Category Archives: Gay

To A Tormentor

Part 1 of this is an adaptation of an e-mail I sent to a person who* tormented me in Junior High and High Schools. I was sitting at work, looking at the person’s* page on Facebook, and thought – I need to write him and tell him about what he did. It just sort of flowed out so please excuse any grammatical errors or the like:

I’m surprised you don’t remember me. You don’t remember calling me a ‘faggot’ nearly every day, making limp wrist gestures at me all the time, at school and at the pool? Eventually I stopped going to the pool because I couldn’t bear it to have my mother see you and your friends teasing me. It made me feel ashamed. I couldn’t have any fun there while you were about.

Gay boy!




Over and over again. My book bag was a “handbag.” I remember that one clearly. Yes, I was quiet, and bookish, and I had a funny (English) accent. I’d just come from England. Was that reason to do what you did?

At school you were pretty relentless. Again, I dreaded the sight of you coming down the hallway, that grin warning me that you were about to rip my day into pieces. You make me feel pretty rotten every chance you could get. It seemed there was nothing about me you couldn’t turn into a opening to taunt me, to show me how you were superior to me, how you could score points by putting me down. You acted as if I were queer dirt under your feet, and everyone else laughed and I began to half believe you.

I hated going shopping with my parents, not just for what you would say to me if we saw you, but for the shame of having them see it, hear it, and wonder what was wrong with me(!) that it happened. I was enveloped in shame and steeped in fear and a slowly thickening misery. Frankly if I weren’t so afraid of dying I’d have killed myself. Honest to God. There were times I didn’t know how I could, or if I ever would, be happy and not feel afraid and ashamed.

No you weren’t the only one to be like this but you sure as hell were the most consistent and constant. You’d even make your gestures at me from a great distance; there was no safe bubble for me in school, before school, after school. I thank God my family moved away from Gambrills, mainly because it meant moving away from people like you were.

I know this is a lot to take in, in one big e-mail. It’s a lot for me to take in that you did this to me throughout middle school and into high school, and you don’t even remember it. My torment was as inconsequential to you as what you used to watch on TV back then. I bet you remember that more than you remember what you did. It kills me that you can be oblivious to this, while even typing this and remembering, I can feel my chest tighten, my adrenaline pumping and I have to remind myself that those days were a long time ago. You’ll excuse me if I’m a little angry that you don’t even have the memory of those days when I have to live with it.

Anyway. I just wanted you to know that even if you didn’t remember me, I haven’t forgotten you. I don’t know if you have been blessed with children, but please, don’t let them do to anyone what you did to me. Nobody, nobody deserves it.

I really really hated you. Funny enough, I wonder now what you’re like. I see you’re a musician. That normally indicates a sensitive, insightful soul. (Like, you know, somebody you’d have called a faggit. Why did you change the pronunciation of that – I always wondered. Was it to add to the horror?)

Are you different now? I hope so. I’m genuinely curious. If you don’t want to reply to this I understand, but I would also like to forgive you. I’m trying to, I really am. I’m 46 and I’m still dealing with the fall out from those few short years and what you and your friends did, and so I really hope I can succeed in doing so.”

*Thereby hangs a tale – and a surprise.

Anyway, to change the mood a little, here is a picture of the unnaturally handsome Manolo Cardona, who I just saw (quite a bit of!) in a great film called “Contracorriente” or “Undertow.” I”ll post a review by and by.

Did that change your mood? It sure did mine!

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On Billy Graham’s Full Page Ad

Billy Graham asks, in a full-page ad urging support for candidates who wish to enshrine inequality in marriage, that we “Please join me in praying for America, that we will turn our hearts back toward God.” That implies that in the past we had our hearts toward God but that at some ill-defined point we turned away.

Which raises the question – when was that? Was it before 1865, when the law of the land and plenty of good Christian churches justified slavery, could find support in the Bible and custom for a person owning another person, for the idea that one race was inherently inferior to another? Is that the time he’d like to go back to?

Or before 1920 when women (except those residing in Wyoming) were not allowed to sully their pretty little hands with the ballot box and the voting paper? Is that when we turned away from the male primacy enshrined in Holy Writ?

Was it maybe before Brown vs. Board of Education, or the Civil Rights Acts, or the Voting Rights Act, when black people were legally separate and never equal, when lynchings and burning crosses were used to reinforce the color line that was “distinctly drawn by Jehovah himself…drawn in nature and in history in such a form as to make it a sin and a crime to undertake to obliterate it?” Should we pray to turn our hearts back to those days?

Perhaps the good Reverend means before the end of the draft, when rich kids could get college deferments and poor kids were sent to war?

Whatever he meant to imply it’s clear that for him and for his ilk, things went seriously off the rails, or “the nation turned against God” when power, previously concentrated in white male heterosexual hands, became diffused, even if ever so slightly, to sectors of society that didn’t resemble him and his concept of the white male heterosexual God (in this view, Jesus is a white male, possibly Episcopalian, not a brown-skinned Jew).

