Rim-Shot and Trixie Motel

How can it be June already?  Riveting journalism this is for a blog post; but, really? June? There were several goals, and deadlines that had to be met when I stepped into 2023 possibly move to a better place, closer to the park, go on the epic vacation that was planned in 2022, and finally, break down and buy a rim chair.

 

Here we are marking the sixth month, halfway through the year, and I am done with all three goals. We went to LA for a weekend, ditched Dragcon as it was.... a drag, and had an amazing weekend staying with The Trixie Motel in Palm Springs. So much pink. The hype for the hotel was justified. However, the service, in comparison with other high-end and super-expensive hotels, was simply lacking. A two-night stay and there was no personal service. I got snipped at for wanting a cup of coffee before 8AM or after 10AM But, I walked in to check in with a backpack and dirty jeans, so go figure. Palm Springs was amazing as we did brunch-bitch poolside at a historic hotel with new friends.  

Moving was surprisingly easy. If not overly expensive. Inflation hit the moving industry just like everything else. Just yesterday I unpacked the last box. In all my moves, which there have been way too many, it seems like the books just sit and wait to be placed on a bookcase. Also, after to purge all the stuff you realize you‘ll never use again, you move and end up with a whole new stack of stuff for Goodwill. Every time wondering “Why did I move this?”   

And as for the rim chair.... well... There comes a time when you realize you need the right tool for the right job. I like to consider myself an... expert in the field.... and need to step up, or lie down to the major league. To do this I need the best tools.  

Structure

 I am finding more and more that my life has distinct stages, or eras to be more precise. These stages can easily be demonstrated by Structure. I mean, yes, the structure of my life, but I mean Structure the early 90’s men's clothing store. It was a mall staple and would of been found by the massive Corinthian, or sometimes Doric columns marking the entryway. Also, by the smell of cheap cologne and the blaring sound of C+C Music Factory. It was the height of men's fashion and the only place to buy your masculine 90’s club wear. Eventually, I will go on to date three different men that worked there during their college years.  

During its heyday, I was the target demographic to sell their cheap dress shirts, belts, and high wasted jeans. But, just out of high school, my budget did not agree with my choice to expand my fashion statements. So, Structure remained that fancy men's clothing store with the clothes I could not wear. So, I would cross the Doric columns and get ideas of what was cool, then travel to...Sears maybe... I’m not sure I even remember anymore where I shopped. In retrospect, I should have been one of those gays that worked there to get the discount. And apparently to pick up boyfriends.  

In the present I now have more than enough disposable income to blow at Structure, buying all the paisley double-cuffed fancy shirts I could ever want. I have grown to understand those are fashion choices I do not desire, however. Two reasons; the first is that I do not care if the world judges my fashion. My success as a human does not come from outward appearances. Spending my leisure time in tight tee-shirts and gym shorts, I could not imagine leather-woven belts, vests, and manly berets as a choice. The second reason is Structure sold out eons ago to Express, and those Corinthian columns went the way of the Greek originals.  

But why do I bring this up? Well, I just bought a new car. 

And for the first time in my life, I doubted my need to have the very best. I am not saying a demanded Euro-luxury. I mean how I needed (wanted) all the bells of whistles or be judged for not having all the accessories due to me. Like the self-parking option, which I used possibly four times in four years. Or the navigation which I never used because iPhones are better.     

 I once bought the fancy “off-roady” package of a Jeep Wrangler, making my car payment $750 a month, and it never actually left the pavement. So, I am proud of my new car purchase choice, it has me feeling very grown up. Like I don’t need to buy the over-priced fancy dress shirt just because of the hype of the perception of success. Let’s say very well appointed, and yet I did not let myself get sucked into any hype of

needing every add-on I will never use. How do we measure our success? It is not the clothes we wear or the car we drive.  

Panic at the Salad Bar

One of my first jobs out of high school was at a trendy salad bar restaurant, named Healthy Habits. They were all the rage back then, as the Earth had just cooled and salad was plentiful in the Paleozoic era. I worked with a small group of other homosexuals, as one does right of high school. We would joke and tease, but mostly talk about the cute boys coming in to eat at the salad bar. For a time we had a manager, we’ll call him Ken. Due to the fact that he acted like a Ken doll… well looked like a Ken doll, and acted like Barbie. As the crew joked and around and teased each other, we just assumed Ken was a flamer, like the rest of us. That was until the day Ken had enough of the horseplay and called me into the office to inform me that he was, in fact not gay. A Heterosexual, if you will. He did not appreciate being lumped in with the common staff during conversions.

