It's just you, Gerald. Idiot.

Well, this just put a hair across my ass and since it's my blog, why not....here goes.

I never thought I would get political here. However, my mother sent me this blog entry and I
am not sure how she found it. I don't know why she sent it with only this to say, "Interesting
Reading."

She knows who I voted for and we all know how she feels about Blacks, much less Democratic Black Presidents. I'm sure I don't have to point out that my mother is one of many who kept Bush in office. Yes, I did send my response to her, as written below, and if I hear back from her, I may post it. My theory is it will go ignored as my parents sit in one of their three homes and snicker to themselves about the silly view points of the Democrats and pat their morally righteous backs.
The blog post she sent me is here:

"If al-Qaeda, the Taliban and the rest of the Looney Tunes brigade want to kick America to death, they had better move in quickly and grab a piece of the action before Barack Obama finishes the job himself. Never in the history of the United States has a president worked so actively against the interests of his own people - not even Jimmy Carter.
Obama's problem is that he does not know who the enemy is. To him, the enemy does not squat in caves in Waziristan, clutching automatic weapons and reciting the more militant verses from the Koran: instead, it sits around at tea parties in Kentucky quoting from the US Constitution. Obama is not at war with terrorists, but with his Republican fellow citizens. He has never abandoned the campaign trail.
That is why he opened Pandora's Box by publishing the Justice Department's legal opinions on waterboarding and other hardline interrogation techniques. He cynically subordinated the national interest to his partisan desire to embarrass the Republicans. Then he had to rush to Langley, Virginia to try to reassure a demoralized CIA that had just discovered the President of the United States was an even more formidable foe than al-Qaeda.
"Don't be discouraged by what's happened the last few weeks," he told intelligence officers. Is he kidding? Thanks to him, al-Qaeda knows the private interrogation techniques available to the US intelligence agencies and can train its operatives to withstand them - or would do so, if they had not already been outlawed..
So, next time a senior al-Qaeda hood is captured, all the CIA can do is ask him nicely if he would care to reveal when a major population centre is due to be hit by a terror spectacular, or which American city is about to be irradiated by a dirty bomb. Your view of this situation will be dictated by one simple criterion: whether or not you watched the people jumping from the twin towers...
President Pantywaist's recent world tour, cozying up to all the bad guys, excited the ambitions of America 's enemies. Here, they realized, is a sucker they can really take to
the cleaners.
His only enemies are fellow Americans. Which prompts the question: Why does President Pantywaist hate America so badly?"

MY RESPONSE:

MOM:

I don't know where you found this article and the only interesting thing about it is that someone would actually have it published. Mark Twain said, "Better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to speak and remove all doubt." This guy should have listened.

"Thanks to him, al-Qaeda knows the private interrogation techniques available to the US intelligence agencies and can train its operatives to withstand them" I'd like to see the "How To Get Waterboarded and Like It 101" class. What a waste of ink, paper and cyber space.

Obama embarrassed the Republicans? They ought to be embarrassed all on their own....and for many many reasons aside from this.

With everything that is going on in the world, having one national embarrassment exposed and outlawed by Obama is the least of our worries. Cannot believe that anyone with a modicum of intelligence could possibly think that because we won't waterboard anymore that there is not a plethora of interrogation techniques still being used or at our disposal. What a non-issue and sorry I can't have this brain space back. Sorry you can't either.

Twittering Away to Nothing

Jesus.....ANOTHER follower from Twitter felt it necessary to post this photo of himself. I hope he enjoys being single.

I is computer good at speak it....

I received the following email from a friend and follower of this blog....I may be admitting to being less than completely computer savvy, but at least I'm honest. My response to the email is here too.

Hi, Steve,

I've been following you anonymously through my Google account and I'm now following you publicly. Do you know what it all means to be a Follower? Does it mean I'll get email updates, or does it just provide you with a list to keep track? Do I have to log into my Google account? Should I check for an RSS feed? Do I sound lost? (I am.) I'll check it all out. I'm still trying to figure out Digg too.I'm loving your writing. You are gifted.

Best,
LL

My response:

Dear LL -

You will have to tell me if you receive email updates through google now that you are a follower...you can always comment anonymously....I don't know what an RSS feed is but it sounds suspiciously like to a colonoscopy tool, so I am gonna stay clear of that for now...unless there is mood lighting, dinner and a cigarette afterwards involved. Thanks for keeping up with the blog...your comments inspire me, so thanks for that.


