I'm on Battery Power

The passing thunderstorm caused me to unplug my trusty computer. Is that for real? Can computers really fry themselves? Inquiring minds want to know. Drop me a line and tell me your horror story.

Big things happening in Washington! West Virginia Senator Drops Dead. Jeff Sessions Questions Elena Kagan's Experience! Salahis Sighted Near White House! It must be summer time in the city. Well of course - the Supreme Court's out of session, but not before assuring that every citizen has a right to a handgun. Richard Daley, you should be ashamed of yourself! Republicans are introducing legislation requiring hospitals to distribute a loaded handgun to each newborn when it leaves the hospital. U Betcha!

Speaking of Chicago, a bunch of gay square dancers will be there next week subverting the local citizenry at the Hilton Chicago Hotel. Grab your pets and your children. Watch out for gender benders. Don't drink the water. Of course, I'll be covering this event right here in this blog so that you don't have to go yourself. It's a public service that I take seriously.

Oh, I almost forgot. The Proposition 8 case has gone to the judge. It seems that the defenders of marriage aren't very good at defending "traditional" marriage; I'm guessing because they couldn't figure out exactly what they were defending. Their argument went something like this. Homosexual people should not get married to each other because they cannot procreate (not because Proposition 8 discriminates...). When asked by the judge about heterosexual people who can't have children, the defense backtracked quickly saying that heterosexual, but procreationally impaired people had a right to marry, because traditionally they had always had a right to marry. Hmmm sounds like the same thing to me. The case come down to the state putting the rights of a minority on the ballot and letting the voters decide that discrimination is okay. Should the state be allowed to arbitrarily remove basic constitutional rights of a large group of people because the voters think it's okay? It seems to me that the state should be promoting families rather than finding ways to weaken them. How would heterosexual couples feel if they were on the wrong side of this argument? Let me know. I'll publish your comments.

Well, that's the word from Wheaton. Tune is sometime soon for an update. I promise a pic or two from Chicago.

Crumbling Rubber

I sort through piles of clothes
shirts that I wore at my desk at work
the desk where I spent hours managing
and drinking coffee.
The shirts were once white,
but drift into other faded shades
maybe token gay shades in the office
because nobody would ever bring up the subject
except me.

The bedroom piles are disappearing.
It's like an achaeological dig full
of dirt, dust, crumbling rubber,
and spent elastic.
Old papers mixed in clothes, some dead, some saved.
The saved get bundled for Purple Heart.

I cannot do this for very long, because it unnerves me.
Sorting these clothes digs up memories,
Reminds me that I'm cast off too.
Sorting my life,
Discarding my crumbling rubber,
Living out my Purple Heart.

Tonic Water Taste Test

Tim and I tried a tasting experiment this afternoon. We ran a taste test on three different tonic waters: Q Tonic, Canada Dry Tonic Water, and Fever Tree Indian Tonic Water.

Tonic Water Taste Test

Findings.

Tonic Q is by far the most expensive brand, but it also has the most pronounced quinine/botanicals taste. It's very light, with just a touch of sweetness. This is the way tonic water is meant to taste. Tonic Q makes a fabulous gin and tonic. 32¢/oz.

Fever Tree Indian Tonic Water is light and citrusy. It has a much less pronounced quinine/bitter taste than either Tonic Q or Canada Dry Tonic Water. It's quite refreshing, and delicious all by itself, and makes a very good gin and tonic. 20¢/oz.

Canada Dry Tonic Water has a couple of things going for it. It has a definite quinine/bitter taste, and you can get it anywhere. It's quite sweet (high-fructose corn syrup), and contains more sodium then the other two waters. It has a slightly syrupy mouth feel. It's a decent mixer. Canada Dry makes an acceptable gin and tonic, suitable for a camping trip or after mowing the lawn. It's also cheap. 7¢/oz.

So which tonic water do you want to mix at your next party? It depends. Don't waste Tonic Q on Booth's or Gordon's, but save it for Hendrick's, and serve it with a cucumber slice. Serve Tonic Q and Fever Tree Indian Tonic Water to valued friends. Serve Canada Dry at the Holiday Party.

