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YOLO

I spent my day yesterday doing homework at the local gay coffee shop. After the coffee had gone through me, I headed to the bathroom. Upon my entrance to the Men’s room I immediately noticed the newest addition to the men’s room decor. Someone had taken time and effort to scratch YOLO into the stainless steel towel holder. 

So, you believe in the mantra of “You Only Live Once.” The concept that we have a choice of living life to its absolute fullest, seize the day, and do what makes you happy. Maybe you are picking up Henry Fonda’s vibe from the1937 crime drama that shares the same name, You Only Live Once. Henry Fonda busts out of jail in this classic after gunning down a prison chaplain. All for the love of Sylvia Sidney. Maybe this film noir, along with the hipster, Jersey Shore urban, modern take of controlling your own destiny drove you to use, no doubt, your laundry room key to scrape this well versed acronym into a gay coffee shop’s towel dispenser?

May I offer a bit of advice? There are a million stellar sights and experiences to behold in this amazing world. Biking trails in the Rocky Mountains, so amazingly beautiful they bring tears to one’s eyes. Discovering and unavailing unconditional love from another person. The pride and inner-strength of standing up for your integrity and morals in this corrupt society. I can not begin to see the edge of possibility in life. No one can. That is why it is so amazing. And some modern philosophers believe you only have one chance at it.  

No one has ever, nor shall anyone be able, to unravel the mysteries of life. So, yes you only live once, or YOLO. As individuals begin to explore the advancements and developments in their place in this finite life, great adventures take place. Go! Take it, Seize it!  You do only live once. And, in my opinion, that life should not be about defacing a f%$#king Dazbog paper towel dispenser. Ya’ nit-wit. 

Terminal Term paper

So the term paper craziness has started again.

Last night, instead of joining my circle of friends for our weekly Friday night dinner out at a new restaurant, I ate Chinese take-out like Cliff Barns. I sat in bed with the dog and the MacBook, attempting to write a summary for "White Male Privilege" and their admirers. 

I'm finding that my seething hatred for old white straight men is clouding my writing ability. If I read one more fact about this demographic not aware they have a advantage, one more account of a Caucasian male not understanding why minorities are "all angry" about equality, I'm going to lose it. 

I really need to unplug for this one. This is why I hate Sociology, give me a ten page paper on Ancient Greek funeral rites and I'm good. Make me think about how the modern world sucks, and I'll want to jab a hot Chinese potsticker in my eye. 

Panda Face

How To Tell Someone They Sound Racist

Alice isn't a Cougar

When you're in a relationship long enough, you find yourself in the strangest arguments. Coming home from a Pyrex themed pot-luck, the other half and I began to disagree on a matter of the utmost importance. 

What car did Alice drive in the opening credits of the television show Alice? I stood my ground in my belief that Alice drove a Mercury Cougar wagon. My childhood memory was clear and unwavering.  Turns out, I was wrong. If I was wrong about this... what else have I been wrong about? My whole life is a lie. 

Turns out it was a Ford County Squire. Damn it. 

No Selfie Control

I’ll admit it. I have no selfie control. This year the term selfie was added to the Oxford Dictionaries* online site where it is defined as "a photograph that one has taken of oneself, typically one taken with a smartphone or webcam and uploaded to a social media website."* Something that gay men, and fifteen year old girls, have been doing since cameras were invented. 

If there is an empty room, with a mirror of relative cleanliness, I’m gonna start pumping my biceps to snap a picture. Patrick, of http://pacspad.blogspot.com fame and I have a text history that is a jumble of self-archetyped, self clicked modern kodachromes. followed, typically by “yeah, wear that shirt...” 

Typical "I just ate nachos,
look at my belly"
gas station selfie.

Yet even with my endless bathroom self-aggrandizing turned vaingloriousness, I have one rule... check out what is around me in the room. One slip-up and a snapshot in someones bathroom will lead to years of the image having a huge red circle pointing out the rubber fist that blended so well with the decorative soaps above the commode. 

That is why I was puzzled by a post on OMG Blog. Former One Life to Live actor, and openly gay, Scott Evans has the same fondness for selfies.  The photos do reveal all, so don't follow the link if you are at work. OMG Blog.  Yes, he’s hot, but my first impressions was on how filthy his bathroom was. He couldn’t kick the gym shorts behind the door? really?