PS...now that you are a follower, you have become a part of the church of Steve and must willingly donate 10% of all your local kine food to my doorstep, wear a tinfoil hat to block all Republican transmissions, swear to don a Tiara while cleaning the house, eschew Rush Limbaugh publicly and never wear while after Labor Day. I will never ask you to drink any funny Kool aid.
Your membership card and detail will be mailed soon.

kisses

Before she was my "Lil Opihi"

When I first moved to Washington State, Tallulah told me that Courtney lived near me. Turned out she was only an hour away. We corresponded for the first time since high school and hit it off as if no time had passed between us at all. It was like falling onto your favorite spot on the sofa...just warm and comfortable and even after so many years, surprisingly familiar. This is one of my first letters to Courtney, before she became "My lil Opihi"

My Dear Ccourtney -

What nice surprise to hear from you. I did see that you sent a 'Hi' on classmates.com, but I have not officially joined and did not have a way to write you till now. Of course I should have known that Tallulah would have had your info.
What am I doing in Poulsbo? Good question.
Thus far the cold and all the quilt fairs are going to my brain. After my fabulous life as a super star top model I have eschewed all forms of glamorized socialization and any form of urbania...settling down into early retirement and enjoying the occasional mile long trek to the main road to retrieve my mail. Gotta love it here. Woke up this morning and it was a sultry 25 degrees out. Good thing too since I have taken up glass cutting and am now able to use my nipples for all the delicate work.

You know, Kevin (my other half) is on Facebook and I make fun of him all the time, getting all into who's going shopping, who's making a cake, who's changing a diaper. Anyway, I think I'll join Facebook just for the Seabury hookup aspect. Kevin and I go to Tacoma a couple of times a month for the shopping as I get tired of wearing feed bags from the local "Bait and Tackle" and hopefully I'll get to see you soon.

Kevin and I have been together for about 5 years now and he recently retired from the Air Force after 20 years of service and being told they were going to sent him back to Iraq for the third time! He found a great civil service job on base in Bremerton and I basically followed him here, unfortunately knowing nothing of the job market crash and even less of Poulsbo. It really is lovely here, but I did go through culture shock. I left my job in Hawaii as a Hospital Administrator...I have pretty much given up modeling...just not ready to move into the "Dad sporting Golf clothes for Macy's" portion of my career yet. I have sent a photo from my last shoot for Coke a Cola in Vegas. My biggest gig was being sent to Japan for Coke years ago, but I still have a very friendly relationship with their advertising department. I can't believe you still have that piece of ceramic ware I made at Seabury.... I have also carried old art around with me...two water color paintings that Tallulah made for me, and she got a kick out of seeing them when I mailed them to her.

You are always welcome to visit dear, just give me a days notice so I can clear a path through the woods for you. One thing that has improved during my winter internment is my cooking skills, so shed a few pounds before coming. Last night was a lovely goat cheese and rosemary stuffed chicken with a white wine reduction and garlic mashed potatoes and fresh brussel sprouts with a balsamic glaze. Kevin has taken to actually photographing these meals for some reason. I bet he's secretly posting them on Facebook...."What I'm eating right now.."
Seriously...send me an invite for Face book and I'll join. "What my nipples are cutting right now..." Really. Not kidding.

It is hard to believe that our years at Seabury are 20 years away...my memories are so fresh. It was like yesterday and I vividly remember you and Tallulah in your Mod hats. I don't know where to begin or how to catch up. Please send a photo of you. Bring me up to date on your life and I'm sure we'll be caught up enough after a few emails to actually want to meet. I bet we do get to Tacoma in the next couple of weeks and it would be lovely to see you.

Are you a mom? Tallulah says she will be working on a baby and the thought is so freaky to me, but I have seen "Alien" too many times. Perhaps Kevin and I will adopt...a nice 18 year old, ready to move out or at least contribute to the mortgage. I think I am too selfish to have children...they are really just little homeless people aren't they? So I am looking forward to hearing from you and seeing a photo. What are you doing in Tacoma?

"Right now I am throwing on a white lace body suit and hoku lei to go dance on my front lawn as a fertility rite for my friend Tallulah"
Sugar kisses...

Jesus "Dress-Up"

Dear Tallulah,

Since we are both on Facebook, I'm sure you have noticed that I have been relentless in my pursuit of Irreverent Jesus humor. I am not an atheist, but don't really consider myself religious either. I am not sure why I find all these Jesus references so humorous, but I have spent hours on the web posting ideas and 'sayings' about Jesus that one would normally not think of:

Jesus died for my sins and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!

JESUS SAVES... He Passes It To Gretzky... Gretzky Shoots... He Scores!

God was my co-pilot but we crashed in the mountains and I had to eat him.

And on and on. Today tho, I found the Mother lode of Jesus fun. You have to check this out! It's even better than the Snow Globe that has Jesus on the Cross in it! On the left hand side of the page you can choose what MOTIF you would like to dress Jesus in ...from Star Wars to Wizard of Oz...Brilliant!

Source: www.jesusdressup.com

I wonder what Santa will think of my wish list this Christmas?

xoxo

Steve

Dear Tallulah,

Twitter is a hoot, and not for the short of attention. No sooner do I post something wry or outright laughable than it is buried beneath what other people no doubt believe is equally witty. I don't really have the patience to put up a fight and don't stay online there for long. I truly believe that instant gratification takes too long and having that need met on Twitter is a battle lost before it's begun.

