In Defense of My Existence

No One Is Alone

2009-02-07T08:25:00.000-08:00

My sister-in-law's cat, Tigger, died during the night. He had apparently been ailing for a few months, but hid his true level of deterioration--as cats are wont to do--until yesterday evening as Jen checked-in on him. It was only then he revealed a hint of discomfort in his utterances that told his companion since kittenhood a different world was calling. After the kids were put to bed and plans to visit the vet were made, Jen sat with her friend in a gentle reverie of 13 years together. I'm sure many bugs and birds were remembered, as well as funny memories of the 'nip and playful frolics in sprier days (Tigger got his name, after all, due to his positive--not to mention, bouncy--demeanor).

We people have schedules to maintain, lives to keep in order, children to raise. But as bed was calling and quiet fell on the warm laundry room that had become Tigger's chosen space for convalescing, Gabby, the family's other feline member, crept-in to let Jen know it was OK for her to take her leave. Gabby, though still in top form, is actually a bit older than Tigger and tended to mother him quite a bit when he first came into the fold. Their relationship had been seemingly distant for years but, last night, Gabby chose to lie next to her adopted child/friend/lover/partner in his moment of weakening.

As dawn broke and the house began to rouse itself, my brother, Sean, carried himself down the stairs to see how the patient was doing. And though he was to find Tigger's body void of its soul, there lie Gabby preening and prawning and caressing her now-lost friend. As cats are wont to do, she had never left his side...

Be in peace, sweet Tigger. May you bring the angels as much happiness as you brought your family here on earth.

You move just a finger,
Say the slightest word,
Something's bound to linger,
Be heard ...

No one is alone,
Believe me.
Truly...

[untitled]

2007-11-10T21:32:00.000-08:00

Lost in the haze
Lost in a daze
Lost in your phrase...

It beheld me beautifully.

Does love lie low?
Lamenting loss longingly?
Lingering?

Perhaps.

Yes, perhaps proud Puck
Participated in pontificating
Said precepts.

Oh, sirs.

The phrase said nothing of
A midsummer's night.

The phrase I felt in
The feverish ferment
That februaric night:

"Forever..."

A Poem of Ecological Importance

2007-11-10T21:23:00.000-08:00

Verdant.

God! how the fields were verdant.

I ran across them. It was yesterday.

Like a child, I couldn't help myself.

I felt the weeds and grasses and
Wildflowers brush against my shins.

I stopped to scratch my legs.

The tree caught my fall.

Oh, I stopped upon a tree, you see.

As I scratched, I lost my balance
And began to tumble.

I've quite the egg upon my forehead.

I've quite the egg, you see.

Beyond, beside, bepast, before...
Be weary... perhaps?

Behoove me belatedly,
For speaking of the tree.

A brush, an itch, a scratch
And now I've found a Tree.

reminder of an unstable mind

2006-08-26T20:44:00.000-07:00

It was like an itch. It was an itch. It was like a cliche. And the stereotype was that it couldn't be scratched.

And it grew.

Which would've been merely unpleasant--a perfect use for calamine, perhaps--if it hadn't started in his head.

And it spread... of course it spread.

The itch, and its accompanying voices. The voices are worse than the itch. With the itch you can just slam yourself against a wall. Or yell at someone, or nothing at all. Or jump on a plane to Pittsburgh and roll around in some Monongahela River sludge.

That helps... a bit.

But the voices stay with you. They have tea with you at 4 o'clock. And they steal the choicest crumpet you had been eyeing while the ladies who lunch droned on and on about some out-of-date fashion you never had much attachment to.

He ran from the voices once. But even surrounded--as he was--by the soothing, humidless splendour of the Pacific Northwest, they caught up.

And he was still scared. And still lost. And still not good enough, or smart enough, or worthy of any affection. Which was fine when that rare voice supporting his cocky stature and credit card use came by... actually let him have the good crumpet.

But they were more often just mean, Old World queens.

They kept the salves to themselves.

And the itch spread.

And the voices laughed.

And sometimes I joined in ...

Surprise!

