In the last few weeks I have fallen down some stairs, fallen up some stairs and slipped off some stairs. What have I learned from these various experiences? Why, to stay off stairs, silly.
Of course, sometimes a stair is much more than a stair, why it could be concealed as, oh I don't know, a curb or something.
So, part of the joy of pretty much constant confusion is that sometimes in the middle of almost any day, you find yourself standing on a street corner, in a city you kind of know, and you stand there apparently waiting for the light to change, but when the light you are waiting for changes and you just stand there, wondering why you are at the light and why you are waiting for it to change and when it changes the cycle begins again, wondering why you are there and what you might be waiting for, well, you get my drift.
A couple of light changes and I think I convinced myself why I was standing at that particular corner. As I stepped off the curb, something weird happened. I just fell down. As if one leg was on strike, although for the life of me I could not figure out why one leg would strike, as I am fairly equal to my abuse of both legs. Some things are better left unknown.
Some stranger offered to help me up, but I am a proud man, I pretended to tie my shoe.
Kissing asphalt never seemed so forbidden.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
A good century
One of the first times I rode a bicycle 100 miles with a group of people was in Wenatchee Washington. Wenatchee is well known for a lot of things, Apples and Meth spring to mind, but I am sure there is something bad there too.
I drove out the night before, stayed in a terrible hotel, met a Mexican man named Hector and ate a lot of food. The next morning I woke early, did some stretching, rode my bike to the starting line, checked in and soon enough, was riding miles. It was a perfect day on a variety of fronts, not the least of which was actually riding the 100 miles.
So if you are the type of person who happens to be in Washington State in June, it might be a good time to start training. By June you could easily ride this ride. Heck, if I can do it, almost anyone on two wheels can do it, right?
Check the ride by clicking here.
I drove out the night before, stayed in a terrible hotel, met a Mexican man named Hector and ate a lot of food. The next morning I woke early, did some stretching, rode my bike to the starting line, checked in and soon enough, was riding miles. It was a perfect day on a variety of fronts, not the least of which was actually riding the 100 miles.
So if you are the type of person who happens to be in Washington State in June, it might be a good time to start training. By June you could easily ride this ride. Heck, if I can do it, almost anyone on two wheels can do it, right?
Check the ride by clicking here.
Spanked
Letter:
Matt-What is your take on spanking young children? I have a 4 year old son who cusses and talks back and shows no respect, especially in public places. It's embarrassing. I have spanked him a couple of times, but now it seems to have less impact. Suggestions? Opinion?
Personally, I like spanking.
So, for a while I had some children living with me, don't ask how or why, but trust me, it was not an easy experience for any of us. That said, I believe I may have spanked my oldest son once, and that may have been an accident, like I was tripped and fell and when I put my hand out to cushion my landing, it accidentally hit his butt. That would be it. Then there is this younger girl, I don't think she was ever spanked. I do recall a middle child, not quite sure if I remember her name, but if memory does serve me, I believe she woke with a spanking, got spanked from breakfast to nap time and then we would spank her some more until we were too tired, then we hired a strict nanny from Germany to come by in the afternoons and spank her, about 7 PM every night a different neighbor would stop by to continue the spanking and then at bed we would make sure she brushed her teeth, had cleaned her room and when we went to kiss her goodnight, we would spank her some more, just to make sure she got the point.
To this day I am not sure what the point is with spanking. I knew I was sometimes taking out my own frustrations on that child. See, we want strong willed, smart, opinionated children in our lives, we just don't want them on their terms, we want them to be smart and strong willed, but still cower when we enter the room. That is not the case though, is it?
There are very few parents who I think really want to spank or punish a child. It's just not fun, but it is part of the job of parenting. So what you have to ask yourself is, if the spanking card is not working anymore, what other cards do I have available to me.
Once I realized I would spank my child out of my own frustration, I stopped spanking all together. That was, of course, last week, and she might be due for another spanking any minute now.
A cussing 4 year old? Where did he learn those nasty nasty words? Kids learn a lot of stuff from watching their parents. Plus, your attempt at physical intimidation is not working. Maybe it is you who needs a good spanking, of some sort. Maybe this 4 year old boy just wants your attention and the only way he seems to really have your full on attention is when he is cussing, misbehaving and being punished.
Look, spanking is played out for you, never to return to its seat of prominence in your parenting guide book. Find something new, maybe play some games, get outside and garden with him, or go to the park and run around and throw stuff. He's 4 years old, he wants a father who engages him on other levels away from disciplinarian.
Matt-What is your take on spanking young children? I have a 4 year old son who cusses and talks back and shows no respect, especially in public places. It's embarrassing. I have spanked him a couple of times, but now it seems to have less impact. Suggestions? Opinion?
Personally, I like spanking.
So, for a while I had some children living with me, don't ask how or why, but trust me, it was not an easy experience for any of us. That said, I believe I may have spanked my oldest son once, and that may have been an accident, like I was tripped and fell and when I put my hand out to cushion my landing, it accidentally hit his butt. That would be it. Then there is this younger girl, I don't think she was ever spanked. I do recall a middle child, not quite sure if I remember her name, but if memory does serve me, I believe she woke with a spanking, got spanked from breakfast to nap time and then we would spank her some more until we were too tired, then we hired a strict nanny from Germany to come by in the afternoons and spank her, about 7 PM every night a different neighbor would stop by to continue the spanking and then at bed we would make sure she brushed her teeth, had cleaned her room and when we went to kiss her goodnight, we would spank her some more, just to make sure she got the point.
To this day I am not sure what the point is with spanking. I knew I was sometimes taking out my own frustrations on that child. See, we want strong willed, smart, opinionated children in our lives, we just don't want them on their terms, we want them to be smart and strong willed, but still cower when we enter the room. That is not the case though, is it?
There are very few parents who I think really want to spank or punish a child. It's just not fun, but it is part of the job of parenting. So what you have to ask yourself is, if the spanking card is not working anymore, what other cards do I have available to me.
Once I realized I would spank my child out of my own frustration, I stopped spanking all together. That was, of course, last week, and she might be due for another spanking any minute now.
A cussing 4 year old? Where did he learn those nasty nasty words? Kids learn a lot of stuff from watching their parents. Plus, your attempt at physical intimidation is not working. Maybe it is you who needs a good spanking, of some sort. Maybe this 4 year old boy just wants your attention and the only way he seems to really have your full on attention is when he is cussing, misbehaving and being punished.
Look, spanking is played out for you, never to return to its seat of prominence in your parenting guide book. Find something new, maybe play some games, get outside and garden with him, or go to the park and run around and throw stuff. He's 4 years old, he wants a father who engages him on other levels away from disciplinarian.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
All kinds of stuff
So, if you can keep your panties from bunching up, I have a few announcements. First, I am tired of President Obama. The good news for him is that there does not appear to be a republican worth voting for. Congratulations Mr. President, 4 more years to accomplish nothing.
April appears to be the month that I can serialize a couple of projects on this blog, so mark your tablets, Ipads and other computing devices. As a gift, I am preparing a college students essay for your viewing pleasure. It was written about one of my favorite people, so I am almost positive you will enjoy it.
A Becky recently tried to convince me that I could no longer write in a manner that was understandable, or something. I said, Becky and she said her name was not Becky, but in all actuality it is, she said something like, you ain't all that and I said, uh huh.
Finally. There I was, walking around the city this morning, doing a little of this and hardly any of that and this woman is standing in front of a building with her face on fire, no, wait, I believe she was smoking, but when I first saw her I thought her face was on fire, then I approached the entry door to the building and she held the door open for me and I believe I said something about how much nicer it would be to walk through a door and not end up smelling like cigarette death. She held the door open after I walked by and said something to the effect of "excuse me?"
Anyone who knows me knows I love drug addicts, coffee, alcohol, tobacco - you name it, if it's a drug you take, I admire you. But honestly, standing in front of a building, lighting your face on fire, holding the door but making me walk though your cloud to get there, well that's just unpleasant and I am all about pleasant.
April appears to be the month that I can serialize a couple of projects on this blog, so mark your tablets, Ipads and other computing devices. As a gift, I am preparing a college students essay for your viewing pleasure. It was written about one of my favorite people, so I am almost positive you will enjoy it.
A Becky recently tried to convince me that I could no longer write in a manner that was understandable, or something. I said, Becky and she said her name was not Becky, but in all actuality it is, she said something like, you ain't all that and I said, uh huh.
Finally. There I was, walking around the city this morning, doing a little of this and hardly any of that and this woman is standing in front of a building with her face on fire, no, wait, I believe she was smoking, but when I first saw her I thought her face was on fire, then I approached the entry door to the building and she held the door open for me and I believe I said something about how much nicer it would be to walk through a door and not end up smelling like cigarette death. She held the door open after I walked by and said something to the effect of "excuse me?"
Anyone who knows me knows I love drug addicts, coffee, alcohol, tobacco - you name it, if it's a drug you take, I admire you. But honestly, standing in front of a building, lighting your face on fire, holding the door but making me walk though your cloud to get there, well that's just unpleasant and I am all about pleasant.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Cereal and forgiveness
This child of mine has been hiding things from me.
Oh wait, that almost sounds like a letter I may have received from a blog reader. Let's just run with that and see what happens.
Dear Matt,
This child of mine has been hiding things from me.
Yeah, that's not going to work, I mean, I could ramble on as if someone wrote me a letter about their child hiding things from them, but really, in almost any direction it gets gross and weird pretty quickly, with such a limited premise.
Now, in reality, my child, a child not sprung from my loins, but a child in all respects, has been hiding a computer file from me, one he created from something I created, so one is left to wonder who really owns anything.
Tonight I found out that he had two novels I wrote when I was stuck in a farmhouse during a particularly cold and gruesome winter in Upstate New York sometime after the last ice age. I have new plans for these novels and over the next few weeks, I think I will be able to show off a couple of revamped chapters.
There was something else I thought was equally important, but that thought, like my ATM pin, is lost for now.
Oh wait, that almost sounds like a letter I may have received from a blog reader. Let's just run with that and see what happens.
Dear Matt,
This child of mine has been hiding things from me.
Yeah, that's not going to work, I mean, I could ramble on as if someone wrote me a letter about their child hiding things from them, but really, in almost any direction it gets gross and weird pretty quickly, with such a limited premise.
Now, in reality, my child, a child not sprung from my loins, but a child in all respects, has been hiding a computer file from me, one he created from something I created, so one is left to wonder who really owns anything.
Tonight I found out that he had two novels I wrote when I was stuck in a farmhouse during a particularly cold and gruesome winter in Upstate New York sometime after the last ice age. I have new plans for these novels and over the next few weeks, I think I will be able to show off a couple of revamped chapters.
There was something else I thought was equally important, but that thought, like my ATM pin, is lost for now.
In the buff
Life is a series of moments. They come at us, most are meaningless and sometimes, rarely, we get some sort of weird surprise.
So I am sitting in this room, everyone wearing suits and nice haircuts, not sure if people wear haircuts, or they just sort of deal with what they have. There we all were, there was a break from listening to a man stumble with words. This young attractive woman begins talking to a young attractive man and I pretend to be super busy with some papers, but they are talking about training for a marathon and a century, 100 miles on a bike. I have done a few centuries, no marathons, but anyone who reads this blog knows a couple of things, one is I believe people should be honest in relationships and two, I am training for something.
So I pay a bit more attention. The woman talks about her trainer and what better shape he is in that she is, the guy understands, but trainers work out all the time, you can not compete with them, mindless yuppie whining. Then, he looks over at me and says this, "you're buff, how do you stay in shape?"
There are a few things I have not heard nearly enough in my life. One is, "make way for the incredibly handsome man." I have never heard that. Another is "my lord, no one has ever done that to me." Never have heard that. Another is "I will pay you back."
Mostly though, I have lived all these 28 years, or so, and never heard anyone say I was buff and wonder how I got that way. Because I am making notes on the bruises and abrasions I keep finding on my body, I did spend about 20 seconds this morning standing in front of a mirror, looking at the various bruises and wondering where they come from. I noticed then that for the first time in a few years I had a rib cage. Shocking.
So, there I was, trying to figure out an answer to how I stay in shape. I told him, I cycle in the morning, I run and cross train in the evening and for the past few weeks I throw up every meal I eat, like a high school cheerleader.
It was funny only because the good looking man and the good looking women nodded knowingly when I told them I cycled in the mornings and they kept nodding when I told them I run and cross train in the evenings and then when I mentioned the throwing up part, their little smiles turned upside down and they seemed to focus on the pads of paper in front of them.
So I am sitting in this room, everyone wearing suits and nice haircuts, not sure if people wear haircuts, or they just sort of deal with what they have. There we all were, there was a break from listening to a man stumble with words. This young attractive woman begins talking to a young attractive man and I pretend to be super busy with some papers, but they are talking about training for a marathon and a century, 100 miles on a bike. I have done a few centuries, no marathons, but anyone who reads this blog knows a couple of things, one is I believe people should be honest in relationships and two, I am training for something.
So I pay a bit more attention. The woman talks about her trainer and what better shape he is in that she is, the guy understands, but trainers work out all the time, you can not compete with them, mindless yuppie whining. Then, he looks over at me and says this, "you're buff, how do you stay in shape?"
There are a few things I have not heard nearly enough in my life. One is, "make way for the incredibly handsome man." I have never heard that. Another is "my lord, no one has ever done that to me." Never have heard that. Another is "I will pay you back."
Mostly though, I have lived all these 28 years, or so, and never heard anyone say I was buff and wonder how I got that way. Because I am making notes on the bruises and abrasions I keep finding on my body, I did spend about 20 seconds this morning standing in front of a mirror, looking at the various bruises and wondering where they come from. I noticed then that for the first time in a few years I had a rib cage. Shocking.
So, there I was, trying to figure out an answer to how I stay in shape. I told him, I cycle in the morning, I run and cross train in the evening and for the past few weeks I throw up every meal I eat, like a high school cheerleader.
It was funny only because the good looking man and the good looking women nodded knowingly when I told them I cycled in the mornings and they kept nodding when I told them I run and cross train in the evenings and then when I mentioned the throwing up part, their little smiles turned upside down and they seemed to focus on the pads of paper in front of them.
Not just for cheaters
I got a call from Becky last night. She pointed out, rightfully so, I hate to admit, that the letters to this blog, at least the ones that get published, are almost solely focused on the cheaters and the people cheated on.
So, I am ready to type out brilliant and compassionate answers for all your needs, be they sexual, anti-sexual or breakfast cereal.
Email and your answers will be forthcoming.
So, I am ready to type out brilliant and compassionate answers for all your needs, be they sexual, anti-sexual or breakfast cereal.
Email and your answers will be forthcoming.
Totally stoned
The things you learn about your body at 4AM is always interesting. This morning, very early this morning, I woke up, as I often do. Lately I have been waking up from some sort of drug reaction, generally to "be sick" - get the poison out of my system and go back to bed.
This morning a kidney stone woke me up. I had one of these suckers before and at that time I thought I was dying. The pain is remarkable and when it first happened all I could do was audibly moan, cry out in pain, try and find a comfortable way to lay down and finally make a run to the emergency room.
This morning I knew immediately what was happening. I started drinking water as fast as possible and I have pain medications that I took as often as is legally recommended. What is embarrassing is how small a kidney stone actually is. When I passed my last one, it was about the size of a broken off pencil head, tiny. I am not sure if the one that woke me this morning has "passed" but I will not be in search of it, so I can only estimate that it too will be microscopic.
Is there a message here? Doubtful. These stones have something to do with diet, but could also have something to do with the drug I am currently taking, because when I was moaning in pain this morning, not to be out done, the drug I have been testing on myself almost immediately demanded I kneel down at the toilet and throw up every possible morsel of food available.
I am not big on waking up at 4AM and this sort of experience reinforces that.
This morning a kidney stone woke me up. I had one of these suckers before and at that time I thought I was dying. The pain is remarkable and when it first happened all I could do was audibly moan, cry out in pain, try and find a comfortable way to lay down and finally make a run to the emergency room.
This morning I knew immediately what was happening. I started drinking water as fast as possible and I have pain medications that I took as often as is legally recommended. What is embarrassing is how small a kidney stone actually is. When I passed my last one, it was about the size of a broken off pencil head, tiny. I am not sure if the one that woke me this morning has "passed" but I will not be in search of it, so I can only estimate that it too will be microscopic.
Is there a message here? Doubtful. These stones have something to do with diet, but could also have something to do with the drug I am currently taking, because when I was moaning in pain this morning, not to be out done, the drug I have been testing on myself almost immediately demanded I kneel down at the toilet and throw up every possible morsel of food available.
I am not big on waking up at 4AM and this sort of experience reinforces that.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The death of Momma Kitty
I have noticed that in the midst of any dramatic situation, it is best to make sure you keep breathing. I am something of a cool cat. I do not get jumbled or jambled. It has served me well to be above the fray.
Last night I found myself in a dangerous local neighborhood. A friend had given me the address, not the name, of some new underground bar and made sure I understood that this is the sort of place I needed to go to.
So I went. Well, I tried to go. I drove around the area until I was dizzy. I could not find the building number, but being an illegal underground bar is a dangerous thing to advertise, so maybe everything was on the down low.
I got out of my car and was almost immediately aware of why this neighborhood is cutely nicknamed Little Beirut. From the burned out buildings to men in dresses, this was everything I could imagine Beirut to be, on a decent Saturday night, anyway.
Two men sharing what I was almost was certain was a Marijuana cigarette walked past me, the sweet smell of their drug lingering in the air. I held my breath, ducked down and walked briskly behind them.
Soon I saw a neon sign for a bakery. It was late at night, or early morning, a matter of definition, but the bakery was open so I walked in. The counter was sparse, save for some elderly donuts and a couple of cookies. I said, "I'll have a cookie and a cup of coffee." The elderly man behind the counter either could not hear me, or was left speechless by my garish Hawaiian shirt and pooka shell necklace.
I repeated my order. He looked at me and spit out "I heard you the first time, no food." I point out the cookies and donuts. "No food for you, you fat."
What? That is totally not true, I thought to myself. I am damn close to starving, having lost well over 175 pounds in the last week alone. I told him that I had missed dinner and was close to starving. "You not starving, you fat. We closed."
"But," I said, "the door is unlocked, your lights are on, you have donuts and cookies and I can smell the coffee, which smells quite good by the way."
"Thank you," he said to no one in particular, "we closed, take fat body and leave."