Today, I hit the Jackpot tho....Yoko Ono is now following my posts. I don't know why, but I am all giggly and tempted to try to contact her directly, but if she didn't get back to me with a proposal that involved me coming to New York to be the sole subject of here next living art project, say within 10 minutes, I'd be crushed. Besides, I've never been a star-fucker, but wouldn't it be a hoot to have her for dinner? I mean OVER for dinner - personally, I'd much rather eat Julian. I mean since I have a choice and all.

Loves you.....

Steve

Twitter Dee and Twitter Dumb...

Dear Tallulah:
I wanted to extend a heartfelt thank you for hooking me up with Twitter and for all the helpful hints in getting my blog out there and noticed,..... then THIS:


This guy is now one of my "Followers" and even the virtual thought has me bothered on several levels. I recommended he follow you too.

Cheers!

You have to love Martha....

Dear Friends,

Christmas is tight this year. I've learned to make bedroom slippers out of maxi pads: You need four maxis to make a pair. Two of them get laid out flat, for the foot part. The other two wrap around the toe area to form the top Tape or glue each side of the top pieces to the bottom of the foot part Decorate the tops with whatever you desire, silk flowers, etc. These slippers are soft and Hygienic; Non-slip grip strips on the soles; Built in deodorant feature keeps feet smelling fresh; No more bending over to mop up spills; Disposable and biodegradable; Environmentally safe; Three convenient sizes: Regular, Light day, and Get out the Sand Bags.
Let me know your sizes.Happiest of holidays! Martha Stewart Inmate 55170-054
.........

A Love Story for the like minded.

The love story of Ralph and Edna...Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
Ralph and Edna were both patients in a mental hospital.
One day while they were walking past the hospital swimming pool, Ralph suddenly jumped into the deep end. He sank to the bottom of the pool and stayed there. Edna promptly jumped in to save him. She swam to the bottom and pulled himout. When the Head Nurse Director became aware of Edna's heroic act she immediately ordered her to be discharged from the hospital, as she now considered her to be mentally stable.
When she went to tell Edna the news she said, 'Edna, I have good news and bad news. The good news is you're being discharged, since you were able to rationally respond to a crisis by jumping in and saving the life of the person you love. I have concluded that your act displays sound mindedness. The bad news is, Ralph hung himself in the bathroom with his bathrobe belt right after you saved him. I am so sorry, but he's dead."
Edna replied, 'He didn't hang himself, I put him there to dry.
How soon can I go home?"

God lives in my refrigerator.

Dear Tallulah,

Seems as if the first days of spring are just out of reach now...the evenings smell of roads still to be traveled.....the sound of new leaves blow in the trees like an unsettled feeling in the blood....the desire to get in a car and just drive.

A man and a dog descend their front steps. The dog says, Let's go downtown and get crazy drunk. Let's tip over all the trash cans we can find. This is how dogs deal with the prospect of change. But in his sense of the season, the man is struck by the oppressiveness of his past, how his memories which were shifting and fluid have grown more solid until it seems he can see remembered faces caught up among the dark places in the trees.
The dog says, Let's pee on all the fire hydrants we can find. Let's dig holes everywhere. Above the house the man notices wisps of clouds crossing the face of the moon. Like in a movie, he says to himself, a movie about a person leaving on a journey. He looks down the street to the hills outside of town and finds the cut where the road heads north. He thinks of driving on that road and the dusty smell of the car seats.
The dog says, Let's go down to the diner and sniff people's legs. Let's stuff ourselves on burgers. In the man's mind, the road is empty and dark. Pine trees press down to the edge of the shoulder, where the eyes of animals, fixed in his headlights, shine like small cautions against the night. Sometimes a passing truck makes his whole car shake.
The dog says, Let's go to sleep. Let's lie down by the fire and put our tails over our noses. But the man wants to drive all night, crossing one state line after another, and never stop until the sun creeps into his rear view mirror. Then he'll pull over and rest awhile before starting again, and at dusk he'll crest a hill and there, filling a valley, will be the the lights of a city entirely new to him.
But the dog says, Let's just go back inside. Let's not do anything tonite. So they walk back up the sidewalk to the front steps.
How is it possible to want so many things and still want nothing. The man wants to sleep and wants to hit his head again and again against a wall. Why does it all seem so difficult at times?
Over a cup of coffee or sitting in the park or walking the dog, he would remember some incident from his youth - nothing significant - climbing a tree in his backyard, waiting for the coach to blow his whistle, sitting in a parked car with a six pack; memories to look at with curiosity, the harmless behavior of a stranger, with nothing to regret or elicit particular joy.
And tho he had no sense of being on a journey anymore, such memories made him realize how far he had traveled, which, in turn, made him ask how he would look back on the person he was now, this person who seemed so substantial. These images, it was like looking at a book of old photographs, recognizing a forehead, the narrow chin, and perhaps recalling the story of an older second cousin, how he had left long ago to try his luck in Europe. And he saw that he was becoming like such a person, that the day might arrive when he would look back on this present self as on a distant relative who had drifted off into uncharted lands.
But the dog says, Let's go make a sandwich. Let's make the tallest sandwich anyone's ever seen. And that's what they do and that's where Kevin finds me, staring into the refrigerator as if into the place where the answers are kept - the ones telling why you get up in the morning and how it is possible to sleep at night, answers to what comes next and how to like it.

