GET ME TO THE CHURCH ON TIME

As Holly and Jim haven’t demanded their car back, I got to keep their car another day. It’s Sunday, so I went to church this morning.

I quit going to the Episcopalian church when they started harassing me to perform for them. I wouldn’t mind, but I know perfectly well that someone will make an issue of You Know What, and then all hell will break loose in the House. It’s part of the drama of small town life.

But I found an MCC Church in town, where You Know What isn’t an issue, because everyone there is a You Know What, so I saddled up Rocinante and made the journey.

I was a little apprehensive, so I showed up about a half hour into the service, to make sure I missed the pre-church banter. I suck at small talk anyway, so I planned on just slipping in quietly.

It turned out pretty nice. I didn’t mind the cruising at all, which was pretty intense. And it was nice having a clear view of the people who were doing the cruising.

I noticed any number of May-September couples, of which pairing I completely approve. I also noticed several younger men sitting around looking unattached, trying to hide their forlorn state. The poor things could have been wearing signs.

I’ve already formulated a program to remedy this situation. I think I’m going to select one of them and attach him to myself, simply as a public service.

It’s an ecological issue. It just upsets me to think of all that perfectly good testosterone going to waste. And as a bonus, I probably won’t have to make bail.

Aaron will be furious. I can’t wait to tell him.
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A present for all you good boys and girls…
This Air Force cadet cammed his roommate dancing when he thought no one was watching. You should see his M C Hammer imitation.
It’s so sweet it’ll make your teeth hurt.

Click to see White Boy Dancing here.
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These are some photographs of an Israeli dancer named Avram. That’s all the information I have, other than the fact that he’s the hungriest man I’ve ever seen.

Be loved,

DEL

THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM

It’s been said that thoughts have shapes, and can sometimes be seen.
They’re supposed to resemble the shape of a photographed pendulum.

An Egyptian man named Ibn Yunus discovered the action of the pendulum a thousand years ago, and also it’s use in measuring the passage of time.

Edgar Allan Poe wrote the story of The Pit and the Pendulum, in which a man was tied down and a huge razor sharp pendulum set swinging over him. Our character in the story escapes. When I read this as a child, it bothered me. Something in the story never quite rang true dramatically.

I realized just today that the reason the story disturbed me is that he shouldn’t have escaped. No one escapes the pendulum of life.

Gerald Ford’s memorial service was held on television today, with lots of wealthy white politicos standing around looking nervous, with a token black preacher offering up the prayer, in a superbly modulated preachers voice.

The thing that stood out in all the eulogistic euphemisms was the constancy with which it was said, “He was an honest man”, always spoken in somewhat awestruck tones. They seemed nervous that perhaps the Last Honest Man among them had died.

One of the speakers was a lifelong bitter enemy of President Ford. He was the most effusive and flowery in his eulogy.

Gerald Ford was ninety three, and his life was done. The pendulum had swung.

Gerald Ford was the last Republican President to unequivocally support equal rights for gays. In March of 2002, at 89 years of age, he joined the advisory board of a gay-straight alliance advocating support for gay issues within the Republican Party.

It was a closeted gay man who saved Ford’s life in 1975, when “Billy” Sipple pushed away the gun that Sara Jane Moore had pointed squarely at his chest. It worked out much better for Ford than for Sipple, who was outed by Harvey Milk, who possibly saw a chance to garner publicity from the episode.

Perhaps President Ford realized that if a gay man was capable of saving his life, maybe he deserved the right to live fully and freely as well.

In America’s hysterical social and political life, the pendulum has swung to the opposite side of the spectrum. Great hue and cry is raised about “saving” marriage for the heterosexuals, while Foley delays the vote to text message his boyfriend, saying, “I miss you”. Full civil rights are reserved for the favored few.

But there’s one important thing about a pendulum: To the degree it swings in one direction, it rebounds equally in the other direction. The signs are that the swing to the right is losing its popular support, and that the mind of the public is returning to the center.

Hopefully one day we’ll have dealt with this issue, and can forego the endless swings of the pendulum.