As he spoke I had, for the first time in my life been blindsided in my judgement of another person.  It was more than 90’s gaydar gone astray.  I went down the list of why I assumed he was a homo…… 1990 Celica in powder blue – check. L.L. Bean cable knit sweaters – check. Frosted tips – Check. Wrists that wobbled around like a lazy weathervane in an August heatwave – double check. The soft-spoken “Sssssss” that even as he said, “I am not a Homosssssssssssssexual” were fem and antebellum like – check. All of my internal judgement of how I classified Ken as a fudge packer was quickly being called into question. He stopped when he saw the blank stare on my face. “I’m sorry- I’m just not… like you.” His left hand dismissively waving me off like a flea.

Modern me would have turned my head slightly and exclaimed “Sure, Jan.” But nineteen year old me just clicked my tongue in my cheek and said, “Thanks for clearing that up.” I adjusted my flat rimmed felt Panama hat and returned to work.

This was a major lesson in my life. About how we – how I, classify people quickly, and sometime get that wrong. This conversion started my path into Human Resources as a career, it awakened in me the ability to read peoples’ body language, and to understand what’s said during the unsaid parts of a conversation.  We all have our own path of self-understanding, regardless of society’s vague and surface judgements. Ken’s path included handcuffs as he was forcing the special needs boy who worked in the kitchen to masturbate on camera. At work. During dinner rushes. Without washing his hands.  

 

There is story to every person we encounter.    

Snowy Morning

This morning I sipped coffee at the patio door watching the morning snow. Our neighbor across the street (we call "The Gays") came out of his bungalow and began the legally required morning task of clearing the sidewalks of snow. A Hugo Boss peacoat, unbuttoned without a shirt, loudly printed plaid pants, a headband to cover the recent hair transplant procedure, and hightop sneakers were required. Apparently. 

I called out to the boyfriend who was starting waffles only to discover we were out of eggs, "I fricken' love our neighborhood!"

Today is our last day of self-isolation vacation, and I think that's for the best. 

Deep in Vogue

Earlier in the year I headed back to 24Fitness as my primary gym. By this I mean I started going only to 24 verses Planet Fitness. This was prompted by many reasons.  The largest was an entitled 20-something woman who saw I was racking up weight on bar but still dropped her designer bag down and declared she “needed” the machine. At this point I decided I “needed” to not workout in a gym that doesn’t have homosexual gym goers as the majority. Yes, in that very instance I realized that I needed to be with my people. So back to 24 Hour Fitness I went.

As you may recall, during the pandemic all gyms were closed. And Stevie lost his pump. The first gyms to re-open with Planet Fitness. So I joined up. 24, who was already finically struggling re-opened only a fraction of their locations much later then Planet. Somehow Denver’s “gay gym” survived. I can’t explain why I continued to go to Planet, I guess it was a habit, or self- abuse. During this time I was slowly losing a lot of muscle mass, as planet is machine based with no free weights or plates to push. Until a sorority girl push helped me with her entitlement.  

I laughed about this again today as I was pushing through my last set on the preacher bar. There was a guy wearing, possible his little sister’s gym shorts and a half shirt with the word “Whore” written across it. He was at the mirrors on the free-weights full on voguing. Like full on “I’m gonna let you have it” voguing. This is when I knew that nature was healing and all was right in the world.

Cars

I am honestly amazed that my car is over four years old. I just seems like I bought it. On Saturday we went for Pho and as we left he restaurant and attempted to start my car I only heard that ominous CLICK_CLICK_CLICK sound. Dead batter? Really, it’s still new…. Oh, well I guess not really. I was tempted to actually and finally press the button in my headliner with the wretch icon and ask for VW service. Call forth the German gods of service to bless by German wagon.  But, a fifty-something man appeared declaring his wife bought him a charging block for his birthday and was yearning to use it. Cis white male boomers were finally good for something.

Bought a new battery, and after secretly watching a YouTube video to make sure I was doing it right, the power of the Germanic Pantheon has returned to my Volkswagen. But, this started thinking….

My declared plan was that my next vehicle would be full electric. So I’ve been waiting. Mostly for the VW ID4 to actually be made; and without the massive IT computer problems pledging them. Or any other Electric vehicle - EV that’s not sixty grand and not made by that Muscky Bond villain. So I was content on waiting until the right EV came along. My secret hope was for the ID Buzz, the VW van to get realized and come to my corner of the world. BUT, if needing replacing the battery is a sign of ramping up small annoying items needing to be fixed, I may not wait.  

 

 

Adolf and Rudolf

When I first met Patrick, BFF for life, I mentioned that I has a tennis shoe fetish. This was not a literal sneaker fetish. I have a laundry list of those fetishes, but shoes is not on that list. It was more a figurative, almost spiritual need to have cool sneakers. In my last move a lowered my inventory from fifty (literally) to about ten pairs (figuratively speaking.) I also had shifted my Puma allegiance to Adidas. This had everything to do with what drives most of my motivations in my life, the seething hatred of Nazis.  I this case it is the story of Adolf a.k.a. Adi and Rudolf Dassler.  

