Thank You

Happy New Years Eve! I would like to take a moment before heading out to the New Years Eve celebrations to stop and share something with you.

Thank you for making this year great.

With time being so short this year when it came to blogging, I still don't know how I would of made it through this year if it wasn't for the blog. And you return time and time again to check in with what crazy goo is coming out of my head and on to the computer screen. So, without getting all sappy, thank you. I'd totally give you one of those bro hugs right now.

I hope 2013 is great to you, if not let me know and I'll kick its ass just for you. But, I'm sure it will be great. I soon will be heading out to the New Years Eve celebration with complete optimism.

Enjoy 2013; I’m sure it will be kind to you.

Xmas Recap

How was all y’alls Christmas/Feastiveness? Despite not having vacation time at the new job, mine was pretty damn good. Christmas Eve looked like this…

You’ll notice the gentle ubiquitous and ironic snow falling like a Thomas Kinkade painting. Just less icky. Most importantly Christmas Eve brought this…

An anglophile Christmas pudding. I can still taste the delicious treat with its massive amounts of tasty liquor. Christmas morning brought this….

Incase you are not schooled in the art of identifying Dyson vacuums in the wild, that is a Dyson in the middle of the Xmas explosion.  I also got this…

In case you’re not a raging nerd, this season I’m sporting a Doctor Who scarf. Nerd.

 

Christmas Morn'

Oh, dear God. Make the happiness stop...

Christmas Evie

It's time for our annual Christmas tradition, brought to you by Evie Harris....

I Am Well

I’ve been walking around lately like my modifiers don’t stink.  This is due to receiving my finial grades for my fall semester. Even with my bad habit of skipping out of class early, I continued my 4.0 grade point average. 

My “look at me I’m so smart” education buzz was shattered last night when upon entering a Boulder 7-11 and the clerk asking me how I was doing, I responded, “I’m doing good.” Well! Damn it. I should of said “I’m doing well.”

Regardless of my 4.0, I still (pardon the colloquialism) ain’t good with the concept of Good verses Well. I guess the Spring semester can’t start soon enough. 

Cookies

Today truly is the most wonderful day in the year. AlthoughI am not necessarily saying that Andy Williams should suck my pink steel, forthis reason anyway, I do prefer today over the day that the silver-backed daddybear with the velvet fetish comes down my chimney.*

Today is Christmas cookie baking day!

Picture it. Denver. 1998. A tradition begins when a smallgroup of lifelong friends decide to get together in Frank’s recently remodeledkitchen to bake cookies.  One moveacross country, one kid, husbands, countless hairstyles, and jean sizes we’restill gathering to bake cookies.

During the passing of time I have gone from swimming in 34 size jeans, to squeezinginto 38, then  back to 34’s I still look forward to today every year. 

*So much for this blog post being a warm holiday greeting. 

Man Uggs < Muggs

Three years ago, on Christmas morning, I unwrapped what would be a life-changing present. This amazing gift was from my good friends, Frank and Kevin. Who knew one gift would alter my life in such an amazing and comforting way. Sheepskin fleece lined slippers. Since then I have realized that there comes a time when you decide that comfort just might be more important than style.

Matthew McConaughey
sporting Uggs.  

In the past three years I have purchased dress shoes, five pairs of Pumas, Nikes, and several other running athletic shoes, yet what I ware the majority of the time, is my sheepskin slippers. Sometimes I did receive some gentle teasing for showing up to restaurants, house parties, Opera Colorado, dinner parties, the gym, and pick-a-part junkyards sporting house shoes, but hey; they’re suede leather, that’s fancy.  The only down side to this choice of pro foot comfort - sans style is that I had to resign myself to never achieving status as one of the cool kids. The jocks never sit at the cool-kid table kicking back in sheepskin-lined boots. Or do they…

Just as I had abandoned any hope of being one of the cool kids, I was standing in line at Taco Bell, in my most comfortable footwear, when a local high school gang of hot jock – athletic type dooods came poring into the establishment. I continued to text away waiting for my #7 as I pretended to not notice their tight jeans and clear skin. As I waited for my order, I noticed something… they were all pretty much wearing the same type of kicks.  I would of snapped a picture, but felt it wrong to be the forty year old guy that stands in Taco Bell, taking photos of seventeen year old boys. “No, officer! It’s just for my blog.”