He fails to remember, or would rather you forget, that his past of glorious closeness to God was a time of oppression, of brutalization, and of lynchings. Of union-busting thuggery, voting qualification tests, and of back-street abortions to save the nice young men for the nice young women and from the sluts they knocked up. Of colored entrances and “No Irish Need Apply.” Of Father Coughlin and Jim Crow and Orval Fabus and sweet-looking old ladies who spat in school kids’ faces. This is the America he would return us to, the one where ‘our hearts were turned to God.’

Yes, since the 1970’s there has been extremism and license, but there has also been a succession of hard-won gains for women, for blacks, for youth, for minorities and even a little bit for the gays. And if Reverend Graham, and those who think like him, are to maintain even a scrap of the superiority they yearn to have again, they must stop this last win for America’s less-thans. They have lost so much that it genuinely panics them to lose the last status to which they can cling and from which they can exclude others – the right to have their libidinal and romantic relationships enshrined in law, licenced by their government, and held forth as superior to all others. That is the real reason behind the opposition to marriage equality, as it has been the reason behind the opposition to any equality, gender, race, or ethnic, and that is why Billy Graham is merely the ten-dollar, besuited, version of the five-cent gay-bashing thug.

What the preacher behind the pulpit and the thug with a baseball bat want is exactly the same; they want someone to be superior to, to look down on (in a Christian loving way) and the only easily identifiable vulnerable group they can think of is gay folks.

So don’t be fooled when some rosary-swinging priest, some scripture-thumping pastor, or some torah-waving rabbi wants to have a ‘genuine, loving debate’ over marriage equality, no matter how many biblical tracts he wraps himself in. It’s not about what they say it is; their arguments are collections of threadbare absurdities that fail to conceal the real fear and the real determination to avoid the loss of superiority, to stop being special, and to stop having people to be better than.

In today’s politer society, on television, and from the altar, it doesn’t look always so good to scream insults or commit physical assault on gay folks, so they have the Billy Grahams, the Mitt Romneys, the whole cabal of cassocked hypocrites to march out in front of cameras and voters and tell the most outrageous falsehoods that a child of four would be ashamed to advance.

But don’t forget, they are just the respectable face of the gangs of drunken teens with baseball bats. Don’t forget that ministers of the loving savior have opined that gay kids should be hit, have their limbs broken, or that gay people should be put in concentration camps. Again, these and the bashers are merely the more honest versions of the polite peddlers of prejudice and hatred who are sliming across our screens at the moment.


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28 Mar 10

More stuff this time from Sunday, March 28….

Slept until 2 pm and really haven’t done much. It was ‘that kind of a day.’ A bit nervous about tomorrow’s weigh-in but c’est la vie. Bolting water because I’ve got to have lab tests tomorrow and nil per os after midnight.

I feel so disorganized. I should probably do something about that. 🙂

Probably going to take tomorrow off work – I’ve got no expiration date sticker on my front windshield and they’ve been cracking down on Fort Meade. We were going to go by on Saturday but the line was out the door. So I’ll try late morning today and then come home and walk. Probably have dinner with C at his office.

Finally I need to write up my resume on the USAJobs site so I can apply for the DMA job. Oooo a 14. I don’t stand a chance, I don’t guess. I’ve probably killed my career accepting this downgrade.

Other than that not much. Watched a little about Scientology and read a little from Gawker.

Dreamt of the lovely place in Baltimore:

I was in Northern Virgnia at a metro bus stop on a downward sloping hill with a park and trees behind me. It was getting late in the afternoon and there were a crowd of people at the bus stop. I had on no shoes. A guy came up and beckoned me to follow him away, into the woods and then he climbed a tree. I went to follow but the limb he was standing on broke and he fell to the ground. I’m shouting “somebody call 911” and somebody does and he’s all right but my parents collect me.

Then we’re driving through northern Baltimore. We go to what seems to be a campus; there are gothic-style buildings, like the Houses of Parliament all around, some very ecclesiastical, and we pass under a series of large ornate gateways. We park and go into the house of a young women my parents know and suddenly all my family is there.

This young woman (her husband is coming home later) has a gorgeous house. One whole wall is two stories high and has shelves all in front of it with glass ornaments on them, which don’t spoil the view of the park beyond, which runs down a gentle slope to some more buildings. Everywhere there are examples of her artwork, and it’s really good, not ‘art work’ meaning ‘look I’ve self-indulgently daubed some paint on a canvas’ but nice, intricate paintings of vintage cars and old buildings. All looks like a lovely nice evening since she’s going to cook us dinner, but her dog bounds up to me and starts mouthing my hand, and it’s hurting and irritating…then some strange creature she has that looks like a giant monitor lizard but is orange and pink and yellow starts doing the same; it’s not got sharp teeth but it doesn’t seem to care that I’m trying to bat it away.