"It's bruise....it will fade."

Dear Tallulah -You'd think I went to bed fuming after last night, but I did not. I went to bed sad and spent. Kevin and I did not have the confrontation I thought we would. Instead there was a short war of words.....VIA text messaging.....no doubt to spare the Germans embarassment.Bottom line: I don't know why I expected more out of Kevin in this situation and not even sure why I reacted as I did. I was really caught off guard and intstead of turning the situation into a litmus test for "How Kevin Deals With Being Gay" I should have just moved on, like Steffan did. For Steffan, it really was a non-event and certainly not the first time I have ever owned up to my own truth. There are just defining moments in life that you can either dwell on and make yourself crazy with or learn from. I am choosing to learn. In life I have no control over other people and can only keep my side of the street clean, so to speak. The only thing I can change or control is my reaction to lifes little "Fuck-You's" I did expect more from Kevin and I don't know why....but that's the last time I will wait for him to step up to the plate. Very sad tho...still.

Dear Tallulah -

Just writing this at this moment makes me feel better because it is a connection to you, intimate and soft. I need that.
So the evening goes like this...
Kevin and the Germans return from Bowling...happy, "up"...they know a great dinner is being prepared and they have brought the "surf" to the turf that I already have marinating. I tell them to play "Knitchtch"...the German version of Yahtzee and that dinner will be ready in an hour. The air above the kitchen is full and laughter and talk and foreign language and translations and joy is present. I grate lemon zest, reduce white wine, steam asparagus, spear whole mushrooms, warm plates, fold napkins, and lay the silverware with abandon.
Dinner is a great success...even more than I had planned as there is NO conversation...everyone is too busy chewing and poised to shovel in the next bite....and all plates are cleaned minus a lemon rind and parsley sprig. I clean as I cook so there is no need to negotiate who will do dishes and then coffee is served.
Almost immediately, a game of UNO is begun....someone lost, someone won...new game, somebody else lost, somebody else won. Time for a cigarette....everyone moves almost en masse to the front door...and it continues....for an hour or more: jokes, games, translations, laughter....and things wind down...slows...the heavy meal sets in, truly settles, and the call of sleep approaches - stealthily but with sure foot. And we start to grow quieter, but quieter together, as friends.
THEN....the question comes from Steffan, "When did you come out.?"

HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT...I thought we were just puffing a toke out here dude....But it sounded like this: 'Vhen did jhou comen s "out".?" And in a nice way, really, just a German guy trying to get to the truth.

I had hoped for this moment, in front of Kevin, and thought it out even, my answer....yet, here it was - -and I was caught off guard!! Kevin was standing behind Steffan, and I could see his eyes and they flashed, like mine had at the shock of reality slapping you on the cheek and then the words came...out of my mouth. "I was very young, I was 16...." and l let the words, no.... let the admission hang in what I felt had become VERY thick air....thinking the response would super-stun-shit-kick the next words that would be required out of my mouth, or at least spur a new question. I darted my eyes to Kevin...he was standing behind Steffan...and with that subtle open-eye lidded communication of : "I see you and I understand" glare, I asked Kevin to join me in the truth.

*** Breathe**** Right now****Take A Moment**** It's imperative.

Kevin added nothing.
Steffan changed the subject. To him it was a "non-moment". He spoke of other things.

And suddenly I was left....alone....the "gay" guy - and questions ensued. There was a sudden ringing in my ears and I understood the questions and I answered...but as a LONE ENTITY...I had no backup...my lips and chin were betraying my superstar icy exterior and they quivered as I attempted to catch Kevin's eye. We had never had a falling out, so to speak, but we were about to.....

Tallulah, Booger and My 'lil Opihi.....

I have this thing whereby I feel a real need to refer to my closest friends by names other than the one they were given.