I always take windex to the shiny surfaces before I snap. 

The Histories... of Dynasty

The Histories has probably never been compared to the TV Series, Dynasty. Until now.  Herodotus was the Aaron Spelling of classical Greece. He, Herodotus, wrote the now considered founding work of history in Western literature.  This page turner recorded the ancient tradition, politics, geography, and wars happening around the Mediterranean around the 450s BCE. Just as Dynasty recorded the 1980’s America for generations to come. To put it simply, Herodotus invented history. Well, the recording of it. 

Based in Denver, Colorado Dynasty painted a realistic picture of how Denverites lived and played. Herodotus traveled around the known ancient world, and collected stories from these travels. He portrayed the conflict between the Persians, and the confederacy of Greek city-states. This text is this the only account on how Egyptians lived. 

Why, you ask am I comparing the Father of History to Dynasty?

Well, Herodotus wrote dramatic accounts of pitched battles, about Xerxes, the Persian “King of Kings", once absolute ruler of the greatest empire on Earth.  See? Just like the powerful oil tycoon Blake Carrington. 

I have decided to read Herodotus’ The Histories, all 700 million pages of it. I’m attempting to make it “fun” by comparing it to the Carrington’s epic battle against government oil regulation and other independent oil companies.  Yes, there is a nerd crush I have on Tom Holland, the new translator of Herodotus’s accounts of Greek and Persian battles. That’s just a small adorable part of it. 

I will keep you informed to my progress as I dive into this endeavor. We will learn together about the cradle of western culture. And the Carringtons. 

Plumbing

“It is time to buy a new house.” Was declared to me several weeks back. Apparently the sink in the master bath had finally clogged from the beard trimming and "Just For Menning.  This was followed by weeks of playing the “who’s going to fix it” game. That tedious dance where one of us needed to take the initiative and fix the sink. Also several weeks of using the hall bathroom to brush teeth. I found it easy to begin my teeth cleaning process by loading my toothbrush, then making a dash for the hall bathroom to complete my chore. That, or brush my teeth in the shower. Which reminds me....

Do you find it weird to brush your teeth in the shower? I only ask because upon mentioning my sink repair procrastination and shower brushing to a fellow blogger, they felt it was equal to licking cats. 

How Clean is Your Lube?

Today was the day. The sink would yield to my manly, magnificent power. I had to start by digging out all the items that found their home under the bath cabinet. I made a note, when we do buy a house, only pedestal sinks. As I discovered a third container of J-Lube from antiquity, I thought of a new British television show. “What’s all this, then...” Two nicely dressed grandmotherly Brits will come to your house and sort out all your lubes and... bedroom aids. They will be overly sweet as they reorganize your porn DVDs and recycling some, inventory all your lubes and check for quality and safety, and ensure all your “devices” are sanitary. 

In ten minutes the sink clog was cleared. I then spent an hour organizing the endless amount of supplies I have collected over the years. Guess I used elbow grease to finally find my tub of Elbow Grease. 

Barilla is Al Donte

It's funny, the whole Barilla pasta CEO stating the he believes in "traditional families" and that homosexuals should eat another brand. It's not the ignorance of a corporation shoving customers away, it's the barking conservatives stating that the  GLBT "activists" are attempting to hijack Barilla for the furthering of some sort of minority cause. 

I choose where I spend my money. I do my research on corporations, and decide what brands I will support. I'm not alone. Most people I know, make informed choices. The  credit card I've chosen gives money to the HRC, the place I buy my groceries extends domestic partner benefits.  It is very easy to find out if the company you're giving money too is onboard and in line with your morals and standards.

Shark Boy http://sharkboy.ca 
fingers pasta

Barilla just did our work for us. The CEO invited anyone who believes in equality to give money to another brand. So, I find it hysterical that conservatives are trying their best to turn hate and prejudice around and blame the supporters of equality. As if standing up and declaring that we say "no" to hate is an agenda. We are simply taking Barilla pasta empires CEO, Guido Barilla's invitation. I will buy another brand of pasta.  

Do You Feel Old?