So I arrange to go out for a bit, and I walk out of her apartment into a marvelous street full of arcades and shops selling lovely things and it’s quiet yet full of people. There are maybe more Catholic bookstores than I’d expect, but perhaps this is a Catholic institution. The stores are all full of fascinating objects and paintings and I’m utterly enjoying myself wandering through, wishing that everywhere could be like this, so beautiful and old and full of such lovely things. There’re paths that wander along little narrow streams with shops along them, and a grand boulevard with more shops and restaurants. The light is strange and my dreams are often like this; around me is fairly light, like a cloudy day, but not far from me the scene recedes into a gloom that is neither gloomy nor disquieting-quite the opposite, it’s restful and also mysterious.

Does anyone know where this might be? Analyzing it I think it’s an amalgam of Lambertville, NJ, and Harrogate and Knaresborough in Yorkshire.

Hey, Ryan Hickmott from 30 Days is now my Facebook friend! 🙂 He’s a decent guy. He’s (or he was) a very conservative Christian from a rural area who volunteered to live with a gay man in the Castro in San Francisco for Morgan Spurlock’s series. IMHO the people themselves were the best ambassadors; not sure about the MCC pastor who didn’t have any credibility with the man from the beginning. But he made some real friends and was certainly game for a lot of ribbing (and got drunk and danced shirtless in a gay bar even…). He’s in the Army Reserves and has served in Iraq. I admire his ability to grow. And his looks ain’t bad either. He’s engaged to a lovely-seeming lady and is back safely in Michigan where he’s a financial advisor having two degrees and (I hope) success. Here he is on Oprah discussing his experience.


(So photogenic…wonder if he would have been chosen were he less so…)

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Zero Zero Zero

Well, here’s more about Pastor Steven Anderson of the Faithful Word Baptist Church, aka our very own Mullah in his Madrasa.

What bothers me about him is his mixing his own religion and politics, with an accent on violence. He ‘hates‘ Barack Obama, which is fine, but this hatred, plus his doctrine of eternal security (by which anyone who is ‘saved’ is saved forever, no matter what, even if they kill unrepentant), is a toxic, dangerous mix. He proudly says that he hates Barack Obama, prays that the president should get brain cancer and die. (He wouldn’t condemn somebody who killed the president but wants Obama to die of natural causes so he doesn’t become a martyr.)

Christopher Broughton, just after listening to the “Why I Hate Barack Obama” sermon brought an AR-57 rifle and a handgun to an Arizona Obama rally. And wouldn’t directly answer if he was advocating violence against the President. Just like Anderson preaches that ‘we’ shouldn’t go out and kill in God’s name ourselves but if somebody does, well, that’s fine by him.

He delights in the idea of Michelle Obama being a widow and his children being orphans.

He finds it not murder to kill abortion doctors.

And he wants my execution. All legal, he believes in due process, and all. Which only means that he’d like to write his beliefs into law. Know why? Because he knows, he knows for certain, that I molest children, that all gays molest children. Don’t believe me? Watch:

This chilling “Pastor Anderson holds no college degree but has well over 100 chapters of the Bible committed to memory.” Parrots have all sorts of things committed to memory. But they just don’t understand them. He’s adding a spiritual and biblical veneer of respectability to the crazy radical fighting talk coming out of the fringe right wing.

But it’s too easy to see his nuttiness as bigger and more important than it is.

This “pastor” spends his time preaching the holy hatred that he finds in Jesus, and misusing the term “Baptist” to do it. Luckily he preaches it to only about two dozen parishioners.

I feel very sorry for the Baptists because many people will lump then in with this loon. I feel even more sorry for the loving and affirming and peaceful and just of Christ’s followers (including many Baptists) that this person identifies himself with them. One of the evils of this person is how he takes the attention from the good Christians, including the ones who’ve surprised me and challenged me to rethink as I was researching this blog entry. The ones who reject rejection.

I have to confess to having had a very simplistic view of Christianity formed out of ignorance and bitterness, and seeing too many Steven Andersons and Jan and Paul Crouches and Benny Hinns, who either radiated hate or greed and self-satisfaction. It seemed to me that the Christian family was made up mostly of self-promoters on their golden thrones, rigid and cold rejectors, people who peddle uplift and relish downfall, the self-satisfied who sit in their nice clothes on Sunday passing judgement on everyone else.

I was rewatching “Save Me” last night, and one line struck me – Judith Light’s character regrets not having loved her gay son “as Jesus would have loved him.” I always felt the obligation that religion imposed, never the reward or joy of it.

I’m quite glad to admit that I was wrong, that that sort of person while dangerous or irritating or mean, isn’t the only, possibly isn’t the most interesting, and definitely isn’t the most beautiful face of the religion I walked out on so many years ago.

I wonder what I will do next? I certainly hope my thinking becomes less judgmental and prejudicial and blinded.

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A Bona Fide Zero

A companion piece to yesterday’s entry about a great and good man, here’s a bit about an unpleasant little man who really is a zero. Or less.

