Recently I discovered BBC Radio 1 on my Sirius radio and have been high-school giddy. Simple pleasures really turn me on. BBC Radio 1 is the pop music station and it reminds me of the good radio stations I grew up listening to. The djs have a genuine rapport with the listeners and they know how to milk a good radio contest.
There is also something just fun about the accents. Even when they are being a bit naughty, they sound so proper.
Yesterday, the topic of discussion covered school field trips. Callers were invited to tell stories about their field trips or share the worst trip they had taken while in school.
Far and away, the winner for the day was a gentleman recounting his school’s year-end trip to a sewage farm (waste processing plant) where they didn’t learn anything and the only thing to see was “some poo floating about.”
With his accent, even that didn’t seem too bad.
I was recounting the story with some co-workers who shared their own.
One, a former Texas Aggie, shared her story of going to a snake farm with a gorilla that “threw shit” in addition to the snakes.
My mind couldn’t help but imagine this red-headed woman’s voice changing to an Irish brogue and saying: “That big ol’ monkey flung a bit o’ poo.”
But no, she stuck with Texan and he threw shit.
I think I’m becoming an anglophile.
I got an email from Sally Field today.
The topic was, “Final Attempt.”
I could only be so lucky.
Fortunately email spam filters are getting better, but because they sometimes catch the wrong emails, I regularly scan the ones captured to make sure friends messages get through.
The “Sally Field” name did catch my attention enough to stop and read the email title.
When it was not about some antiosteoporosis medicine, I was even more disappointed and let it go the way of all the other junk email – back into cyberspace unopened.
I wonder about the cyberlandfill. I bet it is getting full and they may be looking for a new one. What kind of zoning would that require? I don’t really care. I don’t want it in my backyard.
Because so much of the United States is not yet ready for gay marriage or to accept that people who love one another, really can love one another, the gay community has great difficulty really establishing meaningful relationships. In part, because of the lack of societal acceptance, gay relationships have a much harder time being successful. As a result, gay men often have to rely on toys.
Every gay man needs to have just the right collection of toys if there is to be any hope of a successful relationship.
Two weeks ago, I bought a set of toys that I think will help me.
With these new toys, I don’t think I’m going to have to buy any new toys for years. They are made for lots of wear and tear.
I’ve had some fun playing with them, but I have not had a party yet to put the toys to the test.
Sometime in April, though, I expect to have a party where all my friends can enjoy the results of my new cookware. A gay boy has to have the right toys – and good cookware are the most vital I can have.
Periodically I drive from Austin to Wichita, Kansas to see family who live there. Most of the time it is a nice eight hour drive on interstate from start to end. I’ve made the trip enough times that I know the gas stations with the easy-off and easy-on routes in the refill range of my car and the stations with clean restrooms in the empty range of my bladder.
I really hate public restrooms. I’m a short guy; urinals are rarely at the correct height for me. I either have to stand on my tip-toes or go into a stall which is always risky.
One of the (usually) best restrooms is in a convenience store north of Ft. Worth. It is near the mid-point of the trip, so it is perfect stretching time. One nice thing is that it just has a restroom for one person at a time with the option of the urinal or toilet. A problem of it is that it is a busy place and there is frequently a line waiting for the restroom.
On my way up to Kansas on Saturday, I pushed myself to the very edge – partly because the traffic was going so fast and I didn’t figure the highway patrol would shut down the entire highway with everyone going this fast, but when I pulled into the place, I needed to go and was praying there would not be a line. I made my direct dash toward the rest room and saw another guy doing the same thing – I had to beat him, so I put on the power walk and made it in first.
And then I was trapped.
Someone had left the seat down on the toilet and it was sprinkled all over. The floor in front of the urinal was damp.
Thoughts of David Sedaris ran through my head. His story, “Big Boy” dealt with being caught in a bathroom with a no-win situation. I knew I had to either clean the place or the guy outside was going to think I had bad aim or was totally inconsiderate of other people.
And I had to do it fast or who knows what thoughts would go through his head.
Then I realized that it is a public restroom. I am not responsible to clean it, so I did the tip-toe business, washed my hands quickly, and dashed from the store before the guy could finish and look at me.
I stopped at a different store on the way home.
We have gone through some spurts of HOT weather in February this year only to have some arctic air slap us in the face a couple days later. Despite chilly nights this weekend, spring seems to finally have sprung here as the trees are fully in bud and the redbud trees are really turning pink (I guess pinkbud just didn't sound right).
I spent the weekend in my back yard and garden. As a result, I hurt in places I forgot I have. It is not everyday you spend hoeing up the bed for vegetables. I used one of the tools that breaks up the soil before actually pulling out the hoe. Actually, thanks to a friend who really enjoys gardening but lives in an apartment, came over and pulled up all the grass which had grown into the beds through the fall and over the winter. He helped make the work go much faster and he had a great time.
After working the beds, it was time to mow down the old dead grass and give the lawn a kick-start. One of the PBS gardener swears by beer. So I used beer.
I'm not a beer drinker, but had a few six-packs left over from the parties I had last year to celebrate the housewarming and my fortieth birthday, so I followed directions and poured a can into the sprayer and went around the lawn, dragging the hose and spraying the beer water mixture.
Today my lawn smells like it has a very bad hangover.
But next week when I have lush, thick, soft grass and my neighbors are stuck with still brown grass, they will be breaking out the beer too!
I know this guitar was influenced by a particular style of art, but my deficient art education is showing because I have no idea what it is.
But I like it.
This is another guitar in the business/residential Second Street Distritct (actually it is outside a grocery store on Third Street).
