Tuesday, June 25, 2019

Snowy June

It’s summer, and The Pride celebrations here in Denver are over. For some reason this marks the official start of summer. And, the start of summer means to me the beginning of hiking season. However; in a stunning turn of events, it snowed this weekend up in the mountains. The twenty-two year old in me says "Hell yeah! A cold hike on the snowy trails!" While the forty-five year old in me says "what the hell?" Why is it snowing in June?


My entire life I have been concerned with and watch constantly for news of the snow pack in the Rocky Mountains. Not sure how this started? Probably when I was a child with only three TV channels where the local news would report the mountain snowpack constantly during Spring. I would score the snow levels like straight kids scored football. This year Colorado snowpack is five times bigger than it was a year ago. Score! This weekend’s June snow dumped several more inches of snow on the mountains were I should be hiking. This last storm came during a time of the year when spring melt is usually underway. 

So yassss Queen, this boosts reservoirs and reduces wildfires later this year. Also it helps boosting the watershed going eventually to Lake Mead. You’re welcome California. But for my gay ass, on a major push to shed another ten pounds; it means That instead of hiking season it’s more Like mud season dragging significantly into the summer months.

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Fabulous Up Lighting

When I was twelve, my mother bought me a lava lamp. Apparently wanting to stir up some straight-dude stoner tendencies in me. It was one of the first generation knock-offs and had red wax inside the glass cylinder. I watched in a transfixed manner as the red lava slowly moved up and down due to the heat from a 60 watt light bulb in the base of the lamp. This fascination lasted three days. Since I was a flaming gay twelve year old, I soon pulled out the glass portion of the lamp and placed the base behind a tall plant in the corner of my room to make fabulous up lighting. I still see how the light interacted with the leafy foliage on my bedroom ceiling. Much more hypnotizing than a lava lamp could ever be.

It took me just about a month to set up the "lighting scheme" in my new house. With my inner gay boy directing how to emotional impact the white walls with a lightscape. The first step was to drag out the countless number of extension cords, then map out the best use of each fixture. The best part; however, is the Wi-Fi. Every light, every switch, is controlled by my Wi-Fi network and controlled by my iPhone. It’s just like living in the god-damn future. This network, via a wireless hub, senses when I come home and triggers a light-scape before I enter my front door. When triggered, via the sun going down, a soft dimmed glow comes from most lights. All while being voice controlled by my Google Home thingy. I simply say "Hey Google, turn on the closet lights." And the closets are dramatically bathed in LED glow.

Yes, I am aware that really this stems from two much free time and a disposable income. But, the potted palms have never looked lovelier in the late evening. As their leafy foliage dances on the Livingroom ceiling.


Monday, June 10, 2019

Tasty Tasty Murder

I was always that guy who brought that green box to the BBQ. There is always one; you host a cookout and spend a lot of time shaping and flavoring burgers to grill, and someone shows up with a Garden Burger box and asks you to place the frozen, grey pucks on the corner of the grill. Yep. I was the guy who smeared his sense of personal superiority on the plant-based food item like mustard. Side eyeing the cow murderers. All while clouds of dust came from my mouth as I chewed on the cardboardish facsimile of a real burger patty.

I was thinking about this as I was line at Brother’s BBQ Sunday afternoon. I was deciding whether I had to start the charade that I was buying a full rack of ribs for my large, and hungry family. Instead I made a stand; I ordered my full rack, proud to be free from the meat-binge closet. Oh, how time changes you.

That being said, I still have the "Meat is Murder" bumper sticker boy living inside of me. He will always be there. I have to say, I am happy eating at my local vegan restaurant and maintaining a plant based diet. My freezer is filled those green boxes of Garden Burgers frosting away. And yet, there are a few times when the carnivorous cow or pig hating murderer comes out. I guess the saying of "Everything in Moderation" is true.



Editors note: full rack eaten in record time. 

Friday, June 7, 2019

In a Mustang listening to Radiohead

Ever have date anxiety? That feeling of nervousness that rushes over you, making your brain convince you that you don’t really need to interact with the outside world. That delivery Taco Bell and YouTube Vloggers are enough of a friend base to sustain you in this world.


This week had my brain playing this game of sabotage. Like picking shredded cheese out of my chest on the couch is a viable social strategy. I still managed to pilot my car to the top of parking garage adjacent to Racines Restaurant to meet a solid massive of man. Like solid thickness. Which is weird for me, and also completely refreshing. For the last thousand years I’ve been the big spoon, I think it’s time to little spoon for a while. 