Love and Loathing

For you readers who follow me on my adventures, you undoubtedly know that I am on the Manhunt site rather often looking for hookups, and chatting with buds, seeing who's online, etc. It's more than sex and less than satisfactory.

For the most part, Manhunt efficiently delivers the goods. Desperate men eventually find ways to accommodate each other's needs. Occasionally, though, you run into jerks. I ran into such a jerk yesterday, a gratuitous jerk with whom I had never had any contact. This is the message that he sent me:

Joker7727: wow..u are a fucking joke!!! 60 years old and u take naked pics of your self...fucking gross dude!!! no wounder people hate fags....guys like you give us all bad names. u look like a kid toucher!!! nasty dude!!!

This wasn't quite as bad as the message where a different jerk told me that "you old guys should just kill yourselves," but it's pretty close. The message is curious because I had never had contact with the sender, so why was he contacting me with this hateful, offensive message? I'm guessing he believes that old men shouldn't be having sex, or more likely we shouldn't be seen on Manhunt.

He pissed me off. So I replied to his message, not in kind, but intentionally. I fully expect Mr. Joker to block me after he reads my message. I hope he reads my message. But if he doesn't, at least the exchange is memorialized here:

wheaton_guy: No, I think you're the fucking joke. It's fags like you that give guys like me a bad name. I don't take pictures of myself in public restrooms like you do. And I don't know why you think I look like a kid toucher. Maybe you have some issues that you should explore with your therapist you self-loathing, ageist, bigoted asshole. Finally, if you live another 27 years, you'll be my age. You'll probably be hanging around here posting naked pictures of yourself. You might want to try a little humility, because when you're my age, you're certainly going to need it. It's my earnest hope that you never receive as hateful a message as you sent me. It's bad karma for you.

Don't mess with me.

Sometimes Everything Looks Like a Penis

Ron's out of town, and I'm randy. When I was 29 (or 39, or 49), I didn't expect to be sexually active, and well, horny at the age of 59. I thought the day would come when sex just wouldn't interest me anymore. That's not proving to be the case. The desire remains strong, even if the implementation isn't always exactly on target.

That's a blog entry in itself. When Pfizer put Viagra® on the market, it changed my life. Although the drug doesn't create or increase sexual desire, it makes the result of sexual desire obtainable. After decades of having no follow through whatsoever, Viagra was an epiphany, and an enabler of possibilities, and it probably kept my interest in sex active because it made the possibility of sexual connection with other men real. When I couldn't get a hard on, I always felt that I had let the other guy down. Now that I could actually have a much larger sexual repertoire (with Viagra's gentle, insistent help), I felt a sexual validation that I had not experienced in decades. Of course, that's in my head, and I should probably be talking to a therapist about that.

I used Viagra yesterday. I had a happy afternoon with Tim. We enjoyed the completely undignified time with each other. Sex like this reminds me of who I am.

This morning I was still a little blissful. I was walking past the Discovery Building in Silver Spring, on my way to the farmers market to pick up some produce. The Discovery Building has this huge mural along the sidewalk that combines themes of Prometheus, the Tree of Life, Neil Armstrong, Hal, and the Ultimate Answers of Physics (that's my interpretation). And the mural has a lot of penis-shaped objects in it: the Tree of Life, flaming planetoids streaking, fish of a sort, and a starry universe heading out to the Big Chill, penises everywhere, and it didn't take a huge amount of imagination for me to see them! They are there. I saw them with my own eyes. And I'm cutting my dosage in about half.

It's Not Easy Being Gay

I remember at the beginning of this year, that I promised all of my readers that I would be updating this blog regularly. I guess it depends on how you define "regularly."

Some updates: My bedroom is still a complete mess. I need to set a deadline, then get to it. It's a scary prospect for me. I keep hearing about elderly hoarders, and I wonder am I contemplating my next forty years every time I look at that pigsty (and that's really being unfair to pigs) of a bedroom. What gives here? Am I mentally unbalanced. I also notice clutter creeping back into the office, and it's giving me the heebie jeebies. I'm entering some warped zombie-like universe. Everywhere I look I see awful premonitions of my future.