2006-04-25T19:20:00.000-07:00

So, as if you couldn't tell, I've been on a bit of a hiatus the past couple months... and shall remain on one for the time being. I seem far too busy--not to mention feeling drained completely of inspiration--to be regularly reminded to partake in any activity bearing even the subtlest resemblance to blogging.

HOWEVER...

Check in every-so-often as I will continue updating the ever-popular Off the Shelf and Playlists sidebars as well as contribute the occasional I'm still here, damn it! post.

To those who've been curious as to my whereabouts, I thank you for your kind words and wonderings. To all, I hope to return to more frequent ramblings in the near future.

'til then...

excerpt from an email from karl rove to life & style magazine

2006-02-15T08:36:00.000-08:00

"In reference to your query regarding anonymous sources: I believe it would be in both of our best interests if your information was simply cited to 'unnamed friends.' [...] Once again, thank you for your assistance in this rather delicate matter."

near sw 4th & washington

2006-02-04T19:33:00.000-08:00

Ahr-errr-AH! Ahr-errr-AH!

The man trudged toward me, calling out his drunken song:

Ahr-errr-AH! Ahr-errr-AH!

It was only almost-melodic--the lilt of his voice wavering between psychotic screaming and world-be-damned celebrating--but a song nonetheless. A chant of defiance, perhaps, as he veered in my direction--for he veered off some indeterminate path much moreso than staggered--clutching a plastic pint bottle of Popov vodka still 3/4 full.

It was 3:15 pm, but I didn't bother to question whether that was too early to be so belligerently soused, though not three blocks away were busy weekend shoppers perusing from Sax Fifth Avenue to Tiffany's to Louis Vuitton... and there were children with them... children from the suburbs, even (not to mention the street kids who were far more inconspicuous in their chemical use). Evenso, the question seemed irrelevant. He had surely been less than sober the great majority of two recent decades. His liver hardly needed a whole four ounces to reach its saturation point, and yet his body was, I presume, thankful for the 12 that remained.

He passed me by without incident, and I continued on my way to turn-in the keys to my old apartment and surprise Pic at work. (Might as well seeing as he only works a few blocks past where I was heading... I do love that silly man.)

But I kept thinking about the old sot and began to feel sorry for him. Having already traveled the path he was now attempting, I knew that in a block or two he'd blindly meander past an officer of the law; one specifically positioned to keep order on the streets. And, though I'm sure he will escape any penalties of the financial or confining sort--even detox is generally used only in the wee hours for those creating a ruckus or who have lost their way--he will certainly be forced to dump his bottle of Popov down the sewer... even though [because] it's still 3/4 full...

...and I doubt he has money for more.

Ahr-errr-AH! Ahr-errr-AH...

i am taking my driving test tomorrow...

2005-12-08T18:28:00.000-08:00

and I am terrified...

the roman fascist church

2005-11-30T13:14:00.000-08:00

It has been widely reported about the Vatican's release of a devolutionary, misguided document of "instruction" that all but bans gays from the priesthood. As a gay man who is fiercely proud of his Catholic heritage (I am a cultural Catholic, if you will), I am deeply disturbed by this pronouncement from a church that is often surprisingly enlightened when compared to its Christian counterparts of a more fundamentalist mindset. I am in no mood to rattle off a diatribe exposing the backlash of naivete and social conservatism that has been building in the Church since Joseph Ratzinger's predecessor ascended the Throne of Peter nearly 30 years ago. I will note, however, that this reeks of Benedict's Nazi past.

As such, I will proudly show support for my priests who are my teachers and friends and devout men of God whether they be straight or gay or dickless. They're priests, for fuck's sake! I don't give a fuck who they're thinking of while sneaking a whack in the confessional! (And don't give me your bullshit about the sex abuse problem. That is a whole different issue that this document--regardless of the writers' intentions--does nothing to address.)

The world is fucked up enough as is. The last thing we need is another witch hunt.

being busy

2005-11-19T22:58:00.000-08:00

I have been so crazy busy the past couple months I've hardly had time to empty Oliveranderson's litter box (and believe you me that's not something you want to let slide... ewwwie! little man stinks!) let alone post anything (though we all know prolificacy has never been my strong suit). But to all you kind enough to read my little ol' blog, I assure you I shall return soon.

