lift an eyebrow. LET HIM HELP."

In my head reply to me: "Fuck you kirk"

Steve and I unload.

Steve: "You want me to walk the stairs backwards?"

In my head: "I got 20 years on you and 10 years of knowing you, why are you asking a dumb ass question, of course I want you to do the hard lift."

Out of my mouth: " Oh, no buddy, I got it. Hey did I tell you I'm going rock climbing this weekend. Decided to get back to spending lots of time out doors instead of just staying at home and creating software solutions for the problems we've been having at work."

Steve's left eyebrow raised.

First turn, then first 10 steps up.

Man who is intimidating the hell out of me: "A, Kirk, you doing alright there?"

Out of my mouth as the pain receptors start to burn out in my brain: "What? Why you askin? I got this no problem. Easer that helping Rich move last weekend. We had 6 sofas to carry up 4 flights of stairs and we did it in 30 minutes. Had to get the rental truck back."

We made the first landing. I glanced at Steve. He was looking at me like, "What the hell are you doing?" I knew that in his mind he was thinking, "Why are you lying? You already told me you spent 24 of the 48 hours of last weekend in the hot tubs at the Korean baths with Mr Chin scrubbing your ass and Mr Lo polishing your nails." But he kept his comments to himself. After dating me he knew a useless battle when he saw one.

I refused to rest at the landing and we head up the final onslaught of stairs. I felt what was either the first endorphin I had ever felt in my young queer life, or, the peaking of a jealous rage. I was not sure which. I did know that there was no stopping me at that point. Hell, high water or death would be the only events for whch I would allow myself to show any weaknesses at that point.

As I placed my foot on the last landing, it started to shake. I was reminded of the old black and white footage of Elvis, or, of what the needle on a seismograph must look like during a 9.0.

Mr-I'm-in-the-music-business-and-own-a-home-in-Nantucket: "A, Kirk, you doing ok? How much further?"

In my head: "Will be as soon as your plane takes off in a day or two?"

Out of my mouth: "We're here, man, you don't have to worry about climbing any more stairs. Come on in."

Steve and Mighty Arms navigate through the front door and the kitchen while I eliminate some imagined items blocking the path. In reality I was desperately seeking my lost pulmonary capacity. I thanked them both, pushed them out the door telling them I had to run cause my new part-time job as a tow truck driver started in a couple hours.

I suck at being cool during fits of insecurity. And, I would love to say that at least since this latest instance I haven't had to wash another dish, but, I cannot. Seems I have to find a faucet adapter locally or I have to order one. I'll bet Handsome Longshoreman probably had a faucet adapter in his suitcase, or has a brother-in-law here in town who owns a hardware store that specializes in GE faucet adapters....ooooh or probably has an ex-husband who makes them with his bare hands on the weekend just for fun while he and his buddies sit around telling He Man type stories about their youth.....

An Interesting Jaunt Around The Web

2011-11-09T21:23:00.000-08:00

For the Science Nerds:
http://boingboing.net/2011/10/21/periodic-table-of-swearing.html

For the US Gay Activist
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ukpress/article/ALeqM5iMqzlWppI4OgljWz1_xyLVt56zCw?docId=N0487181320549298426A

Music
http://youtu.be/ZPd1KB-AiYs

For The Thinkers
http://youtu.be/0af00UcTO-c

Occupy: The World

2011-11-08T12:00:00.000-08:00

Occupy NYC: 1 Marine vs 30 cops
http://youtu.be/WmEHcOc0Sys

Here is an example of the problem
http://youtu.be/2PiXDTK_CBY

The unreported numbers: NYC
http://youtu.be/GBBCE9_5v8E

Atlanta
http://youtu.be/TOsxYLzSe3w

Boston
http://youtu.be/7Swf5PsB9V4

Denver
http://youtu.be/IFi75nodJKc

LA
http://youtu.be/MEDobfVncUU

Rome
http://youtu.be/0aMD4QIvGUE

London
http://youtu.be/HpqPM7E7PO0

Sydney
http://youtu.be/cuz6nEqSvAo

Germany and Spain
http://youtu.be/iGfYcTee_1U

The Riviera
http://youtu.be/RHK16t-z32M

This video was posted 3 years ago. The guy was right on every point. Makes me think
http://youtu.be/1d21TG8dSQQ

