Twenty Thousand Years Later

Okay, maybe it hasn’t been exactly twenty thousand years. Maybe it’s closer to twenty-three years since I revisited this block on Downing Street between Ninth and Tenth.  Still, clearly time has marched forward. Not for the street, but the subject in the photo. 

Biking

I really want to ride my bicycle.


I have this thought every time I pass my well neglected bike, as it sits lonely on the front porch. Don’t get me wrong, I do ride my bike quite a bit. It really is more about going for a ride with someone else.

At one time Denver, CO. had a full page in its gay newspaper dedicated to GLBT social clubs. If you were a transgendered lesbian that enjoyed crock-pot cookery, there was a social club for you. During this heyday of social networking, I believe there were no less than three gay men’s bicycle clubs. One for the guys who thought Kevin Bacon was hot and yearned to race, one for the lovely ladies of transgenderedness, and one for… my style of biking.

My "style" is that I just want to put on some Lycra, my helmet adorned in the same graphics as a 1970’s shag-wagon, and my fingerless gloves to peddle around Cherry Creek. Is that too much to ask?

I guess I need to start networking.

Gym Time

I finally found my "real" gym in the last month. A gym without all the trappings. No cardio queens, no angry Moms pushing past on their way to a "stretch and fit" class. Just hard working dudes pushing plates. The gym didn't even have air-conditioning, it was truly a hard core black iron gym.

This gym is the type of place where I didn't have to hear from the other half that I wasn't stopping to gossip and chat with the muscle queens.

"Joe told me you haven't been talking with him at the gym?" I heard on several occasions. This kind of social hair salon setting made me glad I found a working class, blue collar gym.

With the testosteronieness of this gym, I even rediscovered and found it easily to ramp up my work outs. I wanted to push past my "comfort zone" and perform at the level of the muscle heads flipping tracker tires in the parking lot.

I was feeling pretty damn happy for my self. Well, until yesterday when I read the noticed taped to the front door. The one with the really bad grammar explaining that the gym was either being clothed at the end of the moth, or that it was closing at the end of the month.

I found out the gym was closing.

Bummer. I guess it's back to 24 hour fitness for me. Plenty of time to stop and chit-chat with the gays.

Super Sunday

Just thought I share a Super photo.

Under Where?

As part of my daily work life I have quite a lot of Skype conversations. I went from avoiding the whole “video chat” thing to having this as part of my daily Habitrail. Yesterday was no different, Two Skype calls with clients, and one with based on interviewing someone for a new position.


It seems that I have lost my aversion to video conferencing, and it is as easy as someone coming into my office for a conversation. You talk business, and then chat about your day and the weather. Yesterday, after my interview with the perspective new employee, he mentioned that I must be ready to go to the gym.

“Sure” I stated.

“Well, it seems you’re ready to head out to the gym, your gym bag is at the ready.”

Wondering why he knew about my gym bag, tossed behind my desk, I finally focused on my picture in the video chat window. Yup. There was my bag on the video. Completely open with my Under Armour briefs in full display.

I pretty much displayed my undies to clients all day long.

System of a Down

Everyday I get into my car and plug my iPhone into its swanky console iPod connector. When I do this automatic and mindless task, akin to clicking the coffee pot on as I head out to walk the dog every morning, it is without thought or measure.  When I combine my phone and my car together the same thing happens every time, and has for close to three years.  The hard driven beats of System of a Down (SOAD) start to blare. Loudly. 

I’ve become so familiar with my music beginning automatically that I have a pavlovian response of clicking the satellite radio button and finding something good to entertain me on Sirius radio.  This action happens every time use my car, for three non-stop years. Until, strangely yesterday morning when I clicked my iPhone into its tiny holster, and when the driving guitars and hypnotic vocals of Serj Tankian, the lead singer of this alternative heavy metal band started, my automatic response failed. I sat there listening to this bands proprietary song, as it moved forward I was moved backward.