May I take this opportunity to advocate for Denver’s centrally located "date" restaurant, Racines? It really is the best "first date" eating establishment. It’s calm, it’s low pressure, and it has low walls around the patio to leap over in case the date is going badly. A Wendy’s is right next door, so after your great escape you can walk over and drown your sorrows in a Frosty as the date collects his car from valet. Then you can drive home without dripping Frosty on your seats. Trust me; I speak from experience. But! Not this week. 

Halfway through the cobb salad, I began to be thankful for leaving my sofa and YouTube friends at home and for venturing into the cool summer breeze of Denver’s early evening. The conversation was easy, both agreeing that Betty Friedan is a product of her time, and still should be celebrated as sparking the second wave of feminism. Ya, know dudes on dates conversation. I began to have a rising internalized squee as all the anxiety washed from my brain due to a sense of happiness. Happiness based upon the connecting to someone with a similar world outlook, but not to similar…. We also made-out like teenagers in his car, steaming up the windows like I was in a Mustang listening to Radiohead.

Thursday, May 30, 2019

Naked Pool Land

I have had a swimming pool in every place I have lived since the ancient year of 2000. Yet in this time, I have been actually in these pools just once. Never have I stopped to enjoy the amenities and go for a swim. Mostly I blame the people living in the neighborhood overrunning the pool with their loud noise, and feral children. There’s nothing worse than a child enjoying its self. I kid.... kinda. 

I know it’s not swimming as a concept because I can spend the whole day naked at Denver’s bathhouse outdoor pool. Maybe I hate my local pools due to having to wear trunks. Probably so. As summer has arrived, it’s probably time to make a trip to naked pool land. 

I was determined to actually use the pool near my new house. And by near, I mean if I’m not careful leaving my front door, I’ll fall in. As it opened on Memorial Day.  Within half a day an email was sent out the the pool had to be closed due to broken glass being found in the pool bottom. Hours after it’s opening. So... okay. Guess I’m not getting in that pool either.  Off to the naked pool.  

Tuesday, May 28, 2019

Hiking

I went on my first hike of the summer last weekend. It was a "date hike" so that was pretty awesome. A strange sense came into my mind in the middle of the hike. The person I was hiking with, spent the whole hike matching my stride and speed. This made me aware that sometimes I hike at a slower than "standard" speed for the trail, mostly due to my desire to soke up the atmosphere. However; our hike, around Dillon Resivour was perfectly matched in speed and gate. 

The reason I was thinking about this was that in the last several years, my hiking partner had a faster speed, and quicker movement. I always had a feeling I was never keeping up with the movement on the hike. Never did I acknowledge this, but internally I began to avoid hiking due to this mid-match in hiking philosophy. Simply to stop an activity I enjoyed due to a partner radiating a sense of "ineptness" in my speed and style. 

Yet, hiking with a person who matches in style, and also has consideration, rekindled my passions for hiking. 

Monday, May 27, 2019

Minuteman

The family is attempting to schedule our Father’s Memorial. It is a bit difficult to get seven kids and seven grandkids in one place, but we are shooting for August. It’s a bit strange working with four sisters on this. Mostly because they all had, what seemed to be a close relationship with their Dad. For me, he was a total stranger. Not a necessarily bad relationship, just not a relationship at all. Now, I tend to think this started with the public acknowledgement of my fabulous gay-ness, but it is more than this. As far back as I remember, there was the family dynamic trope of a Dad spending time and energy on the daughter and no effort on the sons. Even as a kid I knew was the status quo. 

This is in no way a negative statement or an an angsty blog post about my relationship with my Dad. It’s more an examination of how kids can have differing viewpoints on their parents based upon birth order. Also, I was explaining to a friend on where the memorial was to be held. As kids, our parents took us to a camp site and picnic place in Northern Colorado. Every family outing was in the same place.  Even at the time, in the mid-eighties, we knew the location wasn’t just a picnic ground and hiking trail. It doubled as a then active Minuteman Missile launch site. Picnic tables and nature trails woven around concrete blast doors covering armed nuclear missiles. 

"Woah! That’s fucked up!" Exclaimed my friend. "Meh, it was the eighties. They were everywhere." Yet, I began to think of the irony. The only positive family memories I have where played out on top of weapons of mass destruction. To which my Mother would tell me not to worry about it, because we would all be raptured if they were launched. 