With this level of encouragement, I now have worked up my self-image to publicly say that I am comfortable enough in my masculinity to wear Uggs. Man Uggs. Muggs. I have asked Santa for a pair of Muggs. All the sheepy softness to cradle my feet in a “I stopped caring about fashion, yet I really yearn to be stylish” kind of way. We’ll see if Santa agrees.  

Sleep In

Coal power plants, and most likely you receive your power from a coal supplied power plant... unless you're lucky enough to live in an area with alternative power generation, and of you do great for you. Bully for Bixby. Coal fired power plants can only operate at one level. Fully on.

During the night, this power from the burning of coal is not utilized. As the day starts, the load demand goes up and up into the peak hours of demand. In most areas, the demand goes up and beyond the straight unwavering level and ability for the plant to produce and provide. The power companies, then must switch on line more expensive and dirty power plants.

If we were able to shift a small amount of the demand off of peak demand times, we could utilize the wasted energy produced during the night hours. A small fraction of the population would be needed to change their sleep and work patterns. Move from traditional early morning start times to starting their days in the early afternoon.

I for one, would step up. To help save our resources...and sleep passed noon.

Christmas Adjacent

I attempted to build up some Christmas spirit yesterday by heading to the local Town 'n Country garden center turned tree lot. The place personified Christmas, the hot husbands in their best Carhart buzzed away on chain saws, whilst the sister wives supervised the older children. All were adorned in themed sweatshirts smeared with felt Santas and reindeer made in church crafting circle. I was there not to buy a tree, but to smell the evergreen (which alway makes me hum Barbara Streisand) mountainy scent in an attempt to spark the pilot light of spirit down in my dark cold soul. I'm completely lacking in spirit this season. Completely.

I did, however; get a handmade evergreen wreath for the front door. I decided that commitment to the whole decorating thing was too much, yet a gourmet wreath would be Christmas adjacent. Nothing like a 40 buck circle of tree limbs to mark the season.

As the sixteen year old girl rang up my over priced ring of forest scented loveliness, she asked if I needed my receipt. My response was that I did because I may want to exercise my right of the thirty day return policy and bring back my wreath in January. The stunned silence on the girls face was just enough to launch my weary soul into the feastavice season.

Fa-la-la-la.

Can I Watch TV Now?

Good news everybody. Last night I completed my 30 minute finial presentation on the history of the gays in the U.S. military and the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. I called it "The Menace of Fabulousness" and felt it went well, I did feel like a macropod* with the crazy amount of random facts I pulled out of me during the talk. This is due the small factor that my categorized and color-coded 3x5 index cards were completely safe at home instead of with me in my college lecture hall. Yay.

This presentation was my final for hopefully my last communications class I will EVER need to take. Unless I change my major. Again. This means that after my written final exam on Monday, consisting of 200 words why I believe that Napoleon was a selfish lover, a paragraph on how the Glorious Revolution was neither, and how General Patton was all pownd by the Chinese My mind shall be free.

God! I nearly started to recite the panel 2 quotation on the Jefferson Memorial. That is sooo like me.

I guess what I'm attempting to say is that I desperately need a break. Less Truman Doctrine and more Steve watch TV Doctrine.



*Part of the marsupial family Macropodidae, which includes kangaroos, wallabies, tree-kangaroos, pademelons, and several others.

DATG

Happy DATG! The day after thanksgiving where I get up early and head to the nearest upscale mall to mock shoppers.

I'm not sure when this tradition started, the mall trek to wander aimlessly through shops. Not buying anything important, just to begin the Christmas cult indoctrination.

So, if you get out there you,ll see me, I'll be the one with the 2 gallon Starbucks mug of Egg Nog Latte.

Hair Cut Time

This is how I feel when I get my hair cut...

Bearded Texas Hotness

In my promise of giving you super hot guy photos, I give you an amazing Tumblr link...

http://Westtexaswayfarer.tumblr.com

You know the only thing I love more than Texas is bearded Texans. Mmmmmm... beardy guy with a Texas accent. 