"Tallulah" is a nickname I have given a very dear friend of mine who convinced me to start this blog. Her real name is nothing close to Tallulah, but if I had been in charge on the day she was named, it would have been Tallulah. She loves being called this; it makes her feel exotic. Kevin, I affectionately call 'Booger' and it in no way is a reference to anything olfactory and is not a passive aggressive stab at him either. But he has become my "Booger". Courtney is one of three friends that I have kept over the years, since high school in fact. We went to a small private school on the island of Maui, called Seabury Hall. I lived on campus.....a side note, I was sent there about 2 weeks after I came "out" to my parents. You interpret the message there. Courtney and I have very few boundaries when we are together and there is no topic off limits, no joke too taboo and our honesty with one another has endeared her to me. She is "My lil opihi"....opihi's are limpets, small round and conical, they are found on the lava rocks that skirt the beaches of Hawaii, and can be eaten. They are a delicacy and recently the Hawaii government has limited the amount one can harvest. Opihi's hang on to the rocks with fierce determination and perhaps their loyalty to the lava, their sheer determination to hang on despite all the pounding of the waves, connected, in my mind to Courtneys approach to friendship. She has become, My lil Opihi and she is as loyal as any I have ever known. Tallulah, Booger and lil Opihi have all captured a place in my heart that decided they needed their own private name. I don't just rename anyone, unless you cut me off on the highway...then I rename you VERY quickly. We should all have someone or two in our lives that are worthy of a nickname that captures what they mean to us....allowing true expression of "intimacy and affection". I wish this for all of you.

A month of Sundays....

Dear Tallulah -

Once again, we have guests in the house....you remember that Kevin had his mother and step father here after Christmas. Now we have friends of Kevins who knew him in Germany while he was still in the Air Force. Now normally, I love to have company....I enjoy entertaining and especially cooking for friends or guests. However, you also know that since Kevin thinks nobody suspects that he is Gay and wants to keep it that way, I am 'delegated' to my own, separate bedroom and while his friends or family is here, I become his 'straight roommate'. I guess denial runs very deep because I cannot imagine anyone really buying this story - anyone who knows anything about the situation as a whole.....and his friends and family know this:
Kevin is 46 and NEVER lived with anyone in his whole life until we met.
Kevin has never married.
Kevin has never had a steady girlfriend and while he still likes to call himself bisexual (because at one time he was able to sleep with women) he has not been with a woman sexually in over 7 years.
I have been living with Kevin for 5 years.
Kevin and I lived in Hawaii and then he retired from the military after 20 years of service and moved to Washington State....I "followed" him.

Do the math. No, I do not think anyone with half a brain buys Kevins story.

I have always operated under the premise that who I am, when people get to know me - is, "Steve"...after a while they may come to know that I am gay, but I am not "The Gay Guy", who's name is Steve. I am Steve...I happen to be gay. There is a big difference. I have never openly walked around and proclaimed my 'gayness' to the world, however, when asked, I have never lied about it either...this includes my parents who asked when I was 16. I told them. Contrary to some beliefs, I did not CHOOSE to be gay, I don't REALLY want to be a woman, and NO, I don't know your cousin Ray who just came out of the closet....I would have to check the National Gay Roster first to see if we have ever crossed paths. I don't know how to cut hair, or do your makeup....I do like Liza, some musicals and yes, I dress well and care how I look. However, I also know how to fight like a man and have doled out more than one smack down on a big mouthed homophobe. Enough said.

Back to the guests....for the next week, I have my own bedroom and pretend to be Kevins roommate. This often involves perpetuating several lies in order to help Kevin think he is still safely in his closet. I hate this.....all of it....especially the lying. Personally, if you don't like me, FUCK OFF! I have never formed my sense of self worth around what other people think about me. It is that simple. I didn't do it with my parents, I never did it for friends, employers or neighbors. If you have some problem with who I am, I really don't want or need you in my life. Kevin, obviously, hasn't reached this plateau yet.
When I met Kevin, he was in the military and had 20 years of service under his belt. He had alot to lose if anyone found out he is gay. I understood this. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. I signed the contract, accepted the baggage and have really tried to adopt a "Live and Let Live" approach to how Kevin operates.
What really bothers me, is that the same people that we lie to really could not care less about who Kevin is sleeping with. His mother might, but she would get over it. Mine got over it.
The German friends tho, the neighbors, even the clerks in the grocery stores....I can see in their eyes and how they speak to us, how they relate to us....that they know. They treat Kevin and I as a couple and rightly so. We are. So for me to have to spend the night in a spare bedroom while we have guests, pretend to have a different closet, lie about having to move my things out of MY bathroom and into Kevins so the guests will have their own space....all of that has become a bone of contention between Kevin and I. However, I will not "OUT" Kevin. I would not have wanted anyone to do that to me, and I just won't go there. I do however point out that it's just not right and I don't like it. I told Kevin, "Imagine me having some of my Southern relatives over for a visit and me delegating you to the back bedroom because you are Black. Try to imagine....how you would feel...how it would eat at you to cook for these people, have them in your home, take them places, treat them to a night in Seattle. It's not right." I could see the light change in his eyes, the way eyes tighten slightly and reflect a change in thinking....while what I said seemed obvious to me, it was clear he had never thought about this before. He went back to his, "I told you it would be like this when we met." defense. I responded, "Just because I knew about it, or that you warned me, doesn't make it right." It was clear he understood in new way.