So, I guess I’ll bring deviled eggs to the picnic / memorial / return visit to the Minuteman Missiles. 

Al Fresco

Well, this is a turning point my friends. Summer starts, and I begin to demand that I only eat out on restaurant patios. This demand is placed upon all friends that ask "where do you want to eat?" Last Friday Jimmy was able to oblige and we ate al fresco at the very tasty Uno Mas, on Denver’s famous 6th ave. This was followed by my first visit to a Denver gay bar in just about three years. I know, it boggles my mind too. Daddy’s on Sixth was a great "Friday after work" kind of place. They also had a patio. 

Saturday brought a long hike around Dillon  reservoir, followed by a sunshine filled lunch. Sunday Brunch was Syrup on City Park, where my stunning date and I, sat in the sunshine and ate coconut French toast. 

So if Memorial Day is any indication of how the Summer May create itself, then it may just be a  great summer. 

Monday, January 28, 2019

Birthday

Today’s my Birthday. I turn 225 today. And I don’t feel a day over 175. I feel comfortable in my skin, so I started by dying my grey beard...



After it settles I guess I’ll go get pancakes.

Saturday, January 26, 2019

Noob

Five years ago was I really a noob that took bathroom selfies with a iPad???? Yes. The answer is yes.




Thursday, January 24, 2019

Spring Heads Towards Me

Apparently I know less about The Monroe Doctrine than I thought. 

That’s correct; school has started again. I am taking a advanced class on the detailed history of World War Dos this semester. Along with a “History of the Modern World (which, spoiler alert is all white European centric) Like the modern world only happened in fashionable Europe.  The winter break flew by way to fast. It seems I cooked a turkey, bought a tree put lights around by balcony and then hauled the tree to the trash and… well I haven’t taken the lights off of the balcony yet. They’re just tooooo adorable…. I love them. But, seriously. I really need to take the Christmas light down. 

So, as the WWII class is on-line;  this week was the start of the never-ending cycle. Read several chapters, write a paper, take a quiz. The first week was on the ramifications of Thomas Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points. Like easy. Everyone knows that stuff. So, I skimmed the weeks assignment and started a Woodrow quiz. Then, I found myself suck in Monroeland. Jerk. Ya, know the United States policy of opposing European colonialism in the Americas beginning in 1823 God there was a lot of details. I guess I need to shrug off the Holiday break and crack open a book. Until May. 


Also in May, Mike has decided to move back home to Seattle at the end of our lease. This will mark the end of our four year living relationship. Roommates for four years and friends for eight years. All ending at the end of April. I haven’t begun to process what this means. Leaving the home I adore, separating the best living arrangement I hav ever had. I think I’ll just bury myself in the second world war. It’s less stressful. 

Saturday, January 5, 2019

Hit the Slopes

The Christmas and New Year celebrations were amazing. A lot of home time, spent watching Christmas movies with Mike and Naveen. Yes, I got the presents I wanted, and it seams they too were happy with the gifts I gave. We now have our living room view back, as the tree was deconsecrated on news day. By this, I mean as I placed the last string of lights in their box, Mike picked up the tree marched to the balcony and tossed it over. The gleam in his eye told me he’d been wanting to do that act for awhile. 

The Christmas holiday also brought changes to  my relationship. Naveen started a new relationship outside of ours. As I don’t believe in monogamy, (a viewpoint just for me-not others) I was more than happy to encourage this behavior. Right after Thanksgiving He became a snowboarder. A six-foot-two, Indian, snowboarder. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the outdoors, but sliding down mountains doesn’t not speak to me. 

The only interference with our blissful household is that he wants to borrow my car to do this endeavor. Taking my all-wheel drive up the mountain. And hopefully, backdown again. When this happens I receive my German sport wagon back covered in grime. I clutch pearls and clench my jaw every time I lay eyes on my Deutschwagon, ice packed and mud covered. 

I fear asking him to get my car cleaned. This is because I am so obsessive about my car being perfect that I don’t trust just how he may clean my wolfsbaby. When I attempted to explain the difference between a brush verses brushless car wash I just recieved an eye roll. So... clearly I’m the only one who sees the difference in quality car maintenance. Yes, I didn’t get a chance to put a solid wax on before winter. But, you just can’t send you car through a car wash with those rolling brushes. What are we? Monsters? 

There needs to be a concierge service for rich dude-bro boarder...dudes. One at the base of the mountains where they can stop by after shredding it all day and have their borrowed luxury cars cleaned and pressed. Great idea for a ski town business. There ya go. 