The story of the Dassler brothers came into my desire for cool gym shoes.

These Brothers, had a well-established athletic shoe company (their shoes were worn by athletes in the 1936 Olympics) before they started feuding. Rudolf never gave up on a suspicion that his brother Adi was behind his conscription into the army. Selling out his brother into a conscripted fighting role with German forces in Poland. This led to Rudolf’s imprisonment by the Allis when Poland was liberated. So, Rudolf was drafted for the war and served his time on the frontlines of the battle. On the other hand, the German government had deemed Adolf’s usefulness as a shoemaker as more necessary, and so he was not sent to fight for Germany. Rudolf was very angry about this and saw it as his brother making money and selling shoes, while he was on the frontlines with his life on the line. A jerk brother move selling shoes while Rudolf was fighting a war. Not only did this make him angry, but he believed his brother Adi had something to do with why he wound up there. So when the war ended, Rudolf told the Allies that Adi assisted the Nazi war effort.

In fact after the war ended, the Allies wanted to take revenge on the remaining Nazi soldiers. This meant that Rudolf had to plead his case to the authorities. His brother Adolf snitched on him that he was working with the Nazis, and this caused Rudolf to be imprisoned for another year, while Adolf was making profits. Rudolf tried to snitch on his brother as well, but Adolf’s charges were dropped. This essentially ended the Dassler brothers.

Adolf became Adidas and Puma was started by Rudolf. Over the years I have aligned my alliance to Puma then Adidas depending on the latest paper I have read about the story. Somehow determining which brother was less-Nazisish. I mean, I could avoid the whole situation and buy Nikes, but ew no. What’s the fun in that.

Cialis and Steve

Okay, I have turned on comments again after almost two years. Let's see if the bots have forgotten me. There is nothing worse than fifty comments about my pressing requirement of Cialis. 

Comments on this blog and the comment section in general remind me of a spouse of a former friend who honestly believed his comments were completely anonymous. He then spent valuable and limited time in this world to dog me out for silly reasons.  I would suggest not being a bot in this life. Namaste   

Watermelon

 So I just attempted to explain who the comedian, Gallagher was to my boyfriend.  “See… back in the 70’s he was a popular comedian. His deal was that he would smash watermelons with massive hammers. If you sat in the first couple of rows, you get covered in watermelon bits…. He was famous For this.” Uh. Okay.” The boyfriend turned back to his book. “He was really famous.” I added. “He was also a huge misogynist, homophobe, and if I remember correctly a antisemitic dick.” “Oh…” the boyfriend raised an eyebrow. “So now he’s dead? Sorry for your loss.” Truely he’s the comedian in this house. 

Fifteen Years of StevieB

Wow. It’s been 254 years since starting this blog. Today, marks my blog anniversary; or, blogiversary. Well I guess it’s only been Fifteen years, a nice number I never dreamed I would achieve. A ton of changes have happened to my world since November 11, 2007. Even the changes I blogged about have then changed. “Long-term” relationships have come and gone. Friends have come and gone to be replaced with truer and healthier friends. This blog is a perfect testament to the quote, “If you live long enough, you’ll experience everything.”

This year finds me happy as a clam, which makes me like Melissa Etheridge. As we know Melissa’s music suffers and can be classified and not heartfelt when she is happy and in a stable relationship. It’s only when her life is unsatisfying does her music have driving rhythms.  As my world is content I tend to blog less. This is not a good characteristic.  But, blogs about finally perfecting my taco seasoning for my Breville pressure cooker are not inspiring me to write….

 Boring topics for Steven to blog about since his youth internal conflict has dissipated….

The drunk lady upstairs blares her 80’s rock; but, won’t play the whole song

Black cars… never clean, am I right

The cat will never sleep on my side of the bed. Likes Brian better

So much Voguing going on in the free-weight section of the gym

Why bother getting into a show, it will be cancelled as soon as you care.

Twitter is dead

So you can see there are an endless supply of topics I can blog about. And since all other social media that took me away from my blog is slowly dying, or being taken over by James Bond-like villains this blog has just sat and waited for me. I long ago turned off comments as it was nothing but spam.  Shall we try the comments again? Like Twitter but without the crumbling of society?

So, my dear faithful reader let’s go forward, "One day, I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine." – The Doctor

Yesssss God Boots the House Down, Mmmmmkay

 I have the Spring vacation all planned. I actually did it right before Christmas to surprise Le Boyfriend as one of his Christmas presents. Dragcon 2022 in May. The premier RuPaul’s Dragrace annual convention. A full dragqueen gathering event. I am so super excited to go to L.A. for our trip, finally after two years of hunkering down for the pandemic. I haven't air-traveled since the pando began, and my Southwest air miles were burning a hole through my wallet, begging to be used. I cashed in a bunch of miles that had been self-isolating deep inside my Southwest Airlines credit card. Finally, they are free. Depending of course on any new zombie apocalypse that may begin before May. 