He’s called for the death of President Obama. And very likely instigated one of his parishioners to show up at a “town hall” where the president was going to speak, brandishing a gun. Yes, parishioners. Because this little ball of ignorance is a “minister” of a “church,” the “Faithful Word Baptist Church – Independent” which finds its home in a storefront in a shopping center in the otherwise decent city of Tempe, Arizona.

If you didn’t know Steven L. Anderson, you’d probably suspect he was a butch gay man – with his short cropped hair, wide open face, fine body – the kind of guy who drives a jeep, wears lots of plaid shirts, and generally tries to appear very lumber-jacky. I mean, on the surface he’s a real all-American cutie. Inside it’s a whole other silly and sad story.

Now before I go on, I have to say the following:


I don’t want people accusing me of saying that there are legions of lunatics like Steven L. Anderson in the body of Christianity. There aren’t. The religion would have been laughed out of existence before Paul’s letters ever reached Cappadocia.

Now that we’ve got that settled, Steven L. Anderson goes from being silly, like preaching that every man in Germany pees sitting down (a lie) whereas he, as a real man, pees the way God intended, standing up, and that if the country isn’t careful, peeing standing up will be made illegal. He also figures that Barack Obama pees sitting down, anybody who translated the Bible since the King James edition pees sitting down, all other preachers pee sitting down. He declares, with great firmness, that when he goes back to Germany he’s gonna piss standing up to show them he’s a man. I swear, I couldn’t make stuff like this up:

But what gets me worried more than this preacher’s evident obsession with water sports, is that he has called for the President and for me to be killed.

Don’t believe me? Here’s the quote:

“You’re gonna tell me that I’m supposed to pray for the socialist devil,” asked Anderson, rhetorically, referring to Obama, “[this] murderer, infanticide, who wants to see young children, and he wants to see babies killed through abortion and partial birth — and all these other things — you’re gonna tell me I’m supposed to pray for god to give him a good lunch tomorrow, while he’s in Phoenix, Arizona. Nope. I’m not going to pray for his good. I’m going to pray that he dies and goes to hell. When I go to bed tonight, that’s how I’m going to pray.”

Still think I’m making this up? Take a listen to his hour long ramble.

He also believes that gays should be given the death penalty, as well as children who curse their parents and adulterers. Just like in old Afghanistan.

Part II on this little irritant is coming up next, in which we will further delve into why his rantings are more than just a fart in the wind.

Hint: As this shows, it’s certainly not for his power of poetry…

Our kids used to know “Amazing Grace”

Now they know “Will and Grace”

They used to know “In the sweet by and by”

Now they know “Queer eye for the Straight Guy”

They used to know “How great thou art”

Now they know “Homer Simpson and Bart”

They used to know “To God be the Glory”

Now they know “A Shark Tale” and “Toy Story”

They used to know “Blessed Assurance”

Now they know “Bel Air Fresh Prince”

They used to know “Close to thee”

Now they know “VH1” and “MTV”

They used to know “My Faith Has found a Resting Place

Now they know “Star Trek” and “Lost in Space”

They used to know “Wounded for Me”

Now they know “CSI Miami”

They used to know “Send the Light”

Now they know “Entertainment Tonight”

They used to know “Revive Us Again”

Now they know “Seinfeld” and “Friends”

They used to know “On the Solid Rock I Stand”

Now they know “Sponge Bob” and “Spiderman”

They used to know “At the Cross” and “He lives”

Now they know “Everybody hates Chris”

They used to know “Shall We Gather”

Now they know “Ted Kopple” and “Dan Rather”

They used to know “Whiter than Snow”

Now they know “The Late Late Show”

They used to know “Sweet Hour of Prayer”

Now they know “A Current Affair”

They used to know “When We See Christ”

Now they know “Desperate Housewives”

They used to know “Keep Nothing Between”

Now they know “Billy Graham” and “Joel Osteen”

They used to know “On Zion’s Hill”

Now they know “Oprah” and “Dr. Phil”

They used to know “When we all Get to Heaven”

Now they know “Frasier” and “7th Heaven”

They used to know “Oh Say But I’m Glad”

Now they know “My Two Dads”

They used to know “He hideth My Soul”

Now they know “American Idol”

They used to know “There is a Fountain”


Oh, the humanity. Oh, the inanity.

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Hot and Not Bothered

Well, just a quick note. Today was our Organization Day (a.k.a. Office Picnic). We worked until 11:00 or so, and then went over to Burba Lake on Fort Meade. There was volleyball and a tug-of-war and food and a dunk tank into which our leadership, from the Commanding General on down, were placed. I enjoyed myself quite a bit; it wasn’t too warm or uncomfortable, and everyone was really nice.

I took some pictures with my trusty little camera; since they were for me I indulged myself and only took a few of my coworkers and the rest of two guys I find rather attractive. First, there’s Chad H., of whom I’ve spoken before; he looks so jock-ish out of uniform (although is very smooth legs are strange – I guess it’s because he swims, our little Iron Man). Second is Name deleted he’s a rank deleted the title deleted, who is (a) quality deleted (b)quality deleted (there’s a big difference – sexy is how you act) and (c) quality deleted. He found personage deleted after job history deleted He’s series of admirable qualities deleted. Tomorrow I plan deleted Click on the gallery below to enlarge the shots.