So if you'll excuse me for just a bit longer, I really must play catch-up...

(Damn, Ollie-A! What the hell have I been feeding you??)

bush's body armor

2005-09-27T07:24:00.000-07:00

Second Chance Body Armor, Inc. is being investigated by the Justice Department to determine whether they knowingly sold defective bullet proof vests. The vests in question were used by such luminaries as the Secret Service, President Bush, and First Lady Laura Bush.

Stephen M. Kohn, a lawyer involved in the case, blasted Second Chance for continuing sales after the defective materials were discovered, saying: "Greed prevailed over the safety of police, soldiers and even the president of the United States. The officials who personally profited from selling the defective vests to law enforcement must be held accountable to the fullest extent of the criminal code."

Greed? Soldiers in harm's way? Capitalism run amok? And they're performing a criminal investigation?

Seems to me they should name Second Chance bullet-proof vests...

the Official Body Armor of the Bush Administration, WPE!

Jane

2005-09-25T14:29:00.000-07:00

I love the forearms of my hairy friend, Jane. And the wispy, black hairs that give her the sideburns of a teenaged boy trying to grow a goatee to prove his manhood to his friends and the popular girls in school; but feminine. And the whiskers at the corners of her mouth that she often forgets to trim that complement a robust neckbeard, far more defined than any I could ever sport. But it is Jane's forearms that seduce me.

Even my beau, as butch as he may be--except when forced to react to the world around him after a few martinis at the quaint, neighborhood bar we frequent--has forearms so bare as to warrant an occasional suggestion that he performs in drag.

Not so, Jane's.

When Jane's arms wrap around me--whether for a grand "hello" or a reassuring "see you soon"--the expected feelings of maternal warmth mingle with a sense of peace and security found in the embrace of a long gone, ever-distant father and the dark, fuzzy hair of his forearms.

today i composed a limerick...

2005-09-13T20:17:00.000-07:00

...and thought I would share:

There once was a girl called Marie
Who kept a fine circus of fleas.
On the topic of Itch
She'd exclaim, "It's a bitch!"
"But a bitch not so bad as my bees'!"

Thank you and good night.

it's not looting...

2005-09-01T18:46:00.000-07:00

...it's survival...

faggot

2005-08-25T21:26:00.000-07:00

7:45 pm--A gorgeous summer evening in Portland, Oregon...

I'm walking up SW Montgomery Avenue into the hills that surround downtown, a habit of mine most nights as I begin the drawn-out ritual of relaxation that follows dinner.

"FAGGOT!" fills the air as the SUV drives past.

(God help the little people.)

Normally, I greet the drive-by "Faggot!" with a shout of "Fuck you!" or, in a lame attempt to fight fire with fire, "Breeder!" If the "Faggot!" is extended by a passerby on foot I may even get playful and offer an attitudinal "Your point?" or "You better believe it!"

Other times--especially, like tonight, when i haven't been confronted with that situation in a while--I sink a little... get frustrated a bit.

When a gay man is gay-bashed (calling someone a faggot may seem like gay-bashing lite but it is gay-bashing all the same) it puts him in a situation similar to a rape victim: there are those who will say he brought it upon himself by flaunting his [immoral] sexuality and, should he complain more than is deemed comfortable, he will be accused of holding an unhealthy grudge against [normal] straight people.

If I was an African American in the same place and time that SUV would not have shouted "Nigger!" Nor would they have shouted "Trash!" if I looked poor or "Kike!" if I wore a kepah. "Dothead!", "Chink!", and "Spic!" would have likely been left alone as well. If my perceived Irishness had trumped my apparent homosexuality do you think they would have spouted "Mick!"? Most certainly not.

But even in Portland fucking Oregon, this bastion of liberalism... in the Southwest Hills, where education and fiscal comfort are presumed to equal open-mindedness, it is in no way shocking or surprising that someone should call me a faggot.