14 Music Facts That Will Make You Feel Old

Coffee Talk

As I finish my homework at the dinning room table today, I am experiencing two separate things. The strange sensation that only comes from seven shots of anesthesia on the right side of my face, and the complete excitement that only comes from waiting for a UPS delivery. 

This morning I had a periodontal therapy known as root planing. This is a process of removing etiologic agents, dental plaque, via the use of a massive, rusty, dagger-sharp hook known as a scaler. The pointy dagger is jammed into your gumline until the Dentist hears the ping of metal hitting the jaw bone, then it is dragged it up the tooth to collect barnacles. The oral biofouling is slowly chipped away. To deaden the urge to scream, the Dentist shoots your mouth full of anesthesia using a long needle. My face is now sliding down into a Droopy the Dog pose.

 That is not why I’m excited today. 

I finally got around to buying the one cup phenomenon known as the Keurig coffee maker.  I have been checking these coffee makers out for quite a while now. The way they brew coffee, one cup at a time, being able to switch  to different styles of coffee, and darkness of roasts seemed to match me. It’s just like my past dating life. The only thing that stopped me was the tiny cups it brewed. I’m sorry, I’m a

growing boy, I need more than 8oz. of coffee in the morning. Well..... I guess the Massachusetts boys over at Keurig finally got the idea, or maybe the name “Keurig” meaning excellence in Dutch prompted them, either way, they made a maker that brews more, hotter, and stronger. 

So, here I sit. Waiting for the UPS delivery driver to ring the bell and hand me my new happiness machine. He shall be greeted by a drooling, under-caffeinated idiot.  

Booked

I did it. I finally did it. 

I guess I wouldn't make a very good world traveller. Me, jet-setting off to all the global gay hot spots. Like haut and cold running circuit parties. Other than not being twenty five and having a cocaine habit, I am the worst procrastinator when it comes to booking air travel. I like to finalize a vacation, hop on-line to check out the travel sites, then wait a month, or two until the prices go up sixty to seventy bucks.* Why pay the cheapest fair when I can wait and pay more money? 

I finally did it. I booked my ticket to fly to Florida for the Big Gay Cruise in February. It’s a nice feeling to have it done, and that I didn’t pay too little for it. 

Since we’re flying out several days early, now I have to find a fun Bed & Breakfast in Miami or Fort Lauderdale. One that has a pool and is clothing optional. Please write in if you have any suggestions. I’ll wait until January to book the room. I have plenty of time. 

If you would like to join Patrick, me, and 4,000 of our closest friends on the boat, check out RSVP's site. Here. 

*Yes, I am aware of the “return site visitor price hike” I do clear my cookies. 

Death By Tupperware's 9x13 Cake Taker

“We have have rats in the cellar.” I announced.
“Uh... we don’t have a basement” was the response I received, as the other half calmly explained the construction of the house, not looking up to see my best Betty Davis face. 
“Okay, we have mice in the kitchen.... and I want acknowledgment for my campness..."

That was over two months ago. After a long contract with an exterminator, and me bleaching every surface time and time again, we still have rats in the cellar. Well, they’re actually cute tiny mices. They only come around when I’m doing homework at the dinning room table. After an hour of sitting quietly, they start to scamper around the kitchen. They don’t really DO anything, just scamper and leave droppings for me to bleach. Leave it to me to have the most boring mice, yet I’m not sure what mice are legally obligated to do. Their job pretty much is to just scamper around in your peripheral vision. Like twinks at a dance bar. 

This morning I sat down to write a paper for Sociology class when I distinctly saw a bit of brown fluff fly into the pantry. “Ah-Ha, you think you can out smart me!?” I said in my best Inspector Jacques Clouseau voice. As I opened the pantry door, there was my little friend, trying his best to look like a piece of fluff. Like twinks at a dance bar. I reached for the first thing I thought of when one wants to catch a mouse. My Tupperware 9x13 cake taker. In yellow. I slowly undid the cover and held the lid of my fabulous Tupperware product as I peered into the darkness that is the lower shelves of my pantry. A loud shake to the turkey roaster and the game was afoot. The tiny mouse ran out of the pantry and I slammed down the lid of of the cake taker. The furry beasty was trapped under the translucent lid. Trapped as my prisoner. 

