Jealous Technology

Are You a Jealous Person? For the most part, I'm not. I have been through those stages of life where I was insanely jealous and did whatever it took to make myself look "good enough" to get whatever it was that someone else was getting. And, yes, I've had those feelings of wanting to hold on to something so tight that it couldn't possibly get away from me. But now, not so much. I'm confident. Secure. I like what I have and need nothing more. I don't mind if someone else has a nicer home, more money, or a better body. I mean, I wouldn't say "no" to any of those things. But I'll let them enjoy them. And I don't mind it if my LoverBoy goes out without me or has friends that are not my friends too. I am 100% sure that he loves me. And I him. I'm happy.

Do You Think We Spend Too Much Time With Technology? iPhones, iPods, iPads, Macs, PCs, Facebook, Twitter, Blogger, Texting, Emailing, WordPress, FlickR, and and and and. I love it all, believe me. And I use my iPhone with just as much of a grin on my face as the next guy. But I've had the feeling of possibly declaring myself 100% technology free for, oh say, one day....or something like that. Turn off the laptop and mobile phone and leave them turned off. Just to be sure that I'm still sort of in touch with nature, the world, the blue sky, the dirty ground, and the voices around me. I've just observed far too many folks with their faces planted into their Smart Phones while the rest of the group chatted it up and enjoyed one another's company. And there are also friends who actually sort of "hide" behind technology. For escape. For security. It's easy to do. It requires no face-to-face contact or relationship skills. It's easy to say things, do things, even be things when no one else is there to act as a sounding board. Just a thought.....

Boom ! Thar She Blows !

I can't believe it has been 30 years. May 18, 1980. I wasn't living in Portland like I am now. I was in Boise, Idaho -- and in church praising Jesus on that particular Sunday morning. The local news is priming the pump for this Tuesday's 30th anniversary of the eruption of Mount St. Helens. You can see the live webcams here. It sits about 90 miles to the Northeast of us.....we see it every day (except on those eight months a year when it's cloudy and gray here....shh, don't tell anybody) minus the pointy top that it used to have.

Here's what it used to look like:


During the eruption:


And this is what it looks like on most days today:

We have taken a picnic lunch up to the Johnson Ridge Observatory many times. And I've even shot some photos from the air while traveling over it -- I've flown over it hundreds of time .... more times than I've crossed any other single piece of land. Even today, you can still occasionally find some of the debris from the eruption. And it has erupted several times since -- October 2004 I flew directly over it 30 minutes after this eruption. The captain called us to tell us what had happened and that he wasn't sure if we would continue on to our Seattle destination or not.

And then, again....only this time, we actually got to see this from our very own bedroom window in March 2005:

And just yesterday, there were rumblings at a different mountain in the Cascade Mountain Range -- Mt. Hood experienced a series of rumblings yesterday reminding us all of the churnings deep below us here in the Pacific Northwest. Mt. Hood sits to the east of Portland -- the sunrise comes up over it each morning reminding us of the beauty that brought each of us to the Northwest. You'll see a ton of morning Mt. Hood shots of my own in this photo set. 30 Years. Who would have known. Even in this day and age of i-EVERYTHING, Facebook, Twitter and all of the others that there would still remain this sleeping giant beneath us.

Soul of the Matter

Kia Soul, to be exact. The Special Edition Ghost Kia Soul, to be even more precise. I have nothing more to say. Except that it wasn't my fault. I am the victim. And, no, it isn't white. I think it's new name is Casper. And he was one of only 1,000 or so released in the United States. I guess there are only 999 left. Here's a nifty click-n-drag picture for giggles.

D Check

I've just finished an entire day of being on the edge of tears. With my eyes welling up over and over. I've said it before, I think it's my time of the month. In spite of my hard, crusty exterior you'll find that I have a soft and squish interior -- at least in part. Imagine, me having feelings. Ha!

