I'll Ink Myself

I’m totally going to get a tattoo. Really.




I said this once to a friend once who quickly rolled their eyes. I was then told that there are three types of people, ones who will never get inked, ones who are addicted to getting tattoos, and ones like me who keep saying that someday they’ll get ink done.



I guess in life everyone has their perpetual to-do list. The list of things we procrastinate about. Mine is a long list that begins with getting a tattoo, stutters around having a torrid affair with an Aspen ski instructor named Luke, whitening my teeth, volunteering at Denver’s GLBT Center, and flashing my dick on that London Eye Millennium Wheel. You know, stuff you would totally do if you just didn’t have to wait for the dishwasher repair technician, or have dinner with one of your less popular relatives.



When the day comes…really sometime soon… I’ll make the appointment and get that tattoo I speak of. I even know what I want, it’s not like I’d spend hours flipping through the photo catalogs just to say “yeah, I want a barbed-wire arm band, but make it unique. Something that represents my soul.” Or maybe some Chinese characters that some said means “Hope” but looks like Combo #2 Beef with Broccoli. Unless I could get 健怡可樂 on my forearm, that would make ordering at my favorite restaurants so much easier.



So, since most people who get tattoos do it just to show off that they’re all deep thinking persons of the universe I guess I’ll do just that. The unutterable name of G-d.



Having to read a lot about the big bearded guy upstairs I kept finding mentions to the power in writing his name in permanent form. The Hebrew translation cannot be written in any permanent form, it is forbidden unless strict rules are to be followed. Thus, it must not be destroyed nor altered but hallowed. Even though it’s acceptable to white the name on a computer, as it is considered non-permanent I hold the concept with so much respect I’d rather link to the page with the name on it. Although when I do finally get around to getting my tattoo there will be a lot of explaining to do during that part of the night out at the bar when guys start comparing ink.



“What is it?” The random guy screams over blaring Beyoncé.



“It’s the Unutterable name of God” I’ll scream.



“Udders of God? If you can’t say it how’d ya tell the guy to ink it?”



Since I’ll get this on my external oblique or Apollo’s belt I slowly lower my shirt. “It’s Hebrew for I think I’m all deep!”

Diner Talk

I sit alone at the counter. I’ve sat alone at this and other counters like it since I was old enough to drive.

For me, this is my most guilty pleasure.

When life becomes too much, or maybe I’m on top of the world I find myself seated at the counter of my local Japanese rice bowl, teriyaki quick dining restaurant. Sitting at the bar I enjoy the ritual of rubbing the frayed wooden chop-sticks. The slowly working my way through a chicken and rice bowl covered to entirely way too much pickled ginger. Doing this somehow puts the magnetic lines of the earth’s axis back into proper alignment.



All my grand decisions about life are plotted and re-plotted out here. My failures dissected and examined for their meaning and direction. My accomplishments are added to the listed Excel spreadsheet in my head. Each column growing slowly with each visit to the counter. Each Chicken teriyaki bowl somehow marks the passing of my life. Upon the passing of my Step-Mother and visiting with my Father in Boise I discovered that the old man did the same thing. Just with pancakes and coffee.



I most certainly don’t need to be alone at the counter to click the beads on the abacus. It just mostly works out that way.

Can’t Stand The Rain

It’s pretty much rained everyday for two weeks now. Around three you can spot the dark clouds roll down the mountains. If your office window faces the great Rocky Mountains like mine does you can watch as the rolling thunder clouds pour over the continental divide like Mount Doom spreading darkness over Mordor.


Yesterday was not different. Beautiful sunny skies helped me with my chores of GRL or gym, run, laundry then the lighting moves in and start the evening cycle. Since this is a daily occurrence you’d think I‘d learn and stay the flack home. But, no this is when I decided that driving around the tiny fictional town I call home would be a great idea.

The thunder and lightning started as I drove down Main Street. The dog, who was more than happy to sit in the passenger seat decided quickly that my lap would protect him from the thundering booms. Hail started to pound the hood of the car as I pulled into the covered parking lot of the local gas station/pizzeria/cell phone/Quinceañera dress shop/stereo/liquor store. The Shar-pei that was more barnacle then dog and I waited out the storm. This is when I saw the sign.