Be loved,

DEL

A PICARESQUE

THE CHARACTER AND PURSUITS OF THE MAN OF THE MINING VILLAGE

Among other things, at Christmas I received one of those HP printer/scanners that were advertised for twenty eight dollars. I was ecstatic, because my old printer died a miserable death several months ago. I’d been hinting loudly to my long suffering friends, all three or four of them, that a new printer would enable me to resume production of my revolutionary pamphlets. Sure enough, they came through for me and this morning I was sitting on my living room floor with a shiny box full of printer parts.

Almost immediately, I discovered the reason these printers were sold for such a ridiculously low price was that they come with almost none of the detachable parts that a printer requires in order to function.

Undeterred, I went to my Big Box of Computer Junk and found all the parts I needed except one: a USB cable. In my program of painfully dragging myself into the twenty-first century, I had neglected to supply myself with modern cordage.

So I found myself facing the fact that a shopping trip to the big city was in order. I buckled myself into the borrowed, ancient Ford LX which I’ve dubbed Rocinante, and set off for the big city.

I’m not a big city person. I love the pace of life in my little semi-deserted mining town. I love being near open country, and the spectacular view of the mountains. I love being able to disappear into rough country and go camping on the back side of the mountain.

The single drawback, and it’s a big one, is that the dating life here is abysmal. I’m tired of the occasional one night stands which is all my town seems to afford, and I’m desirous of something more permanent. I’m slowly wrapping my mind around the fact that to get a partner worth having, I’ll have to look for him where there are greater quantities of men.

You’d think that alone would be enough to start me packing my bags. In fact, I don’t think a phrase exists that’s more calculated to perk up my ears than, “greater quantities of men”. It just has a ring to it. But back to the real story.

In my research I had heard wild rumors of a place called the 99 Cents Store, which supposedly had USB cables for 99 cents. My cupidity was aroused(and my cupidity is considerable), and I discovered that of the twenty or so outlets in town, there was one on the side near me.

After driving for forty-five minutes, I arrived to be told, “Why yes, we do carry them! Unfortunately we’re out right now.” However there was another store, all the way on the other side of town that almost certainly did have them.

Rocinante bravely sprang into action, heaving and wheezing, and we made the arduous hour long trek across town, only to discover that the last cable had been sold just yesterday. “But we’re getting a new shipment in next week. Come back then!”

I stopped at Comp USA, which had the same identical cable for $21. This was simply not to be considered.

I finally stopped at the Store Which Must Never Be Named. You know, the one whose owners are worth more than twenty-five per cent of the world’s poorest nations. That one. I’m not proud, but they had my cable at a reasonable price.

We’re home now, and Rocinante has been bedded down for the night. I’m sitting in my living room watching my new printer make friends with my hard drive. I’m confident they’ll learn to work and play together well.
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When a lonely Hard Drive meets a willing Printer…

Be loved,

DEL

WHAT’S THE BLUE BOOK ON THAT?

The other day I stumbled onto what is evidently the perfect pickup line, completely by accident.

*Aaron and I have been talking, getting to know each other little by little. It’s a bit like two vultures/doves circling each other in the desert, coming a tiny bit closer with each pass.

It’s been an incredible study in self discipline for me, as I’ve discovered that Aaron gets a great deal of satisfaction out controlling the pace of my advance.
Then, of course, he gets to tease me for being so slow.

Aaron: “Oh, why don’t you come around more?”
Me: “But I do come around all the time. I must just be missing you every single time. What’s your work schedule?”
Aaron: “Umm, I work all the time. So how was your Christmas?”

He’s only been working there for two months and got promoted to manager. The last manager, Roberto, was promoted and got to name his successor. I met Roberto, and I think I know at least one reason why Aaron got promoted. I suspect there was an “arrangement” between Roberto and Aaron. I don’t mind, really. I wish I had my own “arrangement” with him.

The sociology of creative labor/management relations fascinates me.

When I told him that I had foreseen that he would be manager, he visibly preened. In turn, this caused the blood to rush to my head, making me blind and dizzy, causing me to stagger for a moment.

When the roaring left my ears, Aaron was prattling along, telling me that his birthday is New Years Day, and he’s planning the blowout of the century. However, he’s quite nervous about being stopped by the police. He’s just starting to feel like his life is coming back into order, and doesn’t want anything to ruin it now that he’s getting things back on track.

This is where it gets good. I thought I was making a little joke; just a throwaway line:

Me: “Well, if you need a friend to make bail for you, you can always call me.”