TED Talk

I am completely obsessed with this concept that Dan Pink convenes in this talk.



I know it's pretty dry, I'll find  a photo of a hot guy tomorrow. 

Captain America

As I walked up my front sidewalk last night, I carried my backpack filled with my school books that were as heavy as my head filled with Dayquil and thoughts of the seven more pages needed for my term paper. My head cold had moved into my chest and as my class let out so did my lungs.

As I moved like a zombie up my sidewalk I encountered a ten-year-old Captain America. He had obviously attempted to claim his reward for looking so damn cute by asking for Kit-Kat donations from my front door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have any candy for you this year.” I shrugged my shoulders as the mini-Captain of all that is right in America tilted his head, not buying my story. “See… I had to go to school with a cold… and I have a really hard homework.” Suddenly I started in telling Captain America why I failed to have the proper tariff of candy. “ See… I have really hard homework, and I start a new job on Monday…and...”

Captain America’s Mom, Mom America, was down the sidewalk and didn’t hear me whine about how hard my life seems. Nor did she see what happened next. Captain America reached into his loot bag and pulled out a full sized Snickers bar and handed it to me.  Just like a true hero, he called out “I hope you feel better!” as he ran down the street.

And that’s how Captain America saved my life. 

Here's a Bunny...

I may have gone off on a  Führer fueled tangent yesterday. So, here's a hot guy to make up for that. 

And if you're not into the hot guyness.... Here's a bunny. With a pancake on its head. 

Nazi Rant of the Day

As you may know I have become completely obsessed with Nazis lately. Okay, gay Nazis. Well, Nazis that may or may not be gay and the theories of social ethnic cleansing of a people… and the men who loved them.

Now we know that ethnic cleansing is the widely accepted scholarly term used to describe the systematic and violent removal of undesired ethnic groups from a given group or society. And that the Nazis used massive ass hat social policies that was based on the improvement of their made up “Aryan race” through targeting groups who were deemed “unworthy of life, including homosexuals.

The funny thing, and by “funny” I mean unimaginable, is that gays were the first group to have their rights removed, yet historians seem reluctant to approach the subject and quickly turn to the fate of other minorities in Nazi Germany at the time. Homosexuals were subjected to the first wave of cleansing of Germany, yet you will find very little about this in history books.

What I have found a lot of lately is the massive amount of Allied propaganda that still survives today. This misinformation was based around the fact that the Hitler himself was a huge moe. This propaganda was used in a schoolyard bully way to motivate the U.S. forces in demonizing Hitler.  Which, they didn’t need to do as he was pretty much making his own case of being a horrible monster. This propaganda did; however, begat the “homosexuals are Nazis” and was pretty much the foundation for the books like The Pink Swastika, which right-wing AM radio nut job ass hats use to spread their personal vendetta and hate against Gays and Lesbians. 

Even though Homosexuals were the first group to be hauled off and gassed, not to mention the thousands who were mutilated or dissected in so-called medical experiments by Nazi doctors, who insisted that homosexuality was a disease that could be “cured.” My thought is, if the Nazi Doctors, with out any medical board regulations could not cure homosexuality… well I guess it can’t be cured. And why is it that if gays were the first to die in horrible ways, and used in massive slur campaigns why is it still being then turned around and used to demonize homosexuals. Why don’t historians speak of the sacrifice?

Panda Express

I spent the entire day yesterday writing my term paper. I have entitled it my Mos and po-po paper. Not realizing that I had wasted an entire day sitting at the dinning room table with nothing but the dog staring up at me, around seven p.m. my stomach decided it was time for me to stop clicking away on the keyboard and throw some food in it.

Without considering the social norms of good grooming, I grabbed the Shar-pei and headed out onto the streets for nourishment.  I have a level of guilt for patronizing the new Panda Express fast food chain that has opened up recently. I have always dined at the locally owned and operated Chinese take-away, but after a day of writing in my sweat pants, I feared that Mr. Wok would assume that the zombie apocalypse had begun, and this particular zombie had a taste for Asian brains, and I would be shot in the head. One should not fear being mistaken for a zombie and shot just because one desires chinese food, but one should also take a shower and remove ten hour old Pop-Tart crumbs from one’s beard before heading out into public. So I went to Panda Express. They don’t judge.