The 1% responds.... makes some interesting points are made by all
http://youtu.be/UGL-Ex1CD1c

If You Can't Occupy Wall Street, Then Keep Wall Street Occupied

2011-11-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

This is something that every single person can do. This is a nonviolent protest action that is quick, easy and should be performed by every single household in America.... well, 99% of every single household in America.

http://youtu.be/ZgkSiyIUz_w

Occupy: Oakland

2011-11-06T09:48:00.000-08:00

To my friends and family in the Mid-West.

Please do not believe what your media reports about Oakland. The media is not on [y]our side. They are manipulated by the government. The media can no longer be trusted. You must use the internet access you have and search for the information you need.

In the following examples I ask you to decide who is violent and who is peaceful, who is in the right and who is in the wrong. I ask you not to blindly agree with my obvious answers to these two questions as your media expects you to do with their obvious answers, but, I ask you to review the evidence and make the decision yourself. Whatever you decide [the police/government are in the right or the citizens are in the right] is not the issue here. The issue here is that you decide these questions based on unfiltered information.

The Start
http://youtu.be/z2HsTaL7PH8

The Intervention
http://youtu.be/j7r2ETi5C1A
http://youtu.be/bytMNoKNeRA

The Result
http://youtu.be/j3m1PyONRf0

The Reaction
Note: In SF this day the crowd was reported to be 5,000. You look at this and tell me there were only 5,000 people here. Don't believe in anything the established news media tells you. Believe in the raw video feeds.
http://youtu.be/r4jYdCaHrjQ

Reason number 69 why you gotta take a stand in Oakland

2011-11-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

Just watch this short clip: http://vimeo.com/31568216

YouTube: Poetry

2011-11-03T10:58:00.000-07:00

http://youtu.be/hy1R2m3kR1Q

http://youtu.be/Gv8T0eeN_qk

http://youtu.be/6r-FD969gUM

http://youtu.be/CT8_jxO4lWo

http://youtu.be/P7JMmR1hnFA

http://youtu.be/DKOAxg1L5HQ

http://youtu.be/xx5wXwfjYlA

Scruff Growlr Facebook

2011-11-02T22:35:00.000-07:00

I was talking with our friend Clifton just the other evening, and he told me of thousands of pics he had in his phone. A percentage were from social networking sights from which he had pulled interesting portraits. He told me he had removed all the pics from his phone, organized them, placed them in folders by topic, and then reloaded them. I imagine Cliff to be and organizing god. I envy my impression of how his office and computer files must be arranged.

This discussion has become the muse for tonight's blog. Here are some pics from the social websites that I have pulled. I am doing this upload with out editing, or planning. I am just going to open the phone, forward interesting pics and see what becomes of this post. I hope you find something to smile at in the following....

Experiments from TED: My Old Home Address

2011-11-01T23:52:00.000-07:00

This is an experimental site I learned about from watching Ted Talks. Click the link, let it load, click Watch The Movie, let it load, don't move any of the windows on your computer. This move incorporates Google Earth images and Google map images of the address where I grew up. The idea is to enter the address of the house where you grew up. Its kinda cool, but not quite great.... yet.

http://www.thewildernessdowntown.com/#414+E+Iowa+St,+Evansville,+IN+47711,+USA

How I Enjoyed My Summer

2011-10-31T23:02:00.000-07:00

I was texting back and forth with a new friend the other day [Read: Scruff, hot young man, hoping for a couple of dates] and he asked me to explain why I had said that life was 'pretty darn cool'. Being in need of a blog topic.....