Michael and I made it to the Silver Spring Farmers Market early Saturday morning (okay, 9 a.m.) to pick up our box of CSA produce. I also purchased a baguette and a container of cardamom gelato. Later on, I proceeded to prepare a spinach potato dish that Spiral Path Farms had conveniently included in their newsletter. Spinach Colcannon is a dish worthy of your consideration, especially if you fix it like I do.

We'd already eaten half the dish when it occurred to us to take a picture

Tim and I went to Sushi Damo on Saturday afternoon, just after the lunch crowd. There's nothing quite like post-coital seafood. And that sentence is wrong on so many different levels. Not a hint of Tuna was to be found.... But the rolls were wonderful: the Eel Special Roll, and the Mango Sensation. I think I can speak for Tim (and Me!) and heartily recommend both creations. I have no idea how "authentic" these rolls are, but sinking back into the taste and delight of the moment makes that judgment wholly irrelevant, for at least this particular lunch time.

Sunday, Ron and I attended a (very) (gay) pool party in the neighborhood. The looksist and ageist demons were dancing in my head while I was attending this spectacle. Bawdy ballads, anyone? Care to hear about the latest naked sightings of young male celebrities? Are you interested in knowing the real inside dope between Sal Mineo and Tony Perkins? I thought so. The aforementioned Spinach Colcannon was devoured in its entirety. One-half pound of melted cheese just about guarantees a cleaned out dish at a potluck of this caliber, although I continue to be dumbfounded and amazed at the results and my reaction to those results. Sometimes, I just want to turn in my card, and slink back into the slimy shadows from which I emerged after Stonewall.

Stigma and the Supreme Court

Elena Kagan is not a lesbian. Ruth Marcus, a columnist in the Washington Post, said so, and of all people, Ruth should know (evidently). Oh, and the White House also announced that Elena Kagan is not a lesbian. I needed to know this.

A Musing

I'm finally on a computer that doesn't have a worthless browser like the one on my BlackBerry. Not that I'm dissing the piece of crap that passes for software on my phone. I'm sitting in front of my Mom's computer cruising the Internet, and doing my darndest to remove all traces of my virtual journey across the web. The boys in Moscow are having none of it, and that's probably okay, considering that most of them travel rather than host.

I went out to The Barn today out in Uniontown, Washington. The Barn houses an eclectic group of artists' studios in many different mediums, plus it has the world's niftiest gift shop. My sister, Katherine, has a studio there, and she showed me her latest watercolor that will one day end up on a grateful wall of my home. I like her painting for its sense of place, and my connection to the place. I guess I'm a natural born humanist, or something like that. Currently, The Barn is hosting an exhibit from the Washington State University School of Architecture about the wooden grain elevators that dot the Palouse country. I grew up seeing grain elevators everywhere, but without any connection or knowledge about them. I liked the exhibit, and will quietly regret the demise of these prairie sentinels.

Tie Dye. Who knew that it's alive and well in Moscow, Idaho? Moscow has a tie-dye business (curiously called Tye-Dye Everything) and has had for ten years. I talked to one of the owners, and we're talking hardcore hippie. She and her husband lived in the woods in a recycled school bus. She's been making tie-dyed goods since 1989. The shop is overwhelming. There is nothing there that doesn't come out psychidelically enhanced. I was impressed. It reminded me of my dorm room at Theophilus Tower.

Life is a Delight

The last week or so has been a delight. I've gotten in touch with some old friends, took a couple of long bike rides, and enjoyed a square dance. Right now, I'm enjoying the aroma of freshly baked bread. I just finished sending off an email to two long ago friends. This has been a quiet day at home with Ron. This is a contented day.

Unsaved at any Speed

I don't know how to approach this subject delicately, but I was reading an article in the Economist about religious defamation - in some countries this is a crime punishable by death and imprisonment - and the whole concept just seems like an oxymoron. The nature of belief, and the attendant behaviors that spontaneously occur among the faithful, well, they demand scrutiny, which immediately is seized upon by the believers as defamation, a completely closed loop of internally consistent logic based on unsupportable assumptions, because they are, after all, assumptions, and assumptions require neither evidence or factual basis, merely a fatuous, "I think...."