Until then, I’ll be content getting flaming hot Cheetos out of my vegan leather interior. 



Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Zesty

Apparently I need a new Zester. There’s nothing more fun than starting a baking recipe just to find yourself digging through every kitchen drawer for a tool. I repeated this act about a month ago when I was attempting to find my meat tenderizer. So, the growls were loud when my lemmon zester was missing in action. 

I spend Sunday wanting to make my first batch of Christmas cookies with Italian Lemmon Cookies. I had purchased some beautiful  Meyer Lemmons to add in the dough, but it was not to be. I did attempt to chop the skins super fine, hoping that would be the same. It’s not. I now have a batch of super delicious cookies with fine bits of lemmon peel to chew. 

I feel like I need to inventory my kitchen just so I know that items I own. Maybe Santa will bring me my missing tools. 

Wednesday, December 12, 2018

Two Things This Week

Two things are bugging me this week. The first is my ski rack on the top of my car. It whistles. At highway speeds a high pitch squeal begins to sound above my head. "Okay, I guess I need to buy an air screen to change to air dinamics." I casually thought. Then I discovered that my VW cross bars don’t work with my Thule racks and $90 new air screen. I have spent this week attempting to find a way to attach the two without using duct tape. 

The second is porn. My porn. I have unique tastes in porn; which has been satisfied for free via Tumblr. The site; however, just announced that they will be deleting all graphic content. Meaning, all the tumblr pages that I follow will go away on the 17th of December. I have spent the week grabbing as many images as I can to supply me until I can locate a new source of smut. Hundreds of gay Japanese suit  porn images have been flying across my desk top. If you’re aware of a good Japanese "young businessman in suits” porn site, please be in touch. Not; however, if you’re reading this and you also happen to be one of my sisters. 

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Done with School

Today was the last day of class. I have to say this is the very first time I’m sad about this. Historically, I’m counting down the days until the semester ends. Dreading the last couple of weeks. But, this semester has been completely different. My classes have been amazingly interesting; Feminist/Queer Philosophy and a history class about Denver. 

This is ironic as the history class was based upon the racist KKK dickheads that controlled Denver in the early days. Followed by a class based on liberating modern voices in queer literature. In fact this morning I received this...


It didn’t hurt that I’m 100 years old and actually lived the ‘80’s/‘90’s AIDS crisis. At one point I was explaining Act Up to 20 year old girls. Like I was on the front porch of a gay retirement home in a rocking chair. But, hey, I guess I got an "A". 

The Denver history class is motivating me to start a new YouTube channel. Based loosely around the traditional history narrative about a western US city, but with a marginalized voice perspective. Like what happened to Denver’s China Town? Spoiler: Racists. It’s callled the "1880 Race Riot", but really it was a "white assholes with torches" 

So, yeah. This semester was actually amazing and I’m sad to see it go. 

Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Wreath Be With You

Every season, in my head anyway, starts with the changing of the door wreath. I’m not sure how this seems to be hardwired into me. I do know that it was something I was raised with, a sort of family tradition. One in which my sisters and I still do religiously.

It is pretty odd, this tradition growing up in a household without a lot of traditions. Apart from the ones pressed upon us by the Mormon Church doctrine. None of us children have multiple spouses, stockpile food stores for the coming apocalypse, or the very worst of them all….use white bread. It is a testament to our development that we escaped the churches brainwashing of "all food must be highly processed."

I thought about this while I placed my holiday wreath upon my door. Then I stood back to survey my fantastic wreath. The wreath, as one would expect, then gets compared to the next door neighbors. The Nguyen’s. Oh, man…. I. Hate. Them. With their stinking wreath all made of home-decorated pine cones. Each pine cone individually wrapped with colorful ric-rac trimming. Where do they get off?! Last year, after I placed my silver-glitter dipped "winter-wonder land" wreath on our entry way door, they had the nerve to come back with battery operated garland festooned about their door. I guess money can’t buy taste.

This year I have decided to not descend to their level of one-upmanship. A classic evergreen wreath, deconstructed; if you will. Maybe a bit like Mormon Christ would of carried as he roamed the mid-west.