I am not a wealthy man. I don't have a lot of material possessions. I don't have large amounts of liquid assets. I am never going to be rich like my grandfather. By the time I was born, my father had blow through his dad's money and our family had fallen from upper middle class to poor. I use to take on a feeling of loss as I dealt with financial issues over the years, as I watched others enjoy a finer life. I felt a bitterness and a resentfulness as I dealt with the pain of not having. At some point I got a different perspective. I figured out, call me slow, that the greatest pain felt in this was that felt by my father. He died at the age of 44, under and apple tree, from an undiagnosed heart condition related to alcoholism. He drank himself to death due to the disease of alcoholism, guilt, and fear.

When I attended Indiana University my first year out of high school, I learned to drink. I had what I thought was a significant income for a poor boy from rural America from scholarships and the Social Security Administration. I was not prepared for an influx of cash and for a lack of authority figures. I made bad choices. I made bad decisions. And, I spent a lot of money on drinking.

When I got out of college and fell in love I was taught how to use drugs. That relationship was a fast ride down a destructive path that ended with me giving up drinking, smoking, and shooting up drugs. I have been clean for 18 years.

It was during the process of getting and staying clean that I learned how to live and how to be a man. In that process I learned the importance of seeking out and listing those things for which I am grateful. Identifying what I am grateful for keeps me wanting those things in my life and, thus, makes me work at keeping them.

But, gratitude is not just a mental exercise. Gratitude is both attitude and action. My favorite example is my car. I don't have a fancy car. As a matter of fact, it was an inexpensive purchase as new cars go. It was, however, the first new car I had ever purchased. It is small, gets great gas milage, and it fits my needs very well. I have a good attitude about this little Yarus, but, attitude is only part of gratitude. The action I take in regards to this is that I see to it that the payments are made monthly. The car company did not have to give me a 0% interest loan. They did not have to give me a loan at all. But they did. It is my responsibility to show my gratitude for their actions by making sure my actions keeps up my end of the bargain.

Also during the process of getting and staying clean, I learned how to clean up the wreckage of my relationships. I have done that. I have gone back to all of those people I have harmed not with the intent of saying that I was sorry, hell, I had said that so much over the years that if I were to be believed then I would have been the sorriest SOB on this green earth, no, I did not say I was sorry, but I did make things right. I paid any money that I still owed. I replaced that what I had stolen. I admitted where I had lied. I fixed what I had broken. For some people it was best that I not approach them because the damage was so great to even see my face would have caused more harm to them than I could repair. So I made amends to those people by staying out of their lives and by fixing someone else's mistake that closely resembled mine. There were trips to shelters, donations to non-profits, kindnesses to strangers. I also had the opportunity to repair the relationship with my family. The black sheep son/brother is now a productive member of the family providing not only for himself but for others in the family who are with difficult times.

our neighbor, my sister, me

So, Josh, here, at long last, is the answer as to why my life is so cool....

My sister was recently diagnosed with cancer. She and my mother and her husband all live together in Yuma, AZ. My sister is the most precious person in the world to me. She has always had my back. No matter how high, how shitty, how thoughtless I was, sis would cover me. My summer was so cool because by staying clean I was and am able to be there for her through this ordeal. I took time off from work to ride with her and mom to the hospital that is 4 hours from their home. As it turned out, mom had to have a cardiac procedure done days before sis was to have surgery. Mom then ended up hospitalized, and then hospitalized again. I had both mom and sis in hospital 4 hours apart from each other. I was able to take my nearly 30 years of nursing and help sis out with the confusion that is American Healthcare and to be her advocate. I was able to save mom from her final hospitalization as the care started to deteriorate at that facility. I was able to meet a challenge and not depend on a drink or a drug to get me through it. Don't get me wrong. I did nothing special, nothing heroic. I just showed up and did the next right thing. And that is where the coolness is. That is where my gratitude is. I can be there for those I love and I can be there doing what needs to be done. I may loose them tomorrow, or they may loose me, but this summer, damn it, I got to help. I got to be present. I got to me a brother. I got to be a son. I got to be a man.

I do not measure my wealth by where I am in this world, but I do measure it by the distance I have traveled. And in that methodology, I am the wealthiest son of a bitch in the room....