“What the hell do I do now?” I asked the dog, who had just peeked his head around the corner to see what the hell what the noise was all about. The dog looked at me, then the cute fur ball in my Tupperware prison. “Beats me, they scare the hell out of me” was the look I got from the fierce Chinese fighting dog. Do I just kill it? In my Tupperware?  Well, they are air tight... No. By the time I concocted a plan I glanced down to find my plastic prison was empty. 

“Run little guy--run free, but tell your friends of what you saw here today. Tell them the story of your capture. Your torment. This kitchen is defended!”

The exterminators are scheduled for Friday. 

Not-So Muscle Bear

There is something horrible wrong with Google. For some idiotic reason, when you Google "Gay Muscle Bear" you get the following results....

A nice sampling of smoking hot muscle. Until you get to a photo of some idiot holding a toilet seat cover up to his head. What the hell is that doing on a page of muscled up fur beasts?? I believed it was some how linked to my 2009 post, read here. Most likely is comes from that smokin' hot Aussie, Kez's blog. 

Either way, it's an embarrassment to all gay muscle bears. And I apologize. 

Labor Day

The Labor Day weekend was just the kick off to my "Late Summer Staycation." For me this is a quiet time to enjoy the ending of the crazy summer and welcome the fall season. This breather seemed to be the only time I could crank up the tunes and strip down to running shorts to give a well-deserved hand wax to the car in the local gay park. Truly a great way to meet people.

Labor Day found me relaxing with friends having a barbecue; it was just a  cat dangling afternoon....

After the symbolism of Labor Day betokening the end of summer, my mind too thought of fall. Well, new athletic shoes for fall. Mostly because everything makes be think of new athletic shoes. This prompted me to finally organize my obsession. So I went to the Homo Depot and bought a cart of this...

I then, turned it into this..

It's been a pretty great week off. As my home projects are done; today I'm off to the mall. The reorganizing of my running shoes gave me room to buy a couple more pair.

Nuts for Nuts

When I like something, I sometimes go over-board. Lately it has been sweet and salty nut bars. Can't frickin' get enough. 

Hiking With Lincoln

I have the next six days off. I'm thinking it's time for an old fashioned American Labor Day road trip. Nothing to far away, as I also have grown up responsibilities to finally tackle. Like, having the Homo Depot come to the house for a estimate on new carpet, and re-doing my sadly overwhelmed shoe shelves on my side of the closet. In between all items on the "honey do" turned "do it or die"  list, I'll still have time to strap the ol' bike to the car and head up into the mountains. 

The one hike I did years ago, and  have been wanting to go back every year is up to Marble, Colorado.  A picture-perfect historic mining town with a massive marble quarry burrowed deep into the Rocky Mountains. The marble of the quarry is considered to be of exceptional quality and has been used for the Tomb of the Unknowns, as well as for parts of the Lincoln Memorial. As you hike to the mouth of the quarry you begin to notice that you are hiking past replacement parts for the Lincoln Memorial. Huge slabs of stone carved into the columns surrounding Lincoln.  It's mind blowing if you can catch your breath and think about it. 

What a perfect way to avoid adult responsibilities. I think I'll stop blogging now and go for a hike.

    

Denver Modernism Show

This last weekend I was on assignment for the Mile High Gay Guy blog. It was an easy mission, explore the Denver Modernism ShowThis last weekend I was on assignment for the Mile High Gay Guy blog. It was an easy mission, explore the Denver Modernism Show held every August at the odoriferous National Western Stock Show and fairgrounds, and file a report. My attendance was really a given because my homo-sex-companion-partner had entered his classic car into the “Motorama Car Show, and I personally look forward to this annual "mid-century" trade show. 

This year again did not disappoint. Booths filled with mod kitchen appliances, vintage clothes, and 50's inspired hip artists filled the convention center. Our large group quickly splintered as dresses were tried on, mixing bowls tracked down, and me... well... I went straight for the food booths. 

After sixteen bucks of pizza, I began my mission. Find something, totally cool to blog about, and the mid-century hipsters didn't disappoint. I stumbled upon classic radios modified to play your iPod. 

Any one of these radios would be a great addition to any retro loving nerds Christmas list.  These amazingly works of kinetic art were a show stopper for me. The link to buy one of these from PALETTE Contemporary Art & Craft is below. Please Check out their complete listing of modified radios. 