I got off track in that last paragraph. Today as I was driving down Viers Mill Road, I saw a car moving erratically. The car initially was moving much slower than the flow of traffic. It wandered about a bit. I noticed that the driver was staring at the seat. I was finally able to pull around the car, and I noticed a cell phone stuck in the driver's ear. An opened Bible was spread out above the dashboard, the gold leaf providing a halo effect in the auto's interior. The rear-view mirror was festooned with white and purple garlands. When the traffic stopped at a light, the driver picked up a book to read, and when the light changed she continued to read the book while she continued to drive. Obviously, God was her co-pilot. I got out of there as fast as I could.

In this instance, a little religion seems to be a dangerous thing.

Wedding Bells, Revisited

I think that Ron and I have trouble committing. It's really weird, when confronted with the reality of marriage, it's hard to say, "Okay, let's do it." Part of it is reluctance to accept an institution that has been, in the past, hostile to our interests and to our understanding of the relationship and friendship that we share. Part of it is, simply, marriage sounds so permanent. Are we really going to be together for the rest of our lives? Well, of course we are!

I came home last night, and Ron was entertaining a delightful visitor. Ron was radiant, happy, alive with the excitement of the moment, and it melted my heart. I was grateful and happy for the joy manifest; I was deeply touched. Well, the three of us sat up and talked until 1:30 a.m. I hope that Michael has more energy this morning than I do.

Ron took Michael home, and when he came to bed and crawled under the covers, I told him how happy I was for him and for us. He is so profoundly a part of my life. I love him with all my being. I told him that I wasn't going to call him my partner anymore; he's my husband, that man who is my other half, the man who cherishes me more than anyone else, and the man who has captured my heart. He takes care of me as I take care of him. He's my husband, whether those wedding bells ring, or not.

My April Fool's Day Post

Okay, tomorrow is April Fool's Day, so I'm fooling you by posting this today. Gotcha. Tomorrow, the newspapers will print at least one bogus tale in every edition; every blog will tap out a fibbed truth; every newscast will have a smiling anchor pronouncing a lie, given as wisdom. So I thought I'd get ahead of the curve (what does that mean?) and get April Fool's out of the way so as not to get caught up in the last minute rush of writing an April Fool's Day posting.

Today, I purchased all of the ingredients I need to make Jerk Chicken. I am so excited about this. I have a genuine recipe straight from Jamaica (that is about the most apt statement I have ever written in this blog, by the way) that uses Thai Fish Sauce. It seems that some Thai refugees had escaped from Thailand during the era of the Great East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. One Chongolongkorn Pavalthatchai ended up in Addis Ababa where he ran into some ex-pat Jamaicans. He suggested fish sauce for all or part of the soy sauce in the Jerk. By the end of World War II, the practice had returned to Jamaica, and has since spread to the United States and (co-incidentally) Thailand. Honest.

British Israelites, Birthers, Aryan Nationalists, and FAIR activists are certain that FEMA is building concentration camps across America. Until last week, this fact could not be verified, either in the National Inquirer or other media outlets. I get outraged at the government whenever it covers up something like concentration camps. So I was pleased that Secretary Napalitano announced this week, that indeed the government is constructing several large concentration camp facilities in remote regions across the United States. Most of these facilities will be built in remote mountain fastnesses, close to where America's British Israelites, Birthers, Aryan Nationalists and FAIR activists actually live, thus saving billions of dollars in taxpayers' money by reducing internee transport expenses. The government also expects to recoup some of the "camp" expenses by encouraging internees to learn a trade such as making license plates or manufacturing furniture for government agencies. Honest. I only tell the truth in this blog.

Doubleday has offered me a large book advance, because the company, always a forward thinker, has decided that I have something to say, and it believes that I have the chops to communicate what I mean to say effectively with other people who would like to read what I write, thus buy a book that Doubleday would publish and make lots of money off the sweat of my brow. Actually, when I write I don't sweat that much. In fact, I keep quite cool. That makes me green, except in the summer when we raise the thermostat so high that I get quite uncomfortable and have to sit around composing blog entries in my underwear, which is not a pretty sight at all. Honest, I would not make any of this up, despite the fact that this is an April Fool's Day post. I am telling the truth, and Doubleday is more than happy to verify that. Just ask them. My book will also be published in a large print edition because so many people who read my blog have requested that.