I left, I mean, really, OK, so I am fat, still. I am almost an American at this point, you can not just treat an American customer like that. I was angry and sad. I hate when people are honest with me. I tried to think of the last time anyone was honest with me and all I could think of was the time a bird spoke to me in New York, I was walking down East 76th, and I stopped at a bench and thought pleasant thoughts and a small bird landed next to me, looked at me, I looked at it, and it chirped in a Brooklyn accent, "what're you lookin at fatso."
It dawned on me right then, a lot of strangers seem to tell me I am fat. That hurts, because friends can never tell you the truth, they pay the price when they injure an ego, but strangers, they could care less, especially strangers who can fly.
As I was walking the streets of Little Beirut I met the nicest man, at least I thought he was a man. He was either a man dressed as Marilyn Monroe, or it was Marilyn Monroe, and from what I have heard, stranger things have been seen in Little Beirut. I said hi, he said hi and off we went, hand in hand, to the most insane and perplexing underground club in all of the Northeast.
Last night I found myself in a dangerous local neighborhood. A friend had given me the address, not the name, of some new underground bar and made sure I understood that this is the sort of place I needed to go to.
So I went. Well, I tried to go. I drove around the area until I was dizzy. I could not find the building number, but being an illegal underground bar is a dangerous thing to advertise, so maybe everything was on the down low.
I got out of my car and was almost immediately aware of why this neighborhood is cutely nicknamed Little Beirut. From the burned out buildings to men in dresses, this was everything I could imagine Beirut to be, on a decent Saturday night, anyway.
Two men sharing what I was almost was certain was a Marijuana cigarette walked past me, the sweet smell of their drug lingering in the air. I held my breath, ducked down and walked briskly behind them.
Soon I saw a neon sign for a bakery. It was late at night, or early morning, a matter of definition, but the bakery was open so I walked in. The counter was sparse, save for some elderly donuts and a couple of cookies. I said, "I'll have a cookie and a cup of coffee." The elderly man behind the counter either could not hear me, or was left speechless by my garish Hawaiian shirt and pooka shell necklace.
I repeated my order. He looked at me and spit out "I heard you the first time, no food." I point out the cookies and donuts. "No food for you, you fat."
What? That is totally not true, I thought to myself. I am damn close to starving, having lost well over 175 pounds in the last week alone. I told him that I had missed dinner and was close to starving. "You not starving, you fat. We closed."
"But," I said, "the door is unlocked, your lights are on, you have donuts and cookies and I can smell the coffee, which smells quite good by the way."
"Thank you," he said to no one in particular, "we closed, take fat body and leave."
I left, I mean, really, OK, so I am fat, still. I am almost an American at this point, you can not just treat an American customer like that. I was angry and sad. I hate when people are honest with me. I tried to think of the last time anyone was honest with me and all I could think of was the time a bird spoke to me in New York, I was walking down East 76th, and I stopped at a bench and thought pleasant thoughts and a small bird landed next to me, looked at me, I looked at it, and it chirped in a Brooklyn accent, "what're you lookin at fatso."
It dawned on me right then, a lot of strangers seem to tell me I am fat. That hurts, because friends can never tell you the truth, they pay the price when they injure an ego, but strangers, they could care less, especially strangers who can fly.
As I was walking the streets of Little Beirut I met the nicest man, at least I thought he was a man. He was either a man dressed as Marilyn Monroe, or it was Marilyn Monroe, and from what I have heard, stranger things have been seen in Little Beirut. I said hi, he said hi and off we went, hand in hand, to the most insane and perplexing underground club in all of the Northeast.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Updates?
Seriously.
I take a couple hours off to find new places to throw up and I get emails asking if I have died? Really?
So, I got the most interesting letter and I will post it, but it is both spooky and perfect. That is a tease.
Also, because of audience reaction, Beth the Lesbian wonder dog, will be returning to answer only questions on sex, running in fields and licking yourself. If you have a question for Beth and Beth only, email her directly at madfacts@yahoo.com.
There was a couple of other things I was going to touch on before I ran out, but now, for the life of me...Yeah, never mind.
I take a couple hours off to find new places to throw up and I get emails asking if I have died? Really?
So, I got the most interesting letter and I will post it, but it is both spooky and perfect. That is a tease.
Also, because of audience reaction, Beth the Lesbian wonder dog, will be returning to answer only questions on sex, running in fields and licking yourself. If you have a question for Beth and Beth only, email her directly at madfacts@yahoo.com.
There was a couple of other things I was going to touch on before I ran out, but now, for the life of me...Yeah, never mind.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The stupidest person in the entire world
Yes, thank you all so much for voting. First, I want to thank the little people, because without you, I would feel smaller. Thank you so much. I need to thank my agent, Maury Silverberg, Maury may you live long and prosper, on the backs of others (wait for applause). Seriously Maury, thank you bro. My manager, Turvy Moscow Bergman. I call her the Turv. Honey, we did it. This is for you. I want to thank my adopted child Yang-Plex. Honey, Daddy is getting an honor, have the nanny put you to sleep. No TV. I could not stand here and not thank the most important person in this room tonight. Becky (hold trophy in the air) we did it. All those drugs, all the prostitutes and fist fights, the late night flights to Portugal, just to buy lunch meat and painting the pool red. It was all worth it. I love you baby. I did it, I am the stupidest person in the world.
Anyone who reads this blog knows I have been tracking the delivery of my new APPLE Ipad, first it visited China, then Hong Kong, it stopped to throw up on Sarah Palin in Alaska yesterday, flew for a quick bite in Indianapolis and this morning it hung out with some very sweet African American gentlemen in Pittsburgh. I could track it on my smart phone and I kept bragging to you people, making some of you jealous (got the email, shut it grandma).
If you read back a few posts you will see, I got a present from Apple and it was due to arrive today. I was on a job until 6, but I raced back to my office, holding hands with a cherished friend and skipping happily through the streets of the city. I unlocked my office door and on the table, right there in front of me, a FedEx box. Now, I know the new Ipad is skinny, but the FedEx box on my table was very skinny. Too skinny. I picked it up, way too light. I immediately logged in and check the status of my order. The cover arrived today. The Ipad2 is still 10 days away from bringing me deep and lasting happiness.
If I am not the stupidest person in the world, I am taking suggestions on who is. Commentators? Have at it.
Anyone who reads this blog knows I have been tracking the delivery of my new APPLE Ipad, first it visited China, then Hong Kong, it stopped to throw up on Sarah Palin in Alaska yesterday, flew for a quick bite in Indianapolis and this morning it hung out with some very sweet African American gentlemen in Pittsburgh. I could track it on my smart phone and I kept bragging to you people, making some of you jealous (got the email, shut it grandma).
If you read back a few posts you will see, I got a present from Apple and it was due to arrive today. I was on a job until 6, but I raced back to my office, holding hands with a cherished friend and skipping happily through the streets of the city. I unlocked my office door and on the table, right there in front of me, a FedEx box. Now, I know the new Ipad is skinny, but the FedEx box on my table was very skinny. Too skinny. I picked it up, way too light. I immediately logged in and check the status of my order. The cover arrived today. The Ipad2 is still 10 days away from bringing me deep and lasting happiness.
If I am not the stupidest person in the world, I am taking suggestions on who is. Commentators? Have at it.
The Ipad travel update
Thank you all so much for your support and concern over the past few weeks as my little Ipad2 made its way from communism to American socialism, or whatever it is we are currently suffering under.
Last night Ipad2 was flown from Alaska, "you betcha" all the way to Indianapolis. Right now, this very second, it is being mauled and molested at a sorting facility just a few miles away.
Ironically, while the Ipad2 is set to be loaded onto a FedEx truck (motto: "shut up, we'll be right there") I too will be in transit the next couple of days and may actually miss the arrival of the Pad.
These things happen, some would say they are necessary.
Last night Ipad2 was flown from Alaska, "you betcha" all the way to Indianapolis. Right now, this very second, it is being mauled and molested at a sorting facility just a few miles away.
Ironically, while the Ipad2 is set to be loaded onto a FedEx truck (motto: "shut up, we'll be right there") I too will be in transit the next couple of days and may actually miss the arrival of the Pad.
These things happen, some would say they are necessary.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Snail mail
I have been doing a privately funded study on the neurological reaction to various types of mail. All true. I studied how people responded to a variety of email, from those annoying links to online cards with stupid words being mouthed by stupid drawings. Everyone I interviewed in this project, well over 275 thousand individuals, all hated those cards. Every single one.
I also found that people do like the sound of email. Those with smart phones especially enjoyed it when their phone would vibrate when they received a new email. What the study really found was people like email. Even junk email showed promise, with many of the respondents claiming fortunes from Kenyan businessmen unable to collect life insurance amounting to millions of dollars.
Fully 17 percent of people who filled out the survey said that at one point or another they have created a fake email account just to email their regular account racy letters. Think about that for a minute, 17 percent is almost 25 percent, which means half of all people who responded email themselves sexually charged letters.
The survey found some dramatic news for what has become known in the industry as "snail Mail". Typical response? "Snail mail? Not so much."
Here is what 98 percent of respondents said when asked their reaction to snail mail. "Scary" was the number one answer. One man began to have an anxiety attack on the spot. A woman in South Dakota screamed something about Custer and ran into a nearby bakery for solace. A man in West Virginia threatened to shoot the researcher. It was hectic.
Why do people hate snail mail? This will be the crux of another outrageous government funded study. Until then, I believe Becky K. Slonghammer said it best, when a researcher asked her about her feelings toward snail mail, Becky belted out, "it's always bad news, god damned bad news comes from the mail man."
She might be right.
I am trying to think of the last time I got mail and thought to myself, "hot damn, I should call Becky whatever her last name is." It never happens. We all get bills via snail mail and for many of us, those bills are not pleasant. Junk mail comes via snail mail, not even sure what we are supposed to do with it. Really, nothing good comes from snail mail.
So imagine my day. A person is missing from our office, so I have been volunteering whenever something needs to get somewhere else. I grab it, whatever the package might be, pull on a jacket and beanie and off into the city I go. I like racing, that is walking fast, through the city. It's a beautiful old city with lots of great ancient buildings. The spring air today was cool, the city fairly empty and I raced from one end to the other.
I did some other stuff today, but right now, I can't for the life of me remember what it was.
I got home late and I sat down and had some leftovers my daughter had made and I read the mail. First I opened my laptop and read over the email that is really important and took the time to respond to a couple of letters. So, I am multi-tasking up a storm, eating stir fry chicken (so spicy!) and emailing important people important letters and checking on the status of my Ipad, leaving Alaska and due for delivery tomorrow.
I walked over to the small desk in the entryway and grabbed my lone piece of mail from today's delivery. It was from my doctors office, on my doctors stationary. I opened it, ripping the envelope, not bothering to be gentle, all for no reason, because my doctors office is very good about staying in touch, a snail mail letter is different, but not unheard of.
It was a report. I read it. There is nothing medically in there that was disturbing or unexpected. (edit) Sorry.
I also found that people do like the sound of email. Those with smart phones especially enjoyed it when their phone would vibrate when they received a new email. What the study really found was people like email. Even junk email showed promise, with many of the respondents claiming fortunes from Kenyan businessmen unable to collect life insurance amounting to millions of dollars.
Fully 17 percent of people who filled out the survey said that at one point or another they have created a fake email account just to email their regular account racy letters. Think about that for a minute, 17 percent is almost 25 percent, which means half of all people who responded email themselves sexually charged letters.
The survey found some dramatic news for what has become known in the industry as "snail Mail". Typical response? "Snail mail? Not so much."
Here is what 98 percent of respondents said when asked their reaction to snail mail. "Scary" was the number one answer. One man began to have an anxiety attack on the spot. A woman in South Dakota screamed something about Custer and ran into a nearby bakery for solace. A man in West Virginia threatened to shoot the researcher. It was hectic.
Why do people hate snail mail? This will be the crux of another outrageous government funded study. Until then, I believe Becky K. Slonghammer said it best, when a researcher asked her about her feelings toward snail mail, Becky belted out, "it's always bad news, god damned bad news comes from the mail man."
She might be right.
I am trying to think of the last time I got mail and thought to myself, "hot damn, I should call Becky whatever her last name is." It never happens. We all get bills via snail mail and for many of us, those bills are not pleasant. Junk mail comes via snail mail, not even sure what we are supposed to do with it. Really, nothing good comes from snail mail.
So imagine my day. A person is missing from our office, so I have been volunteering whenever something needs to get somewhere else. I grab it, whatever the package might be, pull on a jacket and beanie and off into the city I go. I like racing, that is walking fast, through the city. It's a beautiful old city with lots of great ancient buildings. The spring air today was cool, the city fairly empty and I raced from one end to the other.
I did some other stuff today, but right now, I can't for the life of me remember what it was.
I got home late and I sat down and had some leftovers my daughter had made and I read the mail. First I opened my laptop and read over the email that is really important and took the time to respond to a couple of letters. So, I am multi-tasking up a storm, eating stir fry chicken (so spicy!) and emailing important people important letters and checking on the status of my Ipad, leaving Alaska and due for delivery tomorrow.
I walked over to the small desk in the entryway and grabbed my lone piece of mail from today's delivery. It was from my doctors office, on my doctors stationary. I opened it, ripping the envelope, not bothering to be gentle, all for no reason, because my doctors office is very good about staying in touch, a snail mail letter is different, but not unheard of.
It was a report. I read it. There is nothing medically in there that was disturbing or unexpected. (edit) Sorry.
Follow the Ipads travels
My Ipad, recently visiting China, is now stopping to check Russia from Sarah Palins doorstep. Or something. It's true, I am anally tracking that package like a fat woman watches the bowl of chocolates.
Speaking of which, I volunteered to take to the streets this afternoon to deliver some very important papers to some very important people. While out, I saw the Black Glen. A little background please.
Glen is a friend of mine. He is incredibly skinny, us fat people say anyone who does not have a couple of chins is really unhealthy, so Glen is as unhealthy as possible. We cycle together when in the same time zone, although I go faster than Glen, he cheats and often wins.
I was walking the streets and there he was, except all black. Now, much like being gay or old, there is nothing wrong with being black, but being black and then also looking quite a bit like Glen, that is wrong. Although, as I found out this afternoon, it is not against the law. Thank god police in Pittsburgh have a decent sense of humor.
I believe I started this post saying something about my Ipad, but I have lost track. I can tell you this, while out and about this afternoon I got so dizzy and lost, I ended up sitting down in a strangers office to try and gather my wits. Best thing about that? I have no idea where that office is now, so my embarrassment is limited.
A couple of other things and then I have a dance recital to attend.
I do not want to become one of those older people who complain about loud music, droopy pants or people seemingly screaming into their cellphones in public, but I think I am about to give it my best shot.
First up, if you car passes me while I am waltzing around a city and I can hear the beat of your loud music, then your music is too loud. How do you people engage in conversation if the music is so loud the car shakes? Look, I am all for a generation of deaf idiots, because I think it will be in my best interest that we are all yelling at one another at some point, but honestly, sometimes the music from cars is so loud, it hurts my soul, just a little.
Now, I like looking at peoples butts as much as anyone and quite possibly more, so it is with great sadness that I have been brought to the point of complaining, but you kids these days. What with your butts barely covered and you pants down last your knees. What is the point? You do realize you are waddling around because there is not enough room in the crotch area of your pants to dangle to your knees and still allow your legs to move in a natural flow. Are you people stupid?
Almost finally, the screaming into cellphones has got to stop. I could care less who you are talking to and how important it is to you, because quite honestly, it is not important to me, so shut up already. Yes, I know cellphones are the second greatest invention ever (first still goes to potato chips). I like that in an emergency, you can call a friend and tell them all about it, even send pictures. But honestly, you people are driving me crazy and it's not just that I have to listen to your badly educated voices screaming gibberish to other morons, but as I walk around the city, I flow from one stupid conversation to another. It is started to piss me off.
Finally, oh I am going to go ahead and say it, finally you stupid people, stop breeding. Oh I see you, dragging your unwanted children around, crushing their hands and making them cry because you are in a hurry and they are not. Look, pull up your pants, quit smoking, quit listening to loud music and turn off the cellphone, I have heard your conversation and it can wait until your face to face to discuss the latest crazy assed this Latisha did today.
Other than that, it was another beautiful spring day to be out and about.
(edit)
Speaking of which, I volunteered to take to the streets this afternoon to deliver some very important papers to some very important people. While out, I saw the Black Glen. A little background please.
Glen is a friend of mine. He is incredibly skinny, us fat people say anyone who does not have a couple of chins is really unhealthy, so Glen is as unhealthy as possible. We cycle together when in the same time zone, although I go faster than Glen, he cheats and often wins.
I was walking the streets and there he was, except all black. Now, much like being gay or old, there is nothing wrong with being black, but being black and then also looking quite a bit like Glen, that is wrong. Although, as I found out this afternoon, it is not against the law. Thank god police in Pittsburgh have a decent sense of humor.
I believe I started this post saying something about my Ipad, but I have lost track. I can tell you this, while out and about this afternoon I got so dizzy and lost, I ended up sitting down in a strangers office to try and gather my wits. Best thing about that? I have no idea where that office is now, so my embarrassment is limited.
A couple of other things and then I have a dance recital to attend.
I do not want to become one of those older people who complain about loud music, droopy pants or people seemingly screaming into their cellphones in public, but I think I am about to give it my best shot.
First up, if you car passes me while I am waltzing around a city and I can hear the beat of your loud music, then your music is too loud. How do you people engage in conversation if the music is so loud the car shakes? Look, I am all for a generation of deaf idiots, because I think it will be in my best interest that we are all yelling at one another at some point, but honestly, sometimes the music from cars is so loud, it hurts my soul, just a little.
Now, I like looking at peoples butts as much as anyone and quite possibly more, so it is with great sadness that I have been brought to the point of complaining, but you kids these days. What with your butts barely covered and you pants down last your knees. What is the point? You do realize you are waddling around because there is not enough room in the crotch area of your pants to dangle to your knees and still allow your legs to move in a natural flow. Are you people stupid?
Almost finally, the screaming into cellphones has got to stop. I could care less who you are talking to and how important it is to you, because quite honestly, it is not important to me, so shut up already. Yes, I know cellphones are the second greatest invention ever (first still goes to potato chips). I like that in an emergency, you can call a friend and tell them all about it, even send pictures. But honestly, you people are driving me crazy and it's not just that I have to listen to your badly educated voices screaming gibberish to other morons, but as I walk around the city, I flow from one stupid conversation to another. It is started to piss me off.