Saturday, November 24, 2018

Not That Cool



I posted a picture online recently. It depicts the new snowboard rack I had installed on top of my Alltrack. I really didn’t think about it, mostly because the intent was to show off my roof-rack installing skills. Yet, I would never dream of strapping a laminated plank to my feet and slide down a frozen mountain. No thank you.  Soon the comments and questions came in about my snowboarding prowess. I installed the rack so that the boyfriend could take my all wheel drive up the mountain. So, even though I am now one of those Colorado dudes driving around with a roof-rack, it's not really mine.



Wednesday, November 21, 2018

The Day Before Thanksgiving 

Ah.... the day before Thanksgiving. That time when I completely question my culinary skills. 

Every year on this day I start the day sure I have the recipes I’ve spent hours choosing, and hours of shopping for their ingredients. Then soon I began to realize that my recipes aren’t saved on my iPad, and I remember that I’m missing most of my ingredients. 

Tuesday, November 13, 2018

Suit and Tie 

I am currently in a multi-stage interviewing process with four separate new positions outside of my current company. Have conservative suit; will travel. The quick answer is that I am desperate to work on a team that doesn’t end their sentences with prepositions. If I get asked "where you at?" one more time…. Truthfully I am happy in my current position, (sort-of) but I need to grow, and it’s apparent this cannot happen.

For one position within a multi-state eating disorder recovery corporation, I feel I have now interviewed with every member of staff. I mean, I haven’t met ALL the janitorial staff, maybe next week. For all these interviews I figured it would be okay if I wear the same suit every time, I just switch out the tie. It is me just stopping by their headquarters every once in a while to hang out. Another is a non-profit education company. Also multiple interviews. Glenda on the first floor reception says I’m the best candidate, but if she hears anything she’ll let me know… I’m going to start bring her doughnuts.

Their problem is understandable. You cannot interview a HR Manager. Every question they give me, I am just hardwired to give the best response for the sake of the printed interview questionnaire. My dream is that a CEO will just come out and say "Look, you’re the person that should be doing the interviewing of candidates, just come out and tell me what you’re gonna do for me!" And, I’d tell them the good about me and the bad about me. I’ll put myself in payroll and send my interview suit to the drycleaner. Because it’s beginning to stink.

Until then, I interview. Again. And again. I hope to have good news for you soon.

Sunday, November 11, 2018

Eleven Years of StevieB

Seriously, eleven years?  Today makes eleven years I have been blogging.

It boggles my mind how different one person can be in eleven years. My drives, goals, and desires have really no similarities to the thirty-five year old who started blogging. I have had six cars, three longterm relationships, many casual boyfriends, three dogs, and one blog. One blog to unite them all.

Yes, I spend to much time writing papers about third wave Feminists and too little time blogging; I guess I should just post my term papers. But, I feel that will actually make my blog even less readable. And it is pretty damn un-read as it is.

Let's just cheer that I am having a eleven year anniversary as a blogger. Not many humans can actually say this. Mostly because blogging died about six years ago.



Saturday, October 6, 2018

Alltrack


When thinking about saying goodbye to my Wrangler, I had trouble walking away.  It was like being in a  relationship where you only see the thrills even though you  know they're treating you wrong. Yes, the fuel pump had to be replaced multiple times; but it was sexy sitting in a trailhead's parking lot. Sure, the oil seemed to disappear every three weeks, but I could drive over any shopping center's curbing. Which is truly the best measure of the American males' ego.  There comes a time; however, when even in the most dysfunctional of relationships you eventually wake up to the fact that you are putting more effort into it than you could possibly get back.

My main motivation in replacing my Jeep is how sexy-cool a new car would compare in its level of coolness in trailhead parking lots. This is why I chose the VW Alltrack. It just oozes off roady snobbiness. Yet snowflake uniqueness.



 


Saturday, September 29, 2018

The Philosophy of She/Her

This semester I am taking a Feminist Philosophy class. Now, I guess I should of read the description, not that it matters, but I guess I just assumed its content.

I was overly excited to finally take a class on feminist philosophers. Meaning the study of philosophy via a feminist lens. Like the collective works of Hypatia of Alexandria and Ayn Rand.  I didn’t really read the fine-print the (philosophy verses philosophers) part of the title. However, I am very delighted with the surprise. The readings of proto-utilitarianism ideals, mixed with gender equality getting their foundation in the 1700’s is quite cool to see unfold throughout time.

Also, this is the first class that I am actually connecting with and feel comfortable interacting.  In the typical class I am the large bear squeezed into a desk/chair, A Chesk, if you will, usually twenty years older than the other students. While in this class I am still over twenty years older than my classmates, they actually have smart, and witty opinions to share. The tiny gay boy, eighteen years old,  that sits next to me has his own YouTube channel dedicated to make-up and making one’s own gender neutral clothing. He literally says literally every-other word, but he’s engaging and asks incredible questions.