We are all works in progress and I have no idea what 20 years in the military might do to a gay man and his sense of self. 20 years of conditioning won't come undone overnight and there are signs of progress. Two of our neighbors, on separate occasions, have asked how long Kevin and I have been together. Before the lies can come from his lips, I have answered them truthfully....then they talk about something else...it's great to see Kevins reaction when he realizes that they don't care if we are gay...and they still treat us with respect.
It's uncomfortable for him, but growth usually feels like that.

Now, his parents are coming for another visit, I think I told you...FOR THREE WEEKS...obviously a whole other letter. When time drags in the South, you experience a "Month of Sundays"...I'm sure those three weeks may as well be three months.
Thanks for the mention in your blog....I sent out a notice on facebook, but have had little reaction thus far....how did you "promote" your blogs, aside from the CNN thing? I still haven't heard much from Courtney, but her plate is full at the moment. Our other alumni says she is checking flights so she can come visit the same time you and Courtney will be here....should be fun.
Still waiting for the Germans to wake up so I can open the Omelet bar. Beyond that, I am again participating in lunch time Middle East Peace talks as well as spending the afternoon consulting with Sonia Satomayor over some of the tougher questions she is facing. After that, perhaps I will clean the fish tank. Monday is usually blue sweater day, but I have thrown caution to the wind and am wearing red. This is how I roll.

Write when you can.
Kisses....mon petite possum.

Steve

Martha -n- Me

Dear Tallulah -

I'm so excited about your upcoming visit to my little corner of the world. You'll be happy to know that I have decided on a main course for our dinner...but have to give credit to my idol Martha Stewart for her suggestions and access to her exclusive fish hatcheries located world wide.

I will be offering a Chilean SeaBass, caught in 52degree waters. Instead of the stressed and tradional "hook" caught variety, ours will have been actually lured into the boat. I will infuse it with a tarragon butter sauce while it is still alive and can appreciate it. I intend to pan sear it immediately after reading to it from the Canterbury Tales.

Kevin wants me to incorporate Bacon somewhere in the meal. I hesitate to put it in the salad since once you add bacon, it's no longer a salad really....just a little treasure hunt among all that annoying green shit. No doubt bacon finds lettuce dubiously annoying to get around while traveling your veins, seeking an artery to block. "What is that? A piece of lettuce!?! Out of our way, C'mon 'bits....we're going for the main ticker." Kevin currently thinks bacon bits are just the fairy dust of the food world. I tried to serve a baked potato last night and it wasn't going over well.....until Bibbity Bobbity, Bacon....and forget the fish, the potato became the entree. It is amazing tho...give a pig an apple and it makes Bacon...how great is that. Beats the whole give a woman sperm and she makes a baby thing....when babies come out smoked and ready to fry up nice and crispy, I'll be the first in line to donate of myself.

I am also stumped over dessert at the moment. I was trying a cake recipe earlier and it just dawned on me.....if you add flour to water, you have glue. Add some eggs and sugar, you have cake....but, what happened to the glue?!. I'm just not comfortable with that at the moment. Perhaps Courtney will volunteer desert again. :)
So Julia, any food restrictions or real dislikes of yours or Kurts,?, please let me know. Courtney can't have eggs and is off salmon and Dan can't have strawberries, and neither will eat meat purchased anywhere white trash associated like Walmart.... so I figured while I am already operating an allergy clinic out of my kitchen, I should extend you the courtsey as well.

Only two weeks now, so I'll see you soon.

xoxox
Steve

Lab Coats and the Air in Macy's

Dear Tallulah -

I was curious about your 'make-over' trip where you actually had fake lashes put on. I was wondering if you did it more for fun, or because you were suckered into it. Now, I have spend alot of time with makup people, facialists and the like, and I still find myself suckered. I went to Macy's recently and what struck me, after I left was how they attempt to create an aura of superiority by wearing those lab looking coats, as if to insinuate that they have some sort of medical authority to instruct you on what products to use. I was passing the Clinique counter, something caught my eye and I sidled up to the display, just eyeing what was there, half interested really. A Lab coat approached and stopped near me. I looked up to catch it looking at me with this half lidded, well manicured scrutiny. It acted like I had caught it in the act of making it's assessment and quickly erased the look and replaced it with a fake, closed lip smile. I looked away hoping not to encourage nor engage. It was too late,...."I see your problem." it said. "I think I can help you." it continued. (WTF! ) I'm sure my eyebrows briefly scrunched in surpise and I quickly acted as if I hadn't heard it....all the encouragement it needed to continue. Dammit. I am aware of all these tactics and yet I still took the bait. Were my pores large enough for her to crawl into? Was I so oily my eyebrows were doomed to just slide off my face? If I was lucky, she just saw a booger and would hand me a kleenex. No such luck. "With these four products we can address the simple issues that affect us as we age." it half wispered. GASP, it was worse than I thought. I am aging. Double Dammit. I quickly turned to the mirror it had slyly pushed into my elbow and I leaned into it, closer to it...... the Lab coat too, hoping the PA system announcements would cease. Convinced all of Macy's had ceased operation and turned its attention to the Clinique counter, I quickly whipped out my wallet and I felt I earned some sort of gold star when it flashed a genuine smile, the Lab coat was pleased. I had somehow appeased it. "You've made a great decision. I'm sure these six products will fully begin to rectify your quick descent into the geriatric phase of skin problems." Well, something along those lines. It was hard to hear over the rushing blood in my ears and the adreneline rush fear causes was making me light headed. I don't even think I could pick which credit card....it would have been easier to sign over the deed to my home at this point so I just sort of offered my whole wallet, in open palm style and pleaded with my eyes, "Make it quick." It nodded, knowingly, a touch of saddness even, how many cases a day like this had it seen? So I quickly signed something and held open my bag like a trick or treater as it dumped the 8 products I had purchased inside. It patted my hand, releasing me from it's nefarious grip and with the "I've just given you another gold star" smile, instructed me to return in three weeks for a free re-evaluation and product update. I slowly backed away, clutching my 10 miracle tubes of rejuvination and promise of youth restored. I came out of my trance later, at home....back in normal lighting, as I arranged my 12 Clinique products on the bathroom counter and happend to notice I had, yet again, spent the equivalent of a months worth of groceries on something I knew better than to purchase. I have to wonder what Macys pumps thru its air ducts and I picture you at home, back in flattering light, with those fake spiders glued to your eye lids....only you just giggle and pull them off....while I have to set my alarm an hour earlier to accomodate the 14 new skin care treatments that are guaranteed to restore my youth. I am a sucker.
Fucking Lab coats!