When MP and I were in Chicago this past May we were enjoying a lovely stroll in the Lincoln Park neighborhood when a darling little car of twentysomethings hurled a "FAGGOT!" our way. There was a thirtyish-fortyish, white yuppie--typical of the residents in this area--behind us when this happened and he asked, with a puzzled look on his face, "That really happens?" "Yes," we replied. "All the time."

I bet he told his wife of that encounter when he got home. I hope he told people at the office the next day. Whatever the case may be, he now knows first-hand that this really does happen... all the time. And now you do, too.

To all the allies out there:
THANK YOU FOR HELPING TO CURB THE HATE!

To all who have ever casually drop-kicked an insult to the sissyboy with the great fashion sense:
FUCK YOU, YOU INBRED PIECES OF SHIT!

good night, peter

2005-08-08T07:31:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Mr. Jennings. Because of you I'm a news junkie... I like that I'm a news junkie.

on the occasion of the 31st anniversary of my birth...

2005-08-07T15:17:00.000-07:00

Age is funny.

Physically, I'm doing quite well ("Thanks, Mom & Dad, for the great genes!"); I would blend seamlessy with a group of college kids. In fact, put me in a t-shirt and jeans next to a 22-year old in a suit and I may very well look younger. But the fact remains I am now--officially--fully entrenched in my 30s. I am a thirty-something.

Have you noticed, though, how so much weight is placed on appearance when the subject of getting older is broached, especially during this too often stress-inducing transition from one's twenties to thirties? Whenever expressing my own concerns I always seem to get a guffaw or eye roll followed by a "What do you have to worry about?" Obviously, since I look freakishly young, I never think about fine lines or peak performance or how I'm going to be 40 in nine years; or if I should be more settled at this age or have a stock portfolio and fatter paycheck; or wonder--sometimes out loud--"Shouldn't I have myself figured out by now?"

In a purely superficial way I am grateful that I still fit in with twenty-somethings. And I'll be the first to admit that my personality is as youthful as my appearance. But don't let your eyes decieve you... I worry about wearing Depends just as much as you do.

With that said, HAPPY FIZZ DAY!!

all growed up

2005-07-31T09:05:00.000-07:00

I would like to take this opportunity to send birthday wishes to my dearest friend, Angel:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU OLD, PSYCHO BITCH!! You're still the bestest best friend ever... even after 15 long, torturous years!

Have a glorious day. Smile profusely. And I will see you Friday. Long live the Kola Kult. Love ya!!

latoyia figueroa

2005-07-28T11:37:00.000-07:00

As the media swarms over Aruba, broadcasting the details of the Natalee Holloway investigation into homes across America, let's take some time to remember that not everyone who turns up missing is white, blonde, and well-heeled. In Philadelphia a seven-year old girl wonders what happened to her mother, Latoyia Figueroa, who disappeared on July 18. Making this case more urgent is the fact that Latoyia is also seven months pregnant. Yet there has been little coverage outside of Philly. Though this story is finally getting more exposure thanks to The All Spin Zone and others, more needs to be done to spread the word and build the buzz. Passing on this information--whether through email or the water cooler-- is all it takes. For more information click on the above link. We all deserve to be found!

post-run inspiration

2005-07-16T20:32:00.000-07:00

How appropriate that my birth name should have something to do with dark water:

You are elegant, withdrawn, and brilliant.
Your mind is a weapon, able to solve any puzzle.
You are also great at poking holes in arguments and common beliefs.

For you, comfort and calm are very important.
You tend to thrive on your own and shrug off most affection.
You prefer to protect your emotions and stay strong.

The World's Shortest Personality Test

today i'm just going to ramble for a moment for that is all i'm capable of...

2005-07-16T15:43:00.000-07:00

I awoke so late as to be vulgar--11:30--reeling from the third sugar hangover in as many days. Stumbling into the kitchen--no coffee of, course--I reached for the hair of the dog: ice cream and pie for brunch. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to be hating life later," I thought, woofing down the last creamy morsel of peanut butter mixed with whipped topping. With a sigh of submission, I prepared a veggie turkey sandwich and attempted to satisfy my body's nutritional needs, not to mention rein in my blood's glucose roller coaster ride.

Shit! I feel like shit!