Gallery deleted.

I hope you like them! The main thing I thought, after taking the pictures, was that there is a huge gulf between me, slow, plodding, prone to sweating sitting still, in some degree of pain with every step, and these active agile graceful happy playing specimens. The bridging of which I would love to achieve, but sometimes/most of the time despair of. 😦 I am glad to be their friend though.

Like yesterday at the gym, my feet started to feel so heavy so early. Imagine going from that, from plantar fasciitis and arthrits into a volleyball playing stud. Hah. Fat chance. My kinda odds. 😦

I spent most of today thinking it was Thursday. How about you – are you ready for the holiday? I hate hearing it called “the Fourth of July” – that’s just the date. It is Independence Day. (Just like today, 1 July, is Northern Territory Day, commemorating the day the Northern Territory, from which my beloved comes, was granted self-government instead of being governed directly by Canberra.)

We’ll be back to eye candy tomorrow. It’s funny how “hot guys” don’t give me this reaction except when they’re live in front of me. I think it’s more a wish that their marvellous would bend down from their great heights and touch me. Yet that’s a fantasy, and what I have with my husband is better than any fantasy I ever had about my life. He makes everything better; I came home a bit gloomy but he cleared that up in about five seconds, one hug and one kiss. 🙂 🙂 🙂 I’m all better, thanks to him!

Rest in Peace, Billy Mays

Got home and watched a bit of a marathon of Pitchmen on Discovery. I’d never really sat and watched it before, but it was being run in memory of Billy Mays. He really seems to have been humble, funny, creative and generous and I thought – wow, with all the fuss about MJ poor Billy, who we saw more of in the last few years, is nearly forgotten. And to me, and sorry if I offend you, MJ was at the end of his career – I couldn’t see him surviving the fifty concerts he’d planned, to me, Billy Mays had still years to go doing what he did. And really, there’s nothing dishonourable about being a salesman, despite how so many people sneer at the vocation (see the movie “Barcelona” for more polished reflections on this idea). And OxiClean really does work. In the immortal words of Theresa Giudice, it helps you be more cleansy, with your cleansiness.

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Well, Here I Am Again

Yes, here I am again, not having blogged in a while. Well well, and during that time Iran’s been exploding, Michael Jackson, Farah Fawcett, and Billy Mays have died, and the world has gone on. What have you been up to.

Em Jay

I was a bit more upset at the news of Michael Jackson’s death than I thought I would be, but I think all mourning especially of that sort is somewhat narcissistic. It’s not about him, as much as my memories that are connected to various songs and videos he made. I used to ‘hang out’ at a place called the King’s Club in Stuttgart (Germany)

and they’d play “Beat It” and “Billy Jean” all the time. They’d also play “It’s Raining Men” for obvious reasons. We’d go, my friends Cathy and Joanny and I, to the club nearly every weekend. I’d normally park my big old Volvo wagon wherever I could find a place in downtown Stuttgart, and turn up at the club around, oh, say nine or ten. By eleven, the place would be full. The Americans (mostly servicemen and -women) would normally sit way in the back, but there’d be a crowd of them most weekends. For some reason, when the Stuttgart Military Women’s Softball Team was playing at posts away from town, there were a lot fewer women, and even a few less American guys as well.


There was a dance floor and a disco ball and a DJ who sometimes, if you bought him a drink, play a request. Everything was covered in red as you can see in the thumbnails, and it was run by a red-head Volksdeutsche from Romania by the name of Laura Halding-Hoppert. (Click on a thumbnail below; on the second picture, the seats at the rear to the left are where my friends and I would normally sit, so we could keep an eye on the dance floor and the Wild West where the service men would hang out.)


We’d normally dance very European style, in groups, but every now and then I’d ‘snag’ some hot Soldier to dance with. Even then I was appearance obsessed; I’d make darn sure that all my friends could see me with him, and many times I’d be more interested in their reaction than in the guy’s! But honestly there was little better than hanging on to the back of a sweaty stranger, with one of his legs between mine, bumping and grinding to “Le Freak” (c’est Chic), feeling at once sexy and protected (I was only 18, most of these gents were in their twenties and hence older and wiser and stronger than me) and special. Anyone interested in any of my other reminiscences or am I just coming across as an old geezer with nothing to look forward to, clinging on to his memories of past glories to make up for his current life? I don’t think I’m quite that, or if I am, then I don’t see what’s under my nose. I never went to those places to have fun without the ultimate goal in mind of having somebody to love and who’d love me. Which I have. Yes, I was more wild then but less content.

I’m trying to age gracefully. Or at least without thinking about it too much.

Movies You Should WatchB

RGWell, the first one is called “Beaten.”