An Evaluation of Long-term Capturer Effects in Ursus maritimus

2011-10-30T15:52:00.000-07:00

A Propositional Paper Stating Cause, Effect and Harm

Admittedly, I am as gay as the next man. I am old. I am an American. I am also fat, educated, and free of diseases. Some would argue my cognition can be questioned, but, truly, I have no sense of senility, dementia or dogma. I am just one of the many Average Joes in this fine country. Perhaps being an Average Joe may explain why I am having a problem understanding the substantial change that has occurred in The Gay World over the past 35 years. The change has been subtle but constant. It has perpetuated itself with the assistance of most if not all sectors of American society, but specifically, being edged on by mainstream America, and it has become so deeply buried into our gay psyche that I fear we are fast approaching the point of no return. Stating the genesis, the change, the effects and the harm are but my toil.

Background: When I returned from my first trip to NYC it was 1979 and I fell out of the closet. I could no longer deny what I had come to understand about myself as a person, as a young adult, and as a man. I had no plans on who I was going to love or when I was going to love someone, but I suppose I did at least have an idea as to how I was going to love him. Most of The Gay World was mysterious to me, and I had no mentors, but, I soon found the tribe and I was welcomed.

More Background: I have always been defined as fat, either by others, or, as I am now, by myself. I have not always been defined as handsome by others, as I am now, by myself. In those early years of being gay identified, finding lovers [read: tricks] was difficult for me. I thought the difficulty was due to my looks, and specifically my weight. Looking back now I know that it was due more to the size of my home town than the size of my ass. But, I do not discount the discrimination I felt due to being bigger than the average homo. This discrimination was harsh, unloving [as all discrimination is], and it had substantial detriment to my image of self and my well being [as all discrimination does]. The discrimination was ever present. It was also, however, controllable, but, I had no way of knowing this. I did not know the power that I had.

At some point, I began noticing that there were times when I did not feel this difference, this discrimination. There were people who sought me out specifically for my size and my appearance. There were men who would pass every young, handsome, Madison Avenue built homo in the bar, and reach out to me. They were determined. They were friendly. They were rare. And I never met one who took the first six no's as a definite answer. They were the Chubby Chasers. God how I miss them.

Taken from halfpint34's flicker page

Now don't get me wrong. I am well aware there are gay men today who find men of size attractive. Those men define themselves as Chasers. They are a different bred than the Chubby Chaser of yore. The Chubby Chaser has evolved into this type of Chaser and that is the difference I am writing about in this paper.

Today's American Chasers do not chase. It has been bred out of their DNA. They still have the ability to identify, sexually objectify, and skillfully mate with a gay fat man, but, the mating ritual has devolved. There are still Chubby Chasers to be found in the world, but the US breed has died off and their closest relatives are in Europe. Mostly Italy. God do the Italians know how to chase a fat man.

Post-Stonewall, the American Chubby Chaser had limited opportunities for mating. The identified gay fat herd had been small in numbers since time immemorium, and with a very large percentage of gay men learning to fear weight gain[1]once Judy died[2] the numbers of overweight gay men declined even more. It was evolution that caused the Chubby Chaser to begin to adapt to the new social landscape.

The Chubby Chaser had to change it's mating habits or face total annihilation. And then, when at the brink of a mass migration to Europe, the bear movement began in the United States. This movement allowed for a rapid expansion of not only the gay man's waist size, but also the total raw numbers of eligible fat men. These two events, the near sexual starvation of the Chubby Chaser and then the rapid explosion of fat gay men willing and able to breed caused the phenom we see today in the American Chaserless Chaser.

Chubby Chasers use to be nonstop in their pursuits. When they found a fat gay man, they continually followed, hounded, flirted, and harassed, until they won their chance to mate[3]. Over and over and over again and again and again the onslaught kept coming. Every weekend at the bar, every time you passed in the bathroom at Sears, every time you were in the bushes by the river, there he was, the Chubby Chaser. He would ply you with stories of hope. He would make promises of great meals. He would offer weekends out of town. He was a never ending invitation to sex. At the time I found them most difficult to deal with. What I wouldn't give to meet one tonight when I go out.