Finally, oh I am going to go ahead and say it, finally you stupid people, stop breeding. Oh I see you, dragging your unwanted children around, crushing their hands and making them cry because you are in a hurry and they are not. Look, pull up your pants, quit smoking, quit listening to loud music and turn off the cellphone, I have heard your conversation and it can wait until your face to face to discuss the latest crazy assed this Latisha did today.
Other than that, it was another beautiful spring day to be out and about.
(edit)
TMZ is mean
I have no clue why I was just reading the gossip site TMZ, but I was.
I have no idea why I was reading it so intently that I made it to the bottom of page one.
I have no clue.
Even worse, I seriously have no idea why I read the poll on who would you rather do, former president Clinton or former president George Bush numero uno.
Then, to make matters much worse, I clearly had no idea why I voted for former president Clinton as the former president I would apparently much rather do.
What is even worse is, I waited around to see who my fellow idiots were casting their votes on.
What is really terribly tragically sad is that Clinton beats bush by a whooping 72 percent to 28 percent.
Talk about rubbing your nose in it.
All that said, now that I am focused and thinking clearly, I would much rather do Clinton than Bush.
Although, if Bush junior were in the running as who I might rather do, then things really get confusing, because although I am convinced Bush junior is both an idiot and an evil sinister monster, I would rather do him than Clinton.
All of this should be used as evidence to just how far my mental condition has fallen.
I have no idea why I was reading it so intently that I made it to the bottom of page one.
I have no clue.
Even worse, I seriously have no idea why I read the poll on who would you rather do, former president Clinton or former president George Bush numero uno.
Then, to make matters much worse, I clearly had no idea why I voted for former president Clinton as the former president I would apparently much rather do.
What is even worse is, I waited around to see who my fellow idiots were casting their votes on.
What is really terribly tragically sad is that Clinton beats bush by a whooping 72 percent to 28 percent.
Talk about rubbing your nose in it.
All that said, now that I am focused and thinking clearly, I would much rather do Clinton than Bush.
Although, if Bush junior were in the running as who I might rather do, then things really get confusing, because although I am convinced Bush junior is both an idiot and an evil sinister monster, I would rather do him than Clinton.
All of this should be used as evidence to just how far my mental condition has fallen.
LANTAU ISLAND
For those of you wondering why I have not been pandering to the gods at Apple, it is only because they rely on lesser gods, like FedEx to deliver their goodness, as in an Ipad2.
Now what does this mean to you? Well, as I wait patiently for my new Ipad2 to make its way around the world, current location is Lantau Island, I become more angry and bitter, or more accurately, more angry and bitter than normal, as if that is possible.
So, first things first, I am an idiot and a fool. Why do I say this? Because quite honestly, I believed Apple and FedEx that they were indeed preparing to deliver to me an Ipad2, and that it was shipped from a slave labor camp in China somewhere and it was indeed at a customs check point in some place called Lantau Island. Why not. Then I did some early morning research, see previous post, but I also did some FedEx research and found this little known fact, there is no place called Lantau Island.
So where the heck is my Ipad 2? See comments, because whoever finds my Ipad 2 and finds a way to have it delivered to me, as promised, by tomorrow, will win, get this, your choice of any Apple downloadable thing. Now, get to it, I have more important things to do.
Now what does this mean to you? Well, as I wait patiently for my new Ipad2 to make its way around the world, current location is Lantau Island, I become more angry and bitter, or more accurately, more angry and bitter than normal, as if that is possible.
So, first things first, I am an idiot and a fool. Why do I say this? Because quite honestly, I believed Apple and FedEx that they were indeed preparing to deliver to me an Ipad2, and that it was shipped from a slave labor camp in China somewhere and it was indeed at a customs check point in some place called Lantau Island. Why not. Then I did some early morning research, see previous post, but I also did some FedEx research and found this little known fact, there is no place called Lantau Island.
So where the heck is my Ipad 2? See comments, because whoever finds my Ipad 2 and finds a way to have it delivered to me, as promised, by tomorrow, will win, get this, your choice of any Apple downloadable thing. Now, get to it, I have more important things to do.
Side effects
Since I was unable to sleep, I thought I should do something productive. First I made some slippers out of the hair from Beth the lesbian wonder dog. Then I cleaned the entire house, but because I am a slob, but in my wake, I was making an even bigger mess than I was able to clean. Finally, I thought, with all this time, why not do some of that research that this blog has fast become famous for.
I am nothing if not a medical experiment, and in that vein, I wanted to help my readers with dealing with side effects found in our daily lives. Now, for me, for a few more days, or until June sometime, I am trying a medication that makes me both happy and pretty. A little Google and I found out some interesting things. Side effects I am either experiencing, should be experiencing or a little pissed off that I am not experiencing are thus:
Alopecia; Not sure what this is and my Google broke somewhere around 3:30AM.
Fatigue; I think this goes without saying, since my afternoon naps under the desk at work are almost predictable.
Nausea; Well, again, goes without saying, since while I am writing this, I am also throwing up.
Vomiting; See the sentence proceeding this.
Anorexia; you mean my new super model figure was not the product of working out, eating right and proper sleep?
Headache; I am pretty sure they have miracle medicines to treat headaches.
Rash; I am never rash.
Constipation; I only wish I suffered from this, because I am pretty sure that I have what doctors refer to as the exact opposite.
With the following important adverse events also reported:
Convulsions; These I have and I kind of enjoy (friends think I am just a good dancer).
Thrombocytopenia; again with the big words, my attitude is, if I can't spell it, say it or use it in a sentence, chances are I do not have it.
Now, once again, I found myself wondering what other side effects might I be experiencing, so I went back to the Google machine and did some research.
Beth the angry lesbian dog;
Hair balls; goes without saying.
Loss of appetite; not her, she is mighty and large and well fed, now if I bother to watch her eat, it makes me kind of sick to my stomach.
Fatigue; Another side effect from watching her "clean herself" if you know what I mean.
Jealousy; See above.
Car chase; not sure why, but since Beth and I became friends, I now enjoy the sublime high that comes from chasing speeding automobiles.
Lucky for you people who sleep, I also did some research into Trader Joe's cookies:
Anorexia; Not an issue.
Swelling; Abdominal swelling can and will occur upon eating.
Loss of appetite; Eating enough of these morsels of goodness will cause you to lose interest in almost all other food products.
Sexual prowess; Eating the morsels of goodness will indeed make you a better lover, at least that is what I am banking on.
Research can be fun, so I Googled the effects of Sketchy the Addict;
Financial; Sketchy has been known to steal, use and borrow large sums of cash.
Social; Expect your friends to lose interest in parties and other social gatherings while dating Sketchy, because people generally do not like Sketchy.
Headaches; Goes without saying, but being around Sketchy can make your head hurt.
Spelling; Inability to spell words like honesty, integrity and monogamy are often found in people who are near, close by or inside of Sketchy.
Truth; Generally the first thing to go when dealing with Sketchy the addict.
The good news, removing Sketchy the addict from your life takes a lot less suffering that say, 84 days of toxic medications.
I am nothing if not a medical experiment, and in that vein, I wanted to help my readers with dealing with side effects found in our daily lives. Now, for me, for a few more days, or until June sometime, I am trying a medication that makes me both happy and pretty. A little Google and I found out some interesting things. Side effects I am either experiencing, should be experiencing or a little pissed off that I am not experiencing are thus:
Alopecia; Not sure what this is and my Google broke somewhere around 3:30AM.
Fatigue; I think this goes without saying, since my afternoon naps under the desk at work are almost predictable.
Nausea; Well, again, goes without saying, since while I am writing this, I am also throwing up.
Vomiting; See the sentence proceeding this.
Anorexia; you mean my new super model figure was not the product of working out, eating right and proper sleep?
Headache; I am pretty sure they have miracle medicines to treat headaches.
Rash; I am never rash.
Constipation; I only wish I suffered from this, because I am pretty sure that I have what doctors refer to as the exact opposite.
With the following important adverse events also reported:
Convulsions; These I have and I kind of enjoy (friends think I am just a good dancer).
Thrombocytopenia; again with the big words, my attitude is, if I can't spell it, say it or use it in a sentence, chances are I do not have it.
Now, once again, I found myself wondering what other side effects might I be experiencing, so I went back to the Google machine and did some research.
Beth the angry lesbian dog;
Hair balls; goes without saying.
Loss of appetite; not her, she is mighty and large and well fed, now if I bother to watch her eat, it makes me kind of sick to my stomach.
Fatigue; Another side effect from watching her "clean herself" if you know what I mean.
Jealousy; See above.
Car chase; not sure why, but since Beth and I became friends, I now enjoy the sublime high that comes from chasing speeding automobiles.
Lucky for you people who sleep, I also did some research into Trader Joe's cookies:
Anorexia; Not an issue.
Swelling; Abdominal swelling can and will occur upon eating.
Loss of appetite; Eating enough of these morsels of goodness will cause you to lose interest in almost all other food products.
Sexual prowess; Eating the morsels of goodness will indeed make you a better lover, at least that is what I am banking on.
Research can be fun, so I Googled the effects of Sketchy the Addict;
Financial; Sketchy has been known to steal, use and borrow large sums of cash.
Social; Expect your friends to lose interest in parties and other social gatherings while dating Sketchy, because people generally do not like Sketchy.
Headaches; Goes without saying, but being around Sketchy can make your head hurt.
Spelling; Inability to spell words like honesty, integrity and monogamy are often found in people who are near, close by or inside of Sketchy.
Truth; Generally the first thing to go when dealing with Sketchy the addict.
The good news, removing Sketchy the addict from your life takes a lot less suffering that say, 84 days of toxic medications.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Bitching and moaning
Hi,
I met this guy a few months ago, we were at a bar, we were drinking, we hooked up and now we are kind of dating. I am a 20 something woman, he is a 20 something man. Here is the problem, well, there are a few problems. First, he does not seem to know what to do sexually, from kissing to everything. I know, I could train him, but really, at 20 something shouldn't a guy understand basic anatomy? My biggest problem is we were both kind of drunk when we met, and even though it's been a few months, I am kind of slumming with him, if you know what I mean. See, a lot of men find me....
Oh my god. Enough. For the readers of this blog, you owe me, big time. Why? Because I edit this drivel so you don't have to. It is that simple, look I don't ask for money or sympathy, although I would accept money. I'll get back to the letter, but trust me, all the words that are now missing were useless, because just what appears up there is far more than we all need to know where she was going. Here is what I do not get about people who write me relationship letters. What do you expect me to do? If you describe yourself in terms that make you appear slutty and stupid, did you think I would find a way to gloss over that? If you pick someone up at a bar and sleep with them, was I supposed to think that was just peachy?
Look the slumming part of picking someone up ends that night, or the next morning, depending on when the actual walk of shame take places. You can not decide 3 months into anything that you are now slumming. Did I mention I do not really like the idea of slumming in the first place?
Plus, when all the sentences begin or contain "I" we really know what we are dealing with. Now, I am weak, tired, sick and unpleasant, so maybe I am not the right person to answer this email. Instead, let's let my dog Beth answer it. Beth:
Honey you is a bitch. I ain't care how hot you is, you drunk and getting funky with boys you ain't know. What I say is you a whore. Sorry sister, but just cause you got an itch, you ain't need no man to scratch it. You got what I say? Damn, what I ain't understand is why a bitch like you think your shit no stink. I shit outside and even then, it stink. I shit in the snow, guess what sister? It still stink. You get drunk at a bar, do a booty call, pretend you all relationshiped up and now, guess what? It still stink and that stink is you. Yeah, that's what I am sayin, you a stinky whore. I said it and meant it. You ain't all that, and honey, drunk girls picking up drunken boys ain't able to slum, cause you is the slum. Get over yourself. Beth.
Thank you Beth. Finally, because I read what Beth said and I tend to agree, but you also yammered on about his lack of sexual knowledge. Hey Boopsy, can I ask you a question? Where did you learn to be such a champion in the sack? Men and women learn from their giving, loving and honest partners. We get clues, sounds, gyrations and all sorts of other body language advice. Unlike Beth, we also have a vocabulary, although judging from the majority of your letter, yours is about as advanced as Beths, but here's the deal, you want your lover to learn something, teach him. Nothing drives me crazier than people who complain about bad lovers, but have never sat them down and talked about what works and what does not. Or, better yet, show him. That's right, get naked and show him what you want him to do. Imagine that, because if you lead a horse to water, or something, all kinds of cool things happen.
I am done. I was done before I started, but Beth is jealous of my laptop and to appease her, I let her type an answer, you know, bitch to bitch.
I met this guy a few months ago, we were at a bar, we were drinking, we hooked up and now we are kind of dating. I am a 20 something woman, he is a 20 something man. Here is the problem, well, there are a few problems. First, he does not seem to know what to do sexually, from kissing to everything. I know, I could train him, but really, at 20 something shouldn't a guy understand basic anatomy? My biggest problem is we were both kind of drunk when we met, and even though it's been a few months, I am kind of slumming with him, if you know what I mean. See, a lot of men find me....
Oh my god. Enough. For the readers of this blog, you owe me, big time. Why? Because I edit this drivel so you don't have to. It is that simple, look I don't ask for money or sympathy, although I would accept money. I'll get back to the letter, but trust me, all the words that are now missing were useless, because just what appears up there is far more than we all need to know where she was going. Here is what I do not get about people who write me relationship letters. What do you expect me to do? If you describe yourself in terms that make you appear slutty and stupid, did you think I would find a way to gloss over that? If you pick someone up at a bar and sleep with them, was I supposed to think that was just peachy?
Look the slumming part of picking someone up ends that night, or the next morning, depending on when the actual walk of shame take places. You can not decide 3 months into anything that you are now slumming. Did I mention I do not really like the idea of slumming in the first place?
Plus, when all the sentences begin or contain "I" we really know what we are dealing with. Now, I am weak, tired, sick and unpleasant, so maybe I am not the right person to answer this email. Instead, let's let my dog Beth answer it. Beth:
Honey you is a bitch. I ain't care how hot you is, you drunk and getting funky with boys you ain't know. What I say is you a whore. Sorry sister, but just cause you got an itch, you ain't need no man to scratch it. You got what I say? Damn, what I ain't understand is why a bitch like you think your shit no stink. I shit outside and even then, it stink. I shit in the snow, guess what sister? It still stink. You get drunk at a bar, do a booty call, pretend you all relationshiped up and now, guess what? It still stink and that stink is you. Yeah, that's what I am sayin, you a stinky whore. I said it and meant it. You ain't all that, and honey, drunk girls picking up drunken boys ain't able to slum, cause you is the slum. Get over yourself. Beth.
Thank you Beth. Finally, because I read what Beth said and I tend to agree, but you also yammered on about his lack of sexual knowledge. Hey Boopsy, can I ask you a question? Where did you learn to be such a champion in the sack? Men and women learn from their giving, loving and honest partners. We get clues, sounds, gyrations and all sorts of other body language advice. Unlike Beth, we also have a vocabulary, although judging from the majority of your letter, yours is about as advanced as Beths, but here's the deal, you want your lover to learn something, teach him. Nothing drives me crazier than people who complain about bad lovers, but have never sat them down and talked about what works and what does not. Or, better yet, show him. That's right, get naked and show him what you want him to do. Imagine that, because if you lead a horse to water, or something, all kinds of cool things happen.
I am done. I was done before I started, but Beth is jealous of my laptop and to appease her, I let her type an answer, you know, bitch to bitch.
The perfect machine
I rarely check facebook any more, mostly because I find it all kind of scary. Yesterday I got a lovely love letter from a lovely man, a bike rider, a bike shop owner (former) and just an all around sweet man.
He is in the film below, but that is not why I sing his praises. I just like him. As with most people who do something in their life that they have passion for, he always seems centered and healthy.
So, there in the dark and twisted pages of Facebook was a nice little note, telling me how he found this film and he was reminded how handsome I am. Actually he did not say that, although that would have been a sweet note to receive.
No, he liked the film.
So be it.
He is in the film below, but that is not why I sing his praises. I just like him. As with most people who do something in their life that they have passion for, he always seems centered and healthy.
So, there in the dark and twisted pages of Facebook was a nice little note, telling me how he found this film and he was reminded how handsome I am. Actually he did not say that, although that would have been a sweet note to receive.
No, he liked the film.
So be it.
Murado
Von Lintel Gallery is pleased to announce Ophelia, an exhibition of new paintings by Antonio Murado. This will be the artist's second solo show with Von Lintel Gallery and his seventh in New York.
Murado is an extraordinarily versatile painter with a voracious and omnivorous appetite for source material. His paintings range from heavily textured impasto dirges to melodious arias, and always demonstrate his virtuosity with materials and skill at creating subtle painterly effect. In this series of paintings, inspired by Shakespeare's Ophelia, Murado orchestrates a range of techniques with stunning results. Rather than depicting the tragic heroine herself, Murado uses various methods to blow liquid paint across pale scrims of brushed on, semi-transparent color. The blown paint creates vaguely petal like forms that float over veil-like cooler hues, reminiscent of flowers on a watery surface--the most poignant and poetic symbols of Ophelia's fate. The subtle palette and meditative mood of these works, coupled with their layered physicality and bold brushwork, show that Murado is an artist who would have been at ease in the most brutish abstract expressionist circles but is not afraid to paint delicate and unabashedly beautiful pictures.
Antonio Murado's work has been exhibited nationally and internationally for nearly two decades. His work is held by virtually every museum in Spain and is included in major public and private collections throughout Europe and the United States. A native of Lugo, Spain, the artist currently lives and works in New York.
Murado is an extraordinarily versatile painter with a voracious and omnivorous appetite for source material. His paintings range from heavily textured impasto dirges to melodious arias, and always demonstrate his virtuosity with materials and skill at creating subtle painterly effect. In this series of paintings, inspired by Shakespeare's Ophelia, Murado orchestrates a range of techniques with stunning results. Rather than depicting the tragic heroine herself, Murado uses various methods to blow liquid paint across pale scrims of brushed on, semi-transparent color. The blown paint creates vaguely petal like forms that float over veil-like cooler hues, reminiscent of flowers on a watery surface--the most poignant and poetic symbols of Ophelia's fate. The subtle palette and meditative mood of these works, coupled with their layered physicality and bold brushwork, show that Murado is an artist who would have been at ease in the most brutish abstract expressionist circles but is not afraid to paint delicate and unabashedly beautiful pictures.