If you don't know what a D Check is, it's an aircraft term. All aircraft go through A, B, C, and D checks at various hours in their takeoff/landing cycles. It's like maintenance for your car required at certain times. All of our flight attendants are being offered this very cool pump-you-up day-long session. It's a course designed by flight attendants, for flight attendants. It's held off site, not at work. No management. No supervisors. No company talk. No bad mouthing. No nothing. It's just not like that. It's as much for one's own insides as one's outsides. It's about affirming me. Myself. No matter what job I'm actually doing for a living.

The class was designed around the book How Full Is Your Bucket? We are all at our best when our bucket is full. And we are all at our worst when our bucket is empty. The question was asked over today, who is filling your bucket? Who is adding to it? And, vice versa, who is taking away from your bucket? Who sucks the life out of you? Who is your cheerleader? Who is not?

Lots of questions. Lots of affirmation. Lots of attention to the details of one's life. And, right now, my life has some questions about it. Not bad. Not a downer. Nothing like that. Just questions. Introspection and all of that. LoverBoy and I are chatting about how to make our lives better. About how to make sure that we are both being all there is to one another. About making sure that I'm filling his bucket. And not taking away from his bucket. And, honestly, I think we both do great jobs at affirming one another and trying to ensure that both of our needs are met. But everyone, everyone's relationship, needs a D Check once in a while.

In addition, his family issues have clearly put immense pressure on our home and lives. It's gone on for a very long time and is quite multifaceted. The fingers of its effects run deep in each of our individual lives as well as our communal life together. We both acknowledge it. And many of the issues have been brought to a good place of management, sort of. But they won't be going away anytime soon. I hope you won't think less of us for it, but we have actually had to deal with the horrible, nasty feelings of anger and hatred. At people close to us. At situations close to us. Unpleasant, I know.

So, back to today..... It's just rare that me (and probably even you) take the time to chat about such things as the buckets of our lives. And today was one of those. It just brought up emotions and feelings and such. It was right in my face all of today. And, thus, I was on the verge of tears much of today. I shared nothing. I offered no stories or comments. The entire day. I just couldn't without breaking down. I don't think I know how deep-seated this whole family thing is. And I don't want to make this a complain about family situations sort of post. It is not. It's about me. About my reactions and responses. No one else. It's about who is adding to my life and who is taking away from it. And those, my friends, can be very difficult questions. More later.....perhaps.

Dominic Monaghan Looks Like Me

So, here's how it played out:

Old Lady Passenger to Me: You really are cute.

Me: Oh, gee, do you need glasses? (A little giggle and hahaha....let's get on with the drink order, lady.)

Old Lady Passenger: You really look like Dominic Monaghan.

Me: Who is that?

Old Lady Passenger: He played in Lost and Lord of the Rings and is now working on Flash Forward.

Me: Oh. (You'll quickly find that I know next to zero about mainstream TV, movies and actors).

So, here he is -- Dominic Monaghan. I can see the resemblance. What I need is the fame and fortune rather than the resemblance. And further more, I'm older. So, in all actuality, he looks like me.....I don't look like him.

Provincetown Bear Week 2010

Ggrrrrr.....it's fast approaching! Provincetown Bear Week 2010 will be held July 10-18. This will be our second year to attend. You'll recall my Bear Week 2009 and the photos. We were invited by friends to join them last summer and, honestly, wondered how we would fit in with this sort of bearish group......what would it be like, what would we spend our time doing, would we like being jammed into a small town with thousands of bears? But, unequivocally, the answers were positive and clear. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. We fit in perfectly (LoverBoy more than me....I'm much more of an otter than a bear). No, wait, now that I'm looking at the definition of an otter, I'm not really that either....unless you count my hairy forearms and legs..... oh, hell, I don't know what I am, quite frankly. If you aren't familiar with the bear subculture of the gay community, check it out here. We spent the week in a large house rented with ten great guys. We rose when we wanted to each morning, hung around in our jammies, boxers, or less for coffee and spent our days eating, touring, enjoying any of the many Bear Week events, met a ton of new friends, and went to a few parties around town. Probably one of the week's most fun times happens each afternoon at 4pm at the Boat Slip.....the Tea Dance! What a great couple of hours to relax, chat, drink, and enjoy looking out at the Provincetown Harbor with a thousands other handsome men.

