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.

An Idaho Gay History

I gave this speech on April 30, 2009 at the University of Idaho's Lavender Graduation. Ten remarkable students were honored at this event. The Coordinator of LGBTQA Programs at the University's Womens' Center, Rebecca Rod, welcomed all of us to the celebration, and the University's President Stephen Daly-Laursen gave heartfelt welcoming remarks. Below is my keynote speech, which was followed by Audrey Ebert's Valedictory, and the presentation of the graduates.

Graduates, friends, members of the University community, and family members, I'm grateful for the invitation to talk with you tonight. I'm touched by it, and deeply appreciative for the University of Idaho, for its Women's Center, and more particularly for the thousands of people like us who have graduated from this school.

When my father, Vernon Burlison, died in 1997, I wanted to remember him. He was an instructor and professor here at the University for three decades. He was also a pastor of a small community church in Juliaetta, Idaho for many years. He was beloved by all who knew him. I wanted to remember his life. I worked with the University of Idaho Foundation to establish a fund in his name at the University to benefit LGBTQA* programming through the Women's Center. I value the Women’s Center and these programs, and I invite you to support them, financially and otherwise. I especially want to thank Rebecca Rod for her fabulous work as coordinator of these programs.

Back in 1969, we were mostly homosexuals. Today, we're transgendered, lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer, or questioning, and allies.

Tonight, I want to tell you some Idaho stories, stories of my youth, and of what happened to me at the University of Idaho. It’s important to tell our stories because they weave a history of who we are and give us a perspective on where we might be going.

When I was growing up in Idaho in the 1950s and 60s, I knew I was different from an early age. I learned relatively early that I was a homosexual, but I had no idea what to do with that information. Because of a conservative post-WWII culture, as many of you may have felt at one time or another, I felt invisible.

I found out about myself by reading an article in Life Magazine, which had written about the homosexual lifestyle in San Francisco. The article showed pictures of men dancing with each other. I told my mother about the article, and she told me, "We don't talk about things like that in our home." That was quite all right with me. I was elated, because I knew, finally, who I was. It was a fact, another thing that I knew about myself. I think I was 10 or 11 at the time.

In junior high school and high school, I was the typical dork. My pants were too short. I had a very scary fashion sense. I couldn't throw a baseball or hit a basket. Football terrified me. Does any of this sound familiar? A couple of guys took delight in bullying me, but I was pretty careful to stay out of their way. I had parents who loved me just the way I was, and thankfully, they didn't ask many questions. I was smart, did well in school, and actually enjoyed PE, except for dodge ball.

And the girls, boy did I sell them a bill of goods. I liked girls. I wanted to grow up, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after. And girls liked me. I dated, but rarely kissed. And I didn't even think about sex. My mother told me that the only reason girls went to high school was to find a husband, and if I EVER got a girl pregnant, I'd have to drop out of school and support her, and oh, by the way, I'd be on my own, and how could I support a family? She had a lot less to worry about than she thought at the time.

By the time I got to high school, the family had moved to Potlatch, just up the road from here. I had a crush on one of my male classmates, but the sexual attraction was transmuted into this deep, wonderful friendship of track, hunting, fishing, and playing cards.

I continued to date girls, wondering once or twice what the hullaballoo was all about. I was popular in high school, but socially awkward. I later found out that the girls liked me because I could carry on a conversation, and I didn’t make demands. But word also got out that I didn’t make out or kiss, which probably should have set off a few alarm bells.

In my senior year of high school, I got engaged to Susan. She lived on a neighboring farm. We were in the same 4-H club. She was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or Mormon, and I was Methodist.

Times were changing across America in 1969. Hundreds of thousands of people were protesting the Vietnam War. Nixon had just been elected President, promising to get us out. We had watched the beating of protesters at the Democratic Convention in Chicago. All of us in Potlatch saw this, but it hadn’t really reached us yet. We were hunkering down preparing for a confrontation between our deeply conservative selves and the Hippie proponents of Peace and Love. It was a visceral conflict, and I thought those Mormons might have some good answers.

So what was my conservative brain thinking? I was thinking that I wanted to be happy. Like some of you, perhaps, I couldn't imagine a world where I didn't have a wife and children. In 1969, there were no places in Potlatch, Idaho that had meaningful information about homosexuality, and my high school Family Living Class certainly didn't cover that topic. It wasn’t something that was on the TV News. I could hum the tunes of the musical, Hair, but I wasn’t about to join the cast. The world 40 years ago was a very different world than today. It punished sexual deviancy. It was a world where homosexuality was completely invisible, even to those of us who were homosexual. There was no gay history in Potlatch, Idaho.

Stonewall changed all of that. Judy Garland, an icon to all of us who are "Friends of Dorothy," died on June 22, 1969. As a result, the queens of Gotham were depressed, and some of them were drinking at the Stonewall Inn when the police raided the bar on the humid, scorching evening of June 28. The New York City Finest handcuffed then beat up a bulldyke with their billy clubs. A large, quiet crowd of homosexuals gathered outside the bar waiting for the paddy wagons. Desperate and angry the bloodied bulldyke cried out to the crowd, "Why don't you guys do something?" In that moment gay consciousness and gay history were born. Her angry and despairing words sparked a three-night riot, which sparked a movement, which fundamentally changed how you and I see ourselves and each other.

I was working at the Potlatch lumber mill that summer. I watched men walk on the moon, and I read about the Stonewall riots in Time Magazine. It was a very short article. I saw myself, again. This time, I was gay, still determined to get married and have kids. Still in love with my fiancée, Susan, but quite sure that I was gay, and totally clueless about what that meant to me and to the ones I loved.

That fall, I entered the University of Idaho. This was a time of personal exploration, looking for moral compass, trying to figure out what was what. One of the student Audio-Visual technicians that I worked with introduced me to pot. I also started drinking heavily, more to enjoy than to escape. My Methodist mother was appalled when she found out. She and Dad cut me off financially, for which I am grateful. They cared about me.