Antonio Murado's work has been exhibited nationally and internationally for nearly two decades. His work is held by virtually every museum in Spain and is included in major public and private collections throughout Europe and the United States. A native of Lugo, Spain, the artist currently lives and works in New York.
Debate till death
One of the things I miss about Seattle is the need for all the stoned hippies to debate everything until everyone is sleeping and nothing gets done.
While I lived there, once or twice a year a vote would be help to built a monorail, not build a monorail, have a monorail that goes to the moon, construct a monorail from my house to your house and on and on. Silliness and pettiness never looked so unpleasant. I believe there were over 700 votes on monorail options, almost all of them passed. So one would think that there must be monorails all over Seattle, right?
Well, that's where it gets a little complicated. No monorails were ever built. Not because voters did not support them, but because, well, no one is quite sure.
At least with all the radiation flowing into Seattle, no one will notice all the empty monorail tracks.
A Department of Health air monitor in Seattle has detected trace levels of radiation in connection with Japan’s nuclear emergency. The minuscule amounts of radioactive iodine are millions of times lower than levels that would be a health concern. Despite these very small amounts, the state’s overall background radiation levels haven’t risen.
The positive results are consistent with findings reported by federal and Canadian partners, and by independent researchers. As expected, because of the distance from Japan and air mixing, radiation reaching our state is so diluted there is no health risk here, making protective action unnecessary.
While I lived there, once or twice a year a vote would be help to built a monorail, not build a monorail, have a monorail that goes to the moon, construct a monorail from my house to your house and on and on. Silliness and pettiness never looked so unpleasant. I believe there were over 700 votes on monorail options, almost all of them passed. So one would think that there must be monorails all over Seattle, right?
Well, that's where it gets a little complicated. No monorails were ever built. Not because voters did not support them, but because, well, no one is quite sure.
At least with all the radiation flowing into Seattle, no one will notice all the empty monorail tracks.
A Department of Health air monitor in Seattle has detected trace levels of radiation in connection with Japan’s nuclear emergency. The minuscule amounts of radioactive iodine are millions of times lower than levels that would be a health concern. Despite these very small amounts, the state’s overall background radiation levels haven’t risen.
The positive results are consistent with findings reported by federal and Canadian partners, and by independent researchers. As expected, because of the distance from Japan and air mixing, radiation reaching our state is so diluted there is no health risk here, making protective action unnecessary.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Cycles versus other things
There I was, on a date of sorts and we were talking about this, or that, it was a blur and I was kind of bored. Such is what happens on dates. You get to know someone, especially if it is someone you do not really want to get to know and decisions must be made.
I do not get along well with dumb people, that has been a problem for me for a long time and it shows no signs of subsiding. Famously, for me anyway, I was on a date in Seattle a few months ago, I think, and it all fell apart. See, we met on the street, me shopping for socks, always looking super sexy and everything and all of a sudden someone had said, let's have dinner. That usually works for me, especially when someone happens to be 20 something and super fine.
Now, here is what I learned. Just because someone can put together the words to ask me out to dinner does not mean they are smart enough to put together a number of sentences at said dinner. So, I ordered a drink and the conversation went something like this:
Me: So, tell me about yourself.
Idiot: What do you want to know?
Me: What do you want me to know?
Idiot: I don't know what you mean.
Me: You don't know what I mean when I say tell me about yourself?
Idiot: Yeah.
Me: I'll be right back, I have to use the bathroom.
I found the bathroom, which I did not use, walked through the kitchen and out the back door, never to return to that restaurant or that date again.
So, there I was, this past weekend, on a date of sorts and bored and wondering how normal people date. Then I said something smooth, like "I need to get going, I am going to cycle tomorrow." This started about a 30 second conversation because my date loves cycles, something I did not know, but something I find attractive and then I asked the almost sublime question, what sort of cycle do you ride. Initials and a number were the answer, which to me meant nothing, although I do know a thing about cycles, I don't know everything. There are brands and numbers and all sorts of inside stuff only hardcore cyclists know. I said I was still riding my old Klein, a road bike. To which, cue end of date music right about now, I was asked, how many horsepower? I think I may have snorted.
Date over. Bicycles do not have horsepower you bonehead, or wait, the numbers after the initials from before? Those were horses. Now I get it.
Anyway, date ends when a cyclist is actually a motorcyclist. It's not that I have no interest in motorcyclists, a woman I work with loves to ride her Harley, or something, but for me, for a second date, or pretty much anything else, you need to ride a vehicle you power yourself.
I am not dating again until I am done with this treatment, which is June 5. Maybe by then I will have mastered the ability to tell the difference between a road cycle and a road hog.
I do not get along well with dumb people, that has been a problem for me for a long time and it shows no signs of subsiding. Famously, for me anyway, I was on a date in Seattle a few months ago, I think, and it all fell apart. See, we met on the street, me shopping for socks, always looking super sexy and everything and all of a sudden someone had said, let's have dinner. That usually works for me, especially when someone happens to be 20 something and super fine.
Now, here is what I learned. Just because someone can put together the words to ask me out to dinner does not mean they are smart enough to put together a number of sentences at said dinner. So, I ordered a drink and the conversation went something like this:
Me: So, tell me about yourself.
Idiot: What do you want to know?
Me: What do you want me to know?
Idiot: I don't know what you mean.
Me: You don't know what I mean when I say tell me about yourself?
Idiot: Yeah.
Me: I'll be right back, I have to use the bathroom.
I found the bathroom, which I did not use, walked through the kitchen and out the back door, never to return to that restaurant or that date again.
So, there I was, this past weekend, on a date of sorts and bored and wondering how normal people date. Then I said something smooth, like "I need to get going, I am going to cycle tomorrow." This started about a 30 second conversation because my date loves cycles, something I did not know, but something I find attractive and then I asked the almost sublime question, what sort of cycle do you ride. Initials and a number were the answer, which to me meant nothing, although I do know a thing about cycles, I don't know everything. There are brands and numbers and all sorts of inside stuff only hardcore cyclists know. I said I was still riding my old Klein, a road bike. To which, cue end of date music right about now, I was asked, how many horsepower? I think I may have snorted.
Date over. Bicycles do not have horsepower you bonehead, or wait, the numbers after the initials from before? Those were horses. Now I get it.
Anyway, date ends when a cyclist is actually a motorcyclist. It's not that I have no interest in motorcyclists, a woman I work with loves to ride her Harley, or something, but for me, for a second date, or pretty much anything else, you need to ride a vehicle you power yourself.
I am not dating again until I am done with this treatment, which is June 5. Maybe by then I will have mastered the ability to tell the difference between a road cycle and a road hog.
A series of unfortunate mishaps
Long before everyone was getting a sex change, I had a sister. That said, it was nice to have a new brother, but then, being the genetic female that god had created, she/he changed its mind somewhere back in the 90's.
Instead of a brother/sister, I ended up with a sister/brother/sister. Which was not as bad as it sounded, because he-she was more or less an expert on all things human. In fact, when I got this letter recently from a dismayed blog reader, I turned to my sister/brother/sister person for expert analysis.
Dear Matt
I am hoping that you, being super smart (and pretty) could help me with my unique problem.
Thanks in advance,
Becky
Becky, below is what my sister had to say.
Dear Becky,
While your letter appears to be one sentence, even with such brevity, you make no sense. For me, I can still pee standing up.
Take care.
Harpo
Well, that was easy enough, although, believe you me, I will not be asking him/her to help on answering important questions ever again. Unless, like I am right now, I am too drunk to do much else.
Instead of a brother/sister, I ended up with a sister/brother/sister. Which was not as bad as it sounded, because he-she was more or less an expert on all things human. In fact, when I got this letter recently from a dismayed blog reader, I turned to my sister/brother/sister person for expert analysis.
Dear Matt
I am hoping that you, being super smart (and pretty) could help me with my unique problem.
Thanks in advance,
Becky
Becky, below is what my sister had to say.
Dear Becky,
While your letter appears to be one sentence, even with such brevity, you make no sense. For me, I can still pee standing up.
Take care.
Harpo
Well, that was easy enough, although, believe you me, I will not be asking him/her to help on answering important questions ever again. Unless, like I am right now, I am too drunk to do much else.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Plugs - unpaid
Here, some links to places I like, recommend or just think you might enjoy.
Cycling stuff. Real Cyclist
Cycling
REI
Shoes
Bikes
Beautiful cycles.
Apple - Ipad2 shipped and in my office this week, so the plugs continue.
That should get you started. Check the short films on Cervelo, if those do not make your heart go pitter patter, you may need help.
Cycling stuff. Real Cyclist
Cycling
REI
Shoes
Bikes
Beautiful cycles.
Apple - Ipad2 shipped and in my office this week, so the plugs continue.
That should get you started. Check the short films on Cervelo, if those do not make your heart go pitter patter, you may need help.
Sunday mornings
When I crawled out of bed this morning (edit)
The kitchen is on the first floor, (edit), down the stairs I traipsed, gently, because I have fallen downstairs three times in the last 10 days. When I got to the kitchen, a plate of fresh fruit was sitting on the island. The coffee made and hot. A cup with cream in it, waiting for me.
I was dumbstruck, made my way back up the stairs and found pillows in my bed, mimicking a human form. Oh I like this, a lot.
There are really only two rules I have had for all relationships, one is personal, the other is breakfast has never really been made for me. Sure, every 6 months or so, my last two (partners) would make something, usually rubbery and tasteless. Generally, when I have a (lover) in my house, I end up making breakfast and often bringing it up to the bedroom. Why has it always been so hard to find someone who could do this for me?
This morning, (edit). A healthy breakfast waiting just for me.
The kitchen is on the first floor, (edit), down the stairs I traipsed, gently, because I have fallen downstairs three times in the last 10 days. When I got to the kitchen, a plate of fresh fruit was sitting on the island. The coffee made and hot. A cup with cream in it, waiting for me.
I was dumbstruck, made my way back up the stairs and found pillows in my bed, mimicking a human form. Oh I like this, a lot.
There are really only two rules I have had for all relationships, one is personal, the other is breakfast has never really been made for me. Sure, every 6 months or so, my last two (partners) would make something, usually rubbery and tasteless. Generally, when I have a (lover) in my house, I end up making breakfast and often bringing it up to the bedroom. Why has it always been so hard to find someone who could do this for me?
This morning, (edit). A healthy breakfast waiting just for me.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Times like these
When I was a young man, well, kind of that strange period between boy and man, our family was given a dog. A pure bred boxer. Her name was Lady. She was all muscle, a light brown, no tail and when she was excited her entire rear quarters would wiggle.
Quickly we became great friends. We slept together, went on walks, chased birds and if I threw a ball she would run like the wind and go and get it. Sometimes she would bring it back and allow me to throw it again, depending on her mood.
We would battle. I could stand in the front yard and she would get on her hind legs and try to bite my hands. It was a game we played. I would try to slap her face, she would try and bite my hand. I did not really slap her and she never bit me so hard as to make me bleed, it was a game and we both understood the rules.
Until a fat lazy gay cat with breathing problems entered my life many years later, Lady was far and above the most important pet I have ever known. There was no pretense to her, although my sense was that inside, she knew she was a much better specimen than the family she was living with. It was an attitude that she could flash, a look, sideways glance. She would let me know, a little faster, a little better groomed and in much better shape.
We would race. Both standing still and then an imaginary gun would go off and we would both run as fast as possible, maybe 50 yards. It was never close, but when I stopped, she would come paddling up, happy and joyous.
One day she was gone. I found her body in the woods behind our house, she had found a small cave, laid down and stopped breathing. She looked peaceful. I admired the fact that she did not do some dramatic dance, weaker by the day, slowing letting us know her days were numbered. Such was her dignity, she just found a quiet place to be at peace and she drifted off. When I go, if I could mimic her, I would die happy.
I am a medical experiment for 76 more days. I spent the day alone today, running errands and forgetting how to measure a door.
I have a friend, for the sake of his dignity and privacy and to not ruin his standing in his career, I will call him Becky. I called Becky tonight, he answered and we talked. If memory serves me, and it rarely does these days, we met when we were both in grade school. I was short and fat and people told me I was ugly. He was tall and blond and handsome and girls found him attractive.
We have always been friends. I think it's safe to say that we will always be friends. I was not making a friend, touch base call tonight. I had something important to ask him and it took a while, because at the basics of our relationship, we are friends, we love one another as only brothers can. So we had to catch up.
A few years ago Becky was standing next to me as a prescription medication I had taken for the first time began to kick in. As I stood in a coffee shop in Seattle and I looked out the window, the seasons kept changing, in the matter of seconds. It was strange and unsettling. Becky asked me if I was OK and I said I thought I might throw up. Apparently I was ghostly white. We made it into the women's room and I began to toss.
A long time later, Becky was driving my car, taking me home.
Tonight, after catching up, I said I needed a favor. Becky listened and then he said, done.
I may be trying to define what friends really are. We do not see one another often, on average, once every 3-5 years. We hardly ever talk on the phone. We email maybe once a year. Then there is tonight. We could have been at the playground, boys coming up with ways to disrupt 6th grade english. Can I borrow a quarter for lunch? He would hand me a quarter. Tonight, as if we were those same boys, I asked a favor and he did not hesitate.
At some point I asked Becky if he remembered Lady. "That Boxer? She was something."
If memory serves me, that boxer and I sat in the green grass one night, staring at the moon as two Americans walked on it for the first time in history. That was a long time ago.
Quickly we became great friends. We slept together, went on walks, chased birds and if I threw a ball she would run like the wind and go and get it. Sometimes she would bring it back and allow me to throw it again, depending on her mood.
We would battle. I could stand in the front yard and she would get on her hind legs and try to bite my hands. It was a game we played. I would try to slap her face, she would try and bite my hand. I did not really slap her and she never bit me so hard as to make me bleed, it was a game and we both understood the rules.
Until a fat lazy gay cat with breathing problems entered my life many years later, Lady was far and above the most important pet I have ever known. There was no pretense to her, although my sense was that inside, she knew she was a much better specimen than the family she was living with. It was an attitude that she could flash, a look, sideways glance. She would let me know, a little faster, a little better groomed and in much better shape.
We would race. Both standing still and then an imaginary gun would go off and we would both run as fast as possible, maybe 50 yards. It was never close, but when I stopped, she would come paddling up, happy and joyous.
One day she was gone. I found her body in the woods behind our house, she had found a small cave, laid down and stopped breathing. She looked peaceful. I admired the fact that she did not do some dramatic dance, weaker by the day, slowing letting us know her days were numbered. Such was her dignity, she just found a quiet place to be at peace and she drifted off. When I go, if I could mimic her, I would die happy.
I am a medical experiment for 76 more days. I spent the day alone today, running errands and forgetting how to measure a door.
I have a friend, for the sake of his dignity and privacy and to not ruin his standing in his career, I will call him Becky. I called Becky tonight, he answered and we talked. If memory serves me, and it rarely does these days, we met when we were both in grade school. I was short and fat and people told me I was ugly. He was tall and blond and handsome and girls found him attractive.
We have always been friends. I think it's safe to say that we will always be friends. I was not making a friend, touch base call tonight. I had something important to ask him and it took a while, because at the basics of our relationship, we are friends, we love one another as only brothers can. So we had to catch up.
A few years ago Becky was standing next to me as a prescription medication I had taken for the first time began to kick in. As I stood in a coffee shop in Seattle and I looked out the window, the seasons kept changing, in the matter of seconds. It was strange and unsettling. Becky asked me if I was OK and I said I thought I might throw up. Apparently I was ghostly white. We made it into the women's room and I began to toss.
A long time later, Becky was driving my car, taking me home.
Tonight, after catching up, I said I needed a favor. Becky listened and then he said, done.
I may be trying to define what friends really are. We do not see one another often, on average, once every 3-5 years. We hardly ever talk on the phone. We email maybe once a year. Then there is tonight. We could have been at the playground, boys coming up with ways to disrupt 6th grade english. Can I borrow a quarter for lunch? He would hand me a quarter. Tonight, as if we were those same boys, I asked a favor and he did not hesitate.
At some point I asked Becky if he remembered Lady. "That Boxer? She was something."
If memory serves me, that boxer and I sat in the green grass one night, staring at the moon as two Americans walked on it for the first time in history. That was a long time ago.
The eviler of two lessers
I love when things like this happen. My daughter got accepted to one of the key colleges that she is interested in attending yesterday and we were both elated.
Now, when something like this happens, you want to share the joy with people you love and, in cases like this, people who love my daughter. I called a couple of friends from Seattle because they both love her, get her, respect her and would want to hear the news.
I emailed a friend who was once a very close friend, but took a job overseas and now we only see one another when I am there or he is here.
Then I was faced with a philosophical issue. There are a couple of people whom I tend to think of as ships in the night. At one point they were important, important parts of this family and for one reason or another, they are no longer on the list. My instinct, in that moment of sublime happiness, was to share it with them.
Tangent - a decade or so ago I took part in a cycle ride across Montana to raise money for charity. There were over 1000 cyclists and I had trained hard for the ride. Every day I was tested and on most days I proudly finished grueling days in the hot sun and dusty roads in top shape. When the ride finished I checked into my hotel room, a physical wreck, but feeling deeply touched not only by the endurance nature of the ride, but the goodness of the adventure. Who should I call I thought. I wanted to share this moment, this life memory with someone. I called my ex-wife, who listened as I cried and shared key moments and told her of the adventure. She was sweet and caring and it was a glorious moment. To this day I am not sure why I called her, but I did and she was the perfect person to share that moment with.
So, in much the same situation last night, I was thinking of the people who would want to hear the news of college.
It really is her moment and I wanted my daughter to pick and choose who she tells and how. Possibly a facebook posting or something would suffice. I ended up not calling the two people whom I was sure would want to hear. Now, I did text one, because I was sure that even though we could not be called friends, we were once and that bridge had yet to be completely burned, although in my memory, is smolders. Funny thing, it appears the number was wrong or there was no interest.
The other person, I chose not to contact mostly because I feel as though, you know, let sleeping dogs lie.
These moments of trying to figure out how and why to contact eviler people are not easy, but they came and went in the blink of an eye. I focus instead on the glory of my daughter, a woman I love.
Now, when something like this happens, you want to share the joy with people you love and, in cases like this, people who love my daughter. I called a couple of friends from Seattle because they both love her, get her, respect her and would want to hear the news.
I emailed a friend who was once a very close friend, but took a job overseas and now we only see one another when I am there or he is here.
Then I was faced with a philosophical issue. There are a couple of people whom I tend to think of as ships in the night. At one point they were important, important parts of this family and for one reason or another, they are no longer on the list. My instinct, in that moment of sublime happiness, was to share it with them.