There are very few conventions I attend. The scattered Dr. Who convention, Comic-Cons, ya’know nerd stuff. For the record, I am skipping this year's Dr. Who con in L.A. happening this weekend really based upon safe data from a month ago. But, meh. There’s always 2023. But, I figure May should be safe. That and the L.A. Convention Center has much more free space to distance than the L.A. Mariot Hotel filled with sci-fi nerds.  

Hotel and cars are sorted West Hollywood, you’ve got a big storm coming.

Death Drop

Ravenclaw / ISTJ

I once interviewed for a Human Resources position with an agency dealing with state employment counseling. The director interviewing me was very much a cut-and-dry HR consultant which I quickly picked up how much of the corporate Kool-Aid they had consumed. There were several hints and statements on the accomplishment of me being a  Myers-Briggs, (MBTI) Certified partitioner.  It was transparent that this person was told to get someone certified, and thought it would be just easier if they hired a warm body that had already had it completed. 

They also attempted to slowly move the conversion into a quick and free classification of their personality. I was met with examples of their extroverted or introverted personality highlighted their career. Reading the writing on the office wall, I began to explain how the MBTI personality questions, with its skill to dynamically add understanding to one's personality drives and differences to a team's dynamics to improve a team's strengths, held no more benefit than the Hogwarts house sorting quiz. How the Sorting Hat had the same potential of identifying strength in personality traits in a team setting. My Ravenclaw status had just as much indication of my skills to a team group and any project being complete than my ISTJ. Clearly, the interviewer did not like my comparison of these two, equally as standard and relevant, programs. Let us say I left the interview happy to be proving my Ravenclawness and my J-ness. 

In thinking back to this encounter, I like to believe two things happened. One possibility is that there is an HR consulting firm utilizing the Harry Potter hat sorting quiz to build better teams, or there's a Reddit post labeled “Craziest interviews I ever had” that I made.   

 

To Build a Park - the Central 70 Project

I have become a little too attached to strange men. Well, construction workers. Well, highwaymen. highway-persons. I don’t know their pronouns, we’ve never met.

In the center of Denver Colorado, during the early 1960s, The state of Colorado decided to split a deeply rooted multicultural neighborhood right down the middle. This was done for two reasons. The area is getting too uppity in asking for rights, meaning the black and Hispanic culture of the time was gaining and claiming cultural significance. The second reason was they could not be bothered running a new interstate highway going from East to West just several miles north as this would mean bothering industry and a fledgling industrial area. So out came the bulldozers and in came a massive highway through churches and low-income homes. 

Flash-forward fifty years. The outdated and unsafe elevated highway had to go. With this project came words like “healing the wounds of a neighborhood” and “reunite the two halves”  This meant removing the unhealthy highway and helping rebuild a suppressed community.  Reroute the highway to the north where it should have been laid. Or, tunnel the highway under the residential portions. Orrrrrrrr. Just widen the highway and take more land and homes. The same homes that barely survived the 60’s bulldozers. The irony is that the city could not move the highway north as it proved too expensive to buy out the industry area that was just starting in this first highway game.

To paint a coat of understanding on the widening project, the highway is sunken below grade, with many, many cement crossings, and next to a school they are building a two-block park for the minority children to play during recess. Over the highway. Yep, if your family and culture are rooted in the community, your kids will soon get to take a recess on a grass field over I-70. Unlike you, who had to take recess next to an elevated interstate route. Oh, progress. But really it is the best answer to modernizing the area. 

The project of capping the highway is what I have been following. And by following, I mean obsessed. The “Central 70” project has a webcam which I have open on my work computer at all times. I’ve watched in real time the removal of elevated I-70 and building all the new bridges. I have watched the construction crews come and go and lay tons upon tons of concrete. I started naming the people about a year ago. I mean the “Construction Cam”  is far away so it’s tough to make most of them out. I usually identify them by the cars they drive and park on the already completed part of the covered highway. Some folks show up at the same time every day. They don’t work weekends, so the project is clearly not in a rush. And lunch is exactly from Noon to 1 PM. As they work in the art of rebar, I give them conversations. Mostly where they are going on vacation with the partners;  How KeyWest has lost its charm. How to improve the draining cycle of their dishwashers, and if they would ever climb one of the 14ers. They each live deep, spiritual lives. How could you not, after being crouched down twisting metal strap all day. 

Soon the construction will be over, and the re-development of the area will be done. And civil and city planners will pat themselves on the back and give each other awards for planning and implementing such a healthy and healing project. And then the low-income kids will take a recess on a grass-covered field over a highway, and breathe toxic fumes from the interstate.  