The American Chaserless Chaser, on the other hand, knows far to well that there are plenty of fat gay men today and that with minimal effort they can secure a date/trick/fuck. With Growlr and Craigslist the Lone Star and Bear Bucks, all they have to do is show up and soon someone will show an interest and the game is a foot. No need to be inventive. No need to pay a lot of attention to any one fatty. Just wait, and the next fat man will soon be by.

Today's Chaser is often socially awkward and shy. I had never met a socially awkward and shy Chubby Chaser until 1996 at Lazy Bear. I wasn't sure what I was seeing. This strange young man who would look at me with longing in his eyes, but would turn his head or run to the other end of the pool whenever I smiled at him. I was totally thrown by his responses and actions. I was very perplexed by the situation. Since that time, that type of young man, the first documented Chaserless Chaser, has become more the norm than the exception.

America is a place where Chasers don't chase and fat men are accepting of this. I am saddened and confused, hell, I am many things, but, the most concerning to me is that I am not hopeful. I think I need a hero. Is it more wrong to long for the past or to simply accept the present? I think I need a hero. Is it wrong to wish for a romantic to come along and restore my faith in the Chasedom. I think I need a hero. Is it wrong to long for someone who wants/desires/needs a whole lot of man. I think I need...

a Chubby Chaser.

[1] Fags were the ones to make going to the gym cool. When gay men headed to the gym in the early 80's to develop the masculine body their sexual desires demanded, straight women in the early 90's demanded that their mating partners do the same. Women were pissed that there were hot guys all around them but not at all interested in them sexually. It was the gay man who brought on the commercialization of the neighborhood gym.

[2] Stonewall Riots began immediately after the death and during the morning period of Judy Garlin.

[3] Rent "The Ritz". It's a cliché, but it is an accurate portrait

Food Blog: Sunday Dinner in October

2011-10-29T22:09:00.000-07:00

I found a new neighborhood grocery store today. It is cool. It is also next to the European Grocery I found about a year ago. They are near the Fine Arts Museum. That is all I am telling you. They are mine. I won't make these stores a usual weekend stop, they are too far from the house, but, I will be there once a month or so. Today, I hit both of them, then Whole Foods and then Safeway. Before I get to tonight's menu, here is a pic I snapped at sunset as I was cutting across Twin Peaks from Whole foods to Safeway.

{OK I owe you a pic. I am full from dinner and dont want to go to the car and download the pics}{Yes... it's weak, but...}

Two weeks ago I found this great ground pork at Whole Foods. I have made several meals with it since. I even made a stop for another pound and a half last night. Used half of that for Friday's dinner and used the rest of it in the soup tonight. Here is what I did tonight:

Soup:
Veggie Stock [double up on the cube] bring it to a boil

In the pot for the first 8 min boiling
Celery and carrots roughly cut

For the next 8 min boil I added:
baby season squash, green and yellow
Russian Smoked Turkey
Baby sweet bell peppers, yellow and red
Pork seasoned balls
Two heaping table spoons of Better than Chicken Bouillon
Sundried Tomatoes -- I bought them at Cost Co, they were soaked in Olive Oil
3/4 pound of Pork
Mixed all together, rolled into small balls, let them chill for 2 hours
Then I fried the balls in a non-stick pan

For the last 9 min boil
green onions
mushrooms
marinated tomatoes [sweet peppers in a slight acid base [vinegar I think -- I got it at the Europe market]
and seasoning
a little black lava sea salt
ground pepper
mustard powder [a lot]
mustard seed [a lot]
celery seed

When the past 9 mins were up I immediately took the soup off the fire and poured it into a cold bowl.

That was the soup. I also had
duck pate
Olive Loaf Bread
Gouda with a fig spread

I am sure I took three months off my life, but DAMN it was good.