Tangent - a decade or so ago I took part in a cycle ride across Montana to raise money for charity. There were over 1000 cyclists and I had trained hard for the ride. Every day I was tested and on most days I proudly finished grueling days in the hot sun and dusty roads in top shape. When the ride finished I checked into my hotel room, a physical wreck, but feeling deeply touched not only by the endurance nature of the ride, but the goodness of the adventure. Who should I call I thought. I wanted to share this moment, this life memory with someone. I called my ex-wife, who listened as I cried and shared key moments and told her of the adventure. She was sweet and caring and it was a glorious moment. To this day I am not sure why I called her, but I did and she was the perfect person to share that moment with.
So, in much the same situation last night, I was thinking of the people who would want to hear the news of college.
It really is her moment and I wanted my daughter to pick and choose who she tells and how. Possibly a facebook posting or something would suffice. I ended up not calling the two people whom I was sure would want to hear. Now, I did text one, because I was sure that even though we could not be called friends, we were once and that bridge had yet to be completely burned, although in my memory, is smolders. Funny thing, it appears the number was wrong or there was no interest.
The other person, I chose not to contact mostly because I feel as though, you know, let sleeping dogs lie.
These moments of trying to figure out how and why to contact eviler people are not easy, but they came and went in the blink of an eye. I focus instead on the glory of my daughter, a woman I love.
Better news
As the economy continues to improve, so does a small businesses need to continually reach out to clients and customers.
I will not go into it here, right now, but suffice to say, a couple of projects are in the works that could be the sign that my personal economic situation may be due for an incredible awakening.
That said, in the comments section, you people need to stop picking on Sketchy the Addict. I am sure that some day there will be something to say about Sketchy, because addicts are nothing if not predictable. As of now, the role of Sketchy the Addict will be played by Beth Libitard, a sexy Australian with skills you could only imagine.
I will not go into it here, right now, but suffice to say, a couple of projects are in the works that could be the sign that my personal economic situation may be due for an incredible awakening.
That said, in the comments section, you people need to stop picking on Sketchy the Addict. I am sure that some day there will be something to say about Sketchy, because addicts are nothing if not predictable. As of now, the role of Sketchy the Addict will be played by Beth Libitard, a sexy Australian with skills you could only imagine.
Do me a favor
I was recently looking over the stats for this blog. It's true, I can see many things about the people who read this blog. First, many of you are Americans. This is the favor I am asking, please copy the address for this blog and send it to your friends, especially your overseas friends, because I need to grow the audience.
That said, start reading this blog on other internet browsers. The majority of blog readers are no longer using Internet Explorer. Why is that? What does it mean? Could it be that since this blog is written on a Mac, only Mac heads are reading it? Doubtful, just from the numbers, but still, do me another favor, when you are cutting and pasting the address for this blog, make sure to send it to your friends who only use Internet Explorer. I just want to see the stats change.
That said, start reading this blog on other internet browsers. The majority of blog readers are no longer using Internet Explorer. Why is that? What does it mean? Could it be that since this blog is written on a Mac, only Mac heads are reading it? Doubtful, just from the numbers, but still, do me another favor, when you are cutting and pasting the address for this blog, make sure to send it to your friends who only use Internet Explorer. I just want to see the stats change.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Weekend letter
Matt-Straight married woman. Married 3 years, great relationship, husband is sexy, honest and capable for all that he need be. Only problem is I would like to sleep with a woman, he says vows mean neither of us acts on thoughts and lust. I agree, but then, I would like to sleep with a woman. Suggestions for turning his thought process around?
If you want him to say yes immediately tell him you want him to sleep with another woman. That should do the trick. Thank you and I am out of here. Have a great weekend everyone.
Oh, if that does not work, try this, "honey, I think we should both sleep with another woman." That should do the trick.
Now, a couple of things. I checked, I got this letter on Monday. I emailed back immediately, and have yet to hear a response. I needed to know how old you were, how old your husband is and how long you dated before marrying. I also asked if you dyked it up before, college, or something. Women always seem to have some sort of bisexual encounter in their closets. But then, you did not respond to my email.
So, I am going to say it again. Include husband in plan to sleep with another woman and chances are he will say yes. Exclude him and I doubt he will change his mind. If monogamy in your marriage is no big deal to you, as it appears it is not, then it should be no big deal period. Is it OK if he sleeps with a dude? Or another woman? Just want to make sure you are fair all the way around.
Anyway, I wanted to post your letter first to remind people to check their email if they really want a serious response, and second, if you want to not have a completely monogamous relationship, then neither should your husband.
All that said, you are not that out of the mainstream. Women seem pretty fluid when it comes to sexuality, actually a lot of men I hear from seem pretty fluid about sexuality too, they just seem a lot more closeted about talking about it.
Bottom line, it is great that you and your husband talk about these things. I am pretty sure he is the only man in America who does not jump at the concept of his wife with another woman, but then again, that just may be me.
If you want him to say yes immediately tell him you want him to sleep with another woman. That should do the trick. Thank you and I am out of here. Have a great weekend everyone.
Oh, if that does not work, try this, "honey, I think we should both sleep with another woman." That should do the trick.
Now, a couple of things. I checked, I got this letter on Monday. I emailed back immediately, and have yet to hear a response. I needed to know how old you were, how old your husband is and how long you dated before marrying. I also asked if you dyked it up before, college, or something. Women always seem to have some sort of bisexual encounter in their closets. But then, you did not respond to my email.
So, I am going to say it again. Include husband in plan to sleep with another woman and chances are he will say yes. Exclude him and I doubt he will change his mind. If monogamy in your marriage is no big deal to you, as it appears it is not, then it should be no big deal period. Is it OK if he sleeps with a dude? Or another woman? Just want to make sure you are fair all the way around.
Anyway, I wanted to post your letter first to remind people to check their email if they really want a serious response, and second, if you want to not have a completely monogamous relationship, then neither should your husband.
All that said, you are not that out of the mainstream. Women seem pretty fluid when it comes to sexuality, actually a lot of men I hear from seem pretty fluid about sexuality too, they just seem a lot more closeted about talking about it.
Bottom line, it is great that you and your husband talk about these things. I am pretty sure he is the only man in America who does not jump at the concept of his wife with another woman, but then again, that just may be me.
Not my hometown, but still...
This from the Daily News:
If you want proof that architecture and houses can inspire people, real estate value and a reality television show, just head to Sharon Springs, N.Y., or tune in to “The Fabulous Beekman Boys” on Planet Green every Tuesday at 10 p.m.
The former upstate resort town blessed with healing mineral waters and crumbling mansions is front and center in the show, whose second season, premiering March 22, follows Josh Kilmer-Purcell and Dr. Brent Ridge, two city slickers who become farmers.
Sharon Springs, though, was popular long before the cameras rolled in. After years of abandonment, the village has experienced more than a decade of growth led by preservationists, house lovers and entrepreneurs, all charmed by rustic life in small-town America.
Take local real estate agent Michelle Curran. In 1993, she fell so in love with an 8,000-square-foot Italianate limestone mansion, built from 1850 to 1854, that she moved from Tampa to restore the grand home. Dr. John Gardner, the man credited with discovering the local healing waters, built the house.
“It’s true. I moved because I fell in love with a house and this village,” says Curran, who became an associate broker with Realty USA when she decided to live in the town year-round in 2003. “There’s a nine-hole abandoned golf course on the property that is a huge deer preserve now. I have a 60-foot porch that can hold 300 people and a bar. We have great parties in Sharon Springs, and we all love our history.”
Through the 19th century, Sharon Springs was one of the most popular summer towns in America, drawing some of the East Coast’s wealthiest families, who built limestone mansions, hotels, Victorian guesthouses, Greek Revival farmhouses, hunting cabins with outhouses and even a men’s club with views of the Adirondacks. The spas, in the basements of the hotels, catered to people looking for baths in white sulfur and magnesium, said to have restorative healing powers.
After the Great Depression, the town’s popularity crashed with America’s financial system. The spas became popular again in the 1960s, rediscovered by Russians from Brooklyn and Orthodox Jews attracted to a piece of the old country and low home prices. Housing also brought New Yorkers looking for deals, as low as $20,000 for old guesthouses.
Doug Plummer, an actor, and Garth Roberts, a Broadway pianist and entertainer, were driving through the town in the 1990s when they fell in love with the decaying structures. Twenty years later, they’re restoring their fourth building and starting their third business, a theater for the arts in an old community hall in the middle of the village.
“This town is contagious and addictive,” says Plummer, a town trustee who along with Roberts restored, owns and operates the American Hotel, where the bartender is the local mortician. “We bought our first house for $20,000, restored it and sold it for $27,000,” says Plummer. “The hotel was a dream project. Like the other buildings in this town, it was kind of glorious in its decay. The roof was caving in. It had no plumbing. We had to gut the entire interior to rebuild it.”
Today the hotel, with nine guest rooms, restaurant and bar, is a meeting place for locals and tourists who come in the summer for the Glimmerglass Opera in Cooperstown or drive through.
Kilmer-Purcell and Ridge were on an apple-picking road trip when they discovered the town. Taken by its architecture and friendly vibe, they ended up spending the night at the American Hotel. Less than a month later, Curran sold them an 1802 mansion on 60 acres built by a local merchant named Beekman. They paid $950,000 for the renovated Federal-Georgian home. The village and farm inspired the two to start a business focusing on homegrown products and artisans.
“A day after we moved in we got a note in our mailbox from Farmer John next door saying he needed to find a new home for himself and his 80 goats,” says Kilmer-Purcell, an author and New York City-based advertising executive whose day job seems to be bankrolling the farm project as the second season kicks off. “How can you say no to that? We just went with it.”
Beekman 1802, their business named after the house, sells soap, cheese, seeds and other goods produced on the farm or made by local craftsmen. The initial marketing campaign included an Internet newsletter. One recipient was the president and general manager of Planet Green, Laura Michalchyshyn.
She thought their story, two city boys buying a farm and starting a business, would make great television.
After a meeting, “The Fabulous Beekman Boys” was born.
“Everything in this town happened by accident for us,” Kilmer-Purcell says. “Buying a house, the goats and the television show. But it’s great for our business and the village.”
“Great” is an understatement. Since the Beekman Boys arrived, real estate values have jumped 11%, and Curran reports receiving an average 40% more calls as a direct result of the show. She recently sold a $500,000 estate with a men’s-club casino on the property to two California women who saw the town on television. They plan to turn the property into a senior living center and spa with an eye on other structures nearby for similar purposes.
“There were over 60 hotels in this town at one time, so there is a lot to play with here,” says Plummer, who says winter tourism has increased since the show aired. “We love it when someone new comes. Sharon Springs is a very welcoming and diverse place. We have gays, Russians, Orthodox Jews and artists, and everyone has a good time with each other. What’s great about Sharon Springs and small-time life is that if you can dream it up, you can achieve it. Say you want to make the third Tuesday of every month Pink Armadillo Day? If you can put it together, get it paid for and clean it up, you can make it happen.”
Kilmer-Purcell and Ridge are in the middle of that right now. Their business has a store on Main St. in Sharon Springs. The farm raises goats, two pigs, some chickens, two rare black sheep from New Zealand and Polka Spot, which Kilmer-Purcell calls “the Naomi Campbell of llamas” with an attitude and over 2,000 Twitter followers. (After watching the show, it’s clear why. She’s funny.)
The two helped create three festivals, including a farm-to-table event called Harvest Festival that last September drew 5,000-plus people to the town, which has a population of 547.
“We made it a point to include the entire community when we created the festival,” says Ridge, a former vice president of Healthy Living with Martha Stewart Omnimedia (Stewart appears on the show from time to time). “Everything we do here is collaborative. We want to drive as much traffic to the village as we can. One thing with a tight community is that everyone works really hard every day to become successful. You have to support each other to survive and thrive.”
Curran says the town has a wide range of real estate available. Of the 21 houses sold last year in and around the village, 10 cost under $100,000. A small hunting lodge with a barn and two outhouses is available for $47,000. A farmhouse on an acre of land with two barns that would make a perfect bed-and-breakfast is on the market for $220,000.
Several abandoned hotels housing the mineral springs and spas were purchased in 2005 by South Korean investors who have done nothing to open or improve the properties. They remain closed, awaiting investment or another buyer.
“I think as the economy rebounds the Koreans will do something,” says Plummer, noting the popularity of Korean spas in Flushing. “If they don’t, I am sure plenty of people would be interested. I also think there should be some kind of municipal ownership like in Saratoga, where many of the springs are available for public use. This is a community resource that is not being used.”
And how about television crews and cameras? Do they get in the way of good old-fashioned village life?
“Brent and Josh are incredible marketers who came at just right the time,” says Plummer. “Those guys don’t throw the trash out without a smart idea coming to them. They injected new energy at a time we really needed it. Plus, we’ll be here long after the cameras have gone, and so will they. It’s hard to leave this place.”
If you want proof that architecture and houses can inspire people, real estate value and a reality television show, just head to Sharon Springs, N.Y., or tune in to “The Fabulous Beekman Boys” on Planet Green every Tuesday at 10 p.m.
The former upstate resort town blessed with healing mineral waters and crumbling mansions is front and center in the show, whose second season, premiering March 22, follows Josh Kilmer-Purcell and Dr. Brent Ridge, two city slickers who become farmers.
Sharon Springs, though, was popular long before the cameras rolled in. After years of abandonment, the village has experienced more than a decade of growth led by preservationists, house lovers and entrepreneurs, all charmed by rustic life in small-town America.
Take local real estate agent Michelle Curran. In 1993, she fell so in love with an 8,000-square-foot Italianate limestone mansion, built from 1850 to 1854, that she moved from Tampa to restore the grand home. Dr. John Gardner, the man credited with discovering the local healing waters, built the house.
“It’s true. I moved because I fell in love with a house and this village,” says Curran, who became an associate broker with Realty USA when she decided to live in the town year-round in 2003. “There’s a nine-hole abandoned golf course on the property that is a huge deer preserve now. I have a 60-foot porch that can hold 300 people and a bar. We have great parties in Sharon Springs, and we all love our history.”
Through the 19th century, Sharon Springs was one of the most popular summer towns in America, drawing some of the East Coast’s wealthiest families, who built limestone mansions, hotels, Victorian guesthouses, Greek Revival farmhouses, hunting cabins with outhouses and even a men’s club with views of the Adirondacks. The spas, in the basements of the hotels, catered to people looking for baths in white sulfur and magnesium, said to have restorative healing powers.
After the Great Depression, the town’s popularity crashed with America’s financial system. The spas became popular again in the 1960s, rediscovered by Russians from Brooklyn and Orthodox Jews attracted to a piece of the old country and low home prices. Housing also brought New Yorkers looking for deals, as low as $20,000 for old guesthouses.
Doug Plummer, an actor, and Garth Roberts, a Broadway pianist and entertainer, were driving through the town in the 1990s when they fell in love with the decaying structures. Twenty years later, they’re restoring their fourth building and starting their third business, a theater for the arts in an old community hall in the middle of the village.
“This town is contagious and addictive,” says Plummer, a town trustee who along with Roberts restored, owns and operates the American Hotel, where the bartender is the local mortician. “We bought our first house for $20,000, restored it and sold it for $27,000,” says Plummer. “The hotel was a dream project. Like the other buildings in this town, it was kind of glorious in its decay. The roof was caving in. It had no plumbing. We had to gut the entire interior to rebuild it.”
Today the hotel, with nine guest rooms, restaurant and bar, is a meeting place for locals and tourists who come in the summer for the Glimmerglass Opera in Cooperstown or drive through.
Kilmer-Purcell and Ridge were on an apple-picking road trip when they discovered the town. Taken by its architecture and friendly vibe, they ended up spending the night at the American Hotel. Less than a month later, Curran sold them an 1802 mansion on 60 acres built by a local merchant named Beekman. They paid $950,000 for the renovated Federal-Georgian home. The village and farm inspired the two to start a business focusing on homegrown products and artisans.
“A day after we moved in we got a note in our mailbox from Farmer John next door saying he needed to find a new home for himself and his 80 goats,” says Kilmer-Purcell, an author and New York City-based advertising executive whose day job seems to be bankrolling the farm project as the second season kicks off. “How can you say no to that? We just went with it.”
Beekman 1802, their business named after the house, sells soap, cheese, seeds and other goods produced on the farm or made by local craftsmen. The initial marketing campaign included an Internet newsletter. One recipient was the president and general manager of Planet Green, Laura Michalchyshyn.
She thought their story, two city boys buying a farm and starting a business, would make great television.
After a meeting, “The Fabulous Beekman Boys” was born.
“Everything in this town happened by accident for us,” Kilmer-Purcell says. “Buying a house, the goats and the television show. But it’s great for our business and the village.”
“Great” is an understatement. Since the Beekman Boys arrived, real estate values have jumped 11%, and Curran reports receiving an average 40% more calls as a direct result of the show. She recently sold a $500,000 estate with a men’s-club casino on the property to two California women who saw the town on television. They plan to turn the property into a senior living center and spa with an eye on other structures nearby for similar purposes.
“There were over 60 hotels in this town at one time, so there is a lot to play with here,” says Plummer, who says winter tourism has increased since the show aired. “We love it when someone new comes. Sharon Springs is a very welcoming and diverse place. We have gays, Russians, Orthodox Jews and artists, and everyone has a good time with each other. What’s great about Sharon Springs and small-time life is that if you can dream it up, you can achieve it. Say you want to make the third Tuesday of every month Pink Armadillo Day? If you can put it together, get it paid for and clean it up, you can make it happen.”
Kilmer-Purcell and Ridge are in the middle of that right now. Their business has a store on Main St. in Sharon Springs. The farm raises goats, two pigs, some chickens, two rare black sheep from New Zealand and Polka Spot, which Kilmer-Purcell calls “the Naomi Campbell of llamas” with an attitude and over 2,000 Twitter followers. (After watching the show, it’s clear why. She’s funny.)
The two helped create three festivals, including a farm-to-table event called Harvest Festival that last September drew 5,000-plus people to the town, which has a population of 547.
“We made it a point to include the entire community when we created the festival,” says Ridge, a former vice president of Healthy Living with Martha Stewart Omnimedia (Stewart appears on the show from time to time). “Everything we do here is collaborative. We want to drive as much traffic to the village as we can. One thing with a tight community is that everyone works really hard every day to become successful. You have to support each other to survive and thrive.”