Central 70 Project

  

 

2022 Nerdventure

So what was my New Year's Resolution(s)? Since 2007 it seems that I list out my resolutions for the new year.  I don’t necessarily believe it’s healthy to only have plans to better oneself at the first of January, but an ongoing plan to grow into a better human should be our natural state. But hey, sure dedicate to a better plan at the first of the year. Who am I to judge?

My major resolve is to break up with Amazon. Yes, online shopping was the best plan during the 2020 pando, but I have become accustomed to click-click-click and new things appear at the door. I don’t feel I’m giving my money to the best company when I need USB cords, or a cat riding a narwhal into battle themed shower curtain. So I have promised that I will find alternative sources for items in my quest to fill my emotional pit of want and need with material goods. 

But, shopping via Amazon is nothing compared to my connection to the beast via technology. Mostly through lightbulbs. Well, and smart, talking home assistants. As you know I started with smart-home tech way, way, way back. Being able to time and remotely switch lighting was the ultimate in cool for me. The ramped up tremendously in the early teens. Around 2015 I invested heavily in a system using local networks and internet hubs to automate lights, sensors and really anything that was home techie. Without going into too much technical detail every light in my house was automated. This means that Amazon’s home assistant could operate via voice control. I could ask Amazon to turn on the bedroom lights to a pre-set scene while I walked down the hall to the bedroom. It really is amazing. 

The future technology of never touching a light switch also means that Amazon’s networks have access to my home network.In simplistic terms.  And more and more it’s striking me as odd. I’m not even sure why. Yes, the assistant is listening 24/7 to human speech, waiting for the command word, but it's also about having an internal network versus a cloud somewhere. So….. this means I have to learn stuff. And I always avoid learning new stuff. I will now have to learn PC stuff, as you know I’m a mac fangirl. So here goes my 2022 nerdventure. Wish me luck as I learn home automation tech. Godspeed. 

Gymuary.... Again

Ah, it's Gymuary again. The seasons just fly by until this time of year when suddenly the gym parking lot is filled with cars and the aimless individual's, in their new $200 control-top Jeggings wander down the middle of the parking lanes attempting to control the new Fitbit heartrate monitors. Inside is more of the same. A line has formed to check in behind a twenty-seven year old who feels the music on the overhead is too up-beat for her cardio time on the elliptical. Meanwhile, no one can hear the music as it is drowned out by the constant drop of plates and dumbbells as the forty-eight year old project engineer drops a 45lb plate on his foot because he was too distracted by his own refection in the mirror to re-rack correctly. 

I know they will all be gone on March 1st. That the "New Year New Me" resolutions will fade way until the next January. It's just silly how this happens every year. Even with the coming two year anniversary of our world wide pandemic, the gym is overrun with the well intentioned. And that's fine; more power to ya! I say go for it. And I hope it last beyond March 1st. But if there only a way for these new gym bunnies to know how to re-rack plates and to not pitch a camp site around a bench the may want to use in two hours time.  My ex would simply kick off the dumbbells use to save the bench (like laying towels down, poolside at a Cancun resort) and start using the bench. If the camper spoke up, the Ex would jab his finder in their space and scream about learning gym etiquette. I do that too; in my mind. But, Ohhhh the looks I give.... roasted. 

 

Our Future (repost)

 

It is strange how time works for and against you... I was flipping through the channels on New Years Eve, A glimpse of Times Square flashed by, and a long-ago dusty memory came to the surface. How does a person whom you spent a lifetime with, get dropped into the bottom drawer of your memory bank? 

This blog post if from September 2010 about a New Years Eve in 1997.....

OUR FUTURE

New Years Eve 1997 found me in a private room at Saint Joseph’s Hospital sitting in a chair pulled up close to the bed of my partner, Randy Jorgensen.

I was flipping through the channels trying to find Dick Clarks’ Rocking New Years Eve on the television. Randy having been re-admitted for complications with pneumonia lay in the bed trying to find a comfortable spot. With the IV and feeding tubes he found it hard to see the screen. He’s family long since left for their comfortable homes in the ‘burbs it was just the two of us waiting for the ball to drop. In many aspects.

When Dick Clark showed a clip of London and how they brought in 1998 something in Randy and I just snapped. We both quickly started to make plans to travel to London in the new year. We decided to get an expensive hotel in the gay part of town, we would travel on day trips to see every castle and walk every museum and lay on a blanket in every park, forgetting that he could barley walk to the hospital room’s bathroom. 

We spent the next hour planning our vacation. Every once in awhile we would lock eyes and know that everything we were enthusiastically deciding upon would be complete fiction. We were lying to each other; Randy was close to the end of his hard fought battle with AIDS. But on that New Years Eve we pretended that we were in control of our future.