During this time, I also took the investigator lessons from the Mormon missionaries. I was baptized a member of the LDS Church when I was 19, and my fiancée, Susan, was very happy. My Mother was relieved (except for the LDS part), because it appeared that I was turning my life around. Strange as it may sound to you, I saw no contradictions in all of this. Without a history to know and understand, it's extremely difficult to gauge one's behavior. There was no gay past in Idaho from which to learn.

I was also a janitor at the Student Union Building and the University Classroom Center. One of the restrooms that I cleaned at the Classroom Center was notorious. It had lots of phone numbers, and some graphic suggestions about social activities. I knew that other men like me were out there. I had read their phone numbers and their messages. They may have sat next to me in my classes, but we never connected, and it never occurred to me that this could be a community in the making.

I dropped out of school my junior year to save money to go on a mission for the LDS Church. At church, I was a Sunday School teacher and a Priesthood Advisor to some of the men in the congregation.

I moved into the Mormon fraternity, Sigma Gamma Chi, next door to the LDS Institute. One Sunday evening in 1972, my roommate, Kay, a member of my Sunday School class, came into our room quite visibly upset and said he had to talk with me. He told me he had just had a sexual encounter with his zoology professor. In a moment of clarity about who I was, I responded, "Kay, I'm gay, too." He and I had a torrid affair. It was full of sex, danger, intrigue, secrecy, and desperation. We were always hiding out from our fraternity brothers, and yet they knew what was going on. We were a scandal, and we were terrified.

Kay and I loved each other passionately, and I think deeply, and we tried to imagine a world where we could live together. But we couldn’t imagine it. Moscow, Idaho was not San Francisco. We were sandbagged by a repressive religious culture. And in the midst of the biggest social and cultural upheaval of the 20th century, instead of Making Love Not War, we were at war with ourselves. We did not hear stories of other people like us. We had found each other, but could not create a world in which we fit.

We talked to our bishop, our stake presidents, and eventually, I was told to talk to one of the LDS Church authorities about my gay problem. I remember Elder Henry D. Taylor well. He told me, "Brother Burlison, I promise you that if you fast and pray, and get married in the Temple of the Lord, it will take care of your problem." Did he ever get that right! It took care of my problem, and confirmed to me, more than ever that I was gay as a goose.

So in May of 1973, Susan and I finally got married in the LDS Temple at Logan, Utah. I had had a difficult year. Kay had gone on a mission to Brazil, and I missed him a lot. My mother died the previous December after a long illness. Susan and I had broken up, and then had gotten back together only to rush off to Logan to get married, because it would take care of my problem. She thought everything was fixed. I felt like a heel. But I really wanted to marry, have children, and live happily ever after. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted my wife to be happy. Needless to say, Susan and I weren't happy. We loved each other. We tried to ignore the elephant sharing our bedroom. I was gay. Ultimately, our love for each other wasn’t enough.

I continued school here at the University. My academic advisor was my bishop. He was very concerned about me being gay and married, and all that. 1976 was a very scary year for me on campus. But I finally graduated, much to my relief!

So that was growing up gay at the University of Idaho. I discovered that not only was I clueless, but everyone else was, too when it came to homosexuality. Nobody knew what to do about my problem. Everyone, even those who I loved dearly, could only give me really awful advice. The reason for that is because we had no gay history. No one was telling our stories.

Actually, there were two lights in the dark. When my mother was dying, I went to the student counseling center because I needed someone to talk to. The director of the center and I talked my way through the anger and pain of my mother's illness. Then he asked me if there was anything else. I told him I was gay. He told me, "That's okay." During the same time, another janitor came out to me (an incredibly brave thing for him to do). He introduced me to a staff member who took me to his room, and held me one afternoon. That's all he did, but I needed that more than anything else at the time. I was afraid and distraught, and he held me.

I went to graduate school. I got a job. Susan and I had four beautiful children. I was excommunicated from the Mormon Church. Susan and I got divorced. I was fired from my job because I was gay and a security risk. I moved to Washington, DC. I met Ron, the love of my life. I got on with my life.

So what is the object of my story? Gay people have a history. And it's not just a personal history like I've recounted, it's a history in the context of world events.

We now know a lot about sexual orientation. We know a lot about gender identity. And it's my earnest hope that we're learning something useful from our histories. But to learn from those histories, we have to hear the stories and understand their impact.

I belonged to a religion that ultimately felt so threatened by my sexuality that it excommunicated me and tried to rob me of my spiritual life. Today, people who are members of sexual minorities are still under grave spiritual assault in most organized religions and denominations because of who we are. The most heartwrenching web page I've ever read is a page listing links to obituary notices of members of the LDS Church who have committed suicide because they were exposed as lesbian or gay, in their local churches, kicked out of their spiritual community, and robbed of their spiritual life. Their blood cries out to us.

Today, even in the smallest hamlet in Idaho, young women and men can find out important information about their sexuality or their gender identity. There is a history out there for them, maybe not in the local library, but it’s on the Internet. It's not a neat history, and not always a truthful story, but the word is out, and for the most part, the word is, it's okay to be gay or queer, or transgendered, or confused for that matter. I invite you to add your voice and your history so that you are heard. Don't be quiet.

I want to say a few words about love. Love is a wonderful expressive, intimate, and creative gift. Be happy with that gift. Be open to its giving and its receiving. There is a joy in love, and for me it comes down to this, I choose to love someone of my own gender. We must be very clear with ourselves: it's okay!

I still sometimes wonder about those men who left their phone numbers in the UCC men’s room. I hope they survived the plague of AIDS, and I hope they have gone on to live lives of purpose and dreams.

I wonder about you. I wonder about other students on this campus outside this room who should be here, listening to your stories, recounting their own. You offer hope, compassion, and strength in what is a chaotic, difficult collegiate world.