That's What I Love About the South

Dear Tallulah-

I can't sleep. I hate that and it's probably because I love coffee so much and try as I might, not to drink it after 4pm, there always seems to be a mug of it left in the kitchen that I sip on, as I did earlier. It is staying light here until almost 10:30, which doesn't help...the sun looks like it's about 5pm when it's really 8pm, so I keep sipping the coffee until it's too late.

As soon as I approach my writing like an assignment, it goes straight to shit. It seems the best writing I do happens when I sit down to fill you in on the latest. I have yet to come up with a whole lot on what happened on my trip to Virginia. It was uneventful and actually pretty boring. Only so much can happen sitting in a home, miles from anywhere, overlooking the banks of a river. There isn't even a paved road after all these years and the closest neighbors are cousins whose house you can't even see by just looking out the window.
Growing up and even into adulthood, my extended family has mainly consisted of the relatives on my mother's side of the family. They all live in Virginia, Georgia and Alabama. My mother belongs to the Daughters of the American Revolution, a strictly blueblood collection of aging debutantes who all can claim some blood line connection to a great, or at least historical figure of the South, before it lost the war. My mother, Elizabeth Tayloe Washington Lewis, is a descendant of George Washington. Her side of the family has it's own 'family crest' and many direct connections to some now famous and historical antebellums, including Sugar Loaf, Woodpecker, Chatterton, Mount Vernon and Monticello.
For some reason, Southerners like to name their homes and the current residence my parents keep is called Imaihama; not exactly blue blood, but more of reference to Japan, where my parents met and having the home named is still in keeping with the southern tradition. Imaihama means 'beautiful beach', so named because the house overlooks the banks of the Potomac river....the same river that George Washington supposedly threw a silver dollar across. The true story is he threw the silver dollar over the Rhappohanoc River, a far less formidable toss by miles.
Anyway, my mother "Betty" grew up among this knowledge and tho our family was in Hawaii, there were certain 'southernisms' that became part of my social makeup. I have often been accused of being a real gentleman, and no doubt this largely the reason why.
I was taught:
Anyone older than you is addressed by "Sir" or "Maam". Period.
Men hold open doors.
Men stand when a woman leaves or sits at a table.
A woman never, never pumps her own gas.
NEVER give a woman a can to drink out of, pour it into a glass. If you are out and about and no glass or cup is to be found, a straw may be a suitable replacement.
A man always walks on the "street" side of the sidewalk when accompanying a woman (A throwback to the horse and buggy days, it being the mans duty to take the mud splashes as a buggy went by.)
A woman never lights her own cigarette and NEVER walks and smokes at the same time. (If you visit the south, you will see that the women who smoke, well, the ones with class, according to my mother, sit, when they smoke.)

The first born male in a southern family is 'special'...just ask my sister, who claims to this day that I was always given preferential treatment, because I was oldest and male....thus groomed as the family's golden child. I live to disappoint, according to my mom.