Another reason why this class is great is that it’s held in the Philosophy Department’s conference room. No chesks, just a long table with sixteen open, and interested individuals. The only hiccup is Clara. Clara is the self-appointed political correctness thought police. She attempts to remind us that trans individuals need to have open gender-role labels. When turning this to me, it was followed by me explaining that the dude I was referencing at the time had self-disclosed male pronouns, and his own trans experience did not need to be defended. Clara admittedly doesn’t know any trans individuals, but wants to make sure we get the pronouns right. Good for her.

All-in-all I am happy for this class. It makes me want to change my major, again, to gender studies. Then I’ll be able to say that I am thirty years older than my classmates as I will never actually graduate.

Thursday, September 27, 2018

The Astral Plane of Chinese Delivery


 

Yes, we probably order Chinese food too often in our household. By, this I mean we have Chinese delivered about twice or three times a week. This comes from the fact that Grub Hub has our standard order, from the same place on record. It just seems the easiest thing to click a button on the iPhone and soon after have piping hot dinner on the kitchen bar.  All this whilst the spinach leafs slowly turn brown in the refrigerator. Death comes quickly to spinach as the intent to make butter chicken dies.

The odd bit is the delivery driver. I assume he’s an INFJ or first year Hufflepuff. Or maybe he’s magical.  Now I have seen a lot of porn movies involving delivery drivers. I also have years of experience avoiding cooking and relying on a random stranger to bring me dinner. And yet, I have never had much experience with a possible inhuman, or maybe spirit-being delivery dude.


Here’s what happens.


When the time comes for the delivery, a soft thud, not unlike the sound of a fluffy bunny being tossed at out front door, can be heard. Then a text…. “Your food is outside…” opening the door is like if Santa came, but you didn’t have a chimney. No knock. No awkward interaction with a delivery driver. Just a text. I; of course, cannot leave this alone… To me, this was a challenge of see the delivery dude. A quest of interacting with the delivery spirit.


When the text comes, I started to quickly run to the window to catch sight of him. Like a kid looking for Santa.  I only witnessed a half-primered, lowered Intra peel away from the curb.  But, then I knew he could exist on the astral plane, if even for a small time. Then I waited inside, next to the front door. When I heard the distinct sound of General Tso's name-sake dish thumping against the door I pounced. Swinging the door open I caught just a glimpse of bleached anime hair zipping around the corner. “Run mystical delivery dude! Run like the wind!” I whispered as the smell of wontons filled my nose.


This is when I learned that I am not meant to meet my delivery dude. Even if I forced it, I may only destroy the magical sphere in which he exists.  He departs the muggle existence, slips this dimension, as it should be… in an Acura with miss-matching wheels. As I scarf down my Moo-Shu chicken I re-read his communication. “Your food is outside” someday I might text back.   


Friday, September 21, 2018

Denver


I had to finish my paper for my “History of Denver” class. Yes, I feel that this choice in class was a softball class. I had a choice from the Denver history, or the entire history of Islam. I really should have learned more about an entire part of the globe, filled with rich beauty, and religious meaning. Nah, I chose Denver history. This was driven by the deep desire to be that dude who can bore you to death by tales of historic buildings in downtown being the first department store, or why there are no Asians in Denver.

 

Funny story. Denver was founded by a group of Racist bigots. Racist bigots whom hated everyone and everything. That was my paper….. How white men are assholes. This is why I won’t take any American history classes because I just turn every paper into a non-stop manifesto of why straight-white-men suck. I didn’t think this class would be the same…. It is.

 

My paper was about the Anti-Chinese Riot of 1880. Yeah…. Already you know where this is heading. Apparently the Denver working class got tired of compete for the small supply of back-breaking labor jobs in laundry sweat shops. Also they felt threatened by a mixed culture of eating establishments. So… in October 1880 a mob gathered and destroyed Denver’s China Town.

 

On a side note, I always wondered why Denver doesn’t have a China Town, I also wondered why there was not any cultural diversity in the city. Now I know. We’re assholes. Murdering assholes, as the riot led to the deaths of Chinese minority business owners. This is why.

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

The Break Up


It has been close to two months since we broke up. Well… I terminated the relationship. I have felt free in a transcendent way ever since. I cannot explain how unhappy I truly was until I gathered the strength to walk away.