Some final advice: find your own family. I have stayed in Washington, DC, not because I like the traffic, or nine million people being in my face every day, but because I love Ron. For twenty-six years, he’s been my man! Twenty years ago, I went to a pool party, and bumped into Brian, and he's with us, as well. Fifteen years ago, I met Perry at a potluck, and he joined our family. Ten years ago, I square danced with Tim, and he became part of our tribe. I love these men dearly and completely. They are my chosen family. My hope is that you will choose your families too.

Take care of yourselves. It's okay to be yourself. It's okay to fight for what you believe in. Don't let anyone rob you of your spiritual birthright. Be playful and silly at least once a in a while. Let the ones you love know how much you love them, every day. Tell your story; please tell your story so that it can become part of a rich rainbow tapestry as beautiful as the Palouse Hills as resilient as the spirit of the people in this room tonight. I hope that each of you has a wonderful life. My life has been wonderful because of the men and women I have loved. I do not want anything less than that for you.

Thank you.

*Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer and Questioning, and Allies

Beware of Food Columnists Bearing Recipes

Yesterday, I had a dinner party at my house. I invited all the boys, and proceeded to prepare some recipes that David Hagedorn had suggested last Wednesday in the Washington Post column, "Real Entertaining." This month's column was all about chicken, and I saw that roasted chicken on the front page of the food section, and I was hooked.

I had to have a dinner party. I had to cook a chicken. I had to read the recipes. They were seductively simple: full of promise. Chicken in a Pot, how homey! French Lentils, peppery, flavorful! Saffron Fennel, oh exotic! and Peach-Apricot Cobbler, simple, tasty, easy. I thought.

The challenge was not in the fine print. I suspect that Mr. Hagedorn presented his recipes with the very best intentions to his readers. I imagine his kitchen is more suited to food preparation than mine.

My biggest challenges were the bird and the cobbler. The chicken is first seared, then roasted for 50 minutes in a 250ºF oven. When I checked the chicken at 50 minutes, it was no where near the necessary internal temperature. I baked the chicken an additional 20 minutes, finally raising the oven temperature to 350ºF for the last 10 minutes or so. That did the trick, and the chicken had a wonderful flavor. You should check Chef Hagedorn's method for carving a chicken. It's easy!

On to the Peach-Apricot Cobbler. The recipe indicates that the cobbler should be baked in a medium cast-iron skillet. I didn't know how big medium is, and I guessed too small. The resulting cobbler didn't look very elegant, but none of my guests seemed to mind, and ate the whole thing. It's a very tasty comfort food recipe. I realized as soon as I added the batter to the (9") skillet that I was courting disaster. I stuck a baking sheet under the skillet, and it caught the overflow batter, which my guests also ate. Next time, I'll bake this cobbler in my largest (10-1/4") cast-iron skillet.

The party was a success. The food was fantastic. The guests were sent home fat and happy. I'll continue to read the Food Section. And I'll continue to have dinner parties.

A Flurry of Activity!

The New Year has picked up its pace, although the old year never really slowed down that much, either. Perry and I went shopping on Friday morning. We first went to the Container Store, because he wanted some magnets. Neodymium magnets. Really strong magnets. These magnets have an exceedingly strong magnetic force. They can cause irreparable damage to floppy disks.

From the Container Store, we ventured to Borders in White Flint. Oh, I love the joys and sights of Rockville Pike! Perry was looking for a calendar. I picked up a "calendar" that contains a recipe for every day of the year. Ron is already thumbing through it.

Saturday night, I made one of those recipes, Spanish Tortilla, for the Montgomery County Gay Men's Community potluck. It was held at a friend of Ron's, so we decided to go. Well, the house was about 7500 square feet or more, and fitted by what appeared to be a decorator from hell. The theme upstairs was Victorian, and downstairs an American diner. Let's say it was over the top, and not one personal touch in any part of the house that I could see: prints, no originals. I guessed no one lived here, they were just part of the display.

The food was good, although Ron and I disagree on how good. Ron's and my contributions were both finished by the boys. One of the hosts, John, made a meat and bean dish that was very tasty, and a cake from cornmeal that was very good, although Ron thought the icing was too sweet. Honey, I hate to break the news, but icing is supposed to be too sweet!

I also enjoyed the company. I had a nice conversation with Duane. I really need to be more social. I get shy (I know that's hard to believe) and stand around without talking to anyone. This time, I struck up a very "deep" conversation with Duane about the nature of belief. Duane wondered why one needs to believe anything. And my lame answer is because it provides a purpose-driven life. I'll have to think about that.

In the meantime, I've been working on my contact database throughout. It's not very exciting, but it contributes to my purpose-driven existence. Yeah, right!

On Sunday, January 4, Ron and I attended a party. It was a nudist event. Great food, and for once an occasion where I was not seeing iceberg-sized behemoths of jiggly flesh. Most of the men, while not gym-toned, had not gone completely to the dinner buffet for refills, year after year. What a relief for my sore eyes. I thoroughly enjoyed the company, and all that encompassed, as well as the buffet the host had set out.

Again, in this situation, I have to force my self to talk with the other guys. They proved very friendly. Two men from Alabama struck up a conversation with me, and I felt a lot like Scarlett O'Hara (even though, I know [rolling my eyes] that she's from Georgia). One of the guys roots for Auburn, and the other for University of Alabama. Seriously, gay men talking about football! Frankly, my geography gets mixed up anywhere South of the Mason-Dixon Line. I think I could grow to enjoy the company of some Southern Gentlemen.

So yesterday, I went to the doctor to clear up a nagging sinus infection that has dogged me since Portugal, and to figure out what's causing the really annoying pain in my right knee that has dogged me since Christmas. Some days have been miserable, and that's saying a lot from me.