Every southern family has it's 'black sheep' and most are readily accepted and treated as just eccentric....the uncle that likes to wear dresses....the manic depressive cousin that prostitutes....the mother in law that believes she was abducted by aliens and now wears a tinfoil hat to block their transmissions...the consistently drunk grandmother that "Loves Jesus, but likes her wine".....the aunt that talks non-stop and once consented to Electro Shock Therapy to fix herself (It didn't work....it did something, but not what she intended)
Yes, these are all members of my extended family. Then there is me, the once to be golden child that is gay and lives with a black man. I don't care what anyone from the south tells you about accepting black people....there is deep prejudice that is alive and well and practiced daily. Even the uncle that likes to wear dresses is cool, because he is married, and aside from Blacks, gays are the next on the list of 'lynch-ables".
At this point I would love to insert some witty anecdotes about my recent visit to Virginia, but truth be told, I was bored spitless and found the visit to be more about observing my parents in their old age. They have mellowed, slipped into routines, and even walking into Imaihama, I was struck by the smell....it smelled like my Grandmothers house used to smell! There was a point where I realized that my parents death was not just something that might happen, but became something that is going to happen...and sooner rather than later. Now, mom is a spitfire and will live to close to a hundred if not beyond, like many of the women from her side of the family. Dad, however has already outlived his fathers age by almost 20 years and ALL the ages of the other men in his family by at least a decade. Frankly I think he's too scared to just die because he knows how much it's going to piss my mother off. I remember a day at Seabury when I got a call on the public phone that sat on the lower corner of the boys dorm....a very strange thing since I had been ordered to call home every Sunday...the call was from my mother and she says, "Have you written your Grandmother lately?" I really hadn't and limited my contact to most of my relatives to holidays. C'mon, I was 16. I'm sure I told my mother, "Yes, I wrote last week." She sort of grunted a "Hmmph." and quickly added, "Well, your grandmother is dead. I hope you told her you loved her." ....then click. Mom had hung up. I was 16. I had absolutely no concept of death nor any reference point. I don't even think I told anyone at the time, because I was afraid I was supposed to be feeling something that I wasn't. It was awhile before I felt something, or at least recognized a feeling I could associate as having been produced as a direct result of knowing my Grandmother was dead. It was a shock, I hadn't even thought about her as being old enough to die, Christ, I was 16. Now, I am mentally preparing for the inevitable, my parents are going to die, and there is no way to prepare...no way to mentally steady yourself so that when the news does arrive I will be able to calmly exhale and think to myself, "Thank God, I was ready."
My parents adopted me relatively late in their lives, I was two and my father was 40, my mother 33....old for the time. That makes them, well, old enough now that I am writing this.
*************************sigh*******************************

Father's Day....Whew!

My father once helped me to make a pine wood derby car out of balsa wood, even melting lead and pouring it molten in to a hollowed out part to make it front heavy for the boyscout race event. I think the prize was a cake. We didn't win, but I was proud of that car, even tho I knew I hadn't done much except watch dad create it. I looked on in awe.
My father once played catch with me in the front lawn of our first house in Hawaii, in Foster Village and I was happy to be with him even tho we both knew my calling would never be in sports. He once watched me make a soccer goal - for the oppossing team. I don't know if I cried, but I'm sure I wanted to.
My father once pulled me out of school, kindergarden maybe, in Virginia. I felt important, because he had so much pull that his just showing up at shcool and saying, "Give me my son." had weight over all my teachers. We toured Washington DC and I remember him being dressed in his Navy Whites and all day I felt important and loved. He bought me a hot dog near the the reflecting pond by the Washington Monument and I have never tasted a hot dog like it since.
My father once drove all the way from Italy to Germany to save me from a life as an orphan, to save his life too.... and provided for me a very good life. I never met my fathers parents and his relatives that he visits on a regular basis now remain out of my life.
My father, more than once hung out in a separated bedroom, while my mom spanked me.
My father never once laid his hand on me. Never. I don't know what was more painful...not being touched, never being hit, knowing he was standing by as mom dealt her worst.
My father once traveled back to Ohio, where he grew up to bury is first wife whom's death certificate states death by overdose of barbituates.
My father was a disc jockey in a former life....then spent 30 years in the navy.
My father once stood in a bedroom removed from mine and listened.....while I was made to go into the garage and pick out a 2 x 4. I carried it into the bedroom and handed it to my mother without looking at her. Fuck the "switch"...I would rather have had a 'switch". I got the 2 x4. By todays standards, yes, abuse...but back then, discipline - and what 8 year old has the nerve to stand up and do something like tell a neighbor....call the police? "It's complicated", put so succintly in your blog, Tallulah. And it is complicated.
There is love, avoidance, neglect, complacency, passive agressiveness....and all the while, as an adult, I have always allowed my Father the words, "He did the best he knew how with what he had." I know that you use that allowance, the same words, too. What else would we use...how else could we negotiate the feelings, stand up to the pain, grow beyond something that sucks so obviously...the child I once may have become sits on the bank of a river in Virginia with my fishing pole. The fish seem blind and nose violently past my hook.
They could take it, let the barb sink deep into a lip or cheek. They choose not.
"Even discontent is better than nothing. Even a denial can be an affirmation."
As an adult, I tend to look upon my feelings about my parents like a bowl of fish hooks....I can't just pick one without ALL of them straggling along too....I agree with...you.
It's complicated.