I received Toxicity, System of a Down’s first major release as a present from my Ex Dalton, right after September 11, 2001.  We took the CD on our first road trip. A black Dodge Ram driving across west Texas in the middle of the night.  Two men hand in hand.  September 11 fresh on our minds. We listened to the album over and over as night covered the Texas landscape. The heat of night trying to force itself into the cab of the truck. We didn’t know our future. We barely knew each other.

We spent a week in Santa Fe. Getting to know each other.

There is no other reason why this album starts when I connect my iPhone other than the first song starting with an “A”

NTSSB.COM

Sometimes I feel downright cleaver. Like when the female Prostitute approached me on the street the other day, my quick response of “Lady I’m wearing a yellow bow-tie! That should signal to you that I’m very gay!” It helped my ego that she looked disappointed. I spent two days feeling quite smug about my quick sarcastic response.


Today I have spent feeling like a dunce. I didn’t handle the emails warning me that my domain name, NTSSB.com was up for renewal very well. I ignored the “This domain name is about to expire” emails because originally it was registered through GoDaddy.com, and sense we all know what a bunch of Douche Bags they are, I didn’t reply. I planned on just transferring to a new company.

I put it off.

The next I did think about it was when Patrick mentioned that my NTSSB site was dead. Well, if he’s upset then I need to act. The last thing I want is for him to pull quarters out of his ass and chucking them at me. Quickly I went to register the precious name, keeping in mind that nicetoseestevieb.com and nicetoseestevieb.blogspot are humming right along… or else you wouldn’t be reading this…

This is about the time I began to learn the shady world of name registering. If you let a domain expire the registrar will then charge you $98 bucks. Just to renew it. I think they call it an idiot tax. The only other choice is to let NTSSB fall from grace and when it comes open to the public I can re-register it for $20 bucks. IF someone else doesn’t do it first; like it’s a big flipping deal.

This is an open apology to anyone who has missed my not-so-subtle sarcastic wit in the last couple weeks due to the NTSSB domain not redirecting to my BlogSpot address. I won’t be spending $98 smackers on redirecting you. But, here’s what you missed.

I ran.

I shopped for a new fridge.

I sat in the grass.

I’m an ENTJ.

It kicks like a sleep twitch.

Mystery Date

I'd like to ask your opinion. I'm torn between the fact that I might be losing my memory, I'm just over worked, or just way too polite for my own good.

Last night I made dinner plans with a friend for next Thursday. I assume it was a friend; although, I haven't a clue who it was. No idea. Now, maybe I should of remembered. Maybe I should of texted, "BTW who the hell is this? Either choice would of been better then re-reading my texts with an "Oh! Crap!" look on my face.

I guess it will be a surprise next Thursday. Like a mystery date!

The Grass is Greener

It’s funny how we can miss out on personal time. That quality “me” time that is so important for staying centered in this world. With priorities and commitments capturing our time, it is hard to unplug.  The simple act of running away, even if it is for just a couple of hours.

This thought struck me yesterday when I started out for a morning run, and couldn’t remember that last time I ran. My knees couldn’t remember either. Like chunks of rust falling off of an unused piece of ancient machinery, my body slowly began to move slowly down the running path. 

With road trips, houseguests, summer events, and the occasional household appliance catastrophe, the time to head over to Cheesmen Park and open up my personal sacred time had been shoved to the side. The funny part was that my body made me completely aware of my lack of running time. Yes, my knees creaked and my ankles burned, yet it was more the non-ability to shut off the business side of my brain. It was somewhere around the two mile mark when I stopped thinking about emails. At mile three I stopped beating myself up for not blogging enough. By mile four was when Steve returned. The Steve that doesn’t have “commitments” or “obligations” but instead enjoys the particular shade of green that the grass in Cheesmen offers.

You might not even really realize that you are not doing the things that make you truly happy. I implore you to stop and ask, “What do I love to do? Why am I not doing it?”