Scientists (notice how when I use the term "scientist," it immediately adds credibility to what I'm going to write, even if I were (notice the use of the subjunctive) going to perhaps write an untruth, which I am not, because I don't do things like that) have recently discovered how zinc oxide works to prevent perspiration. The Gilette, Wyoming Laboratory for Advanced Research on Personal Grooming Practices recently published a paper written by Dr. Harrison S. Tuttelweit, "Zinc Oxide Uptake in the Sebaceous Glands of Adolescents." This was an interesting paper, because adolescents apparently sweat a lot (much more than adults), and the zinc oxide applied to their underarms did appear to stem their sweating significantly, but also caused a significant increase in aggressive social behavior, promsicuous sexual activity, and binge alcohol consumption. The conclusion of the paper is that zinc oxide-based grooming products could be successfully marketed to adolescents by including subliminally perceptive appeals to anti-social acts! The psycho-societal effects of the zinc oxide, itself, will underscore the anti-social message of the antiperspirant advertising. Wow. Not even I could make that up!

Chinese do not eat cats. It is a blood libel. They also do not eat kittens. Well, at least some Chinese do not eat kittens. I have eaten kittens, and I confess, they taste just like chicken. So I'm starting a campaign right here to wean people, wherever they may live (and you know who you are) away from kittens and onto chickies. I think when people have been eating chickies for a while, that social custom in the larger culture can perhaps persuade them to let the chickies grow up (free-range) and lovingly harvest them as chickens. No farm factory here, these will be free-range chickens killed in their prime. Last year, Americans ate nine billion chickens. Think how many of those chickens could have been kittens, rabbits, iguanas, and baby goats (also called kids). Whew, that sounds a lot like a Modest Proposal, doesn't it? Remember, the Chinese do not eat cats.

I Pedal Furiously

I pedal furiously,
rock strewn path, soggy
with cold springtime rains.
My windbreaker mud spattered,
bike-induced flapping.
Blue sky-colored sunshine
warms in the brightness:
cooler in the mottled shade.
My happiness charged
windmilling muscles,
thighs and calves straining
momentum headward, forward
patiently uphill,
and euphoria racing
downhill recklessly.

Buds burst green against
stark brown limbs not dead
but life leaping announcing
crocuses poke through
purpling fall's fallen.

I pedal furiously.

My Busy Week

Last week was (what passes for me) a busy week. I'm not altogether sure that it was a busy week, because when you are retired, it skews your sense of how the world works, but I think it was a busy week, when I reflect on it, which I do now that I'm retired and really have little else to do except to comment, reflectively, on my busy (or not so busy) week.

Monday started off with a SAGE - Metro DC meeting. That seems like weeks ago, but it was only last Monday. SAGE used to mean Seniors Active in a Gay Environment. Now, I'm not sure what it means. The organization didn't change its acronym, it just changed the words, which confuses the hell out of me. I can't keep up with all this change. Excuse me while I adjust my teeth. They are chattering. Afterwards, Joe and I went out to dinner at Sergio's a Salvadorean restaurant in the 'hood. It's pretty basic, and very good. Go for the taco special and for the pupusas. You can't go wrong with that advice.

Tuesday, Tim came over for some recreation, and we ended up at Sergio's for dinner. Imagine that - taco special twice in one week! The tacos are are white corn soft-shell filled with chopped meat and sauce, slathered with sour cream and guacamole. It's not for the faint hearted. The margaritas are good, too, but I opted out on Tuesday, because Tim and I headed out to Billy's for C1 dancing. Billy is a great caller, and it's a fun floor.

Wednesday made its way into my life. The day was cool, but sunny, so I took off for several hours of bike riding trails in Montgomery County. I explored the lower part of the Matthew Henson Trail, which branches off the Rock Creek Trail near Dewey and Randolph Roads. The trail is beautiful, and I want to go back and see how far beyond Georgia Avenue it runs. I biked 31 miles and called it a day.