I like my doctor. He's a DO who has been a very good doctor for me. His assistant cleaned the wax out of my ears. I've been very stuffed up, and my ears had clogged when I tried to clean them a week ago. I had been walking around in an echoey fog. The tinnitus is still pretty loud, but I can hear better; the fog is gone. She got a lot of gunk out! The doctor came in and gave me a pep talk. He's kind of hot with curly hair and a two-day growth with that lab coat! He told me to get off the Sudafed^® and start the Nasonex^®. He also prescribed some clarithromycin for the sinuses and meloxicam for the knee. Better living through chemistry, although NSAIDs do scare me.

In the afternoon, I went over to Tim's house. He had a plumbing emergency going on. I provided him with some plumber information, but I think he went with someone else. He had some lame, vague reason about wanting this plumber or that plumber. I hugely enjoy Tim's company, even if he is preoccupied with plumbing. (I'll do some plumbing!)

Last night, Ron and I enjoyed a PBS special about India. Like the nation, the special is a production, and will continue for many nights hence. I don't care much for the narrator (the story sometimes seems all about him), but the scope of the story and the images of a great and enduring nation are compelling.

At the end, I went to bed.

One Big Happy Family

Yesterday evening, Perry and I went to Nick's 50th birthday party. I think Perry and I were the gay contingent (there was also a high school contingent, and at least one guest that the other guests couldn't identify). Nick is one of seven kids, and five of his brothers and sisters, and his dad were there plus aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, and lots of in-laws.

It was a big sprawly, loud, wonderful, happy birthday party. His family took Perry and me in like we were long lost relatives and made us feel completely at home. Nick (arrived late...) had a big grin, and made the rounds greeting everyone and being such a gracious guest of honor. I was really happy that Perry dragged me along to this joyful family affair.

I met Nick over ten years ago, and we worked a lot on local gay community stuff. We've kind of lost touch over the years, but have seen each other occasionally. Nick is still delightfully Nick. I've always thought he was a sharp looking guy. And he just gets more mellow, and good looking! At the party, his family had put together a collage of pictures, and it was very precious to look at. On the table, next to the cake, was his high school graduation picture. He looked like a stoner with a subtle smile and the wisp of a mustache playing across his top lip. Ah, the 70s, how we miss them!

The gift un-wrapping ritual featured Nick ripping wrapping paper off a mountain of gifts which featured tools, alcohol, and one Ken doll. Perry and I had "forgot" to put a tag on our gift, but somehow Nick, and everybody else, figured out who gave him the Ken doll.

We met most of Nick's brothers and sisters. I had a couple of memorable and delightful conversations with a brother, a sister, an aunt, and a sister-in-law. Nick comes from one of those quintessential American Families. The kind that's initial capped. The kind that Barack Obama and John McCain claimed to speak for. The kind that gives me infinite hope for America's future.

My Huge Basket

Okay, Tim, this one's for you! Tim's been demanding a picture of my basket.

Happy's Huge Basket

This basket is a shameless promotion for Starbuck's, with a side plug for Bed Bath and Beyond. Special thanks goes to Perry, who went shopping with me at the Woodmoor Starbucks. I don't know what I was thinking when I went with the theme, "For the Morning After, There's Starbuck's." I mean, how lame can I get? I was probably having a bad ManHunt day, or maybe I was thinking of melancholy John McCain supporters. On the other hand, a nice cup of coffee from freshly ground beans isn't the worst way to start the Morning After.

The basket will be raffled away this weekend in Shepherdstown, WV at the HFH XIV! square dance fly-in. It will be one of many huge baskets, donated by hunky, chunky, and lanky guys and gals looking for all kinds of fun and all kinds of square dance programs, as well as contra and country western. Maybe you should head up to Shepherdstown, and my huge basket could be yours, and not just for the evening, either..., but for the morning after!

Ouch!

New Refrigerator

A new refrigerator has come into our life. It was delivered this morning before 9 a.m. Two earnest, young delivery men showed up on our doorstep shortly before Ron had breakfast. I had already emptied most of the retiring fridge, but I certainly didn't expect the men from Appliance Land knocking at our door quite so early.

The retiring refrigerator still worked like a charm, but it was 41 years old, and its estimated energy cost was about $250/year, which is about five times what the new refrigerator will cost to operate. The new refrigerator will pay for itself in about five years as a result of energy savings. The expected life of the new one is about 10 years. I had done some research, and Ron did, too, then we went to Appliance Land on Thursday afternoon and inked the deal.

This refrigerator is going to take some getting used to. It makes noticeably more noise than the old one. It's also white and shows up every smudge. On the plus side, it's much larger than the 14 cubic foot one that we had.

Beaten, but not Bowed

So the guys bring the refrigerator up to the front door and wheel it in the front hallway. We have an island in the middle of the kitchen, and one of the guys felt that the island was going to make it difficult to move in the refrigerator. He asked me if it could be moved, and I told him it was on rails, but could be lifted up over the rails and moved out of the way.

He and I grabbed the island's countertop (a voice was screaming in my head: "Empty out the pots and pans before you move the island!!!!"). I'm quite good at ignoring myself. The top fo the island popped off, the island came crashing down on my left toe, and the drawer in the island went flying across the kitchen and ended up in pieces, along the quantities of kitchen gadgets accumulated over the last 19 years, and stored in that drawer.

Island sans Countertop

So this is what the island looks like now: the countertop is leaning against it, and the drawer is in three different pieces in the living room, waiting to be taken to a furniture shop for rebuilding on Monday. The drawer contents are in a box in the dining room. You'd be surprised how inconvenient it is to have all your kitchen gadgets packed in a box in the living room. I hope the furniture shop guys can repair the drawer quickly.

In the immediate aftermath, Ron felt a little queasy, after I told him about my toe. I told him to get on with his breakfast, and I started putting all of our food into the new refrigerator (focus on the immediate situation!). I also wiped some yogurt off of a cupboard, the victim of the exploding island. Eventually, things calmed down.

So after the catastrophe (which is really overstating it), Perry came over to consult about the countertop. Then he and I made a list and headed off to Home Depot. I like shopping. I bought some glue, Dep 10-Minute Hair Clog Remover, two wood clamps, two screwdrivers, ten wood screws, and the fall issue of "Fresh," a magazine full of goodlooking recipes.