You Tube: somethings listed as my favorites, in no certain order

2011-10-28T21:13:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3u8dz50GbVk&list=FLupS9JIhEx81TzorwBomPJQ&index=22

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txOo9T1jn5Y&list=FLupS9JIhEx81TzorwBomPJQ&index=20

http://youtu.be/XGzIzUY16iw

Google Me

2011-10-27T19:21:00.000-07:00

I am thinking that for anyone who blogs and works 40-50 hours a week, finding time to create posts full of information can be a little daunting. So, of course, I try to write one or two stories a week, and the rest of the time, find information that is interesting, but doesn't take a few hours to create. Sometimes it's a win, sometimes a bust.

Today's blog is an attempt to get interesting content, and yet save time. It failed. I could not believe what I was finding so I have spent the past two hours surfing. Anyway, here we go....

I Googled my name, and here are the images I found. There are a couple WTFs in here....

This one I understand. This is Kirk Willett. Famous cyclist. He is the king of Kirk Willetts on the net. Thats cool. He has more press time than me. It's all good

A famous cyclist

Here is yet another hottie Kirk Willett.... you gotta see the link where I found this one though. Follow it.

http://florida.arrests.org/Arrests/Kirk_Willett_5286354/

And then 15, yes FIFTEEN entries into this search finally I show up.....

Cleofatra

Here I am in my highest budget movie [see previous blog for links]

This isn't my family's crest. We have two chickens on ours. Why, I have no idea

Blond Butch Kirk Willett

Why in the hell did this come up. The title said this was of Dick Willett. I am guessing Dick is the third from the left

And this. WTF is this. I google my name and I get my ex.... this is a recent pic, I can tell because of the elbow splint. We had to have been divorced for well over a year when this was taken. I have never seen this pic. What in the hell did I do to Google?

Russ Flanagan. The man who had for years first hit every man I have had sex with, except the ex [see above]. I am single and again, Russ, I find, has blazed the trail of every road I have been riding... and now he is showing up on my Google search. This man is invasive.

This is from a personal set of photos a friend of mine took of me and the ex. I did not even know they were on the next.

This one is probably from my past, and

the next is from my wish list

David Brooks: The social animal | Video on TED.com

2011-10-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

David Brooks: The social animal | Video on TED.com

Sarah Kay: If I should have a daughter ... | Video on TED.com

2011-10-26T23:09:00.000-07:00

Sarah Kay: If I should have a daughter ... | Video on TED.com

What we learned from 5 million books | Video on TED.com

2011-10-26T22:50:00.000-07:00

What we learned from 5 million books | Video on TED.com

Ty's Texts, Episode One

2011-10-25T20:50:00.000-07:00

TY: I just shat a Christmas Tree. It had a base and everything [well a trunk, not a stand]. The evergreen part was made of little turd balls and as I'm standing there admiring my bowl work, I swear, the turd ball on top of the tree floated away like the topping of the Christmas Tree was being removed, in anima... it is my first Christmas moment of the 2011 season. I thought of you.

TY: Tonight's blog will be poo related.

JOHN: That was the North Star, floating to the sky to guide the 3 kings to the inn where our lord will be born.

TY: OMG THAT IS FANTASTIC!

JOHN: They will bring gold, frankincense and charmin.

TY: We have written tonight's blog... Thank you.

Free right to use: Internet

Liar

2011-10-23T16:36:00.000-07:00

Cosmo

Fuck I hate when someone lies to me.
Today I realized the lie.
Perhaps it was my way of protecting myself.
Until I could handle the truth.
I have spent hours of mental resources contemplating.
Today it dawned on me.
They weren't adult enough to say the truth.
Because of their defects of character I have to deal with the pain.
Again.
Repackaged.
Old wound.
Fresh salt.
The caring/loving/unconditional/correct action would have been to tell the truth up front.
That would have been more painful for them.
What a deep lack of respect that showed for me.
Their friend.
Fuck.
Why can't people just learn to communicate.
I am ready to move back to the country.
Buy a small plot of land.
Live my life in solitude.
Don't put up with the bullshit that is required when one tries to be a productive member of society in an urban setting.
I hear Virginia's nice.