Curran says the town has a wide range of real estate available. Of the 21 houses sold last year in and around the village, 10 cost under $100,000. A small hunting lodge with a barn and two outhouses is available for $47,000. A farmhouse on an acre of land with two barns that would make a perfect bed-and-breakfast is on the market for $220,000.
Several abandoned hotels housing the mineral springs and spas were purchased in 2005 by South Korean investors who have done nothing to open or improve the properties. They remain closed, awaiting investment or another buyer.
“I think as the economy rebounds the Koreans will do something,” says Plummer, noting the popularity of Korean spas in Flushing. “If they don’t, I am sure plenty of people would be interested. I also think there should be some kind of municipal ownership like in Saratoga, where many of the springs are available for public use. This is a community resource that is not being used.”
And how about television crews and cameras? Do they get in the way of good old-fashioned village life?
“Brent and Josh are incredible marketers who came at just right the time,” says Plummer. “Those guys don’t throw the trash out without a smart idea coming to them. They injected new energy at a time we really needed it. Plus, we’ll be here long after the cameras have gone, and so will they. It’s hard to leave this place.”
Spring is springing
Wow, I just walked around the downtown core of the city, which is easy to do in Pittsburgh because it is about 5 blocks, but on a day like today, those five blocks are glorious.
So many beautiful people out and about. This is what I love about spring, all of a sudden, all the doughy little people who populate the streets with cigarettes and bulky jackets all winter seem to evaporate and allow room for the healthy, the sexy and the adorable. What I also love about this time of the year is how open people are to conversation and a quick and friendly hello.
I am a shy person, painfully so in most public spaces, and I go out of my way to say hello because I once read somewhere that saying hello to strangers is a good way to get over your shyness. Hello I say, beautiful day. Sometimes I check the person out, because that too is part of who I am, but mostly, it is just wonderful to be out, in a shirt, walking around, enjoying the sun and the laziness of a Friday afternoon is a semi-small city.
Speaking of which, Dodgers and Pirates tickets are in my hand. Kind of one of those perfect days that open up and hold you close.
So many beautiful people out and about. This is what I love about spring, all of a sudden, all the doughy little people who populate the streets with cigarettes and bulky jackets all winter seem to evaporate and allow room for the healthy, the sexy and the adorable. What I also love about this time of the year is how open people are to conversation and a quick and friendly hello.
I am a shy person, painfully so in most public spaces, and I go out of my way to say hello because I once read somewhere that saying hello to strangers is a good way to get over your shyness. Hello I say, beautiful day. Sometimes I check the person out, because that too is part of who I am, but mostly, it is just wonderful to be out, in a shirt, walking around, enjoying the sun and the laziness of a Friday afternoon is a semi-small city.
Speaking of which, Dodgers and Pirates tickets are in my hand. Kind of one of those perfect days that open up and hold you close.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A toaster named becky
I am in love, no shame in that. Becky and I have long had what the kids call the "hots" for one another. A long time now. First, she was married and I was all single. Then I was married and she was married, but we would have coffee and at some point we played footsy, but I felt guilty and told my old ball and chain, who was not a kind person and she left me for a well hung house builder named Franky. Hey Franky I would say when I called to speak to the old ball and chain. In fact, Franky would answer the phone in that moronic way he always answers the phone and we would chat about sports, those Dodgers I would say and he would say something witty like, it's football season stupid and then without putting his hand over the phone he would call out, hey ball and chain, it's him again.
Free to date Becky I asked her out, but by then she was totally a confirmed lesbian. Weird how that works. I too became a lesbian, choosing to sleep only with women, which made me unique, in a strange way. I liked being a lesbian. I was more of a lip stick lesbian, but then all my male friends, Franky included, would make fun of me for wearing outlandish lipstick. So I stopped, wearing lipstick, not the lesbian part. That old saying is so true, once you go lesbian, something something something.
Anyway, after a few hours of lesbianism Becky gave it up, saying in essence, why bother? I agreed, although for me, the habit was harder to quit.
Then Becky called and asked if I wanted to go bowling. I love bowling, don't ask me why, and we spent the night throwing balls and knocking over pins. The next night we went bowling.
I am not sure if Becky and I are an item, or friends with benefits (she has health insurance) or just people who play footsy in public (and sometimes in private). I like her, I do, and I think she likes me too.
We might get married, then again, since she joined the Marines, I have not seen her for 7 years. People are weird that way.
Free to date Becky I asked her out, but by then she was totally a confirmed lesbian. Weird how that works. I too became a lesbian, choosing to sleep only with women, which made me unique, in a strange way. I liked being a lesbian. I was more of a lip stick lesbian, but then all my male friends, Franky included, would make fun of me for wearing outlandish lipstick. So I stopped, wearing lipstick, not the lesbian part. That old saying is so true, once you go lesbian, something something something.
Anyway, after a few hours of lesbianism Becky gave it up, saying in essence, why bother? I agreed, although for me, the habit was harder to quit.
Then Becky called and asked if I wanted to go bowling. I love bowling, don't ask me why, and we spent the night throwing balls and knocking over pins. The next night we went bowling.
I am not sure if Becky and I are an item, or friends with benefits (she has health insurance) or just people who play footsy in public (and sometimes in private). I like her, I do, and I think she likes me too.
We might get married, then again, since she joined the Marines, I have not seen her for 7 years. People are weird that way.
With just enough sleep
So I am on an 84 day cleanse, or something like that, and part of this process is that I am sick all the time, or not all the time, but at unpredictable times.
The problem with any sort of bodily changes is that sometimes, say around 2 AM, your body wants to get up and run around the house, or at least run to the nearest bathroom. That is how I spent the majority of my early morning. Which can be nice, cleanse and all, but it can be infuriating since I am writing this from work, on my way to an important job, and then coming back to work into the evening in my office.
I wonder if there are more important things I could be doing.
The problem with any sort of bodily changes is that sometimes, say around 2 AM, your body wants to get up and run around the house, or at least run to the nearest bathroom. That is how I spent the majority of my early morning. Which can be nice, cleanse and all, but it can be infuriating since I am writing this from work, on my way to an important job, and then coming back to work into the evening in my office.
I wonder if there are more important things I could be doing.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
From the comments
Someone wrote:
Matt, do you remember a night in Kansas City, classical music and tenderness?
There are things in my memory that I can not recall, lovers, train rides and bike accidents, to name a few. What happened in Kansas City many years ago is a memory I do not share with people, and of course I could never forget it.
Sometimes, rarely in life, but sometimes, amazing and magic slam into one another and small miracles happen. Kansas City was one of those times.
That said, only one person knows about this, so person who knows about this, email me, there is an email link somewhere on this blog, if not, cut and paste this: mergatroidfilms@gmail.com.
I believe.
Matt, do you remember a night in Kansas City, classical music and tenderness?
There are things in my memory that I can not recall, lovers, train rides and bike accidents, to name a few. What happened in Kansas City many years ago is a memory I do not share with people, and of course I could never forget it.
Sometimes, rarely in life, but sometimes, amazing and magic slam into one another and small miracles happen. Kansas City was one of those times.
That said, only one person knows about this, so person who knows about this, email me, there is an email link somewhere on this blog, if not, cut and paste this: mergatroidfilms@gmail.com.
I believe.
Todays evil spirit
This week, while cycling, I have been visited by evil spirits and tragic memories.
So, here is how this works. I wake up in the morning, throw on some cycling gear and go to the extra bedroom where the indoor cycle is set up and I ride. I listen to music and think and sweat. It's a great way to start the day.
I am training for a marathon, so I cycle in the morning, every morning during the week, and then every afternoon I run and lift weights at the gym in my work building. In the midst of either workout, I sometimes lose track of what I am doing and find myself in strange situations.
As an example, earlier this week, while riding indoors, I had a nightmare reaction because as I was riding, in my mind, I was reliving this bike crash from about 6 years ago. In the nightmare, which actually happened, I am riding my bike at about 30 miles per hour and all of a sudden the tires hit black ice, the bike slid away and I was in the air, floating for what seemed like minutes, but was just a split second, until my body hit the asphalt hard, cracking my helmet, breaking a couple of rips and ripping my cycling gear to shreds.
So, when riding inside, I know the dangers are minimal, but when you have such clear and scary thoughts, you tend to kind of get nervous. So, today, this morning, I was riding hard, sweating like a dog and enjoying the peace that comes from riding. Then I noticed Momma, our black cat and I made her the evil spirit that would encapsulate all those thoughts that come to me while cycling.
All was fine, she was on the guest bed, there is a framed photograph that I have not been able to decide what to do with, so that too was sitting on the bed. It is a close up photo of some green leaves with a thick metal band running in front of them. Kind of an ugly image, industrial mixed with natural, could have been better captured, but it was a gift and I can not just throw it away or donate it to charity, at least not yet.
So, there I was, pumping as hard as I could, trying to push myself, and Momma Kitty, in her evil spirit role, moved to the doorway, turned and sat at me. She was staring at me, while I was sweating and riding. We stared at one another, I tried to figure out if she had a message to deliver, or was she just entertained. Then I tried to remember the bike crash, I tried to remember that cold winter morning, the roads frozen and the black ice waiting for me. But I could not, evil spirit Momma was doing her job, capturing memories and pushing them away.
Then it dawned on me, memories are something that we should embrace, even the evil ones, because it is often the evil memories that propel us to an enhanced understanding of the complexities of life. See, if we did not have bad things happen to us, we would remain sheltered and shallow. I am not suggesting that the only lessons in life are learned from negative experiences, but it seems to me that many of the important ones are.
With Momma Cat absorbing the evil in the room I was able to let my mind roll with the ride. That's when forgiveness rolled right into me. My mind clear and racing with oxygenated blood, I focused on how important it is to step back from daily battles and remember the power of forgiveness. I am never afraid to engage in battle, intellectual or physical, and after a battle of any sort, I have often been a guy who holds grudges and remembers the war. Lately though, those memories do not seem to stick with me and the grudges all seem to have been forgotten. Sure, I may know I don't like someone, but I can hardly be bothered to remember why.
That's why I was floored with the feeling that right now, during that ride and beyond, it is imperative to forgive. Our life here on this planet is such a short mission and to spend a moment carrying those sorts of negative memories and planning actions and such, it just seems like a waste.
I have always found riding hard to be the time to do deep thinking. With Momma Cat staring at me, holding evil spirits and dangerous memories at bay, I came to that conclusion, I can not and will not carry that negative stuff around. I have it to her to deal with and she is a higher being, so she can handle it.
So, how do you forgive people? Do you call them? Email? Write a profound letter? Or is it something inside, something that is more important to do on an interior dialog rather than a physical one? Is writing this blog post enough? What I did realize is that some of the people in my life that I might need to forgive, might not forgive me, such is what happens when you go to an emotional war zone with someone close to you. It would be nice to, as we age, let things go, especially those things we have no control over.
Without Momma Cat in the gym tonight, I wonder if I will have such clarity of thought. The workouts in the gym are a much tougher place to be. Everything is sore, I am so tired by the time the gym doors open, that I generally do not need an evil spirit controller, I need a nap.
So, here is how this works. I wake up in the morning, throw on some cycling gear and go to the extra bedroom where the indoor cycle is set up and I ride. I listen to music and think and sweat. It's a great way to start the day.
I am training for a marathon, so I cycle in the morning, every morning during the week, and then every afternoon I run and lift weights at the gym in my work building. In the midst of either workout, I sometimes lose track of what I am doing and find myself in strange situations.
As an example, earlier this week, while riding indoors, I had a nightmare reaction because as I was riding, in my mind, I was reliving this bike crash from about 6 years ago. In the nightmare, which actually happened, I am riding my bike at about 30 miles per hour and all of a sudden the tires hit black ice, the bike slid away and I was in the air, floating for what seemed like minutes, but was just a split second, until my body hit the asphalt hard, cracking my helmet, breaking a couple of rips and ripping my cycling gear to shreds.
So, when riding inside, I know the dangers are minimal, but when you have such clear and scary thoughts, you tend to kind of get nervous. So, today, this morning, I was riding hard, sweating like a dog and enjoying the peace that comes from riding. Then I noticed Momma, our black cat and I made her the evil spirit that would encapsulate all those thoughts that come to me while cycling.
All was fine, she was on the guest bed, there is a framed photograph that I have not been able to decide what to do with, so that too was sitting on the bed. It is a close up photo of some green leaves with a thick metal band running in front of them. Kind of an ugly image, industrial mixed with natural, could have been better captured, but it was a gift and I can not just throw it away or donate it to charity, at least not yet.
So, there I was, pumping as hard as I could, trying to push myself, and Momma Kitty, in her evil spirit role, moved to the doorway, turned and sat at me. She was staring at me, while I was sweating and riding. We stared at one another, I tried to figure out if she had a message to deliver, or was she just entertained. Then I tried to remember the bike crash, I tried to remember that cold winter morning, the roads frozen and the black ice waiting for me. But I could not, evil spirit Momma was doing her job, capturing memories and pushing them away.
Then it dawned on me, memories are something that we should embrace, even the evil ones, because it is often the evil memories that propel us to an enhanced understanding of the complexities of life. See, if we did not have bad things happen to us, we would remain sheltered and shallow. I am not suggesting that the only lessons in life are learned from negative experiences, but it seems to me that many of the important ones are.
With Momma Cat absorbing the evil in the room I was able to let my mind roll with the ride. That's when forgiveness rolled right into me. My mind clear and racing with oxygenated blood, I focused on how important it is to step back from daily battles and remember the power of forgiveness. I am never afraid to engage in battle, intellectual or physical, and after a battle of any sort, I have often been a guy who holds grudges and remembers the war. Lately though, those memories do not seem to stick with me and the grudges all seem to have been forgotten. Sure, I may know I don't like someone, but I can hardly be bothered to remember why.
That's why I was floored with the feeling that right now, during that ride and beyond, it is imperative to forgive. Our life here on this planet is such a short mission and to spend a moment carrying those sorts of negative memories and planning actions and such, it just seems like a waste.
I have always found riding hard to be the time to do deep thinking. With Momma Cat staring at me, holding evil spirits and dangerous memories at bay, I came to that conclusion, I can not and will not carry that negative stuff around. I have it to her to deal with and she is a higher being, so she can handle it.
So, how do you forgive people? Do you call them? Email? Write a profound letter? Or is it something inside, something that is more important to do on an interior dialog rather than a physical one? Is writing this blog post enough? What I did realize is that some of the people in my life that I might need to forgive, might not forgive me, such is what happens when you go to an emotional war zone with someone close to you. It would be nice to, as we age, let things go, especially those things we have no control over.
Without Momma Cat in the gym tonight, I wonder if I will have such clarity of thought. The workouts in the gym are a much tougher place to be. Everything is sore, I am so tired by the time the gym doors open, that I generally do not need an evil spirit controller, I need a nap.
Big day
Thank you blog readers. I checked the stats and today is damn close to being the busiest day on this blog in forever.
That's the good news. The bad news, and I am not allowed to mention this, is that not enough of you think those classy ads on the right hand side of this page are worthy of your time. Now, I can not tell you to do anything but enjoy this blog, comment at will and send me emails with your relationship troubles, But....
That's the good news. The bad news, and I am not allowed to mention this, is that not enough of you think those classy ads on the right hand side of this page are worthy of your time. Now, I can not tell you to do anything but enjoy this blog, comment at will and send me emails with your relationship troubles, But....
Comments I believe
Someone just emailed me a comment from this very blog, which is kind of like kissing your sister, or something similar.
There is a first time for everything and this is the first time someone has emailed me a comment from my very own blog.
In a recent post I must have written about some sort of cheater, I think I got a letter from someone who was cheating on some partner and the rest I forget, but this comment was kind of amazing.
I do not read all the comments posted on this blog, so sometimes I don't know what is being said and why. So, when I get an email from anyone regarding comments, it seems most of the time it is someone complaining about language or that a comment seems particularly mean. Then someone emailed me this:
So, if you are in a relationship and supposedly monogamous and you hook up with a stranger and enjoy it, so you hook up again and at some point you start enjoying the stranger more than your lover and then you realize you fell in love with the stranger, don't you step back to think that if the stranger is aware at all he will realize that even if you leave your long term lover and move in with the stranger, that you are the type of person who fools around on committed partners and he will know in his heart that sooner or later, no matter what your agreement ends up being, you will fool around on the stranger, because that is the type of person you are, right?
All one sentence, which is impressive. In fact, now that I think about it, maybe it's poetry. Let me try something. Here:
So, if you are in a relationship and supposedly monogamous
and you hook up with a stranger and enjoy it,
so you hook up again and at some point you start enjoying the stranger more than your lover
and then you realize you fell in love with the stranger
don't you step back to think that if the stranger is aware at all
he will realize that even if you leave your long term lover
and move in with the stranger
that you are the type of person who fools around on committed partners
and he will know in his heart that sooner or later
no matter what your agreement ends up being
you will fool around on the stranger
because that is the type of person you are, right?
I say good comment.
There is a first time for everything and this is the first time someone has emailed me a comment from my very own blog.
In a recent post I must have written about some sort of cheater, I think I got a letter from someone who was cheating on some partner and the rest I forget, but this comment was kind of amazing.
I do not read all the comments posted on this blog, so sometimes I don't know what is being said and why. So, when I get an email from anyone regarding comments, it seems most of the time it is someone complaining about language or that a comment seems particularly mean. Then someone emailed me this:
So, if you are in a relationship and supposedly monogamous and you hook up with a stranger and enjoy it, so you hook up again and at some point you start enjoying the stranger more than your lover and then you realize you fell in love with the stranger, don't you step back to think that if the stranger is aware at all he will realize that even if you leave your long term lover and move in with the stranger, that you are the type of person who fools around on committed partners and he will know in his heart that sooner or later, no matter what your agreement ends up being, you will fool around on the stranger, because that is the type of person you are, right?
All one sentence, which is impressive. In fact, now that I think about it, maybe it's poetry. Let me try something. Here:
So, if you are in a relationship and supposedly monogamous
and you hook up with a stranger and enjoy it,
so you hook up again and at some point you start enjoying the stranger more than your lover
and then you realize you fell in love with the stranger
don't you step back to think that if the stranger is aware at all
he will realize that even if you leave your long term lover
and move in with the stranger
that you are the type of person who fools around on committed partners
and he will know in his heart that sooner or later
no matter what your agreement ends up being
you will fool around on the stranger
because that is the type of person you are, right?
I say good comment.