By the time I got home, the toe was really bothering me. We couldn't find a bowl suitable for soaking it (my foot isn't big, but most bowls aren't big enough), so we ended up putting some water and ice in a small cooler. It fit my foot, and brought some immediate pain relief.

Tomorrow, I'm going to fill in the screw holes in the island countertop, and attempt to install it (I did it the first time, 18 years ago, so I might as well give it another whack). I'm also going to try to repair the splintered fiberboard in the drawer with some glue and filler (hence the wood clamps). I'm taking the drawer to a furniture repair place on Monday to fix it properly.

So that's been pretty much my day.

I Never Met an Eggplant I Didn't Like

Baba Ghanouj, Baigan Bharta, who doesn't like eggplant? Tonight I fixed some Eggplant Parmesan, although it didn't have any parmesan cheese in it.

I really felt the need to cook today, so after breakfast at the Silver Diner, Ron and I headed out to Whole Foods so that I could get some vegetables. I saw and eggplant and fell in love (again).

I loaded up on some buffalo mozzarella, and some parmano, too. Then we headed up to Tim's because he had been to a farmers market and had purchased me some vine ripened tomatoes.

This afternoon (after my gym workout), I prepared a tomato sauce complete with onions, peppers, carrots, celery, canned tomatoes, and some secret herbs and spices. After it had cooked down a bit, I took it off the stove, and let it sit while Ron and I headed off to see Tropic Thunder (the funniest movie I've seen in a long time).

When we got back home, I sliced the eggplant, brushed the side of each slice with olive oil, and fried them in a medium-high skillet until the slices were browned and soft. I put some tomato sauce in the bottom of a baking dish, covered it with the eggplant, then sliced the vine-ripened tomatoes on top of the eggplant, added slices of the mozzarella cheese, ladled on a little tomato sauce, sprinkled on a quarter pound of shredded cheese, and finished with some bread crumbs. I baked it at 350ºF for 30 minutes.

Perry, Ron, and I pretty much demolished it. But there is enough for leftovers, maybe for Monday lunch, if Ron doesn't tuck it away first.

A Birthday for Brian, Finally

I know that Brian has a birthday, because I see him periodically, and he's walking, talking, cute, all the evidence points to his existence. So I just assume he has a birthday, without paying a lot of attention to when. So last night the Boys went out to Heritage India to celebrate Brian's birthday, even though he acts like an Aries. I don't quibble over actual dates. I just want to eat food and celebrate my friend's birthday. Besides, all of the Boys' birthdays seem to get inconveniently bunched up in the March - April timeframe. Consider last night's celebration a "smoothing function" certainly after a couple of cocktails.

Brian, the Birthday Boy

So here is Brian looking like a deer in the headlights. Notice that Tim doesn't look like a deer in the headlights. Perhaps that is because Tim likes to have his picture taken. Or an alternative explanation might be that he saw me get out the camera and realized that his picture was going to be taken anyway. Brian may have mistaken the camera for an appetizer, and so was unprepared for the flash. I'll have to ask him about that.

Ron and I got to the restaurant first, so that I could have a drink. Perry is certain that I have a drinking problem. I am less certain, though I might be in denial. At any rate, Brian shortly showed up, followed by Tim, then Perry. I only drank a small portion of my second drink (yes, I know, it sounds like I'm binge drinking, doesn't it?), because Tim and Brian drank most of it. It serves them right, because it was a fruity drink that Carrie might have tossed back just before Mr. Big did her. Guys, it was a GIRLIE drink.

While the other guys walked to the table, I shambled behind because a) I was settling the bar bill (BTW, the appetizers were marvelous. Yummy small plates of Indian delights half price at the bar during happy hour. What an excellent idea!) b) I was shambling because of the toxic affects of impending alcohol poisoning. Perry kindly pointed out at the table that I was stoned. I was probably lighted a little bit, but entirely conscious throughout the meal, and contributed my own bon vivant devil-may-care commentary.

Tim ordered a nice white. Brian wanted his own portion of eggplant, and Perry followed suit with some lamb dish. I ventured into hell with Lamb Vindaloo, which could cause acute gastric distress if you have any problems with the volcanometer. But it was damn good! Tim ordered a pea and mushroom curry that was also spicy, and Ron followed up with Aloo Ghobi, although the restaurant billed it as "Cauliflower and Potatoes with turmeric." The food at Heritage India is very good. I'm pretty sure everybody enjoyed the spread. We all ended it with an assortment of desserts. I ate my gulam jamun with a deeply satisfying nostalgia, thinking aw too, this soon will end at a doughnut shop. Which it did. Nothin' like a Crispy Creme after an Indian dinner!

Happy Birthday Brian! You don't look a day over 30. Honest. You're still cute as a bug. Anytime you want to celebrate your birthday, give me a holler. Ron's birthday is next....

News (or Lack Thereof)...

Today is a bright summer day here in Wheaton, just outside our Nation's Federal City. Ron is in Memphis visiting his mother. I am here at home getting ready for a cookout this afternoon. The cookout started as a joke from Tim who said, why don't you have a cookout next weekend? I sent out the invites, and quickly friends, friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends indicated that they would be attending. I'm making Happy's Famous Potato Salad, and I'm doing some cursory cleaning. I still need to mop the kitchen floor and sweep off the back patio. I feel so domestic today.

Ron sends his greetings to all of you. Just for your information, he recovered from his tick fever incident and has gone to even greater success. I hope he's checking for ticks in Memphis. I understand those urban ticks can have a real mean attitude, nothing like those hospitable (even lovable!) western Rocky Mountain ticks. Ron's big project for the summer has been to keep the ants under control. Wheaton had a very wet spring, and ants have decided they like our home, too. Ron put ant traps on the shopping list, and last week, he struck back. After surveying the kitchen battle zone, he strategically placed the traps in ant-friendly places. I've seen a few ants since then, but their numbers have greatly diminished.