Okay, it wasn’t all that hard. But, after I ended it I began to realize what a time thief it was. I was somehow addicted to Facebook for all of my world information. Then… I was free. I deleted my profile and ran away. Ya’know? It was the best choice. Now, I’m sure I could blog about how the massive data sell-off that hit the news convinced me, as I am a person of mindful character. It happened around the same time and it was a small part, yet it was more about the obligations of connections to Facebook groups and friend lists. Mostly it was that I would no longer explore the web for new blogs and sites to discover. Yes, we know that blogging has long been killed off thanks to Facebook posts. Why write a page of experience when we can post on our page for our selective connections to comment? Facebook gives us a formatted list of discussions and opinions for better or worse. It is not exploring new ideas, it is tailoring your audience to your taste. It also sets up a battle field that makes us a hero to supporters whilst tearing those that dare to have an opposing opinion.


After the big delete, I find that I am exploring for my news again. I am going down nerdy rabbit-holes of nerd stuffs. Back in 2008 I had pages and pages of blogs and obscure content I followed. Did you know that Tumbr is still around??? Wow. Stunned.


Mike the roommate, who will always keep it real with me, says it’s because I get a rush of self-satisfaction (holier-than-thou) by being able to say, ”I… I don’t DO Facebook.” And, he is right about that. It feeds that special snowflake hipster that lives in side of me. He is a bitch. The old man in me says it’s nice to not bother with all that family and friend drama. Both sides are excited about exploring the web and not having it tailored and edited for me.


Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Dragcon


Did I mention that we went to Dragcon this last weekend? I understand how it could go unmentioned as there has been a lot going on. With my Mother’s death and finials week for school it sort of seemed like the red tape at the end of a sprint.


Dragcon is the Rupaul’s Drag Race convention occurring annually in Los Angeles. All things dragish are celebrated. For me it was a reward for ending this last semester of school. My final grades haven’t been posted, but I’ll reward myself for by passing grades now. We flew out a couple of days before the event started and took a trip to Hogsmeade, via the Harry Potter land inside Universal Studios, Hollywood. Where I drake my fill of Butterbeer, and rode all the wizarding rides.


The drag-convention was absolutely amazing. I was able to have a picture taken with my favorite Queen, Kim Chi. And one of my all-time heroes in life, Michelle Visage. I follow Michelle on her podcast where she speaks a lot of good health via food choices and most importantly life choices.  She’s quite remarkable in her life outlook. All-in-all it was a great time and I am grateful for the timing to come at the end of such a tumultuous period.   



Kim Chi; Good enough to eat





But, her beer

Monday, May 7, 2018

The Oil Rig Fire


An odd thing happens when you mention that your parent just passed. There is that phase were you hear your own voice confirm the fact, hearing that your Mom is dead. But, I’m more speaking to the reaction by other people. There is of course the expected “oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Which honestly goes a long way in my book. Let’s just acknowledge it and move forward. Yet, I have noticed another reaction. The reaction where the person I just shared the statement with, and I expect the acknowledgment, then goes into a long dramatic tale of how their parent too died, but in much more horrid and traumatic fashion. Like it’s a competition.

 

My favorite response to “How did she die?”  is to steal a line from the Golden Girls “Fighting an oil rig fire in the Gulf.” [pause] “She was eighty-three, how do you think she died?!?”

 

I am usually great at getting away from small-talk conversations. As I don’t really care for people, and I have found endless ways to avoid them. Yet, when someone is interrupting your story of how you learned of your Mothers passing to strut and fret their hour upon the stage, explaining exactly how long their mother of incontinent before being found dead with her thirteen year old cat Snoodle, there is no real escape. Now that you have a dead parent in common, are they free to dump their pent-up emotional baggage upon you? I say, no. Unless you’re asked.

Friday, May 4, 2018

Cars


I am still vacillating on a new car.  As I have been blogging for over ten years I can look back and see that I go through this phase every four years. Which, keeping a car for four years is actually incredible considering my history and eighteen year old level of instant gratification on everything in my life.

 

Sure the Jeep is fine, other than the fact that Mike, the bestie, who also is a certified expert Jeep mechanic, doesn’t want to fix it any more. I mean, his only replaced the fuel pump three times. In four years. But, now he wants to break up with my Jeep. So, now I have to decide what car will define me for the next four years.