So, a bear or not, think about it. I swear, it's a great week of good times and plenty of nice folks.

Time Flies

My buddy Alan and his husband are about to be married! He recently did a post on "Long Ago, Not So Far Away" wherein he recalled all of the many things that had, or had not, happened in his own relationship over the past nine years. It's amazing how, in such a short amount of time, things can change. To piggyback on Alan's post, I've created my own:

Near 13 years ago when I met LoverBoy:

** We had no mobile phones.
** We had no television.
** We had a 1992 Pontiac Grand Am...2 door, sporty little thing.
** Our first apartment cost us $600 a month.
** We earned $17K a year when we first got together.
** I had never been to a nude beach when I met him.
** 9-11 had not happened yet.
** We slept on the floor on a futon mattress when we first met.
** We ate our meals on an overturned laundry basket while sitting on the floor.
** His father was still alive.
** His parents did not live in the same town as we did.
** There was no American Idol or Facebook or Twitter when we met.
** Bill Clinton was still President when we met.
** Neither of us had a blog or website yet.
** We did not own a computer.
** He had never traveled to Europe -- now he's been three times.
** There was no iPhone.
** We hadn't met most of the friends we have today.
** We didn't have a Pooch -- and I swore we never would.
** We hadn't had our first argument yet.
** We hadn't yelled or cried together yet.
** I never thought he'd still be in my life today.
** We had never been on a cruise -- now we've been on three.

I suppose the list could go on an on. Suffice it to say that time passes swiftly....rapidly. Without notice or fanfare, it disappears behind us each day with the sun's setting.

It's That Time of the Year

It's that time of the year, when the world falls in love, every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas...... No, wait, I'm a little off kilter here......uh, let's see....... oh yeah...what I meant to say was that it's getting to be that time of year when one's mind wanders. Gently and gracefully. Casually, nearly. To THIS. I created this map last summer with instructions on how to get to either of Portland's two clothing-optional beaches. And you may remember my earlier writings about how I ever came to be a clothing-optional sort of guy in the first place. And if you're a true member of the Pacific Northwest, you'll start to think about these sorts of things when the temperature stretches toward, oh say, around 60 or so. I mean, a warm 60. Not the cloudy, cold and wet 60. And 70, for sure, is beach weather. Although 75-80 is my favorite. My beach backpack is ready to roll -- sunscreen, mosquito repellent, a towel. I typically take a snack -- crackers and cheese, peanut butter sandwich, carrots, chips, or something like that. Plus a huge bottle of water and a diet soda. Rarely, do I drink at the beach. I'm usually one of the first ones at the beach.....especially on weekdays, which is when I typically go. I'm there close to 10-11am. It's quiet, warm. And I get my first choice of parking spaces! The ships go up and down the Columbia River on their way to the Pacific Ocean. And the breeze blows the trees around -- which is one of my all-time favorite sounds. In fact, there is this one cozy little particular spot that we like to sit in. A bit of shade. A bit of sun. And this bush that shades the spot has one little teeny tiny leaf on it that makes this peculiar little clicking noise when the breeze blows it......over and over. We've heard it for years now.

So, don't be shy, the time is coming. Join me if you're in the Portland area. Or, for all of my Seattle friends, come on down.....as Bob Barker would say.

Vroom Vroom

Vroom vroom. Here we go. Leaving April in the dust and headed full force right into the month of May. It's one of my most (the?) favorite times of the year -- Portland is filled with color from azaleas and rhododendrons.

I spent last weekend with my friend Stephan from Poughkeepsie, New York. He was in town for an international culinary conference. The boy dragged my arse from top to bottom and side to side around my very own city. He took me place after place including places I'd never even been. Bar after bar, stripper after stripper, restaurant after hardware warehouse and to every bakery the city operates. We left no stone unturned. I'm sure he was as tired as I was when he returned home. To say the least, I enjoyed my time with him. And that led into......a few days of work ..... followed by ...