I guess you all know that my sister Grace and I were in Cleveland three weeks ago at the International Association of Gay Square Dance Clubs annual convention. I have a new name. Many dancers at the convention now call me, "Grace's Brother." It is a worthy and wonderful honorific. Since everyone else calls me "Happy" or "Doodle," Grace also has a new name, "Big Cheez Doodle." Grace roomed with another straight woman from my square dance club. The two of them, and a third straight woman had dinner with Tim and me on the last day of the convention. It was vastly interesting and amusing to hear about the differences between straight square dancing and gay square dancing. Tim and I had a jolly time listening. Juanita and Tonja had definite opinions about the style of dancing, the jokes that callers tell, and the culture difference between the two square dance worlds. I wish I were a sociologist.

Also in Cleveland, I attended a callers school to learn how to call square dancing. It was about the most intense learning experience I've had in many years. It's a little daunting, and I don't have the filler patter that makes my calling smooth, but I've been working on putting together call sequences, and I've called a couple of tips at convention and here in my home club. I've decided I want to be a competent caller so that's my next career (just kidding!) I guess. I've also had a couple of aha experiences about square dancing. It's a dance form that is in danger of disappearing. It's the type of activity that is fun for a group. It brings people together. It's physical. And I'm coming to think I want to do my part of encourage it and to keep it on the American Folk Scene.

After Cleveland, Ron and I spent a week at gay summer camp. It was hot and humid and no air conditioning. But the afternoon cocktail hour made up for a lot of deficiencies. Each cocktail hour had a theme, and the best-dressed camper won fifty dollars. Ron is a couturier of some merit - he won $100 over the course of the week. He looked fabulous. One evening I lead the Doodle family to victory in a Family Feud contest. We were remarkable, and again, it was Ron who clinched victory out of the jaws of defeat. His intimate knowledge of late night television saved us.

Odds and Ends: For those of you who know Perry, the neighbor who lives across the way. He and his cat are doing well. Yesterday the roofers came and installed a brand new roof and shutters. Perry was following our fine example, and used the same roofing company. Ah, life is so sweet in Wheaton! For those of you who know Brian, the guy who lived in our basement for five months three years ago, he came over, and we went out to a new Thai restaurant in the neighborhood. The pad thai was marvelous, and the cashew chicken had a nice spicy kick to it. I hadn't talked with Brian for months, and we had a delightful evening catching up with each other. He's a computer geek and voice teacher. I'm probably going to take some lessons with him for my square dance calling. It's wonderful to get together with old friends.

To end this epistle, I'm starting a square dance troupe. I have some excited dancers, and all I need to do is find a caller and a choreographer, and some rehearsal space. The club I dance with, DC Lambda Squares, often gets requests for dance demos, and they are usually pulled together at the last moment. So I thought, maybe we need a group of dancers who are ready to go dance. We had our first meeting, and we want to incorporate different dance forms within the traditional square dance idiom. It's exciting and a little daunting, but maybe you'll see us on YouTube someday.

It's a good thing I retired!

Wedding Bells

I read an article in the LA Times about a gay couple getting married this week. Just call me sentimental, but I found myself tearing up and thinking (perhaps wistfully), "How wonderful, how beautiful." The article and accompanying slide show (and photos of people at the courthouse) document an important day in one couple's life, but also a historic moment in California history. I hope it's not a fleeting moment that will be undone in November.

I'm not convinced that gay marriage is the most momentous human rights issue in America. Certainly in our situation, marriage doesn't begin to contain the family that Ron, Perry, Tim, Brian, and I share. And being outside marriage, Ron and I have been able to create a relationship that reflects the reality of our lives rather than the convenience of the State or the confines of social convention. (There are distinct social advantages to not being married!)

Still, I wouldn't want to take away a single iota of joy from those happy couples in California whose love and families are now solemnized for what they are: families recognized by the law, sanctioned by the State making it much easier for gay couples to become part of a larger social community. I have no doubt there is great value in recognizing and supporting gay families in our society.

Gay marriage may come to Maryland, although I'm not holding my breath. I have my family here. Ron and I have done everything under the law we can to protect and maintain our relationship. I think I would like the social nod that marriage brings (actually, the shower gifts!), but I know that societal recognition is not necessary for my family to be a loving and happy home. And if those wedding bells ever do ring here in Wheaton, well, I fully expect to be teary eyed.

Every Blog Is about Father's Day

And I guess this one is no exception. Ron and Perry both said Happy Father's Day to me, and that was touching. I'm thinking more about Father's Day than I have in many years. I'm sure part of it was seeing my daughter and her family (for the first time). Another part was reading some blog entries on Box Turtle Bulletin of gay men writing about their memories of their dads - good supportive men who wanted their sons to be happy.

That's the kind of dad my Father was. I've written about him in my blog before. He was a very quiet humble, loving man who raised us well; to think critically, to be independent, to care for others. I'm pretty sure he succeeded much better with himself than he did with me! I miss him greatly as the years go by - I want to share a story or a letter. My memories of him are very tender, and I'm grateful for his love and his example.

I've been sorting through photos of our family reunion. I've uploaded all of my sisters' photos and am working through my own. It's nice to be with family, and it's nice to be back home. I miss Dad not being there. I also missed my brothers, Frank and Steve, and hope that two years hence, they can join us in Colorado. And Mom, I missed you during the reunion, but was really happy to see you before and after.

So this Father's Day, I'm very much thinking of my family and grateful for whatever presence they have in my life. Our situations are very different, and our circumstances often change quickly. I hope for the patience, flexibility, and means to be a good and loving brother and son.

And for Ron, Perry, and Tim, I'm so grateful for my Band of Brothers who care for me and love me. You guys are my very special family and have added so much love and fabulousness to my life.