 

Mike says that I don’t like a car unless it’s attached to a “holier-than-thou cult.” I need to drive a vehicle that has me standing apart from the muggle drivers on the road. Not fancy, like the BMW emblem on the hood would make me feel superior, to the contrary. He believes that my car needs to give me the same feeling that a freshly pressed vinyl album of an obscure alternative band (one you’ve never heard of) gives a bearded hipster.  A hip-alternative (yet totally non-douchey) to the BMW, but just as snow flaky.

 

Yeah. He is totally right. But, he spends a lot of time around people and the relationship with their cars.

 

So, you would immediately think something like Mini Cooper or Subaru. They kind of have the same sensibilities as my Jeep Wrangler. Alter-hip-cool. This was what I thought until I sat at an intersection in the Boulder, Colorado. There were six cars around me, waiting for the light. All six were blue Subaru Outbacks. It’s like the city has a law to ticket non-Subaru drives inside the city limits of this up-market college town.

 

So it’s back to thinking about the Volkswagen Alltrack wagon. A sporty station wagon that is just sporty enough, yet station wagony enough to say, “Yeah, I drive a sport wagon. I’m so cool.. But I don’t need you to tell me I’m cool.” But, there are so many things to consider. Like will the bike rack on top look imposing enough. Like the Yakima Rack attached to the spear tire of my Jeep. Sure I’ve never used it, but, it looks like I’m a mountain biker.  

 

After next weekend I really need to decide, God help me if my fuel pump goes out on my Wrangler. Again.

 

 

Thursday, May 3, 2018

Almost Summer


I literally have one day of classes left until school is out for the summer. I do have one major exam to take next Tuesday, then I am free for the summer. The exam will however, possibly kill me so I might not see the summer. It is two hours of free-style essays on Rene Descartes and David Hume. Descartes I pretty okay with, understanding his arguments for the existence of God. In the mid-term I had to argue a seminal point and ended up re-writing the plot to the Lion King. I missed a letter grade because I miss-represented Simba for the name Kimba. Not sure that happened.

 

For the finial I plan on explaining Rene’s position on the whole “God” thing using analogies from Beauty and the Beast.  “No one explains an a-priori argument like Gaston!!” I do however, have no idea about how I am going to write about David Hume. For the last four weeks, when we have been discussing Hume’s argument of God’s inconsistencies in regard to human suffering; I have been just staring at his sassy turban on the textbook cover. No one, living or dead, can argue that we may perceive two events that seem to occur in conjunction, yet there is no way for us to know the nature of their connection in an argument against the concept of causation and do it while rocking a turban like that man.

 

After next Tuesday it will all be over. And, I will be free to enjoy my summer.






* It's like a he-man beer commercial.



Saturday, April 21, 2018

The First Mother

It is tough having your Mother pass-away on the same day as Barbara Bush. 

All media sources seem to have prepopulated new stories about how the life of this wife and mother impacted the country. A loving mother raising children who changed the world. A supportive wife, who stood by her husband for seventy-three years.  All these tributes to the former first lady portray her as a throwback to an earlier and almost genteel era of America. This silver-haired matriarch of a political dynasty. Barbara Bush Who used her rule to enrich the family and country she served. 

Yet, as the warm glow softens the loss felt by the passing of such an impactful mothering presence; you begin to question this loyalty to memory. Was she not the lady that ripped her red AIDS ribbon from her blouse before joining her husband on the podium at the Republican National Convention?  Agreeing, that yes “Barbara Bush was a generous and smart and amazing racist who, along with her husband, raised a war criminal.”*

As the people around me are speaking of the life and legacy of a woman who brought safety, warmth, and enrichment into their lives.  I struggle to not think of the warmongering. I search my mind for any time that is not a war on terror. When my Christian name was not replaced with "that Dirty Democrat." When handing over the book, "Loving Someone Gay" it is tossed into the trash. How do you remember a dedicated racist? A person who used racism as an artist uses paint upon a canvas. The art of racism instilled so deeply in her children, it would take years of new coursework to learn tolerance and compassion?  

I can almost accept that she was a throwback to an earlier and almost genteel era of America. But, it is also the time when the "N" word was used with joyous passion.  I can accept the warm and nostalgic retelling of a life in which the person weaving the narrative had a much different experience to mine. They must have never experienced the warmongering. The removal of the red ribbon. Or, simply, they have and are better at understanding that when an individual dies, you only speak of the good things. 

So, rest in peace. Your legacy is secure. 












* Randa Jarrar