As I did my zombie shuffle up to the “Order Here” sign, the guy behind the glass sneeze guard smiled and said “hey, we chatted on Scruff!” peering into his dreamy blue eyes and swimmers build wrapped in a fast food uniform, I recognized him as well. My stomach and other bits growled. I thought, it’s Mr. “watts up” and “your hot.” Pondering his very bad grammar, I quickly thought, who am I to judge the proper use of you’re verses your? This hot twenty-two year old wants to give me his egg rolls. Under the panda embroidered polo shirt is a six-pack that thinks I am hot. I smiled my best “How YOU Doin?” smile and ran my hand over my right pectoris muscle covered by my coffee stained tee shirt.

I then grabbed my to-go bag and retreated out of the restaurant like a defeated Mongol warrior, yet giggling like a Japanese schoolgirl. 

Lawrence S. Kubie can Burn in Hell

I have to read several books in a very short amount of time.Over the weekend, after being disappointed that our local independent GLBTbookstore, The Tattered Cover, was wholly lacking any books on Gay Americansserving in the military, I found what I needed at the local library. 

I grasped my stack of books centered on “Don’t Ask; Don’tTell” and headed for a nice quiet place to read. My gym. Attempting to read thestruggle of Dan Choi, while on a treadmill was problematic at first. Eventually I got into a rhythm and was able to knock out a lot of research. I did notice as I read about the military’s hypocritical and deviant policies towards Gayand Lesbian service members I started to run faster. Soon I was pounding awayon the treadmill belt. During a particular chapter explaining that during WWIIthe US Government had an ad campaign to advertise draft dodgers as weak,less-than-real-men homosexuals, that any man not wanting to serve wasn’t a“real man” and should be mocked. I realized that a part of our societies viewon homosexuals is based on the governments need to recruit soldiers.

Around this realization, I was bucked off my treadmill.

Thankfully the gym was close to empty, so no one noticed. No one noticed me falling from my treadmill and shaking my Tim Gunn fist at the ceiling declaring, “Damn you, Lawrence S. Kubie, M.D. Damn you for characterizingmen who don’t have blood lust and swishy sissies!”

I might be studying too hard. 

Obama. Shante, You Stay

My plan of boycotting the election was working perfectly. Until I saw this...

Nerd Sexuality

Leave it to a nerd with a They Might be Giants poster on his wall to simply explain human sexuality...

http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers?feature=watch http://dftba.com

When Sailors Kiss (NSFW)

Sundays are my homework days. I head to my favorite coffee shop, spread out my books and attempt to write my latest class required essay. For my modern history class I’m writing a paper on homosexual soldiers during World War II. Sunday I started researching my topic. 

As I sat amongst my fellow students, we crowed near the coveted available power outlets to plug in the sea of laptops. I soon blocked out my surroundings and searched through a massive amount of online research databases. After finding an amazing article about wartime homosexuality, I dove into the topic. Soon I heard, “Guuuurl! What you reading?!” It was the front desk gay from my gym. He smiled, and asked again. I quickly explained my research into the military’s screening of inductees during the 1940’s and society’s viewpoints during wartime.  I received a slow nod as he wished me fun with that.

Anonymous photographer, Untitled

image of two uniformed sailors kissing* 

Ten minutes passed before I moved from one column to the other side of the page. That is when I noticed the photo the author was referencing…

Well… I guess I found my visual aide for my class presentation. I will apologize for not blurring the naughty bits, but being unable to find this photo anywhere on the web, I did not want to alter it. I find it incredibility important to preserve it in its original state. I find it romantic and valuable in the topic that is so easily forgotten. That during military service, soldiers fall in love.

*I claim no rights or ownership to this photo. Original photo found: Lee, E. "When Sailors Kiss: Picturing Homosexuality In Post-World War II America." Journal Of American Culture 32.4 (2009): 318-331. and The Kinsey Institute for Research in Sex, Gender, and Reproduction, Bloomington, IN, KI-DC: 44270.