I had been anticipating Thursday all week long. Thursday was the day of the DC Lambda Squares Annual Meeting. I spent much of the day preparing for the meeting, getting items printed, and preparing a report. The meeting went well, although I'm always nervous when I'm in front of a lot of people. We had a good turnout, and the beginning of a good discussion about the future of the club.

Friday dawned very early. I got up shortly before 5 a.m. and headed on down to the three husbands to get them off to the airport to Buffalo. Afterwards, Ron and I headed off to the Silver Diner for breakfast, where I received a call from Buffalo - Michael had forgotten Flat Margy, so I had to break into their suburban castle, kidnap Margy, and send her by overnight to the Crowne Plaza in Niagara Falls, New York. I couldn't figure out how to fix the lock box, so I'll return the keys when they get back.... The rest of the day is a blur. We had some soup, then watched a movie, although I haven't a clue at this point what it was.

Yesterday wasn't quite as eventful. I did my laundry, and stretched that out over several hours. I also sent out a flurry of DC Lambda Square-related emails. Sometimes the appearance of busyness is business. It salves my corporate guilt. Perry and I took a coffee break at Starbucks. We also discovered a comprehensive neighborhood bakery, which makes excellent eclairs. I made chili and cornbread for dinner. Ron fixed his famous Parmesan Cauliflower. It's simple food that's simply delicious.

And finally, today, the beginning of a new week. We'd put off shopping for several days, so I was preoccupied thinking about provisioning at Giant. It was Giant's Grand Re-Opening. Pretty weird if you ask me. But the store is offering a lot more selection in food, and vastly more shelf space for all of us mindless consumers. Today, I did some research for Caribbean recipes. I'll be trying them out on Ron for the next three weeks or so. Tonight was fried bananas. Okay, but I need a little work on my technique. Maybe there is a Jerk Chicken in my future. Is that similar to Choke a Chicken? Inquiring Minds Want To Know.

Are There Wedding Bells in My Future?

Let me state right off that I feel ambivalent about the subject of same-sex marriage in general, but maybe not about my same-sex marriage in particular. I think that anybody who wants to get married should be able to get married. Deep down inside, I'm pretty sure I want to get married. I'm not convinced that marriage is the gay issue, but it has come down to that ever since the Massachusetts court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage.

So where does this find me and Ron? I was talking with a friend last night, and he and his partner have decided to get married. Like us, they live in Maryland. They will go to the District in a few days and get their license. Soon after, they'll tie the knot. Two square dancers that I know, also from Maryland, danced down the aisle together last week. The reason for all this activity is that Maryland Attorney-General Douglas Gansler has ruled that Maryland will recognize out-of-state same-sex marriages.

The square dancers married for love. My other friends married for the benefits that Maryland offers married couples. Perhaps Ron and I should get married for the showers. After 27 years, lots of stuff begins to wear out, and nothing matches anymore. Is that a good enough reason to get married?

For all practical purposes, Ron and I have tied all the legal knots that we can to make sure that we remain together and that our wishes our followed in times of illness or death. Admittedly, marriage would make much simpler (and considerably less expensive) what we have done with trusts, will, and powers of attorney (and several thousand dollars). And marriage would add a guarantee about our intentions that all of our legal work can't, because under the eyes of the law, in spite of everything we have done, we are still regarded as two unrelated adult men who live at the same address.

Should we get married? Will you search out our bridal registry? Should I wear white?

This Blog Wants to Be Fed

One of the difficulties of having the luxury of a blog is that the blog, like a pet, demands to be fed. Unlike a pet, it doesn't need to be taken for a walk, and the blog doesn't lick your face or anything like that, but it can be just as demanding as a cat at the refrigerator door.

One of the compelling reasons to have a blog is for the vanity factor, so of course, the blog link is prominently placed within my browser options, and I cannot but help see evidence of my blog every time I'm using my computer (or handheld for that matter). I suppose I could be less vain, but if I were, I wouldn't have a blog. So I get on a collision course with myself (and perhaps the four readers of my blog).

These are some of the feeding problems I run into:

• Badly timed insight. I get great leaps of insight, but usually only during the snooze after sex, while I'm taking a shower, or while I'm peddling down a bicycle trail. In any case, the computer is not on and I don't have a notebook or pen with which to jot down the lightening that struck me. I think I'll remember the moment, but I never do.


