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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.  

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. 

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. 

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.

Noob

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

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. 

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.