During my late teenage years I found myself sitting with my Father in his Bishops Office at our town’s Mormon temple. We were discussing my future mission around the world to bring Mormonism to people and cultures that desperately needed to be brought to Christ. After my mission and becoming a man, I would attend BYU in Utah. This would find me a degree and a wife.

We discussed my mission and coming back to our small town so that my wife and I could bring more children into our extended family, raising the population of smiling happy Mormons in the church. Every once in awhile we would lock eyes and know that everything we were enthusiastically deciding upon would be complete fiction. My life would quickly take me down a path far from him and the Mormon Church. We were lying to each other, but in that church office we pretended that we were in control of our future.

Soon the ball dropped and 1998 saw Randy living for only twenty-two days. On the twenty-second day I helped Randy slip his skin telling him that we would see London someday. Feeling somehow apologetic that we didn’t get to go. I felt the same overriding guilt was I did when my Father heard me say that he would not get grandchildren from me as my life was on another path.

The New Year

 Wow. 2022; Am I right? 

What shall unfold as our collective path materializes forward in front of us? As it seems that the collective narrative of 2020 was literally just the worst thing ever; A dumpster fire of a year. Then 2021 showing itself to being the less threatening younger bother who still kick our shins when we thought we were free from reach. And yet 2022 shows its hope and promise.

For me, 2021 was actually an incredibly great set of collective months. We lucked into an incredible new house that is walkable to small shops, including a neighborhood grocery store. It is a quick walk to the city's Botanic Gardens and the gay park. Sure the former inhabitants died from the pandemic, but it opened up and we now have a corner view of tree-lined streets. Being an HR Manger in health care, there was only one staff member struct down, and I help establish a policy to extend sick pay to individuals unable to work due to quarantine requirements. I am insufferable when it comes to office cleanliness, making all staff submit paperwork via a protected drobox I wont touch for hours under the thought that the virus dies on printed paper after four hours. I idea I made up, with no facts for back up.

I  believe it's more about making small, but healthy sets of coping skills for each individuals' comfort rather than  going crazy believing that our fragile society will collapse in a bloody cue at any point. Faced with mortality, in 2021 we saw what happens when a group of frightened people are capable of doing when blinded by fear. They turn to any sense of safety seemly based on a false memory of the past were skin color, heteronormative falsehoods, and a grip of fake Christin ideals gave them perceived safety and power. How easily these frightened people can be manipulated and fooled by false idols. Where the simple of  "equality" is a threat to their history and faith. How is another member of your community NOT wanting to be targeted and murdered by gate-keeping police somehow a threat to neo-Christianity?

There is a feeling around the new year that we can't ignore.  It is about the path of a new year that materializes before us. And, as 2020 and 2021 taught us; It is our choice to walk on the sunny side of the path or hold on to false narratives we tell ourselves and stick to the shady side of the path. 

Real Class

It's that time of year again... Later in summer when I start thinking about school again. 

The last couple of days in July I always stop and think about my summer plans and desires and take stock in the "quality" of summer I am having. Like there is a grade for a great, good, or sustainable summer. This year; however, is very different. 

Last Saturday, the boyfriend and I got up early to go hiking, we casually mentioned how we had not hiked as much as we had hoped. We specifically avoided a popular trail in hopes of avoiding the COVIDidiots on the trails. Yet, just a little way up the path were groups of people amassing unmasking. So, this summer is different. Not only do I have to measure the quality and quantity of outdoor fun time, but also the un-dyeing factor as well. So, I guess I am winning as I am not dead?

But living means going back to school this August. I am still scheduled for an "in classroom" class which is weird that they have not either cancelled it or pulled it on line. All of my classes..... for years have been on line. The only reason this is not is because it's a "Senior Seminar" class for my major. After this class all of my requirements for my major will be done. But, we will see if it remains in a class format....

Home Automation

As you may know,  I am obsessed with home automation. When I first moved out on my own, I remember saving up to by radio-controlled battery operated light switches. I remember being amazed how I could turn lamps on from the other room. I could not imagine how someday I would have a robotic vacuum I would consider a pet, and voice activated... everything. Surely the dreams of the Jetsons. But, now I do; a Roomba that attempts to eat by bedroom draperies on a weekly schedule, and door signal that emails me to inform how I am presently using my front door. It's the future. 

I really do love it. When I approach my home, the lights come on, and music of my choice begins to play. At night, when commanded, the lights dim and relaxing sleep sounds begin. Today, my robot pet, Meeko, began his thrice weekly duty of vacuuming up the bits I leave behind on the floor. He danced around the house and surprisingly left my curtains alone. He, apparently had bigger plans. Making his way slowly to the kitchen he spied the refrigerator, and (this is me assuming) he found himself peckish. Because he began to wedge himself under the door to the fridge. Just at the right angle. The angle and force it would take to open the refrigerator's door. At this point he was stuck and began to email me at work. Over-and over. Alerting me that he was stuck and needed to be un-stuck. The emails went on for an hours. The emails did not include the tiny fact that the fridge door was open. Nor did it mention how he dislodged a bottle of Shallot Vinaigrette dressing. The expensive kind. To drop to the floor and break, the dressing then marinating the vacuum for the remains of the afternoon. 