No, it’s not the story of an egg. It’s about a married with child couple who are living with domestic violence. The victim is not who you’d think it would be. It’s good because it stars the gorgeous Geordie himself, Robson Green, and because it manages to have three intertwined stories develop, come to a crisis, and get all packaged up within 58 minutes. So you have the rest of the evening free to think how you’d treat Mr. Green.

Those with good memories will remember Mr. Green from “Touching Evil” or “The Grifters” on PBS or BBC America.

432The second one is much longer and more harrowing. It’s called “4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days” and it’s about a woman trying to help her friend arrange an abortion in Ceausecu’s Romania. No light entertainment in this film, no staring at handsome male leads, at all. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the advice not to drop the fetus into the sink “either whole or in pieces” or a bin near the hotel where the act was done, but to take it to the top of a ten-story apartment building and drop it into the garbage chute. Or that the abortionist took his payment in the form of intercourse with both the friend, and the woman on who he was about to perform the abortion.

That sort of thing makes for an emotionally exhausting film but the whole thing is so fantastically acted and filmed that you don’t mind for yourself, but you do mind for what the characters are going through. There are some strengths in people (this is apparently a true story) that may be better undiscovered.

Back to Our Theme, Already in Progress

Yes, the Handsome Hunks of Home Improvement continue and our newest HHofHI is the dark hammer swinger himself, Carter Oosterhouse. Honestly, do I need to say any more?



(Just click on the smaller thumbnails to see his nearly always ‘on’ smile or his skill at handling his tool.)

Speaking of Handy Men

Well, he did first appear as a handy man, our mini-obsession with Gilmar Rodrigues continues as well. Here is a few pictures of him apparently unable to arrange his boxer shorts – perhaps the elastic’s gone?




(Looks like he needs a tug – why not give him a helping hand?)

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Not Such a Success

No, my weight loss ‘efforts’ were not successful this past week. I gained 2.2 lbs, or a kilogram. I have no delusions as to why – I stopped recording my points on Wednesday and overate the entire week. And it’s not because of lack of support from friends or C; I don’t blame them.

But it’s a new week and a new chance and I really ought to leverage what I’ve learned over the past few weeks. First off, I can’t go without recording my points. Second, I can’t go without exercising three days in a row. Third, it’s no good getting discouraged if discouragement leads to mentally saying ‘eff it.’

So I was at the gym

See, you may have noticed that I’m no longer talking about weight lifting. At (not for) Christmas a Soldier at work gave me a book, no doubt well meaningly, but it really threw me for a loop. I’d been fine with going every day for sixty minutes, but this book suggested that (a) there was gain to be made in shorter walking at a faster pace and (b) that there was a better way to arrange my lifting. That really confused me and made me all confused. I’ve had “Set Up Weight Program” on my Things for weeks now. But this weekend I’m going to do it. My plan is to lift Mondays, Wednesdays and on the weekend. Those nights I’ll do the twenty minutes walking. The other days I’ll do sixty minutes. I’ll go with this and see how it feels. I do know that most people say that if you’ve only got time to do one or the other, do your cardio.

Pain in the leg

I found out I’ve got a stasis ulcer on my leg (caution: some of the images in the link are distressing). It hurts a bit when it’s not dressed. But the worse outcomes are that I’ve got to have C dress it all the time, with something called Algicell, I have to go to the doctor’s office  once a week for the forseeable future to have it ‘scraped’ (they do use lidocaine!), and I have to wear compression stockings socks. It rather sucks and it makes me more and more dependent on C as I can’t put the dressing on myself and it’s hard to use the socks. All this has me more and more despondent and unhappy.

Not too cool

I think C’s mad at me. I don’t go to bed on time, I don’t wake up on time, and I don’t do anything around the house. This darned internet! My darned lack of strength. Aimlessness seems to be the theme in my life right now. If don’t get something to do at work, I’m going to go bonkers soon. I don’t seem to accomplish anything here or there or anywhere and being lazy is getting to be habit forming.

Movies you should watch

AustraliaI’ve (finally) gotten around to watching the two Netflix aussie beautiesmovies I’ve had out for around a month. One was okay, one was good. Click on the miniature posters to see the imdb page on them. “Australia” was okay but even I spotted the anomalies and anachronisms; C noticed that geography had been stood on its head. However, the story, while predictable, is a nice way to while away some time (nearly three hours!), and if you can ignore the preachiness, you are treated to Hugh Jackman looking yummilicious as he so easily does. Good was “On the Other Hand, ontheotherhanddeath1Death” which is one of the Donald Strachey series of save-memovies starring Chad Allen who is gorgeous and a great actor and everything. I don’t know why they’ve not released “Ice Blues” which was made as part of the same series but since I loved the book I hope they do soon. Now as a bonus I found “Save Me” with Chad Allen, Robert Gant (oh, what a handsome man!) and Judith Light on Netflix Instant and watched it and it is also good. Really, affectingly good. I highly recommend it, especially if you don’t expect a formulaic “the religious are bad, the gays are good” treatment (the poster is misleading and overdramatizes things but I think Chad was Catholic, hence the crucifix). The religious people in the movie are treated with dignity and respect for the good they do, while acknowledging the bad, and the gay people aren’t always heroic, and I think that is what makes the movie worth your time.