A quick 24-hour trip to Palm Springs to see our buddies Don and George. They were in PSP for an extended vacation. My hubby was supposed to be the one that went to get a little R&R with them after his mother (continues to...) threw his life into an uproar over the last month. He thought that it just wasn't the right time for him and that he was going to have a hard time relaxing knowing that Mommy Dearest was just a phone call away. So, I went. Don and George always take such great care of me....and this was no exception. I think my favorite part was just relaxing, sans clothing, around the pool. The sun warming the bits. And I don't think that the underwear contest at Hunter's hurt either. So, I found my way back home last night -- to unpack and repack for....... Oh, wait, one more thing....I heard this dance remix of You Raise Me Up while I was in PSP and thought it was hot!......And now back to our regularly scheduled programming......

Six long days of work. I'll be in Austin tonight. San Jose on Saturday night. Austin again on Sunday night. Home in Portland on Monday night. Chicago on Tuesday night. And back home on Wednesday night. If I didn't enjoy my job so much, I may be tempted to complain and bitch and moan. Plus, working with two of my most favorite flight attendants makes it that much better.

The rest of May isn't any less busy. We have Mother's Day, Portland's Doggie Dash, and fitting for our new flight attendant uniforms to debut next year. In other news, I'm anxious to get this year's quite lackluster American Idol out of the way. I swear, it's been crap. And I was quite surprised by the winner of RuPaul's Drag Race. That is all for now. My mind's a blank.......

Cindrella Minus the Ball

Like a princess on her way to the ball, she strode in. Sort of like Cinderella but not really on her way to the ball. Well, more like Blanche on her way to her evening toilette, is more like it. Her heels weren't clicking along like Blanche's would. But she was caped in one of those floor length evening house gowns. Sort of see through. Fancy and light cream, or white, in color. Heads turned, glances shot. Not so much outright staring as sideways shifting of the eyes to catch the scene as her gossamer wings made their way through the darkness. The heavy beat of the dance music tapping away as her heels barely grazed the concrete floor. Or, perhaps, I should say her red heels. Lovely red shoes to compliment the gown. And the hair, perfect. Nicely coiffed and adjusted just so. Her pained nails gracefully grazing the ends of her hair every so often, for effect I suppose... and to keep the hair out of her manicured face. She was actually dressed quite nicely. Not a bad looking lady -- and I say lady because she looked and acted the part. Just a bit out of place is all. And clearly causing a stir.

She took her place in a paid-for room along the main thoroughfare. With a window that looked out over the center of the men passing, looking, glancing, eyeballing one another as they headed for the bubbling hot tub or steam room. She was there, in place in the window -- halfway like a mother hen keeping an eye on the barnyard and half like one of those young ladies in the windows of Amsterdam's Red Light District. She strode back and forth between her room with the view and the darker sort of play room ..... looking for a bit of refined and feminine evening action, perhaps. She would stand in the darkness. Her gossamer pale gown gracing her thin frame while she stood...waiting. And clearly unlike any of the other men looming in the darkness. She was the ace among the spades. She appeared to have one effect or other of either scaring men away....or else they would ponder her, surprised, but sort of tantalized at the same time. Her gown would occasionally be bunched up around her ankles when she found a gentlemen in need. And the rest of her evening shift would be spent resting, sitting, with her hands folded casually in her lap with her legs crossed at the knees (cutting off the circulation if you asked me). She looked like she was taking appointments. Reservations.

She found herself with her heels up...or down....throughout the evening. The last cast image of her was of her red heels hanging over the end of a black plastic bench, in the darkness, men coming and going, their aging eyes struggling to adjust in the dim light. And she, resting. Her gown pulled apart, indiscriminately, exposing her hidden man bits. For service. To service. Oh dear.

Thug

Did you know I'm a thug? Yep, it's true. You want to know how I know? Because she told me so. She did. The girl. The disabled girl did. She sort of drug a limp leg along and had some sort of speech impediment. And no, I'm not making fun of her. Please.