I thought it was a safe offer. I’ve done a lot of crazy things in the past, but in my entire life I’ve only had to call for bail once, for not paying a traffic ticket(FYI:In Houston, the traffic courts in all the neighboring towns are hooked up on the same computer system. A ticket in Humble shows up in Houston, and you can get busted). The concept of needing friends to make bail for me isn’t in the forefront of my mind. However, great minds do not always think alike.

Aaron: “Oh, that’s so sweet. Nobody’s ever said that to me before! What’s your number again?”

At least I had the presence of mind to give him the office number, and not my home phone.
This boy’s turning out to be an expensive a date.

On the other hand, if I did make his bail, the gratitude sex could be awesome.

Who would have thought that offering to make his bail would spark a romantic interest?

Is there a Blue Book of recommended values for this kind of thing?
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Where my savings went…

Aaron modelling a wife beater, just for you…

Meeting Aaron in the garden.

A desperate Aaron, preparing to do something rash and silly with a toy gun.

A beefed up Aaron, getting ready for a “workout”.

Be loved,

DEL

*Names have been changed, so I that I can always swear later that it was another person whose name starts with an “A” and who worked at the same store, on whom I had a crush.

BOXING DAY

Happy Boxing Day!

The day after Christmas is Boxing Day, a legal holiday in most of the British world.
No one knows how it got it’s start. But it basically is about giving to those who have less than you.
Some people think it started when the Lord of the Manor would box up the leftovers from the big Christmas banquet to give the servants when they took their holiday, December 26. I guess the modern day parallel would be a nice Christmas bonus from our bosses. I got a Christmas card with a twenty dollar bill stuck inside. That puts me twenty dollars ahead of the game.
So here’s to a Happy Boxing Day for all!
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You wouldn’t expect me to ignore the obvious tie in, would you?

These fellows are observing Boxing Day together.

A little alcohol seems to encourage the cameraderie which is appropriate to the spirit of Boxing Day.

For some reason, this shot stirs a pensive mood. Who is this mysterious young man, and other than putting his clothes on, what is he doing?

Be loved,

DEL

Thanks, Jeff

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Image courtesy of A MOI

My prayer is that the coming year will bring fulfillment, joy and fruition to your deepest hopes and desires.

Feliz Navidad!

WINTER SOLSTICE

In Winter
I go to the top of the mountain,
Lying on the hood of my car, reaching out
To touch the stars an arms length away,
Shards of crystal embedded in black velvet.
Cold causes all things to become
Suddenly denser and more refined,
All objects more sharply defined,
In their stillness grown more weighty,
Their “isness” more evident.

Lying there immobile,
I surrender to the spirit of the cold,
A frigid lover entering the well of my soul.
And at the center of my being
I join his stillness in ecstatic union.

As the constellation of my inward parts
Joins in solemn dance the beings in the sky,
Their weightless dance of harmonious gentleness
As deep as velvet sky caressing the earth,
Echoes in my solitary figure clad in blankets,
Sparking warmth into my wintry heart.

Be loved,

DEL

THE BEAUTY OF DAPPLED THINGS

Pied Beauty

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
Gerard Manley Hopkins

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Dappled things worthy of praise…

Be Loved,

DEL

LOVING MELONS

This is in the nature of a public service announcement for every male, single or partnered, gay or straight, needy or simply curious.
I think almost every adult male has heard of the ancient practice, originating in Persia, of using melons for self gratification.
The basic technique is pretty simple. You take a melon, cut a hole in one end, and go to town. If your melon is large enough, you can have a threesome, sharing space in your melon with a buddy.
There’s a lot to be said for the practice. First, it’s a cheap date. A cantaloupe doesn’t care if you take it to dinner and a movie. Secondly, your melon friend won’t gossip about your performance to everyone at the bar. And, if you don’t feel like a return engagement, you can always go to the store and buy a new melon. It’s all right, melons aren’t troubled by feelings of rejection. There’s comparatively little drama in a relationship with a melon.
You will never have arguments with your melon date over who gets to do what. Your melon doesn’t care if it doesn’t get to top this time, or indeed, if it ever gets to top.
Everything considered, you could do much worse than dating a melon.
There’s just one thing to watch out for.
Now mind you, I’m not saying I tried this. I’m NOT saying that.
But if you do happen to try this, I recommend trying some sort of seedless melon, or at least one that doesn’t have sharp seeds. Especially Honeydews.
A Honeydew looks so inviting, so soft and round. It teases you, wordlessly promising a troublefree good time.
But once you’re in, it will turn on you. Honeydew seeds are sharp as needles.
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These are all photos of Francis. His body is a study in light….