So based on all that above, here’s a lovely (but not very high quality) shot from Save Me of Chad and Robert, looking so wholesome you just wanna eat ’em up. Wish me luck on my continuing quest to be thin and hit me up on Facebook if you want.


(Now who wouldn’t want to be the creamy center in that sandwich?)


Filed under Culture, Cute Guys, Exercise, Gay, Work

Chuck’s Baaaaack!

Yes, I know, I’ve got to catch everyone up but let me start with the most recent thing and work my way backward.

Chuck’s Back!

Yes, finally, after a rather long hiatus, Chuck is back and better than ever…in 3D nogal (Afrikaans for ‘even!’). It was a very good episode, except it did involve a rock band and as john-at-the-buymoreusual when rock bands are shown in the context of television shows, they come across as terribly fake and cheesy. You can’t reproduce the atmosphere of a Springsteen concert at some enormous Concertdrome with a normal TV studio and some actors and extras. But they did try, gamely, but it was in Three Dee!!! The glasses were pretty uncomfortable and I don’t know if this will ‘catch on’ but I’m glad to say the show was watchable without them, though C who glanced at it a bit, said that there was ‘funny orange shifts’ and it didn’t look that bad. But with the goofy glasses on, it was great – especially seeing Adam Baldwin (click on him to see him as big as life and twice as handsome)…too bad he kept his clothes on the whole time.

The Weekend

Dropped my parents off at the airport Saturday and took Bob* up to Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, for a lunch of buffalo burgers and Belgian beer at The Half Moon restaurant. It was rather pricy I have to say and the drive up was a mixture of really good scenery and boring flat lands. Coming back we swung Bob* through Wilmington which was a big mistake. That put us on a line to I-95 south through Delaware and into northeastern Maryland (right by North East, Maryland). I hate hate hate that stretch of I-95. It’s boring. It’s crowded. The other boys and girls are mean. Maryland drivers aren’t the worst but tend to have no lane discipline at all. None. They’ll blow by in the slow lane at 90+ and/or crawl along in the fast lane hoping one day to achieve 55. Jersey drivers aren’t that bad. New Yorkers aren’t that bad. Pennsylvanians are nearly that bad (and roads in Pennsy suck big time). Californians weren’t that bad.

So after the 95-dead-or-alive-drive

On Sunday C and I sat around doing little or nothing.  🙂

This past week, for those who are still interested

This past week was pretty routine, except I didn’t get to the gym much. Oh, but some of that was because we had an ice storm. I hate ice storms, more than I hate that stretch of I-95. I slipped and landed on my front and the worst thing was the ice was all around, so I couldn’t get any traction to stand up. Everytime I tried to put my (considerable) weight on a hand or a foot, it slid out from under me. I had to monkey crawl my way to the sidewalk to finally stand up (yes, it was my fault – I tried to take a short cut across the glazed glassy grass). It wasn’t a co-worker’s fault, who fell and broke her arm. And we didn’t have it half as bad as those poor people in Kentucky.

* Directs here


Right after we bought the car, C asked what name we should give it. Now, I just thought of the first name that seemed manly and fun, like the car – ‘Bob.’ A few moments later, however I told the truth – that it wasn’t a reference to Bob Van Dillen, the meterologist on CNN Headline News in the morning. C of course teased me about it since I just happen to think that BVD is rather dishy. Sadly, there aren’t many pictures of him on the web, and the one on the main CNN site is awful so here’s a picture of him so you can sort of see what I mean. He just has that beefy all American thing going on, but honestly, I didn’t name the car after him. I think I’m seeming to protest too much. It sure doesn’t help that this picture was posed by BVD because a view wrote in and said that he looked a lot like the character “Mr. Oppotunity” – an animated character in Honda ads…and we bought a Honda…and well, but, Bob’s a nice name for a car I’m getting to like better.

This might, just might, be a link to his ‘gun show’ on Headline News. I don’t think I can embed this video so click on it and tell me what you think of Bob, the man. Not Bob, the car.


An interesting blog

Porn star James Elliott N. (professional name: “Erik Rhodes”) has a blog; perhaps you should check it out – you can find it via google. It seems to be mostly SFW in terms of images but not necessarily in terms of ‘language.’ I told C this evening that it sh0uld be required reading for unattractive people. Here’s a ‘hot’ porn star who feels utterly worthless in the gay bars just like unattractive people do. Perhaps it’s not looks, it’s not you, it’s not mne, it’s not James, it’s gay bars. He does take a lot of drugs, though; that probably doesn’t help. And he gets awards for being the best porn star. Heck, in our ‘community’ we even have awards shows for escorts! Obsessive, much? Anyway, it does show you that the grass is still grass no matter what side of the fence it’s on.