Hot Pizza. It kept flashing on and off right in front of the car. Yes, it would be dinner yet I could utilize it for another purpose. Dislodging the barnacle I dashed in my flip-flops to the store. Then gently strolled back to the car after my purchase of a flat cardboard pizza box umbrella.



The Shar-pei and me in dryer times



The Chinese Shar-pei has been bred over two-thousand years. Part of their breeding resulted in a complete fear of water. You won’t find the waters in the port of Shanghai teaming in feral Shar-pei (s-es-ezeese-ezzzes)



I thought of this only after adorning my pizza hat, grabbing my dogs leash and bolting up the drive way towards the manor house. I quickly was jerked back by a wrinkled boat anchor. This brings us to our protagonist’s final scene. Picture it: Stevie B. running up a wet driveway in flip-flops, a pizza in his head and carrying a thirty-five pound angry Chinese dog.

My life as it has been lived with dignity.

UNDER CINCINNATI

Well the ticket has been purchased. The mid-summer vacation will be the type where you go with your homosex partner to visit their old college town. Visit their old friends, eat at the old haunts and walk the campus again. The entire time with you agreeing, “Yes, this is the best chili ever eaten, No you can’t believe you worked in that random building.” The green lawns I be trudging upon will belong to the University of Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. In Cincinnati. The Cincinnati in Ohio.

The above paragraph may come across as sarcastic yet, I myself have dragged people across cities reminiscing upon the Good ‘ol Days. I once talked a flock of Mos into driving around Stratford High School in Houston, Texas to show the exact spot where fellatio took place between me and the Quarterback. When told that you’re driving next to a park where in 1995 Ty Herndon was arrested for exposing himself to an undercover cop, I understand it would be hard to feign interest.

On this trip there will be a large consumption of Cincinnati Skyline chili and Graeters ice cream. Yet I’ve discovered something that will make me burn off the calories consumed by eating bowl after bowl of chili infused copious amounts of cinnamon, cheese, onions, and spaghetti.

Abandoned subway system.

As you well know I love to dig around abandoned and dangerous urban infrastructure. Cincinnati built a subway in the very early twentieth century then ran out of money to finish the project. My idea of a vacation? Take tours of the abandoned rat infested subway platforms in the Ohio humidity.

I’m one A-list gay.

Other then the big, annual camping trip next week there’s nothing but work for the Old StevieB. Nose to the grindstone work.

THE 5th OF JULY

The Fourth of July weekend always has its own flair to it, a more relaxed summer vibe. The weekend started for me at a long table in a Chinese restaurant as the friends decompressed and set the tone for the upcoming three day weekend.

Saturday began with the ubiquitous trip to Home Depot then over to BFF Carl’s house to help him move furniture around. In the process of changing the living room in to the dining room, Carl likes to sit fifteen down to dinner at a moment’s notice. Before you could say Antique bone china it was time for a night hanging out at a local pub.

A night at the breaded boy bar equals a quiet easy starting Sunday of coffee and potato pancakes. This was followed by Puma and flip-flop shopping. By the time the thermometer reached the high 90s it was time for Beer Bust with the bears.

Yes. That is the BFF Carl in the background. Yes. He is doing that on purpose. No. I have no earthly idea as to why.

The Fourth was marked by the huge annual BBQ at BFF Frank’s house. It was a nice way to relax and enjoy the day as the heat subsided and the massive amounts of food and beer were slowly consumed. I made a couple cherry pies, finally giving up my high pure butter standards I broke down and made the crust with lard. The choice yielded the best crust I’ve ever baked.

Today is back to the spreadsheet game. I did however; go for a long run around our tiny village this morning to help burn off the weekend of over indulgence. Every street corner was littered with the burnt out shells of fireworks and scorch marks from long dead glowing snakes

JULY 4th WEEKEND

The calendar marks this as 4th of July weekend here in the states. This is our independence celebration to commemorate casting off the shackles of our Native American overlords and declared a free nation. True Americans mark this day by making delicious meals of buffalo and corn, not maize and shooting off fireworks to scare the evil Indians back to their palaces in Utah. Sorry, I told myself I wouldn’t cry….

The homosex community celebrates the great battles for independence by stripping down to cargo shorts and flip-flops and drinking a lot of beer. Well, at least I do. And no Mother Earth loving first nationer is going to stop me. On Monday the 4th I’ll attend a BBQ over at a friend’s house. Frank will be grilling pork spare ribs. We’ll sit around just wishing they were buffalo ribs.

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