Nerd Boy Problems

Crush Bunny

Crush Bunny tells the tail of going to Germany's Oktoberfest...




Thanks Crush Bunny!

Sigma Alpha Pie

Based mostly on my academic accomplishment and leadership potential, I have been asked to join an exclusive National Society of leadership and success, Sigma Alpha Pi. Based on my totally awesomeness, or as the form letter states, their decision to ask me to join the hallowed ranks of Sigma Alpha Pi was partially based upon my “academic accomplishment and leadership potential.” Whatever the hell that means. I’m sure it just got around campus that I’m just an all around righteous dude. The sportos and motor heads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads… they all adore me. They think I’m a righteous dude.

Or… Maybe it’s the eighty-five dollar registration fee. With the additional forty-five dollar charge to have my name on a wooden plaque. I do get a tee shirt. How cool will I be walking among my school's grass lawns with an eighty-five dollar tee shirt.

Maybe I’ll act like any college student and blow that money on fast food.  

Lose the Suit

I decided recently that spending my life sitting in a cubical under florescent lights hammering away on resumes is not the life I need.  I have been in the boring, yet safe human resources field for twelve years. Change in my life was clearly needed.

Yesterday I had my first interview for an amazing new job. I adorned my “interview suit” and headed to a local health club for a management position. As I sat down in the waiting room I sized up my competition. Clearly I had been in the corporate world a little too long. It quickly dawned on me that of the ten other interviewees; I was the only one in a suit. Being a health club, the standard dress is polo shirts and khakis. Everyone around me, including the staff conducting the meetings, sported athletic wear.  As we began the interview, I was asked why I wanted to leave a comfortable office job for the chaos of a gym. I tap-danced through my beliefs of always wanting a crazy job with the buzz and excitement. The standard questions you give in an interview, the ones I’m usually asking, were easy to answer. It’s funny and very true that the hardest person to interview is someone who has worked in hiring and recruiting.

Sitting in the Manager’s office in my imported power tie, and after I unintentionally corrected the interviewer’s knowledge of labor law, we both attempted to see if I was not a square peg being forced into a round hole. She asked about my passion for the fitness industry. I did my best to explain that I’m really just a gym guy.  I truly live in gym shorts and tee shirts and I’m most happy out on my bike or at the gym. At the end of the interview I had the overwhelming urge to rip off my tie and shirt and show my hole filled undershirt.

The lesson I learned is to dress the part. Dress for the job you want.

We will see if I get a call back. 

Glory is fleeting, but Obscurity is Forever

Sitting at my dinning room table this morning, I attempted to write an introduction to my latest paper on why Napoleon Bonaparte was able to rise to power. It didn’t go very well. This stems from not having a single shred of interest in Napoleon, even if he is regarded as one of the greatest military commanders of all time.

So far I had only written several jokes about Mr. Bonaparte driving a Chevy Corsica. This led to three paragraphs in regard to how American car manufacturers take “far-off” exotic names and badge their badly made vehicles. “Oh, I drive a Chevrolet Corsica! Every time I drive my Corsica I feel like I am in the birthplace of Napoleon, the French island in the Mediterranean Sea. Feel the breeze. The air. The total disregard to civil liberties.”

I’m quite sure my Western Civilization Professor would not appreciate a six page paper on how the Monte Carlo, Malibu, or my favorite, the Buick Lucerne received its badges. She wont care that the Lucerne was named either from a town in Colorado, a brand of cottage cheese at Safeway, or the name of fourth largest lake in Switzerland.

Although since we know that in 1798, Switzerland was completely overrun by the Napoleonic French and became the Helvetic Republic (where they invented the font), I could work that car’s name into my report. My report will be, Napoleon: Greatest Military Commander of all Time, as he is commemorated in The American Auto Industry.

Did Napoleon ever make it to Grenada?

Good Eats

It must be the cooler temperatures, it seemed that everyone I know wanted to have people over this weekend. This patio lust was brought on by amazingly perfect weather and the thought that it won’t last long. 