• My life is boring. When I do have time to write in my blog, I can sit at my computer, stare at the screen, and discover that I have exactly nothing to say. My life is so ordinary. My experiences are so pedestrian. I'm not interested in anything I have to say, because I have exactly nothing to say.


• I'm inarticulate as hell. Occasionally, I have the brilliant insight, and I'm ready to write only to find that I struggle with every word. My fingers type fog. Every word is on the tip of my tongue. I abandon the attempt mid way, knowing that another blogger out there has probably already said what I wanted to say but in a far more elegant and knowledgeable way.

To my precious readers, I promised you in my new year's resolutions that I'd be writing here more regularly, and I still intend to do that. I will continue to feed the beast. I have this theory that if I write in here enough, it will become easier, and maybe not so hungry, but I doubt it.

Caribbean Recovery

Wheaton is not St. Vincent. I suppose that's self-evident. I am glad to be back in the relative cold of suburban Maryland, but I really enjoyed the wonders of a Caribbean vacation. I guess that's why I've been making it an annual habit since 2006. I'm cold-blooded, and the Caribbean isn't. It doesn't get much simpler than that.

Time goes fast on the boat. We were on the Callisto this year, registered in Burtonsville, Maryland. It's a Beneteau 505 (monohull) chartered through TMM in Kingstown, St. Vincent. We had eight guys and a skipper. None of us ended up as shark bait during or after the week.

The boat is eight years old, and beginning to show its age. Like all sailboats, it is designed to suck money out of your wallet, if you are foolish enough to actually own one, but quite a delight to sail if you want to charter one for a week in a warm locale. I found the cabin very comfy compared to what I've had on other boats. The galley is crowded when more than one cook is in the kitchen. The galley has a freezer as well as a refrigerator. This particular boat had the dullest set of knives I've ever had to use, pretty much worthless. I think they were put on the boat eight years ago, and promptly forgotten.

You don't have to sail very far in the Grenadines to find a nice bay, a pretty beach, or an interesting port. My faves included a death march up the Pinnacle on Union Island, mooring in the Tobago Cays, and swimming to the beach on Mayreau (Jerry, Mark, and I also walked up to the Catholic Church at the top of the hill, there, for a beautiful view).

We stayed a couple of nights at the Rich View Guest House on Sion's Hill on St. Vincent. The first night, Jerry and I stayed in a room with a spacious balcony, overlooking the little valley below the hill. On our return, we stayed in the basement in a smaller, but comfortable room. The boys loved hearing the roosters, lots of roosters. It was also the valley of the talking dogs. Any car or person walking through the neighborhood, would precipitate a canine discussion group that would last for several minutes. These dogs were actually talking to each other.

Can you find the pea?

After the guesthouse, we skedaddled across the water to Bequia to stay at Burke House in the Moon Hole development at the west tip of the island. This is the bed that Jerry and I slept in. I felt like a princess! Burke House is an experience to have. The views are gorgeous, the house is one of a kind (surrounded by other one-of-a-kind homes, too), and the breeze at night is magical, BUT that is mosquito netting on the bed, and it's not for show. Grackles regularly flew through the living room, and Jet the Parrot kept us all entertained. We thought about preparing the 2-foot resident iguana. It's supposed to taste just like chicken.

The house has a cook and housekeeper. Marva took good care of us, and fixed us local specialties. Captain and Jim didn't spring for the stewed conch, but Jerry and I had little difficulty in finishing it off. We bought a mahi-mahi at the fish market in Port Elizabeth, and Marva fixed it a couple of different ways, creole style, and once with a lentil-cornmeal polenta. The market provided a lot of variety for vegetables and fruits. We did not lose any weight over the stay.

Jerry and I rented bikes in Port Elizabeth for a couple of days so that we could explore Bequia up close and personal. He and I walked from Moon Hole past the airport to the village of Paget Farm, where we caught the "bus" to Port Elizabeth. The bus system is comprised of several minibuses with names like "Faith," "Hope," and "Charity." We had the good fortune to ride on Faith and on Pebbles. The bus driver and his helper riding shotgun can effectively pack about 18 passengers on a bus. On St. Vincent and on Bequia, we had the good fortune to be on a well-packed bus. The crowd was very jolly. We had a good time with it.