I was enjoying about ten blessed minutes of peace on a warm afternoon in early April in downtown Albany, New York. I had dinner arrangements with a good friend and had a couple of minutes to spare beforehand. So, I rested. Gingerly. Gently. With my Timbuk2 messenger bag on the history-worm concrete steps of Albany's Trinity United Methodist Church on Lark Street. I was by myself and watching the energy of Lark Street in front of my face. The energy, the people, the excitement of an early spring warm day after a long winter in Albany. And here she came ----

"Are you a member here at the church?," she wanted to know. Well, no, I'm not a member here. But I grew up in church and have sat in many a church pew in my lifetime. "Well, if you're not, you have to leave," she remarked. Oh, I can't just sit here for ten minutes while I wait for my dinner date to arrive? No was the answer. "We've had problems with thugs and you can't sit here." I started to laugh. Out loud. And not really at her, or to her face, but at the inference of my being a thug. Me. A thug. I kind of like that in a twisted sort of way. "Do I look like a thug?," I asked her. "No," with a shake of her head. "If you don't leave, I have to call the police." Then I really started laughing. I told her that I'd been a part of several churches in my life and had never experienced not being able to sit on the steps of a church before. I told her that I thought churches were supposed to be welcoming and accepting of all which I'm just sure she wanted to hear me say. She wasn't operating on the same planet as I was so I stood to leave. She was already on her way to the church's intercom system by the big main doors to call someone. The police, presumably maybe the head chief honcho minister. I walk just a few feet to the sidewalk in front of the church and turned to watch her. No one answered her intercom call. And she did not call the police. The thug laughed again and turned to head up Lark Street.

Spin the Bottle

Have I told you the one about the kids that played spin the bottle with the babysitter? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Picture it....early 1970s.... Boise, Idaho.... two family's worth of children left with the babysitter for the evening. Maybe four or six of us, I can't quite remember....that was the least of my worries. We had used this particular female babysitter numerous times. A very nice gal, she was. Probably no older than 14 or 16. A pretty young lady, the daughter of some of my parent's friends. They lived nearby.

So, somehow we ended upstairs in her bedroom. All of us kids. And a pop bottle (I don't think they make those in this day and age). And there was this little game where we would all sit in a circle and the bottle would be spun around in the middle of the circle. And whoever it pointed at when it stopped spinning had to remove an article of clothing. To say the least, I was giddy with excitement over the whole debacle. And I couldn't wait for it to land on me.

The only difference between that silly little game and today is that I don't rely on the pop bottle excuse any longer.

Portland Red Dress Party 2010

Pictures to Prove It are Here ..... Portland Red Dress Party 2010 !!

Oh yeah, baby. And....we're back. After yesterday's introduction to Portland's annual Red Dress Party, we're bleary eyed and have groggy voices this morning. It was a sea of red. I'm amazed how many men, and women for that matter, looked reeaaallly good in red dresses. It was a night of seeing red on so many levels. In fact, we were some of the more conservatively dressed in the midst of several thousand. Hats, bling, corsets, suspenders, skirts, low cut, high cut, nipples, piercings, boots, heels, feathers, boas, glitter, body painting, cocktails, copping feels, shawls, faux fur, plenty of alcohol for lubrication, flirting, whispering, yelling, jello shots.

Oh yeah, one more thing..... nipple licking and tit showing as well. By females. To me and on me. Umm hum. Don't tell me that I don't get out much or don't have a good time. I got to meet three people that I've known online for quite some time now. I'm still amazed how no introductions are necessary and how we can spot one another a mile away.

Our buddies Jo and Andy kept us good company and made sure we stayed out of trouble. Even as we all paraded (yes, we did parade) across East Burnside in our dresses. You know, I kept saying that if we'd just hang out on the street corner on Burnside just for a short time, we could probably turn a trick or two. Cash up front, required. And I don't think that the thong with red lips on it I was sporting underneath my Sear's dress had anything to do with it.