Oh, and our car didn’t win a prize in the car show. Even after Mondo Guerra rubbed his boney ass against the paint job. There is always next year.  

PALETTE Contemporary

Parking Lot

Sitting in the gym's parking lot, I had an amazing view of Boulder's Flatirons. The Flatirons are a row of jagged rock outcroppings in the foothills above this picturesque town. They are so beautiful it persuaded the first settlers to give up their trek farther west and settle down in the fertile valley that became Boulder. 

As I gazed at this majestic view, in my peripheral vision came a business man, dry cleaning in hand, crossing the expanse of parking lot. He didn't make an impact on me until he attempted to open the back door of his Lexus RX300 SUV. He quickly became exasperated that the door would not cooperate with him and open. His loud profanity broke the spell the mountain range held over me. He flung his dry cleaning wildly as he did that dorky straight guy angry dance. Mr. Business soon realized that the ubiquitous beige SUV that he was pounding on was not his, that his was right next to it. Happy with his Alexander Fleming like discovery he marched over to the other beige Lexus. At this point he had clicked his remote around eight-hundred times. Anyone within a mile could have seen that his uninspired SUV was on the next row, flashing away. I guess three people fell under Lexus’ fake luxury spell. 

I thought about getting out of my car and explaining that the second car he was about to assault was also not his. I stopped myself because I realized that this was his lesson for buying such an overly produce, lame, overly-hyped vehicle. The FlowBee of the SUV world. Instead, I watched the dance happen over again before he looked up to see the flashing headlights of his version of the brown box flash at him. 

I thought this event was a perfect analogy for  my work week. Me attempting to force open locked doors, jumping up and down to convince the doors to open, before raising my head up and finding the correct door that would open. 

I stopped staring at the mountains and went inside the gym to work out. 

Nice class, Bro

Summer of 2013. The summer of the ironically horizontal "bro striped" tank-top.  Although I loved the summer of 2013, and mocking the boys in their over-sized tank-tops, tomorrow, summer ends. Well, for me anyway. 

Tomorrow is the first day of my fall semester of school. Yes, it's back to school time for your little StevieB. Jeepers, where did the time go? It seemed just  like yesterday I was endlessly whining about how much I wanted my Spring semester to be over, and now school is starting again. 

I do have to warn you. I am taking a psychology AND a sociology class this semester. I warn you of this because I'm sure my blogging will take on a "college student taking a psychology class vibe." You have been warned. I'll apologize now. 

The reason I'm taking these two classes is completely due to the university canceling my super-cool, I-was-totally-looking-forward-to-taking history class with my favorite professor. Then the school called and said, "no one else wants to take that lame class and learn about the Seven Years War." So they cancelled it. Jerks.  How will I get all of my useless trivia about Anglo-French rivalries now? On the streets?! 

I'll attempt to move past this, somehow. If you need me, I'll be in class. Learning psychology stuff. In my tank-top. 

Kum & Go

This is the summer of my work day starting at five in the morning. I chose this schedule to get to work before all of my coworkers, in hopes to complete my daily tasks long before anyone else arrives. Also, I have really enjoyed getting to the gym in the early afternoon, instead of right at five o’ clock with the masses. 

I have to say, I really am enjoying this plan. Even if it means getting up at three o’clock and leaving the house just as my neighbors are walking up the sidewalk after a night out. The part of this plan I didn't account for was going to bed before it was dark out. So, really it's the summer of sleeping five hours a night.

Leaving the house before four gets me to my local gas station, the Kum & Go, just in time for all the predawn drama. Who knew a simple stop for coffee would include the involvement of small town theatrics the likes not seen since that Shakespeare bloke. 

The epic I'm referencing begins as I pull up to the front of the huge Kum & Go sign. This is when the curtain is raised on the same frumpy Hispanic woman, with two kids clutching onto her, searching through the movies on the Red Box machine. She may not have a face as she is always pressed against the ATM style movie renting box. I always say “Good Morning” to her terrified brood wondering who rents movies at four A.M. I never spend much time on this character, as I am always pulled to the story of the female cashier and her two boyfriends. 