We rented a couple of mountain bikes. Considering that Bequia doesn't have a lot of level road surface, that's a good thing. You don't go fast, but you get up the hills, and downhill can be a little terrifying without good brakes (like on my bike). Jerry and I explored a lot of the island. Because Jerry has done the bike thing here, before, he had all sorts of ideas about places to visit, and we had a lot of fun poking around. We went out to the Turtle Sanctuary one day, and up Mt. Pleasant the next day. I think most Bequians thought we were crazy to be out in the midday sun riding bikes, but it was totally worth the experience.

So, I'm not sure where I'll be late February next year, but I'd bet some money that it will be in a warm (dark?) place on a boat near beach on an island with a mountain and a forest.

Pirates

Not every pirate has a beard,
an eyepatch, or a wooden leg.
Pirates come in all disguises
big and small, thin, fat - all sizes.
Country boy though I was reared
I've cultivated pirate beard.
But beard does not a pirate make
Unless you're in the Caribbean
Staring at the salty ocean
entertaining pirate notions.
Then, a beard is quite in fashion
to flame an inner pirate passion.
No lusty wench with which to wake
I'll gladly bed the Captain's mate.
My beard in search of pirate treasure
found a friendship and love's pleasure.

Design Competition!

The last time this blog sponsored a contest, nobody participated. This doesn't surprise me, considering that only four people know about this blog. So here's the contest:

Design a Cereal Box

Now, this isn't just any cereal box. This is a very special cereal.

1. Think about a relationship that you have been or currently are in. What kind of cereal would that relationship be, and what would the cereal look like and taste like? You might want to talk this over with your significant (former?) other.
2. With that in mind, design the cereal box. Include the following items:
   1. The name of the cereal.
   2. A sketch of the box. What does the box look like? What's the color scheme? Include, the front, back, side, top, and bottom panels.
   3. Dimensions of the box. Is it square? Is it a cylinder? How big is it?
   4. Include all of the text on the box, the copy, the tag lines, the ingredient list, the nutritional information.

Remember, this cereal box represents a relationship, and every item of the box (and cereal) design should be a reflection of that relationship. Are you up for this project?

Send your entries to cerealbox@happydoodle.net before March 31, 2010. I'll share the entries here. I may dragoon some of you to help me judge what I know will be an avalanche of entries. The top three winning entries will be posted here, if indeed, I receive any entries. The winning entry will receive something really cool, that I would otherwise sell at a flea market this summer.

Southaven Nights

We're still in Southaven. Ron called the airlines this morning after discovering that our flight had been cancelled a second time. Our next attempted departure will be on Tuesday. That's a week we've spent here. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Today's adventure started with the tire indicator lit. So when we got to Mom's we checked the tire pressure and found a nail in the passenger-side rear tire. Alex got out her compressor (she has everything in her garage), and topped off the tire, and proceeded to top off the other rear tire. In the process, the valve head came out, so now I had two flat tires, instead of one. We proceeded to change the tire with the defective valve, and went in search of a place to change the other tire on a Sunday.

Walmart, what a marketplace delight, especially for people in need on a Sunday. I filled out an order, then we were off to a Chinese buffet for lunch. It wasn't bad. I didn't have intestinal discomfort afterwards. Ron and I went back to Walmart, but the car wasn't ready quite yet.

When it was ready, I was told that they hadn't done any work on it because the valve is a special valve only available from the dealer. I told them to go and install a regular valve. At this point, I don't care about the rental car or contract; I need a car to drive. The guys quickly repaired both tires, and we came back to the hotel.

The problem, then, is what to do for dinner. We were invited over to Larry and Sherri's to eat and watch the Super Bowl. Ron and I are actually a lot gayer than that. We called Alex and politely declined, then went for a walk, had a nap, and ended up at the Olive Garden for dinner. We had a nice glass of wine, some bread sticks, some pasta, and a nice evening of looking each other in the eye and thinking what a nice evening to be together with you.