On Sunday morning I still felt the over-indulgence from two separate parties on the day before. Grilled steaks and the last of friend’s garden harvest, prepared to perfection, enticed me to stay at the coffee shop and not head out for my much-needed run around the park. Slowly, I made my way to the park to run, so happy that I was burning away such great meals. 

Site of The Week

REMEMBRANCE OF TEAMS PAST

Check out the site...

http://publicdomainreview.org/2012/08/08/remembrance-of-teams-past/

Nerdiness: Check

How was your American Labor Day? Mine was spent ignoring a school assignment of reading a book and watching an assigned documentary on the American Revolution. Well, that and listening to my Mother make long, drawn-out diatribes about Mittens Romney being elected as America’s next ruler, and ushering in a new era or Mormon dominionism.


Last night I walked into my Western Civilization class to a fifty question test. On the American Revolution, not Mormon dominionism. Trust. I’ve had all the education I need on the spirit of Joseph “F-ing” Smith ushering into the White House.

The fifty questions in regard to the U.S. forefathers took a “why” instead of a “how” context. Without giving this assignment a single thought, I had to pull every fact from deep in my tiny brain. Seeing as my tiny brain had more important things to mull over; such as, was every Dalek really in the season opener to Doctor Who? And, was that really the new companion playing the part of Carmen? As these questions held the hexarchy of my thoughts, the name of George Washington’s big brother’s trading company was nowhere near the top.

I guess I did know the name of the trading company that set off the French/Indian war. I only missed one question. Yay! Let’s hear it for utter nerdiness. I, of course, ignored the comment from my fellow student when he inquired if I had “first-hand knowledge” of the founding of our country, as he is a hockey player that shies away from underpants.

So, if you ever need information on why the British and French used the Native Americans for their top hat lust, I’m apparently your guy. If you need to know why Mittens Romney will prepare us to meet Mormon Jesus, or why the Bronze Daleks are so high up on the Dalek hierarchy. Just shout. This, of course, cements into place my utter nerdiness, leaving all hope of me as cool dead outside of a crashed space cruiser.

Back to School

Just to make sure I know that summer is officially over; fall semester has started at College. The first day was true to form, our wolf mascots was running around the hall like the star of a Furries convention. Fellow classmates, less than half my age, wondered around wearing ironically ‘80s outfits. I snickered at the Dudes sporting the neon high tops and graphic -insert generic band here – tee shirts. I did it when it wasn’t ironic.


This semester has me in more history classes, as I’m now a “History Education Major” it’s not a surprise. In keeping with my history major, yesterday found me at my old study place, the Coffee Shop on 9th Avenue. On my first day of class it was decided we would write a five page paper on some part of western civilization in the eighteen-hundreds. Because I’m an idiot, I blurted out; “The Treaty of Utrecht” not knowing anything about this topic other than it was printed on the poster behind my Professor’s head.

Sunday, I found out how incredibly dull this time in history truly was. I’ll spare you the details. Unless they make a movie staring Channing Tatum as Louis XIV of France, and a shirtless Zachary Quinto as the King of Portugal you don’t need to know anything other than, France got some ass kicked. I got my paper done for class, which is all that matters. This was done only by imagining Channing Tatum giving up his power to Zachary Quinto.

I Need a Hero

When I stumbled across this photo I suddlenly stated to sing a Bonnie Tyler song..... 

I wonder why?

http://englishrussia.com/2012/08/16/one-of-the-most-weird-muscovites

Quote

Quote for today:

Never dwell on what you have lost, only on what you have left. Count your blessings. You'll always find plenty. Your most prized possessions are your unexpired years.

-
Author Unknown

Cool

I had a very odd sensation as I walked from my front door to my car. Like something was wrong, not necessarily wrong, just unusual. There wasn’t sweat rolling down from my tightly buttoned shirt collar. It was actually cool outside. A nice light morning breeze drifted and lifted my tie over my shoulder.


Is it time already? Time for the heavy drapery of oppressive heat to break and the mornings and evenings to become cool? I guess it is mid-August, I wonder if my windows still operate? I have been living in a bubble of A/C for so long I am excited about leaving the window open at night.