Speaking of stars and hot men

I saw one Chris Evans movie this weekend, “London.” It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. It did feature Mr. E. with Jason Statham and Jessica Biehl, who were also in “Cellular” which I really enjoyed. This one was a bit more ‘introspective.’ Or ‘too self-involved by half.’ However, in between the somewhat whiny philosophizing he does spend a very adequate and much appreciated time showing off the results of what must be hours in the gym, as you can see here (click on the thumbnails to make Chris grow a bit):




(Wouldn’t you like to make him that extatic?)

That’s all for now, I know I know, I should be more regular. I’ll try fiber.

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Filed under Culture, Cute Guys, Family, Gay

Some Newish Beginnings

Hello, everyone! I sure hope things are going well for you as they are for us.

Today has been quite a day; we’ve switched from old-style basic cable TV and internet (if broadband can be called ‘old-style’) to FiOS from Verizon, which promises (at least) to be very fast indeed. Which is good especially since I can now be sure to catch my Housewives, Top Chefs and Chuck in enormous size and great detail. And the DVR will tape them all for me so I can go to the gym. Which has been pretty good but not stellar this week, but crowded. Unfortunately, even though it’s January 18, I’m still eating like it was December 25th – i.e., too much. I need to get back in control. Wish me luck. Or rather wish me success, ‘luck’ really seems a bit passive. It’s not ‘bad luck’ when I can’t pass the office hoard of candies that are still making their way to work unwanted.

I ate far too much chocolate Friday and felt terrible. Good thing I did go to the gym and do 60 minutes (with some excellent eye candy as a bonus!) but still, I know everyone knew what I was up to going back and forth to the big tin of mini Snickers bars. I know I’m doing the wrong thing as my back is hurting quite a bit which only happens when I’m out of control.

A nice guy at work gave me a copy of “Body for Life” – does anyone know anything about it? It does seem to rely a lot on one buying supplements, which I am always suspicious of when I see it.

Another Beginning

Takes place around here on Tuesday and we’ve already started seeing the signs about how ‘Only Buses Into DC’ and ‘Metro Lots Will Fill Up Early’ on variable message signs around town. If you work for the Federal Government in DC or any of the surrounding counties, (Fairfax, Fairfax City, Falls Church City, Alexandria City, or Arlington in Virginia; or Montgomery or Prince George’s in Maryland – I don’t work in one of them) you’re off work Tuesday and I imagine lots of private employers are either (a) letting their people off as well, or (b) providing them with a place to sleep at the ce2business for Monday night. Even though I don’t have to go in or through or around the District


Tuesday I am wondering what it will be like on the roads to and from Fort Meade.

It’ll be Cold on the Day

And it’s cold now – as cold as I ever remember it here – where’s global warming when you really need it? (Usual disclaimer about how dreadful it really is and how I shouldn’t be so flippant.) This is a better day to bundle up like Chris Evans in this one picture, and not one to go shirtless like him in this other one (from his very good movie Cellular). Below’s a clip from the movie:

I strongly recommend it. Chris Evans, by the way, has a gay brother and very much supports marriage equality. So he’s good along with being good looking. (It’s a proven fact that most opponents of equality are frumpy badly-dressed and unhappy trolls with bad skin, so…if you’re on the fence on the issue, consider how much better you could look without the snarl of hate disfiguring your face.)

I also strongly recommend this site; what I, well, C really, call Road Porn.

Speaking of New Beginnings

There may be another new thing for C and me soon, maybe, if a deal comes together like we want it to. We’re keeping it under our hats for now…but who knows…if anything comes of it I’ll be sure and post the relevant details.

A bit of a shock!

We had a bit of a shock this week. A restaurant we LOVED, called quite simply but adequately ‘Gourmet Shish Kebab’ in Laurel wasn’t just run by a friendly Arab, but by a friendly Arab spy. Or rather one who was a spy. For Saddam Hussein. I wonder if that’s why the restaurant was so close to the National Security Agency. Hmmmm…Anyway, the owner pleaded guilty to charges of being an unregistered foreign agent, and the cook was caught in Buffalo trying to escape to Canada. I am really p*ssed off about it because the lamb curry and kebabs were excellent; now we have to find someplace else to get our fix of Middle Eastern spices. Never a dull moment though, eh?

And, Speaking of Spicy

Here’s today’s yummy and oh so good dose of Mr. Matus Va-Va-Va-Valent, here in a slightly more dignified pose, in and flapping out of, a nice crisp white shirt….




Lest you think it’s all about posing and strutting, here’s a video of what this specimen of a man goes through to develop and keep his physique (his face was bestowed by God and mum and dad of course, and so were his genetics, but that six pack and V didn’t drop down from on high, which I should keep in mind as inspiration to do more than gaze…):

(I can’t watch that video without thinking of working hard at the gym)


Filed under Culture, Cute Guys, Exercise, Gay, Resolutions