I do love technology and home automation. Without lifting a finger I had my vacuum marinated and ready to go upon my arrival home. But, since my fridge was open all day, I had no lettuce... no un-wilted lettuce to serve with it. 

Who Runs the Federal Reserve

We  decided on a plan. We knew that our usual way of adventuring would not work, so we needed something else. Another way to spend the holiday. Since the lockdown was easing, we were aware that everyone in Denver would want to head up to the mountains and hike for the Independence Day weekend. As this is our modus operandi, and we are very much aware that the pandemic is not over, no matter what people feel, we wanted to avoid all the weekend hikers. For the fourth of July weekend we scuttled our hiking ambitions, and decided on a car trip. Safely in the car; no need to get out, other than gas stops. Our destination would be a quiet and untraveled site in southern Colorado. 

Bishop's Castle is huge monolithic stone castle build by a anti-government, religious zealot. Stone by stone, quarried by hand and lifted into place. He started building the middle-ages looking monolith in the late sixties. Grumbling about the American banking system and  Federal Reserve System being the catalyst for Satan to sweep across America to rule with his tyrannical power. Every boulder blasted and broken down into building material to add to walls, came with a lecture on how the government police forces of the county are designed to enslave for the devil's bidding.  

Or, so the story goes, but why just read the lore when it can be yelled at you from across a dusty yard. Because the creator of the castle is still there. Sitting by the gift shop in a lawn chair, surveying all his work. Barely able to walk, but can school anyone within ear shot about the dangers of the Central Bank and paper currency. I LOVE these types, because with their ranting and screaming, there are major point in which they are completely correct. A paper-based currency with private bankers controlling markets makes no sense. But... hey, whatcha going to do. I mean besides moving to the southern part of the Rocky Mountains and spend fifty years dragging stones to build a viking stronghold effigy. 

When we arrived at this mountain edifice, thinking is would be safe due to its remoteness, we quickly learned it was not deserted at all. In fact it was over-run by tourists... all excited for their first adventure after the pandemic and completely over. Done. Eradicated. So this meant that there was not a face mask in site. Other than the ones we were wearing. We left with clearer understanding of how the Federal Reserve works, Spoiler Alert; it's run by demons, and that people are selfish jerks. 

The Glamor of Air Travel

I have Southwest airline miles in my account and they are burning a hole in my pocket. Not Literally of course, but damn it! I want to go on an airplane somewhere. 

I check in on my Southwest airline credit card frequently, and watch as the flight miles mock me. They know I can't fly right now, so they tease me and my grounded status. Yes, I know it is possible to fly domestically right now, but I can't. This is due to the lack of self-control of my fist meeting the nose of anyone I might happen to come across not wearing a face mask. I mean, if you cry it's your liberty and personal freedom to not wear the mask in public then it is equally (and just as much a right) to personal freedom for me to breakout a couple of your teeth with my left fist. If  a person feels so powerfuly drawn to stand up for their agency as an american, I have a balanced right to send them away in an ambulance.  I jest; obviously, but this is also why I can't fathom taking a vacation right now. Having to make my way through an airport with an unchecked and uncontrolled (on the federal leverl) virus, it's not possible. 

I have started to make plans for October and Atlanta Pride. To hangout with Patrick and have him meet Brian, the action-packed, super-cute boyfriend. So, there is that. By October I assume we will all be on mandatory COVID vaccination shots. And we'll be weeks away from saying "President- elect Bidan" Soooooooo, I guess I should cool my credit card points yearning. I mean, I guess I could buy tickets for 2021 Dragcon in LA; whenever that is? By then we will be saying "President Biden sure fucking saved us, didn't he?!"

Livingroom Bird

I learned a valuable lesson today. The lesson being to close your fireplace flu after the cold season is over. I had, until today never thought of closing my fireplace flu after the cold season as closing the soot covered metal trap door seemed like an act just to keep the warm air in; and since the ambient temperature did not call for it, I just simply left it open. Until today when I was given a new house guest.

Upon returning from the gym I entered my house to find a bird desperately attempting to operate the patio door lock in the living room.  It was a smallish grey bird that seemed judgmental of my choice of glass in my windowpanes. And yet, pretty chill as it did not panic as I reached in close to open the siding patio door. It hung out for a bit before finally hopping out the door and onto my lanai. I then franticly searched for how the little feathered dude entered my house. I found all entry points sealed. Upon texting my cleaver boyfriend he quickly suggested the entry point must of been the fireplace. As he tested this, I glanced over at my white painted brick to see grey ash and bird poop covering the area. My battery operated LED candles (placed perfectly at a casual angles upon the fireplace Mantel) strewn about without regard. The clear point of entry for the bird-intruder.