My body's a wreck. My mind's on three planets at once. I'm bored, I'm lonely, I'm lazy, and life seems a little bit scarier right now. There's only one thing to do:

I decided to go for a run.

Running has always been the only sport I could do. I ran track and cross-country as a kid and often come back to it when feeling the need to get fit. But it's been a hell of a long time. My poor lungs! Yes, I quite smoking seven months ago but what about the 12 years before when my body suffered through nearly 20 bouts of oxygen-deprivation day in, day out? And MP (fka Boyfriend) and I have been avoiding the gym lately... I'm mushy! And my diet? What about all of my sugar-binging of late? Does my body have what it needs to endure a prolonged cardiac activity or will I shut down the way those Gatorade commercials tell me I will if I don't have the right amount of electrolytes? And it's hot and sunny. It claims to be only 70 but this is Portland. When the sun is out you might as well add another 15 degrees to the thermometer (I have yet to understand this climatological phenomenon). I miss snow!!

And there I was at Duniway Park. Very Portlandy considering this particular state-of-the-art track was made out of recycled tires and soles from Nike running shoes. I take a big glug of water and start... nice and slow... only gonna force two miles on myself... nice and steady... keep the pace... 1... this isn't so bad... 2... breathing harder... 3... I figured I'd get a little cramp, just keep the pace... one mile, doing good... 5... my body hurts... 6... almost there... 7... and there I go pretending like it's my track heyday (which was in grade school, mind you) and break out like a proverbial bat... 8, two miles, I think I'm going to die.

I head for home. My side is cursing me in five languages. My legs have switched from pie to Jell-O. My stomach is threatening to clean house. And I keep running into people. College kids and progressive couples with strollers the size of Mini Coopers. This is very annoying to me at this moment. I'm crossing through Portland State University and there's some sort of fair going on. There also seem to be a lot of newbies around (perhaps they're wanna-be singers here for the Bel Canto Northwest Vocal Institute... ok, I admit it, I envy them). This is evident by the large amount of people waiting a good 15 minutes for the Streetcar. As the destined-to-be-resurrected adage goes, "if you want to go to Nob Hill, hop the Streetcar; if you want to get there quickly, walk." (What's worse is they're probably only going two stops to the library.) It's not that I have anything against 13-21 year olds, it's just that I rolled my eyes at high school kids when I was in high school.

I'm home now. Not so hot anymore. My cramp went away. My legs have accepted their inevitable veganism. My stomach is relaxed. I am relaxed. My mind is clear. I can handle the newfound scariness. I was planning on going to a coffehouse and acting all bohemian but I think I may waste the afternoon away watching Connie & Carla. That's ok, right?

And as for my body? I feel ok now but I really need to lay off the sugar.

And maybe go running more.

here we meme again

2005-07-09T19:17:00.000-07:00

This has been passed on to me by Underdog. Enjoy! (And don't be thinkin' you know me any better jus' cause you done read it!!)

10 years ago: July 1995... I was stuck living with my parents in Miamisburg, Ohio after having spent several months living in, first, Philadelphia and, later, with Angel. My days were spent working at the University of Dayton's Roesch Library. Come nightfall, my underage ass hit the dive bars with my (still) dear friend Mosa. Only a month until the big 2-1!

5 years ago: July 2000... I was taking summer classes at Valparaiso University and rehearsing for Fiddler on the Roof at the Memorial Opera House in town, my big return to the stage after a several years absence. To make ends meet I was a deli clerk at the local Wiseway. Consequently, I ate all sorts of exotic, non-kosher lunch meat that summer.

1 year ago: July 2004... Homelessness. Unemployment. Ick! Thank God for Boyfriend!!

Yesterday: 8 July 2005... Put in a full day at my fabulous job; It rained all evening (which they tell me is inappropriate for Portland at this time of year); Boyfriend and I had a big, homemade spaghetti dinner and chilled the night away.

Today: 9 July 2005... Slept in (8:30 here I come); Met Boyfriend for lunch (he had to work today); Dropped off a resume in my ongoing, half-assed quest for a second job; Currently chatting with Angel (how long have I known this woman??); Tonight, I may catch Othello in the park.