Most days, the Ingenue is sitting cross-legged on the hood of her 1984 Oldsmobile, Cutlass Calais. I always marvel at its showroom condition. For her to be sitting on the hood. She daintily takes a drag from her cigarette as her multiple suitors attempt to woo her with their charm. As every day I pass by this story, and have learned that her husband is “away” for ten years, I have named her Penelope. Last week, I heard one of the suitors says, “you gots beautiful eyes...” Penelope, having heard all this before cut him off with, “I don’t want fake bullshit!” That Odysseus is one lucky man. 

This gas station inexplicably is also a staging point for every Chrysler/Dodge test fleet on their way to do a battle of high altitude mountain driving. With my coffee in hand, it’s not unusual to come out of the store to find a sea of Fiats, 300s, Darts, or even mystery vehicle dressed up in disguise in an attempt to hide new body designs. The technicians and fleet coordinators line up the cars like a platoon to be fueled. I stop and attempt to guess the newest changes to the car under all the cleverly layered bits of plastic. We’ll see in fall, when the new models are unveiled if I was correct. 

I love my daily personal ritual at the Kum & Go. I enjoy seeing the same characters playing their roles over and over. It begins my day, ready for whatever it may bring. 

Friday; however, was completely different. A cold and foggy morning, I pulled in the parking lot to find it abandoned. No renting of movies, no Dodge technicians, the hood of the Cutlass was cold and empty. As I moved from the cold dark, into the warm glow of the fluorescent lighting I spotted Penelope. Alone in the corner making egg sandwiches. No customary “Good morning!’ Just a glance up as I approached the coffee machine. As I met her at the cash register, and her ripping off of plastic food-handling gloves, I noticed she was sporting a Doctor Who themed hoodie.

“I like your hoodie” I cheerfully said. 
Silence. I swiped my card.
“You want cash back?” She said more to the front window than to me.
“No.” I said. Averting my gaze to my styrofoam cup. We finished by Penelope turning on her heels and returning to her work. I sipped my coffee as I slipped into the predawn foggy darkness. 

Other posts about the Kum & Go:
Soundwave 
Panic
Even with a Baby

Vacuuming Cat Shark!

When I first saw this video, I immediately thought that Patrick probably has done this ages ago...

Sky Fall

I have been lucky enough to see some amazing skies here in Colorado lately. 

The open space offers great view of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. 

 

Inspired Alignment

My dear friend, Tamlyn, has a Facebook group page called “Inspired Alignment.” This group is designed to deliver inspirational messages, and to engage participation around a daily topic.  Tamlyn encourages anyone who wants to share, to write about what they feel helps them live an authentic life. Normally I would steer far away from this type of “Woo-woo” touchy-feely stuff as it normally seems like a bunch of malarky. Yet the philosophy of this Facebook page is to simply share what works for individuals, in hope that it may help others. 

So what do I believe?  

I believe in growth, physical growth. After the work day is over, and I leave the office, the opportunity to grow as an individual presents itself as a choice.  Upon heading to my car, I have a daily decision to make. I can head home to raid the refrigerator and plop down on the sofa, I can head to my favorite fast-food place for my favorite burger, or I can take a small amount of my day and head to the gym. Even at forty, I still have this power that manifests itself as a lazy, self-defeating voice that thinks that heading home is the better choice. That a stop off at my favorite fast-food joint will be much more gratifying. As fast food equals happiness. This is when I say “NO” to that voice and head to the gym.

Why is the fear of succeeding so strong inside of us?  The fear of happiness. The fear of success. The fear that the other people working out at the gym are just better people? I talk to so many friends that declare they could “never go to the gym” as they would be judged as unworthy. They seem to be scared of what complete strangers may/or may not be thinking. The simple fact that you are at the gym, attempting your best to improve yourself, means you are on an even playing field. 

Another excuse that comes into my head, I also hear from others. The convenient excuse of time. “There’s just not enough time in the day to go to the gym.” I do; however, have time to eat cheeseburgers. More time than improving yourself?  Well, short-term, the act of eating a burger may be more gratifying, but...

“Those who think they have not time for bodily exercise will sooner or later have to find time for illness.”  -Edward Stanley, Earl of Derby (1826-93), British statesman. The Conduct of Life, address at Liverpool College, 20 Dec 1873.