Today, It's All about Mulch

I've had a pile of mulch sitting out in front of my house for three or four days. Today, I borrowed a wheelbarrow from Perry, and I spread the mulch on the side "yard." It isn't exactly a yard, because it's been taken over by Virginia Creeper, poison ivy, and violets. I sprayed the creeper a couple of times to knock it down, then spread mulch this afternoon.

I enjoy moving the mulch pile. I filled the wheelbarrow about twenty times, each time dragging the barrow over the curb, down some steps to the yard. It's fenced on two sides, and deeply shaded. One of the reasons for mulching is that it slows down rainwater on the way to our neighbors' basements. I figure that mulching is a neighborly act.

Happy Birthday, Tim

Every now and then, the boys get together to celebrate. This time it was Tim's birthday. We took a magical trip to the far exurbs to examine our inner vegetarian selves.

Google Map to the Washington Exurbs

Perry, Ron, and I drove up together. Clarksville is about 15 miles from Wheaton as the crow flies, but considerably longer by road if you follow Google Maps or the GPS in the car. Google Maps has this neat feature where you can alter the displayed route. I did that with a vengeance, and mapped out a journey that took us through some splendid springtime scenes of twilight, full of magical flowering bushes and green meadows. Layhill Road, Edson Lane, Tucker Lane, Ashton Road were purposely beautiful, just for us.

Birthday Boy with Cake

I'm certain Tim uses skincare products to maintain his youthful suppleness, which was all in evidence last night at Great Sage, a great restaurant with at least one table of rowdy patrons. What a night! Good food, good company, and the world's hippest waiter two decades too late.

Tim, Oenophile

Tim selected a wonderful wine that worked well with all of our appetizers and main courses. And we also had mandatory drinks: Perry had a swirly, Ron drank cranberry juice (without ice). I forget what Brian had, iced tea? Tim had the ginger mojito and I had an all-berry punch. It tasted okay, but not quite enough vodka.

We all like appetizers. The artichoke-spinach crostini was the ultimate gooey dip of which dreams and fortunes are made. It had the whiff of great sex, randy, forbidden naughty.

Artichoke-Spinach Dip with Crostini

The guacamole tostadas were short on the guacamole, but after the initial disappoinment had a strong follow through with crispy tortillas and very tasty beans, trusty vegan food with the tradition intact but without the Birkenstocks.

Guacamole Tostadas

This is the second time that Tim, Ron, and I have been to Great Sage. The restaurant is up in Clarksville in a strip mall. The restaurant is vegan/vegetarian and serves hearty, tasty food. I think we all enjoyed our entrees. I'm not much of a tofu guy, but my "Peruvian" style grilled tofu with vegetarian "ceviche" (the evening's special) was excellent. The tofu was well-seasoned and served with a cilantro sauce. The ceviche would never pass as the seafood variety, but taken by itself had a refreshing zingy taste and the crunchiness of onions with the chewiness of kernel corn. I liked the inventiveness, textures, and assertive tastiness of the food.

Brian had a vegetable Napolean (featuring roasted portabello mushrooms and veggies on polenta). Tim and Ron each ate the Indian Vegetable Cakes, and Perry lit into the Artichoke and Roasted Garlic Cream Pasta. Perry (touchingly) reserved the spinach in his dish for Ron.

When we had finished eating, the gentleman at the table behind us came over and chatted a bit about the wine, then he noted, "Four men...." I guess our secret was out. Urbane, witty gay men are perhaps rare birds in Clarksville, although we did note several diners who probably would have felt quite at home at our table.

We all finished big with dessert - the Hot Fudge Lava Cake with ice cream, Italian Sorbet, and Tim had the dessert special, Key Lime Cake with a cream filling. No hunger pangs were detected on the ride home.

Birthday Boy and Entourage

This Week in Wheaton

We have had a busy week in Wheaton. After the square dancing and the weed wacking incident, the fun continues. Yesterday, Ron and I visited the Finance Guys (FGs). They told me that I'll have to go back to work. They were quite severe with me, telling me that my profligate spendthrift ways were imperiling the already weak dollar, and that I was one of the single biggest causes of the United States trade deficit. I plead guilty as charged. So I've decided to become a greeter at WalMart. See me in your neighborhood soon.

After meeting with the FGs, and I do have to say that their advice is very, very good - I also enjoy their sartorial presence, not to mention the deeply edifying, nay motivating engagement they have with us once a quarter to help us survive our retirement, or die trying, which come to think of it, will probably be the sad outcome. Meanwhile, we came back to Chez Boiz and took a pleasant afternoon walk.

The weather was delightful, and the mild exercise took my mind off of the plumbing problems that have plagued me of late. Ron doggedly set his course down the street, and I ran circles around him (literally, I mean I run around him while we are walking), mainly to find out what would happen. A smile slowly crinkled across his face, he rolled his eyes, raised his hands up in the air in a hopelessly resigned gesture, and hugged me, or ignored me, and life is wonderful and transcendent in this moment. I would not want to be any other place but here, acting very silly with the soberest straight man sidekick in the universe. But I do make him smile, and he makes me profoundly happy - much like the Finance Guys do, especially the cute one.

The urologist adjusted my medications, and you're reading the results. Joe, I'm sorry if you are finding all of this alarming, Pyridium does this to me every time I take it. Side effects. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, "Read the label." I didn't realize that something that could color my pee a violent orange would actually be such a mood elevator. And it's cheap, too. Of course, it can ruin your kidneys and stain your underwear, so you might take it with some caution, and not everyone will experience such salubrious effects that I have. Because, I'm special....

Seriously, I'm actually not even using the Pyridium(although I filled the prescription), because I read its side effects label and decided, uh-uh. I really haven't needed any pain relief. And now, at Day Three, I feel much improved over Day One. So why the bizarre mood this morning? I'm not sure. I guess I'm just happy today, well manic today. And I kind of like feeling this way. It's spring and I have sprung!