The Day After

I will not go into a post-Olympic downer. Nope, not me. Not like every time since my first Olympics I became obsessed with back in 1984.

For weeks after the 1984 games ended I moped around the house with nothing to watch on TV, and nothing to dream about.  I spent the entire remaining summer, after the closing ceremonies, begging my Mom to let me try out for my Junior High’s Track and Field team the next school year. I knew that since we lived so far out in the country there wouldn’t be a way for me to get home when the after school practices were done. And no way I could make it to the meets. 

Every four years I become obsessed with the games and attempt to watch every televised event. I watch the Badminton, Lesbian Kayaking, and the even the hours of team Volleyball. I memorize as many athlete’s names as I can. I try to get their entire back-story, and find them on Twitter.  I quiz myself on the number of points each athlete needs to reach the qualifying rounds. I feel what they feel when they don’t win. I cheer when they do win.

For seventeen days I’m the biggest sports fan there is, then it is over.  To quote Michael Phelps, quoting Dr. Seuss, “Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.

Olympics or Porn?

Olympics or Porn?

Olympics or Porn? Day 3

Olympics or Porn? Day 2

14 Days of Summer

Yesterday morning I was in the middle of my run, suddenly a perplexing question came into my head.  When does the fall semester for my school start again?

Class start on the 20^th of this month. That’s only two weeks away. Suddenly, it dawned on me that my summer is over in two weeks. But…but… what happened to my road trip to Devil’s Tower?  Camping?  Lazy evenings spent on the front porch sipping Stella? Now it’s a mere 14 days until I have to step back into a classroom. 

Although, I am one of those nerds that actually like school, and my fall classes are centered on the building of Western Civilization. And, since I’m such an Anglophile, I can’t wait to start class.  The fall semester still just seemed to come out of the blue days of summer.

Summer over, Man! 14 days to drink Stella whilst driving to Devil’s Tower. 

Olympics or Porn?

Mmmmmmichael Phelps.

Benjamin Disraeli is on Google +

“Action not always brings happiness; but there is no happiness without action.”

-Benjamin Disraeli.

This is my quote for the day. Earlier in the week I was discussing my blog with my boss, this is when she mentioned that I should write for the company’s blog site. My response, “I write; I never said I was any good.” Fell upon deaf ears.

Now I’m blogging on a weekly basis and getting paid to do so. Since I accepted my Directorship at a private school, I guess I need to learn to blog as an adult. Yet, since my personal blogging has suffered a tad, maybe this will energize my creative flow….

My first topic:

What’s the deal with that Google +? It’s like hello! Where is everybody?

I kid. Google + you’re all-right. Although, maybe I could stop with the quoting of British Prime Ministers.

Apples to Apples

When we stepped across the threshold of the Moroccan Bazaar that is the Apple store I could hear the moan come from Fuzzy.  I was determined to finally go for the thirteen inches I so desperately want before school starts again in the fall. Fuzzy, my homosexual lifetime companion partner was tired of his thirteen and wanted to finally move up to fifteen inches.

Remember when the Apple store was an all white, quiet sanctuary, not unlike the world of Logan’s Run?

Now the store is more like the original Star Trek…

With all the choices and options it soon became too much for the Fuzz man. He began looking towards that door and the safety of the Cinnabon counter. That’s when, after a Red Shirt asked if we were the ones asking for an Apple Specialist that spoke Espanol, it dawned on me that we needed an Apple crewmember that spoke Loud Italian/IML Finalist. An individual that could relate.

This is when, no doubt smelling the fear of solid-state fused hard drives, our specialist found us. Manson.  Finally a Mac Specialist that spoke gay.  A smartly dressed lesbian, that quickly explained to Fuzzy that he could pop all his favorite X-tube vids onto the bedroom TV. 

If it were not for Mason, I’d be the proud owner of Microsoft Office for Apple. Thinking I needed the program for my school papers, Mason explained that Apple has thought of this and made Import/Export options for it word editor.

As Fuzzy and I sat later at Cinnabon, I thought again about the experience with our sales-lesbian.  If you have questions, find the right person, the right person that also understands you. 

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?”