Physical activity is what sustains us in life. To not work towards being physically fit is to welcome illness into your life. The tiny amount of time it takes, in respect to our allotted time on this planet, is minuscule considering the most important key to life is a healthy body. 

The act of bringing physical activity into your life is an act of over coming the fear of happiness. The fear of success. It in-fact empowers success.  The confidence that is gained by  meeting exercise goals, even small ones, can boost self-confidence. It also makes you feel better about your appearance. To feel good about your physical appearance is a right, not a privilege. Exercise is a distraction that can get you away from the cycle of negative thoughts that feed anxiety and depression. The instant gratification you get from food, sex, or liquor falls away because you are doing something positive to manage anxiety and depression.

Tell that little voice that keeps repeating that you aren't worthy of being healthy, that instead you choose to go for a walk. 

Swimsuiting

I have a bizarre love of portmanteaus.  This is when you use a word whose meaning is derived from a blending of two or more distinct forms. like Gaydar from gay and radar. Meaning that homosexuals put off radar signals at such high frequency, they can pop popcorn placed near them. 

Sometimes, portmanteaus are called "Frankenwords" due to the creation of unnecessary words. Like "Infotainment" meaning "information presented in a format intended to attract with its entertainment value" when simply the word didactic would suffice. Yet, this is the fun of the English language. To know the rules, then bend them. 

Today, I headed to the amazingly beautiful Fort Collins, Colorado to attend the wedding of a longtime friend.  In the last week I have completed all the obligatory pre-wedding invitee requirements. The suit was taken to the dry cleaner, shoes polished, and this morning a hair cut was checked off the list. I even remembered how to tie a bow-tie.  As I pulled out my "wedding suit" and slid the jacket on is when a portmanteau slid from my lips. Pathesad. Not just sad, more hopeless than pathetic. I was swimming in my jacket, a jacket that was tailor fit a year ago. "When was I that fat?" It was as if I didn't recognize my own self, a year later. 

All day I did the pose where you keep your hands in your slacks to pull the suit jacket back. Like a math teacher, in a lame attempt to look hip. This was in hope that know one would ask why I borrowed my Dad's suit.  I'd say that the act was swimsuiting. If that portmanteau wasn't already taken.  

Concretize

I've returned to an old love. 

Way back in 2005 I, like all homosexuals in America, fell in love with Project Runway. Time marched on and boring rehashes of the show lost me. The great idea of the show turned into a fashion  assembly line. Each season was soon predicable from the season before it. And after it. Soon it passed out of my gay world. 

Then I read a text from a friend about the new season. Season 324. I figured why the hell not, and since I couldn't remember the last time I actually sat down to watch a TV show,  I have been meaning to work TV back into my life. 

I have to say it is great this season. I'm not sure if it's just because I've been away so long, or that the updated feel of the show has me back to the original feel of the show. What ever the reason, I'm hooked. Oh, and the best part of the show still is finding Tim Gunn's "word of the day."  Last night was Concretize:  To make real or specific: "The need to simplify and concretize . . . was hardly acceptable to a mind fascinated by the . . . suggestiveness of ideas" (Arthur A. Cohen).

Take Me at the Ball Game

As part of my quest to do as little as possible, other than enjoy the summer, this week was a family trip to the ballpark. My annual voyage to see the Colorado Rockies at Coors Field. 

The answer is "A"

Do you have a favorite spot to sit in a ballpark? Mine is on the upper deck above third base. Even back in high school, when I would ditch class and take two buses out to the Houston Astro Dome (back in the olden days when it was Houston’s baseball stadium) I would sit in this area. This preference started because If you arrived at the Astro Dome at just the right time, you could score free tickets from the Dome’s management. As the owners of the Astros and the dome wanted to show the area above third base packed on the televised games. At fifteen years old, I cherished being out on my own, sitting above third base watching the Astros play. Ironically, it was during these games when I made it to my own third base.* I have fond memories of those baseball games under the dome. Let’s just say that the song "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" always puts a smile on my face. 

Even though this weeks tickets were freebies, we found our seats in the upper deck above third base, and settled in for a great night of baseball nachos and pretzels. With the summer night air, and roar of the crowd, my quest to enjoy summer to its fullest is well on its way. 

*Third base = anal