Be loved,

DEL

SIX WEIRD THINGS ABOUT ME

Elizabeth of Screw Bronze tagged me for this.
I like knowing that I have at least three or four female readers who are able to set aside the “Ewww!” factor and check in on me from time to time. I’m learning to like females, just not sexually.

For most of my life, a sure fire way to make me uncomfortable was to say something along the lines of “Tell me about yourself”. I discovered pretty quickly that if I spoke truthfully of myself and my life I would be corrected and told that I should say this or that ritualized response. “Oh, don’t say that!”, or “You should say you’re great!”. My response was(and still is) usually along the lines of “Where the Sun don’t shine!”. I might say it a little more politely, but as they say, it’s the thought that counts.
It took me a long time to learn that in most social situations people don’t want to know, they want to be amused.
I loved the link in yesterday’s post precisely because of all the screw ups, this funny looking guy sitting on my sofa in his skid marked underwear, who can’t really sing on his best day.
Life’s like that.
I remember when as a child asking to go to the neighbors house, my grandmother would invariably ask if my underwear was clean. Even then I knew she was fighting a losing battle.
Life has skid marks. There’s really no getting away from it.
I know I haven’t figured life out yet. Anybody who says they have is selling something. We’re all just making it up as we go along.
Here we go:

1. Telephones scare me. I’ve been known to let my mother’s call go to the answering machine. I have only one friend I’ll pick up for every time. I prefer instant messaging to the telephone. I prefer face to face over the telephone as well. A year and a half ago I spent ten very frustrating weeks with a therapist. Eight weeks we met in his space, then we switched to phone sessions. It only took two weeks to grind to a miserable halt.
It causes real problems, though, when it comes to phone sex.
I think part of the problem is that I rely heavily on visual cues; facial expressions and body language are really important to me. I can get quite frustrated if I feel that I’m not being understood. I’m much more confident of being understood in written form than I am of being verbally understood. However, put me up in front of a crowd, and I’m set free. I love public speaking. I just regard it as performance art, and have fun with it. I can detect and direct the emotional flow of a crowd much better than with an individual.

2. I tend to wear the same outfit every day, for months on end. I always have two or three identical pairs of pants, usually Dockers. That way I can always be fresh, but still look the same. I allow for a little more variety with shirts, but not much. I’ll have three or four different shirts that I alternate between. I have several pair of shoes, but I invariably choose my “dressy” black hightops. I have twelve pair of identical socks. My everyday choice of drawers is fruit of the loom, but for special occasions I’ll introduce variety down there. I think I just enjoy not having to choose what I wear.

3. I learned to read freakishly early. I was reading on my own when I was three. My first book that was “my very own” was Mickey Mouse Builds a House. When I was six I was reading Russian novels(in translation) out loud to my grandfather. Most of my vocabulary came from reading. This caused some problems, because I would figure words out from reading them, but until I heard someone say the word, I would just guess at it. I thought “idiot” was pronounced “I diet” for years. I learned the word as it appeared on the page before I learned how it sounded.

4. I’m almost entirely internally compliant. I’m not particularly rebellious, but I’m only swayed by my own values. Some well meaning but very misguided people have from time to time tried to force me to conform to their notions. Those efforts have never met with success, as I will go to any lengths to resist the attempt. I’m simply not capable of allowing someone to think or feel for me. I’m just not very suggestible.

5. My favorite place to be in the whole world is on top of a mountain in the middle of an electrical storm. I was camping on a mountain, not paying attention to weather reports, and a friend and I got caught by a storm. I had never seen ball lightning before, but it’s awesome.

6. I taught myself how to write backward cursively, so that it looks correct when you hold the writing up to a mirror, after I learned that Leonardo Da Vinci wrote like that in his personal diaries.
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Fun on the lighter side…

These two are clowning around I think, although the fellow sitting down looks like he’s done this before…

Younger brother plays the clown, but make no mistake, big brother is there to watch out for him. Just look in his eyes.

Just a boy and his dog.

Be loved,

DEL