You're so vain
Matt
I was married almost 6 years and then I wasn't. It started out as a pretty peaceful break up, and my wife and I have remained close enough because we have a child. We made a pact not to speak ill of one another for the sake of the child and for the most part I think we have both followed that.
We have been divorced for over a year now and I just heard from a friend that my ex-wife has sent out invitations for a summer wedding. Of course I was not invited and that only hurts a tiny bit, but what really hurts is that she has so quickly found someone else and is looking at marriage again.
I can not imagine getting married again. I have not met this new guy, the man who will be raising my child with her. Any suggestions on how I can get over this feeling that I was nothing to her and she so quickly moved on because I was a meaningless sperm donor?
In some biological sense that is what we men really are, at our core, sperm donors. We have these relationships and we build families and careers, but mostly we donate sperm to make babies. Get over that part of it. In fact, get over all of it.
You did not say whether you too are dating. So I am going to guess that during the marriage you were there, you donated sperm as often as possible and you worked or something and helped care for this family you and this woman created. Then one of you broke it off, I am going to continue the guessing game by surmising she broke it off with you, which generally leaves the other person reeling.
That has not been my personal experience, but again, I am guessing it is yours because of the tone of victimhood of your letter and how her marriage is so upsetting to you. It was a lot more upsetting to you in your letter, but I edit these things down to a readable format, and all your whining was removed. Well, not whining really, historical fabrication.
See, what the readers of this blog missed was the paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much you connected with your ex-wife, the soul mate paragraph, the committed to one another paragraph and always loving her paragraph, all gone. What is highlighted above is your real letter, a man who is confused and hurt and not too happy that his not so confused and hurt wife has found a new soul mate.
The Frog Woman of the West was once squealed at me, "move on, dammit" or something like that, which was ironic, because I am nothing if not the poster boy for moving on. Just exactly how does one move on? Oh, and how quickly should one move on? Well for married couples, by the time the actual divorce documents are signed, finalized and done with, you should be well on your way to moving on. Now, how you define moving on is tricky.
Generally for me, when a relationship hits that final point where it is over, I was already moving on. When my marriage ended one September evening, I was so ready, so excited, so filled with promise that I was already moving on as my ex was packing a suitcase. The next day, yes, you read that right, the very next day I had what could loosely be referred to as a date. So it was, my moving on was quick and fun.
That does not mean I was filled with regret and guilt for allowing a long term committed marriage to hit the skids, so to speak. It just meant that after a few years of boring life with a person who seemed lost and emotionless, I was ready for real people again. Last year, sometime around the end of summer, I had a conversation with my most recent dating person. The conversation went something like this. Me: I think I need someone in my life on a daily basis, not someone who shows up when it is convenient. Person: OK, you should date other people.
And so it was.
So, letter writer, first things first. Date other people. My sense from you is that you have some dream that your ex-wife will remember the days when you and she were strong and nimble, passionate about one another and committed to making your relationship last until death do you part. She will not remember those days and even if she bothers to sludge through the memories and fondly recall you, there will be no call, there will be no reconciliation and you will be standing in the doorway for ever, flowers in one hand and chocolates in the other, ready to welcome her back into your life.
I have often had that same fantasy, because when we divorce we imagine life on the other side of the fence with fresh mowed green grass and lots of wild sexual adventures and what many people find is not so great gardening and a lonely life filled with alcoholics, addicts, relationship novices and bitter and damaged people moving on from horrendous pasts. A bad marriage sometimes appears a lot better when we have signed the documents and walked away from it. What we often find is that the people available to date have gone through the same trauma that we have, some better than others.
Then again, even while I think lovingly of my ex-wife, I have to say, ending that relationship, as well as the one that ended last summer, was the smart move at the time. Plus, once you realize how short life really is, and how many years wasted with wrong people subtracts from that number, the only regret you will have is not moving on at lightening fast speeds. Example? Ex-wife slams door on the night I threw her out, next day, dating.
Now, letter writer, I know your frustration. I thought my exes all had so many red flags that no one, make that NO ONE, would ever date them, much less seriously consider them as life partners. It did not shock me that either ex would hookup, or date, it was kind of interesting that they both moved on to long term relationships, without skipping a beat or taking the time to analyze what went wrong in the last long term relationship. Maybe that is what you are feeling. How can your ex-wife be getting married when you are in no way capable of such a thing?
Want to know why? Because she wants to. That is how people move on, we put the past behind us, not to be bothered again. Then we date, we charm, we fall in love and we commit. I have not dated anyone I would have married, and that may say more about me than any of the people I have dated. I think I only had that one marriage in me. Maybe you are the same letter writer, maybe your sense of loss is overwhelming because your ex-wife has moved on, she has found a new partner and she wants to be married to him. You sound so caught up in your own loss and how much that has hurt, etc, that you can not allow yourself to pick up your fragile ego and move on.
My suggestion, and I know this is painful, but quit being such a girly man. The reason you "can not imagine getting married again" is because you are in no healthy place to get married again. You have not put your past behind you and you have not started only looking forward. The reason I dated so quickly when my last two relationships ended was because I knew the easiest way to forget about that past was to quickly create a future. You seem to be wallowing in your loss, which is only working for you, and that does not appear to be working well.
I was married almost 6 years and then I wasn't. It started out as a pretty peaceful break up, and my wife and I have remained close enough because we have a child. We made a pact not to speak ill of one another for the sake of the child and for the most part I think we have both followed that.
We have been divorced for over a year now and I just heard from a friend that my ex-wife has sent out invitations for a summer wedding. Of course I was not invited and that only hurts a tiny bit, but what really hurts is that she has so quickly found someone else and is looking at marriage again.
I can not imagine getting married again. I have not met this new guy, the man who will be raising my child with her. Any suggestions on how I can get over this feeling that I was nothing to her and she so quickly moved on because I was a meaningless sperm donor?
In some biological sense that is what we men really are, at our core, sperm donors. We have these relationships and we build families and careers, but mostly we donate sperm to make babies. Get over that part of it. In fact, get over all of it.
You did not say whether you too are dating. So I am going to guess that during the marriage you were there, you donated sperm as often as possible and you worked or something and helped care for this family you and this woman created. Then one of you broke it off, I am going to continue the guessing game by surmising she broke it off with you, which generally leaves the other person reeling.
That has not been my personal experience, but again, I am guessing it is yours because of the tone of victimhood of your letter and how her marriage is so upsetting to you. It was a lot more upsetting to you in your letter, but I edit these things down to a readable format, and all your whining was removed. Well, not whining really, historical fabrication.
See, what the readers of this blog missed was the paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much you connected with your ex-wife, the soul mate paragraph, the committed to one another paragraph and always loving her paragraph, all gone. What is highlighted above is your real letter, a man who is confused and hurt and not too happy that his not so confused and hurt wife has found a new soul mate.
The Frog Woman of the West was once squealed at me, "move on, dammit" or something like that, which was ironic, because I am nothing if not the poster boy for moving on. Just exactly how does one move on? Oh, and how quickly should one move on? Well for married couples, by the time the actual divorce documents are signed, finalized and done with, you should be well on your way to moving on. Now, how you define moving on is tricky.
Generally for me, when a relationship hits that final point where it is over, I was already moving on. When my marriage ended one September evening, I was so ready, so excited, so filled with promise that I was already moving on as my ex was packing a suitcase. The next day, yes, you read that right, the very next day I had what could loosely be referred to as a date. So it was, my moving on was quick and fun.
That does not mean I was filled with regret and guilt for allowing a long term committed marriage to hit the skids, so to speak. It just meant that after a few years of boring life with a person who seemed lost and emotionless, I was ready for real people again. Last year, sometime around the end of summer, I had a conversation with my most recent dating person. The conversation went something like this. Me: I think I need someone in my life on a daily basis, not someone who shows up when it is convenient. Person: OK, you should date other people.
And so it was.
So, letter writer, first things first. Date other people. My sense from you is that you have some dream that your ex-wife will remember the days when you and she were strong and nimble, passionate about one another and committed to making your relationship last until death do you part. She will not remember those days and even if she bothers to sludge through the memories and fondly recall you, there will be no call, there will be no reconciliation and you will be standing in the doorway for ever, flowers in one hand and chocolates in the other, ready to welcome her back into your life.
I have often had that same fantasy, because when we divorce we imagine life on the other side of the fence with fresh mowed green grass and lots of wild sexual adventures and what many people find is not so great gardening and a lonely life filled with alcoholics, addicts, relationship novices and bitter and damaged people moving on from horrendous pasts. A bad marriage sometimes appears a lot better when we have signed the documents and walked away from it. What we often find is that the people available to date have gone through the same trauma that we have, some better than others.
Then again, even while I think lovingly of my ex-wife, I have to say, ending that relationship, as well as the one that ended last summer, was the smart move at the time. Plus, once you realize how short life really is, and how many years wasted with wrong people subtracts from that number, the only regret you will have is not moving on at lightening fast speeds. Example? Ex-wife slams door on the night I threw her out, next day, dating.
Now, letter writer, I know your frustration. I thought my exes all had so many red flags that no one, make that NO ONE, would ever date them, much less seriously consider them as life partners. It did not shock me that either ex would hookup, or date, it was kind of interesting that they both moved on to long term relationships, without skipping a beat or taking the time to analyze what went wrong in the last long term relationship. Maybe that is what you are feeling. How can your ex-wife be getting married when you are in no way capable of such a thing?
Want to know why? Because she wants to. That is how people move on, we put the past behind us, not to be bothered again. Then we date, we charm, we fall in love and we commit. I have not dated anyone I would have married, and that may say more about me than any of the people I have dated. I think I only had that one marriage in me. Maybe you are the same letter writer, maybe your sense of loss is overwhelming because your ex-wife has moved on, she has found a new partner and she wants to be married to him. You sound so caught up in your own loss and how much that has hurt, etc, that you can not allow yourself to pick up your fragile ego and move on.
My suggestion, and I know this is painful, but quit being such a girly man. The reason you "can not imagine getting married again" is because you are in no healthy place to get married again. You have not put your past behind you and you have not started only looking forward. The reason I dated so quickly when my last two relationships ended was because I knew the easiest way to forget about that past was to quickly create a future. You seem to be wallowing in your loss, which is only working for you, and that does not appear to be working well.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
A letter from a hetro - boring
Dear Matt,
I have been married for a long time and I am just bored to death. You name it, I am bored with it. Sex? Seriously, I can not remember the last time my wife and I had a passionate embrace, much less something more. Our wonderful house seemed great for a while, now it is a mortgage that houses people I am not fond of. Even food is boring to me. I used to love a great meal, now I take a bite and want to go for a walk, alone. I am not fooling around, I am not even thinking about it, sex with my wife is boring enough, I can't even imagine how I would go about seducing someone new. You have a suggestion?
God, I am going back to answering deceptive and insane gay psychopath letters.
Sex is boring? Food is boring? Life in your chateau is boring? What you left out, what I need to know is, what is not boring for you? When did things become boring? Wait a second before I answer any more of your boring letter, I need the bold button back so I can speak to the blog readers.
Blog readers-this is a perfect example of a letter I did not want to publish. You see my problem, right? I publish letters from severely damaged gays, and I get email or comments about how this has become a gay blog. I beg for letters from straight people about their troubled lives, and do you see what I get? Oh, sure, I got a couple from men who are fooling around, but those letters were almost exactly the same as the gay men who have been writing endlessly about their inability to be monogamous, or honest. So, straight readers, no matter what your relationship status, I am putting out a call for your letters. Tell me everything (I will edit it down to a bite sized morsel) and allow me to help you, while you help me.
Now, back to the boring letter.
Personally, I am convinced we are all boring. Just yesterday I was talking to a close friend and I was going on and on about how I am training for a marathon, how I have lost weight and I have been cycling in the morning and running every afternoon, lifting weights, eating less and healthier and on and on, you get the idea. Then I heard her snoring. That's right, on the phone, as I told her all these important facts, she was sleeping. I am boring. She is boring, and you my letter writing friend, as super boring. Welcome to life as we know it.
Look you could be a giant fat Wal-Mart shopping zombie, would that make you happy? How about a Prozac popping moron, pretending to be happy in your delirium. Or, like so many other people who write to me for advice, you could be a lying scum bag with online personalities and an assortment of psychotic behaviors and untested STD's.
Boring actually sounds a lot healthier.
Look, life is boring sometimes. You have created this life you now find below you. Your wife was probably as boring as she is now on the day you met her. You were too. I doubt your kids are boring, but I will let that slide. Oh, and houses are not boring, the people who live in them are. Bottom line, you made this boring mess, clean it up and make a new one.
My suggestion? Return to some of the things in your younger life that were not boring. Did you ever cycle? Play darts? Gamble until all hours? I have no idea how old your kids are, or how long you have been married, but I trust you do. Have you talked to your boring wife about this? A therapist? A friend? Why not do something fun?
You know what I am doing for fun this weekend? Flying to Phoenix. Why? Because Phoenix is wonderful, and hot and I know someone there who has promised me something amazing. Why don't you fly somewhere for a weekend. Have you ever done that? Get on Orbitz, check the box for flight+car+hotel and type in a city. A couple hours of a flight, and you are set. Take the wife or don't take the wife. Go to a museum, or a golf course or whatever it is that you like to do. Enjoy a weekend doing things in a strange place without your house, wife, kids and boredom. See if that awakens in you some sort of passion. If there is one thing I know about life, when we are doing the things in our life that we are passionate about, it is impossible to be bored.
Whatever you do, do not under any circumstance fly to Phoenix. No, wait, under any circumstance do not create online gay personalities and hook up with strangers, because then you will write me another letter and dammit, I can not help any more people get straight about being gay.
I have been married for a long time and I am just bored to death. You name it, I am bored with it. Sex? Seriously, I can not remember the last time my wife and I had a passionate embrace, much less something more. Our wonderful house seemed great for a while, now it is a mortgage that houses people I am not fond of. Even food is boring to me. I used to love a great meal, now I take a bite and want to go for a walk, alone. I am not fooling around, I am not even thinking about it, sex with my wife is boring enough, I can't even imagine how I would go about seducing someone new. You have a suggestion?
God, I am going back to answering deceptive and insane gay psychopath letters.
Sex is boring? Food is boring? Life in your chateau is boring? What you left out, what I need to know is, what is not boring for you? When did things become boring? Wait a second before I answer any more of your boring letter, I need the bold button back so I can speak to the blog readers.
Blog readers-this is a perfect example of a letter I did not want to publish. You see my problem, right? I publish letters from severely damaged gays, and I get email or comments about how this has become a gay blog. I beg for letters from straight people about their troubled lives, and do you see what I get? Oh, sure, I got a couple from men who are fooling around, but those letters were almost exactly the same as the gay men who have been writing endlessly about their inability to be monogamous, or honest. So, straight readers, no matter what your relationship status, I am putting out a call for your letters. Tell me everything (I will edit it down to a bite sized morsel) and allow me to help you, while you help me.
Now, back to the boring letter.
Personally, I am convinced we are all boring. Just yesterday I was talking to a close friend and I was going on and on about how I am training for a marathon, how I have lost weight and I have been cycling in the morning and running every afternoon, lifting weights, eating less and healthier and on and on, you get the idea. Then I heard her snoring. That's right, on the phone, as I told her all these important facts, she was sleeping. I am boring. She is boring, and you my letter writing friend, as super boring. Welcome to life as we know it.
Look you could be a giant fat Wal-Mart shopping zombie, would that make you happy? How about a Prozac popping moron, pretending to be happy in your delirium. Or, like so many other people who write to me for advice, you could be a lying scum bag with online personalities and an assortment of psychotic behaviors and untested STD's.
Boring actually sounds a lot healthier.
Look, life is boring sometimes. You have created this life you now find below you. Your wife was probably as boring as she is now on the day you met her. You were too. I doubt your kids are boring, but I will let that slide. Oh, and houses are not boring, the people who live in them are. Bottom line, you made this boring mess, clean it up and make a new one.
My suggestion? Return to some of the things in your younger life that were not boring. Did you ever cycle? Play darts? Gamble until all hours? I have no idea how old your kids are, or how long you have been married, but I trust you do. Have you talked to your boring wife about this? A therapist? A friend? Why not do something fun?
You know what I am doing for fun this weekend? Flying to Phoenix. Why? Because Phoenix is wonderful, and hot and I know someone there who has promised me something amazing. Why don't you fly somewhere for a weekend. Have you ever done that? Get on Orbitz, check the box for flight+car+hotel and type in a city. A couple hours of a flight, and you are set. Take the wife or don't take the wife. Go to a museum, or a golf course or whatever it is that you like to do. Enjoy a weekend doing things in a strange place without your house, wife, kids and boredom. See if that awakens in you some sort of passion. If there is one thing I know about life, when we are doing the things in our life that we are passionate about, it is impossible to be bored.
Whatever you do, do not under any circumstance fly to Phoenix. No, wait, under any circumstance do not create online gay personalities and hook up with strangers, because then you will write me another letter and dammit, I can not help any more people get straight about being gay.
Brain storm with me
So, the big rumor of the day is that Apple is creating a template for Ipad magazines. As a new Ipad person, all I can say is, what about porn? No, that's not true, but I do like the idea.
What I would like to put out there to the people (bums and gays in failing relationships) that read this blog, got any suggestions for making a new Ipad magazine and just how would you people make money doing it? Oh, I know, making money is evil and bad for you and is what is wrong with just about everything, but once we get past that, how can creating an online magazine show profits?
Gadget Daily News has the story, but I am going to pretend like copyrights no longer matter and go ahead and quote extensively.
Since the iPad was announced over a year ago, one of the uses that seemed to be natural for it was that of a Magazine and Newspaper reader. Real life results, unfortunately have been mixed. Many magazines such as Wired, Popular Science and The Economist were on the iPad shortly after launch. Others such as Rupert Murdoch’s The Daily and Sir Richard Branson’s Project appeared with much fanfare but mixed reaction.
The main problems users report are that the magazine interfaces aren’t consistent from one magazine to another and these interfaces generally aren’t intuitive.
This is counter to what most users of Apple software - whether it’s OS X or iOS - are accustomed too. Apple has a rather large document for their developers; Apple Human Interface Guidelines. This document describes, in excruciating detail, how an Apple App should look and act.
These guidelines are built-in to Apple’s developer tools in the form of templates. That’s why Apps for OS X and iOS operate similarly from one to another and because of that, they’re reasonably intuitive for the user.
I’m hearing that Apple is developing a magazine template that will be in a future release of their developer environment and toolkit - Xcode.