So upon cleaning of bird poop from many surfaces and vacuuming a solid layer of wood ash my living room was free from evidence of the bird-bugler. Closing the fireplace flu as precaution.  

New Gym

What I thought would happen has happened. The chain that is 24hour Fitness entered bankruptcy protection. This means they are not re-opening my favorite location. They did; however, open the large central located facility, which happens to be the one I hate.  I could go to that location and return to my workouts. The reason why that location is so bad is because its filled with douchebags and also the gays. 

Yes, I will acknowledge that I am generalizing and stereotyping. But in my years attempting to workout there, I have had run-ins with both. There were the "bench bros" who place every weight they could possible use on a bench to commandeer it for the day, or the conversation pits.... were a rack turns into a social gathering spot. I really like a gym experience with lots of open benches and no conversation. I am a "preferred member" of 24hour, meaning about a million years ago I dumped a truck full of money on their reception desk and don't have dues until the space year of 3000 -- or until they go out of business. Which may happen any time. 

So..... I am searching for a new gym. 

Until then, I joined Planet Fitness. the "non-judgmental" gym. And ya, know what? It's kinda okay. They have all the free weights I need, they only have full racks for bench, which since I never have a spotter is probably for the best. So, until my dream gym comes along I be on the planet of fitness. 

Gym Time

My gym opened today. Not my real gym; there are no signs of life there. No-sir-ye-Bob. The 24Hour gym's website still only lists Texas gyms being re-opened. And based upon that states upward trend in COVID infections I have no doubt that 24Hour fitness is having one hell of a time keeping those Texans gym rats out of the gym or at least six feet apart. With their tank tops all hot and steamy with just enough fabric to barely cover their perky bosoms....oh..sorry.  I can't imagine how the corporate gyms in Denver are planning to open. But, as of yet; there are no updates.

When I toured my local clubhouse and its gym facilities during my first visit to the place, I was impressed how it was actually a real gym with real weights. Not just the typical hotel or apartment building gyms with outdated cable machines and belt-driven equipment. No, not mine clubhouse, real iron. I mean, there are no heavy plates to press, but hey dumbbells going one 65lbs. That is unheard. As of today, the gym opened. Being closed since March. The safety plan for reopening this oasis in the drought of gym time is apparently one hand sanitizer dispenser plonked down in the middle of the free weights. Hanging on the side is one bottle of "possibly" disinfectant and one roll of paper towels. The "possible disinfectant" did not, obviously list its dwell time (the time it needs to sit, wet on a surface to disinfect it) so I just went with two minutes and prayed down the equipment before and after. But, hey! It's a gym.

I have never been so weak in my life. I have not struggled with 50lbs dumbbells for arm curls since high school. I felt like an old man attempting to do arm curls. I had to force myself to just stop and check in with my mental state. My eagerness was going to get myself hurt. I had to wipe away all expectations or demands on reps and weights. I now have to work my body back into a routine and build my strength. I have never had to do this in my adult life.

On the other hand, it is kind of exciting. Getting back into a rhythm and seeing the development in my body. It's all new again. 

And So It Goes...

In the last couple of days, I have been reformatting my blog layout and all the links. I had to delete my "Pictures of StevieB" because the link was broken, and honestly I have no idea where it was even linked. The list entitled "Stuff StevieB Reads" Mostly consisted of blogs that went dark at the end of Obama's first term. The blogs listed for the most part had not posted anything in four or five years.

I am not passing judgment on these bloggers; they hopefully found other outlets to communicate their stories. Just that the era of the personal blog seems to have passed. I also had stopped posting for quite a while. And there were two reasons for this. The first reason I would state is that I had no story to tell. No life-tale needing to be told into my online diary. As we know one main reason people did blog was because they wanted an electronic diary to record their memories. I simply went through a phase were I felt I did not need a written catharsis. The second reason was that people became more and more entitled to read this platform. The examination of my work was not the issue, it was not even the feeling privacy lost.... maybe judgement of grammar and tone of voice.

These reasons, in retrospect, were stooooid notions. During this time, I experienced the death of my Mother, my Father, ended a relationship, and several friendships. These were not processed in a manner that needed shared via blogging. And yet; here I am. Returning to this format as a diary to record my story. Feeling totally at ease in continuing my path.  So let us go forth and examine a life lived / and to be lived. You may notice that the "Comment" ability has also been turned off going forward on my blog. Another reformat.  This is nothing to reflect the conversation of the readers side, just to remove the expectation of response. I am finding it rather freeing.