Portland Red Dress Party

The long-awaited Portland Red Dress Party is on our doorstep. Tomorrow night we will join several thousand people in red dresses. No other attire is permitted. No other color is permitted. It's a fund raiser for several HIV and AIDS centers. It's been going for close to ten years. It started in someone's basement or garage. And now, just look at it. Sold out. It's our first year but numerous of our friends go regularly. We have our dresses, earrings, necklaces, makeup, flowers for the hair, flashy rings and bracelets. I have red hair color, red nail polish, and lots of bling. Exhausting, this work of dressing up. About the only thing that I still need to get it a box of Bump Its. I figure I can stick a couple into my dress and maybe one in my thong -- red hearts on the thong (because I know you're wondering). Well, I suppose I could use a potato, but the Bump Its seem so sheik and elegant. And, hey, everybody needs a little help now and then. We did a pre-dress last night, just LoverBoy and me. To see how long it would take us and what would be involved. Fifteen minutes for those wondering. Now if we actually wanted to look pretty, that would take a bit longer. But we're not that pretentious.

So, we pick up our friends Jo and Andy at 6pm tomorrow and head to Portland's Jupiter Hotel for a prefunk party. We're going to start drinking there, have a couple of appetizers, and get dressed. Then we'll saunter our way up the five blocks to the Party of the Year. (You can picture that...right? The sauntering part.....???) It starts at 9pm -- my bedtime. I'm still trying to figure out a way for that timing to all work out. Maybe they'll have a quiet room, a nursery of sorts, for me to take a nap in.

Cantaloupes and Guns

God he was a fox. Finely feathered hair parted straight down the middle, olive-colored young skin, and quite a show off if I remember correctly. Danny had moved from Maryland out to Idaho to go to school. He was the assistant manager at the M&W Market where yours truly was employed -- my very first job, bagging groceries for $2.90 per hour. A union gig. Danny would show up at work each afternoon straight from what I'm sure had been an industrious day at school. And in the employee break room he would change into his work clothes and apron. He would drop his pants completely to the floor, change shirts, bring it all back up, and top off the whole package with a beautifully colored orange apron complete with name tag and ink stains. Pretty. Man oh man, I'd stare while those pants were down. Well, truth be told, I would not stare. I was only 16. He was far older....say, 20 or so ancient years. Finding every excuse in the book to hang around, I'd stay at least until those pants were down.

Danny drove a Vega. A yellow Vega. We would ride around town occasionally in that thing. Him divulging all sorts of stories about "doing her" in the backseat of his Vega. Oy. I didn't want to hear it then and I don't want to hear it now. But thinking of him doing it did sort of make up for it. He and I worked together on the evening shift. Corner of 28th and State Streets in Boise. Right next to the Taco John's. One night, Danny spotted a dude lifting a cantaloupe from the produce section. A section, may I add, that I took painstaking efforts to make sure looked bright and pretty what with its iceberg lettuce and such. So Danny yells at me, "Get in my car...that guy just stole a cantaloupe." And we were off. He driving, me in the passenger seat. And both of us in our orange aprons. Ages 16 and 20. Driving the back streets of North Boise looking for a dude with a stolen fruit. "There he is!," Danny pointed out to me....up the alleyway. Giant, big tall dude with only a pair of overalls on. Tall, no shirt, bushy beard. "Go get the cantaloupe," Danny tells me....."I'll wait here It'll be okay, I've got a gun." So, 16-year-old wanting to please the object of his affection jumps out of the Vega and heads up the alley toward the guy. The thief tosses the cantaloupe over a tall fence into someone's back yard, places his hands on his hips, and looks at me squarely. No cantaloupe. It's gone. What are you staring at me for? So, while Danny sits in the Vega at the end of the alley with a pistol he had pulled out from underneath the front seat, I fumbled my way through a conversation with a known criminal.

I slunk back to the car and told Danny that the cantaloupe had gone AWOL. The stolen fruit was in hiding. And besides, we needed to get back to the store. There was work to be done.