This publishing template will create a familiar consistent user interface. It also will facilitate in-app purchases for subscriptions and back issues. Another benefit Apple anticipates is that there will be a plethora of new magazines on the iPad. They believe that anyone will be able to create a magazine relatively easily and have it published by Apple and sold through iTunes.
So, if you are paying attention, which I was not, the Magazine would be sold via Itunes. By the way, in the near future, everything will be sold through Itunes, including children.
So, I am thinking, like all business minded people, now would be a good time to put together a team that creates some new magazine. See, because even if you have a template, some great design and all sorts of buttons, the only truth I have left is content matters. You can have the prettiest little magazine template, but if you fill it will hoo and haa, no one reads it.
Take this blog for instance. For a couple of years now I have been whining about this,
and crying about that, and about 7 people read it, and most of them only did so because I paid them. Then, all of a sudden, I stopped whining and crying and started doing other things, like, well, answering letters from people in fucked up situations, and all of a sudden, I had something like 8 people reading this blog.
That's an increase of over one million percent (math is not math with Mat).
So feel free to contact me, with concepts, ideas, plans and especially cash. I like concepts and plans as much as the next lesbian dog owning brainless moron, but cash talks.
What I would like to put out there to the people (bums and gays in failing relationships) that read this blog, got any suggestions for making a new Ipad magazine and just how would you people make money doing it? Oh, I know, making money is evil and bad for you and is what is wrong with just about everything, but once we get past that, how can creating an online magazine show profits?
Gadget Daily News has the story, but I am going to pretend like copyrights no longer matter and go ahead and quote extensively.
Since the iPad was announced over a year ago, one of the uses that seemed to be natural for it was that of a Magazine and Newspaper reader. Real life results, unfortunately have been mixed. Many magazines such as Wired, Popular Science and The Economist were on the iPad shortly after launch. Others such as Rupert Murdoch’s The Daily and Sir Richard Branson’s Project appeared with much fanfare but mixed reaction.
The main problems users report are that the magazine interfaces aren’t consistent from one magazine to another and these interfaces generally aren’t intuitive.
This is counter to what most users of Apple software - whether it’s OS X or iOS - are accustomed too. Apple has a rather large document for their developers; Apple Human Interface Guidelines. This document describes, in excruciating detail, how an Apple App should look and act.
These guidelines are built-in to Apple’s developer tools in the form of templates. That’s why Apps for OS X and iOS operate similarly from one to another and because of that, they’re reasonably intuitive for the user.
I’m hearing that Apple is developing a magazine template that will be in a future release of their developer environment and toolkit - Xcode.
This publishing template will create a familiar consistent user interface. It also will facilitate in-app purchases for subscriptions and back issues. Another benefit Apple anticipates is that there will be a plethora of new magazines on the iPad. They believe that anyone will be able to create a magazine relatively easily and have it published by Apple and sold through iTunes.
So, if you are paying attention, which I was not, the Magazine would be sold via Itunes. By the way, in the near future, everything will be sold through Itunes, including children.
So, I am thinking, like all business minded people, now would be a good time to put together a team that creates some new magazine. See, because even if you have a template, some great design and all sorts of buttons, the only truth I have left is content matters. You can have the prettiest little magazine template, but if you fill it will hoo and haa, no one reads it.
Take this blog for instance. For a couple of years now I have been whining about this,
and crying about that, and about 7 people read it, and most of them only did so because I paid them. Then, all of a sudden, I stopped whining and crying and started doing other things, like, well, answering letters from people in fucked up situations, and all of a sudden, I had something like 8 people reading this blog.
That's an increase of over one million percent (math is not math with Mat).
So feel free to contact me, with concepts, ideas, plans and especially cash. I like concepts and plans as much as the next lesbian dog owning brainless moron, but cash talks.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Power in the union
I think I posted this last week, but it has been edited and I have been and always will be in love with the work of Billy Bragg.
One more not so gay thing
I love the letters. Thank you for writing and sharing, but my dear gay friends, I need other people to write. Sure, gays have relationship problems just like everyone else, so for a week or two, what do you say we let the everyone else email their issues?
I sure would like to get back to lecturing some straight people on the screwy relationships. Or horses. I like horses.
So, if you gay people must write, feel free to do it, but for the rest of March, let the straights scream and yell.
Oh, and my straight brothers and sisters, the call is out there, send in those emails will with trials and tribulations. I don't have answers, but I do know how to type.
I sure would like to get back to lecturing some straight people on the screwy relationships. Or horses. I like horses.
So, if you gay people must write, feel free to do it, but for the rest of March, let the straights scream and yell.
Oh, and my straight brothers and sisters, the call is out there, send in those emails will with trials and tribulations. I don't have answers, but I do know how to type.
Electro-Stalk
YES.
I did edit a very long winded letter. Stop complaining, you should read these things before I edit them.
"A friend sent me a link, and I have read some of the posts from people who write you letters and I kind of need advice and most of my friends would be shocked and sickened and sad if I shared with them.
All the information. I am in a long term monogamous relationship with my lover, who, like me is gay. Part of the problem is that I am not monogamous, an issue I have seen on your blog already. My lover travels for business, a week to 10 days at a time. I know the lecture about monogamy having a pretty specific definition, so please do me a favor and skip it.
Here's my problem. About 6 months ago I hooked up with this hot guy I met at the gym. The first couple of times it was all physical, which for me means that he knows I am unavailable and looking just for a release. Then one night we kissed. My personal rule had been that I do all sorts of things, but I do not kiss. There we were kissing.
We went at it, on and off, for a month or two, when the BF was out of town, the Fun Guy would get my attention. He was aware I was in a relationship, the BF was not and again, please hold the lectures.
So, I finally had to completely break with the Fun Guy because it was getting too intense. It was more than a hookup and I was not interested in that. Then I started to get emails from gay cruising sites, as if I had been applying for an account. Then a couple of fetish magazines showed up at our apartment, I live with my LTR lover. At about that point I knew I was in trouble, some sort of stalking thing. A couple more online sex cruise sites sent me emails, confirming my new account and I emailed the Fun Guy and told him he needed to stop. He did not email back. Then a Facebook account was been opened, using my name, so if you Google me, it shows up, except it is all about what a terrible liar I am, and other not so sweet things about me. I emailed Facebook to complain, have not heard anything for a week and the account remains open. I did go back and check a couple of the gay cruising sites and I found two fake accounts with my face picture and some other pictures attached to both accounts. Both of the accounts had all sorts of things describing me, most not very nice, painting me as a user, a liar and a drug abuser. This past Saturday I was home, the lover was picking up dry cleaning, and the mail was delivered. There was a plain envelope with my lovers name on it, our address, everything normal, no return name or anything. I have been paranoid for a week or so, so I opened it and it was a long letter, from the Fun Guy, describing nights spent with me, in our apartment, in our bed. You get the picture.
So, I am coming to terms with being stalked, my question to you, what should I do? If I do the things people do in cases like this, file a report with police, notify internet sites, etc, my lover will have to know. If I tell him I was unfaithful, I am sure we will be finished. I have to make the Fun Guy stop, but I do not know how, and I would like to do that with the smallest dose of official help possible, to try and save my relationship."
Well, thank you so much for sharing.
First, I do have a lot of advice for you, but I doubt you will read it all, or pay it serious attention, so I will start at what would have been the end, and work my way back.
First, does it not strike you that you dug this ditch and now you are stuck in mud of your own making? What is it with the monogamy thing? How hard is that to understand? What makes you scummy is you have an agreement with your long term lover, he thinks that while he is on the road doing whatever it is he is doing, you are at the home you share, doing whatever it is you do for a living and not hooking up with hot fun guys. That is why you both agreed to the monogamy thing. So, first advice, sit him down and tell him everything.
No wait, first advice is immediately go get yourself an apartment and move all your stuff. Because if you tell him first, chances are you will be tossed, unless you own the house you live in with him. Yes, so my advice, in order of importance, get a new place to live, unless you own the place you live now, and then in that case, break up in a nice way, explain that you are unable to be monogamous and tell him the truth.
Then you both need to get tested. Now, I know, you are going to write back and tell me how this Fun Guy was all safe and everything, but guess what? I know the ways of men and I know you were not safe all the time, because some things I just know. So, other than you being terribly scummy, you have gifted your long term lover with the effects of you being unable to be honest. If you are really lucky you did not pick up any bugs and your lover will move on without the scars of your infidelity. If you did bring him any sort of present, sexually transmitted of course, you can count on the stalker being the least of your worries.
Now, once you have dealt with the new living situation, the break up and the STD testing, then you should deal with the stalker. I want to say I am sorry you find yourself in this position, because I too have had to deal with online predatory behavior and it is never fun. That said, I will circle back to a paragraph or two and remind you, this is something you brought on yourself. Wait, I feel a tangent coming on.
A week or so ago I was driving on the thruway, where the speed limit is 65 MPH, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I was passed by a car doing at least 90. I estimate 90 because I was doing over 70 and he blew right past me. I did not really think twice about it, some people speed, so be it. Then about ten miles down the road, Mr. Speedy Pants was pulled over by a trooper. I smiled because I knew he was getting a well deserved ticket, it made me feel superior. Then a few minutes later I got a flat tire, almost crashed, got off the road, but I have never changed a tire in this car, and I had to call AAA and they took 2 hours to get there. In that time I thought about the speeder getting his just punishment. Then it dawned on me, what had I done to deserve basically the same punishment, hours spent on the side of the road, a charge of at least a hundred dollars and then the expense of new tires, because the other 3 looked worn out. Was I too being punished like the speeder? I do plenty of bad things, so I figured any one of them could be cosmic payback.
Now, letter writer, you lied to the person you probably told was the most important person in your life. You did not just lie about something inconsequential, like how much money you make or that you love your Grandmother, no you lied about monogamy to a gay man, who I am guessing, trusted you not to bring any diseases into his life. Now, do you imagine while on the road for work, he was playing around with hot fun guys? My guess is no, you do not think he was, otherwise you would have proposed some sort of open relationship, since you both enjoy playing the field while the other is busy. No, he made a commitment to you and he lived it.
Now, does being a scummy liar mean you deserve a stalker? Well, I'd like to say yes it does, but in reality, it does not. Internet game playing, accounts created, pictures posted, mean words written and actually mailing your lover a letter, those are not nice things and the stalker needs to be made aware of some consequences.
Now, I don't know where you live, but you may want to prepare yourself for what it's like to be a minority in America, because when you call the police to report the stalker, there is a very good chance the officer will snidely take a report, with little passion and almost no professionalism and nothing will happen. Why? Because really, first, not a lot has happened, you are uncomfortable and some internet silliness has happened. Plus, in the vast majority of America, people still don't always like the gays. What you are hoping for is the police contact your Fun Gay friend and that brings it all to an end.
Of course, you will be out a relationship and living situation. Then again, sometimes people communicate by action, not words, right? I mean, you gave your word on the whole monogamy thing, and then your actions were more, what's the word I am looking for here? Your actions were, well, let's stick with scummy. Bottom line, I do not have advice for you. I know, you did not want the lecture, but you got it anyway, because you wrote me, and I answer any way I want.
You deserve the stalker. You deserve to lose the relationship. You earned the disdain your lover it about to feel for you. You even earned the stalker, because until 6 months ago, he was doing whatever he was doing and you and he hooked up, starting this entire nightmare. Imagine if you had remained true to your word and remained monogamous, no stalker, no end of relationship, no cosmic force outing you as a scummy liar.
Make better decisions and live an honest life. If you can not be monogamous, express that to the next long term lover. If you can be monogamous, which I am betting you can not pull off, then live the monogamous life. You can not have both.
I did edit a very long winded letter. Stop complaining, you should read these things before I edit them.
"A friend sent me a link, and I have read some of the posts from people who write you letters and I kind of need advice and most of my friends would be shocked and sickened and sad if I shared with them.
All the information. I am in a long term monogamous relationship with my lover, who, like me is gay. Part of the problem is that I am not monogamous, an issue I have seen on your blog already. My lover travels for business, a week to 10 days at a time. I know the lecture about monogamy having a pretty specific definition, so please do me a favor and skip it.
Here's my problem. About 6 months ago I hooked up with this hot guy I met at the gym. The first couple of times it was all physical, which for me means that he knows I am unavailable and looking just for a release. Then one night we kissed. My personal rule had been that I do all sorts of things, but I do not kiss. There we were kissing.
We went at it, on and off, for a month or two, when the BF was out of town, the Fun Guy would get my attention. He was aware I was in a relationship, the BF was not and again, please hold the lectures.
So, I finally had to completely break with the Fun Guy because it was getting too intense. It was more than a hookup and I was not interested in that. Then I started to get emails from gay cruising sites, as if I had been applying for an account. Then a couple of fetish magazines showed up at our apartment, I live with my LTR lover. At about that point I knew I was in trouble, some sort of stalking thing. A couple more online sex cruise sites sent me emails, confirming my new account and I emailed the Fun Guy and told him he needed to stop. He did not email back. Then a Facebook account was been opened, using my name, so if you Google me, it shows up, except it is all about what a terrible liar I am, and other not so sweet things about me. I emailed Facebook to complain, have not heard anything for a week and the account remains open. I did go back and check a couple of the gay cruising sites and I found two fake accounts with my face picture and some other pictures attached to both accounts. Both of the accounts had all sorts of things describing me, most not very nice, painting me as a user, a liar and a drug abuser. This past Saturday I was home, the lover was picking up dry cleaning, and the mail was delivered. There was a plain envelope with my lovers name on it, our address, everything normal, no return name or anything. I have been paranoid for a week or so, so I opened it and it was a long letter, from the Fun Guy, describing nights spent with me, in our apartment, in our bed. You get the picture.
So, I am coming to terms with being stalked, my question to you, what should I do? If I do the things people do in cases like this, file a report with police, notify internet sites, etc, my lover will have to know. If I tell him I was unfaithful, I am sure we will be finished. I have to make the Fun Guy stop, but I do not know how, and I would like to do that with the smallest dose of official help possible, to try and save my relationship."
Well, thank you so much for sharing.
First, I do have a lot of advice for you, but I doubt you will read it all, or pay it serious attention, so I will start at what would have been the end, and work my way back.
First, does it not strike you that you dug this ditch and now you are stuck in mud of your own making? What is it with the monogamy thing? How hard is that to understand? What makes you scummy is you have an agreement with your long term lover, he thinks that while he is on the road doing whatever it is he is doing, you are at the home you share, doing whatever it is you do for a living and not hooking up with hot fun guys. That is why you both agreed to the monogamy thing. So, first advice, sit him down and tell him everything.
No wait, first advice is immediately go get yourself an apartment and move all your stuff. Because if you tell him first, chances are you will be tossed, unless you own the house you live in with him. Yes, so my advice, in order of importance, get a new place to live, unless you own the place you live now, and then in that case, break up in a nice way, explain that you are unable to be monogamous and tell him the truth.
Then you both need to get tested. Now, I know, you are going to write back and tell me how this Fun Guy was all safe and everything, but guess what? I know the ways of men and I know you were not safe all the time, because some things I just know. So, other than you being terribly scummy, you have gifted your long term lover with the effects of you being unable to be honest. If you are really lucky you did not pick up any bugs and your lover will move on without the scars of your infidelity. If you did bring him any sort of present, sexually transmitted of course, you can count on the stalker being the least of your worries.
Now, once you have dealt with the new living situation, the break up and the STD testing, then you should deal with the stalker. I want to say I am sorry you find yourself in this position, because I too have had to deal with online predatory behavior and it is never fun. That said, I will circle back to a paragraph or two and remind you, this is something you brought on yourself. Wait, I feel a tangent coming on.
A week or so ago I was driving on the thruway, where the speed limit is 65 MPH, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I was passed by a car doing at least 90. I estimate 90 because I was doing over 70 and he blew right past me. I did not really think twice about it, some people speed, so be it. Then about ten miles down the road, Mr. Speedy Pants was pulled over by a trooper. I smiled because I knew he was getting a well deserved ticket, it made me feel superior. Then a few minutes later I got a flat tire, almost crashed, got off the road, but I have never changed a tire in this car, and I had to call AAA and they took 2 hours to get there. In that time I thought about the speeder getting his just punishment. Then it dawned on me, what had I done to deserve basically the same punishment, hours spent on the side of the road, a charge of at least a hundred dollars and then the expense of new tires, because the other 3 looked worn out. Was I too being punished like the speeder? I do plenty of bad things, so I figured any one of them could be cosmic payback.
Now, letter writer, you lied to the person you probably told was the most important person in your life. You did not just lie about something inconsequential, like how much money you make or that you love your Grandmother, no you lied about monogamy to a gay man, who I am guessing, trusted you not to bring any diseases into his life. Now, do you imagine while on the road for work, he was playing around with hot fun guys? My guess is no, you do not think he was, otherwise you would have proposed some sort of open relationship, since you both enjoy playing the field while the other is busy. No, he made a commitment to you and he lived it.
Now, does being a scummy liar mean you deserve a stalker? Well, I'd like to say yes it does, but in reality, it does not. Internet game playing, accounts created, pictures posted, mean words written and actually mailing your lover a letter, those are not nice things and the stalker needs to be made aware of some consequences.
Now, I don't know where you live, but you may want to prepare yourself for what it's like to be a minority in America, because when you call the police to report the stalker, there is a very good chance the officer will snidely take a report, with little passion and almost no professionalism and nothing will happen. Why? Because really, first, not a lot has happened, you are uncomfortable and some internet silliness has happened. Plus, in the vast majority of America, people still don't always like the gays. What you are hoping for is the police contact your Fun Gay friend and that brings it all to an end.
Of course, you will be out a relationship and living situation. Then again, sometimes people communicate by action, not words, right? I mean, you gave your word on the whole monogamy thing, and then your actions were more, what's the word I am looking for here? Your actions were, well, let's stick with scummy. Bottom line, I do not have advice for you. I know, you did not want the lecture, but you got it anyway, because you wrote me, and I answer any way I want.
You deserve the stalker. You deserve to lose the relationship. You earned the disdain your lover it about to feel for you. You even earned the stalker, because until 6 months ago, he was doing whatever he was doing and you and he hooked up, starting this entire nightmare. Imagine if you had remained true to your word and remained monogamous, no stalker, no end of relationship, no cosmic force outing you as a scummy liar.
Make better decisions and live an honest life. If you can not be monogamous, express that to the next long term lover. If you can be monogamous, which I am betting you can not pull off, then live the monogamous life. You can not have both.
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