Tomorrow: is another day, but there will probably be a Sunday paper involved.

5 snacks I enjoy: Sour Patch Kids; ShockTarts; Fritos and cottage cheese; mango sorbet; kim chee.

5 bands that I know the lyrics of most of their songs: Siouxsie and the Banshees; Rasputina; B-52s; and because musicals should count, Sweeney Todd and A New Brain.

5 things I would do with $100,000,000: Get the fuck out of debt; put my folks up real good; make a very comfortable home-base for myself in NYC and then travel to my heart's content; invest, invest, invest; set up a charitable foundation.

5 locations I'd like to run away to: NYC; Ireland; Russia; Alaska; New England.

5 bad habits I have: I can be a real perfectionist (wait, this isn't a job interview, scratch that). It's a wonder I have any nails left; since I cut down the drinking my sweet tooth has taken over my life; I'm lazy; I can be, at times, a know-it-all, I guess if you want to call it that; I'm terribly indecisive. (Well, shit! Thank God I'm cute!)

5 things I like doing: singing; listening to music; creating beauty; walking about new places; reading.

5 things I would never wear: a thong; tapered pants; pigeon shit; underwear from goodwill; my older brother's hand-me-downs.

5 TV shows I like: The Simpsons; Family Guy; Antiques Roadshow; the News; um, um, um... I admit it... I don't paricularly watch that much television.

5 movies I like: Saved; Connie & Carla; On Edge; D.E.B.S.; Baby Boom.

5 famous people I'd like to meet: Elie Wiesel; Stephen Sondheim; Bill Clinton; Madonna; Siouxsie Sioux.

5 biggest joys of the moment: non-alcoholic beer; friends; walking in the West Hills; the kids flipping out on each other; my special pickle.

5 favorite toys: my teddy bear; bubbles; stickers; my beach cruiser; the crutches at work.

5 people to tag: this is a trick question, right? I pick Angel and Stef.

Thank you and good night.

let's celebrate our freedom & independence...

2005-07-04T08:54:00.000-07:00

...while we still have it!

Have joyously liberal fourth!

i'm it!

2005-07-03T12:03:00.000-07:00

My best friend, Angel, has deemed it necessary to "tag" me with one of those "memes" that are all the rage in the blogosphere. After conferring with her about what exactly it is I am supposed to do with it, here is my reply:

1) Number of books I own... 40-50 on hand, but another 300 or so in storage back in Ohio.

2) Last book I bought... Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. But, of course, I haven't read it yet.

3) Last book I read... Gilgamesh: A New English Version by Stephen Mitchell. I currently feel the need, inherent--at some time or another--in all persons with an English degree, to catch up on The Klassix.

4) Five books that mean a lot to me... I'm guessing here, but: Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney with illustrations by Anita Jeram, Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, Anthem by Ayn Rand, my mother's old pre-Vatican II St. Joseph's Missal in Latin and English that I used to play priest with as a youngin', and the pseudo-memoir I've been working on for over a year that I may or may not finish that shares a title with this blog.

Golly Gee! That was fun! I now tag Stef as she is the only other blogger I know. The meme is in your court.

the sensual courthouse

2005-07-02T10:47:00.000-07:00

All rise for the Honorable Judge... Rockmyworld...

[P-Funk riffs play in the background.]

Sometimes, for work...

(Jackets and sport coats slide down long, toned Polo Ralph Lauren arms. As for the ladies? Well, you can keep that Chanel on for now--I won't tell anyone it's really JC Penney.)

...I have to run documents to the courthouse...

(Belts break free. Shoes go flying. Hair is unleashed in a whip as forceful as any Herbal Essence commercial.)

...And in this kooky post-9/11, judge-stalking world...

(Cellphones, jewels, bracelets pile up. Pens with metal nubs escape from hidden zippered locales.)

...the ubiquitous metal detector has made the practice of law...

[Rythms build to fortissimo in a glorious explosion of funky grooves... is that George Clinton I hear?]

...a whole lot sexier!

"Oh, Judge! Is that a chain on your wallet or are you just into... hung juries??"

(All that's missing is a wind machine.)