Mein came over last night to review (yet again) Challenge 1 square dance calls. He and I went through just about every call on the list. We either walked through them or checkered them. The most confusing thing for me right now is distinguishing the various call names and movements from each other, because the names and moves have similarities across calls. This is why square dancing is so evil and so cool. I've never participated in an activity that is so intellectually challenging, so physically active, and so friendly all at once. Mein stayed for about three and hours after which my head was full, much too full.

Today started off with a bang, literally. A ManHunt buddy showed up on my doorstep at 7:04 a.m. (Maybe that's the reason for the elevated mood.) He wanted to come over, because he's moving to Virginia tomorrow. I'll probably never see him again, which is sad, because he is a very nice, foxy guy who amuses and amazes me. I'm thinking I'll figure out how to navigate to Virginia. Of course, he's always welcome here, too. He's young, and I find the differences between his life and mine to be fascinating. I just enjoy talking with him, and I'm not going to discuss the other stuff here....

Today, we're going to celebrate Tim's birthday. I'm excited about it. I love celebrations. After a deeply personal celebration, we're going to Great Sage up in Clarksville, Maryland for dinner. Ron, Tim, and I have eaten there before, and the food is truly wonderful vegetarian. I'll write more about it after our dinner. Perry and Brian are joining us too, and we're going to have a wild boys night out (yeah, right).

The other news for the week is that my nephew and his wife, Joe and Karen, are in town. We're having dinner with them tomorrow night at Bistro D'Oc downtown. This is the third year that they've come into town. Joe has business here, and Karen comes in for the weekend. I really enjoy this visit with family, and they are such a super couple. They also call us Uncle John and Uncle Ron, which sound so unfamiliar, yet so musical to my ears. Nobody ever calls me uncle anything, so I like it!

Finally, a word about the Finance Guys. They just published an article the Journal of Financial Planning, "A Guide to Serving the Estate and Financial Planning Needs of Gay Men, Lesbians, and Same-Sex Couples." Joseph Kapp and Nicholas E. Burkholder, March 2008. pp 54-64. They've gotten a lot of good feedback from other planners about the article, and lots of inquiries about how to serve lesbian and gay clients. More to the point, Joe Kapp and Nick Burkholder have worked very hard over the last four years to gain and earn our trust and business. I am so pleased that they are getting recognition for the excellent work they do for their clients. Readers, plan for our future now. Both Joe and Nick promised to come out and be guest greeters with me at your neighborhood's Wal-Mart, when I put in my appearance, there (just kidding) (or not).

Perry Has a New Man in His Life

We went out to dinner last night with Perry, and had a chance to meet the new man in his life: Charley. Charley is eight years old and weighs 16 pounds, a big ol' middle-aged cat. He's very friendly, and didn't mind the introductions at all.

Over dinner, we mused some about Mookie, Perry's recently departed cat. She was very different in temperament and stature than Charley. She was much smaller, and very regal, not a good ol' boy at all. She ruled with an iron-but-velvet paw. So I'm looking forward to getting better acquainted with the new guy in the neighborhood.

We ate at the Austin Grill in downtown Silver Spring. The atmosphere is young family-friendly. The wait staff's average age appears to be something between 10 and 14. We had a very solicitous waiter who always disappeared about the time we wanted to order something or had a question, not that there's anything wrong with that. I do not recommend the pecan pie, although the Joe Ely combo, while perhaps too much food, tasted swell.

So this is what gay men do on Saturday nights in Silver Spring, Maryland.

Big Love, Barack Obama, and Indigestion

We went out with Perry tonight for dinner at Bombay Restaurant in White Oak. The food here is really good, and tonight was no exception, although I'm teetering on the edge of indigestion. I did take a Priolosec OTC© before going there, and I hope it works. The last few times I've had Indian food, I've really paid for it with some searing gut pain. But it's worth it! We had the okra, aloo gobi, and spinach chicken tikka. During the act of eating, I really don't care whether I'm going to regret it later. I suppose if the food were awful, I'd avoid it, but I love this restaurant too much to give it up.

We discussed Senator Obama's speech. I'm thinking that this guy is Presidential. I had a long talk with my sister this afternoon about the speech, and about the rhetoric of the Liberation Theology of Black churches. It is no surprise to me why the words are what they are. I am ashamed of the white response, feeling victimized and pointing fingers - in fact blaming the victims of white oppression and hatred for being ungrateful, disloyal, hateful, and violent. The media has blown Dr. Wright's sermons way out of proportion, has not considered their context, and has shown inflammatory snippets. Whites don't understand Liberation Theology.

Then we lapsed into Big Love talk. I am amazed at how finely drawn the series is. It captures the eye and heart of the Mormon experience against which the back drop of the polygamist family is played. The series is becoming a guilty pleasure at our house. (Nikki is so evil....)

Cat Years

Mookie

Mookie passed away last night. She was Perry's cat, rather Perry was her owner. She ruled his home with a firm but benevolent paw, and lived a very long and good life. My heart goes out to Perry, because I know that he was Mookie's devoted companion. Perry loved that cat, and Mookie in her reserved, queenly way, certainly loved Perry. They were a perfect couple for 15 years. Mookie, I won't hear your scamper on the stairs when I visit. And I won't experience you jumping on the table, and smelling my cup of coffee. I'll miss seeing you drink from the bathroom sink. Perry, I love you and Mookie. I know you miss her dearly. You're very much in our thoughts and heart.

Hmmm... Birthday Cards?

Okay, I've waited long enough. It's a week after my birthday. My mother sent me a birthday card, and that was it! Yeah, if I have to tell you about this, you're probably on a shit list. Not that I'm keeping score or anything. I mean, my mom's card didn't even have a hot guy on it! What's going on here? Did I miss the interoffice memo? Are the boyz trying to tell me something? I guess I'll have to wait until next year to find out.

Bratwurst and Sauerkraut

Martini Man
Credit: Tim Walton, ©2008, All Rights Reserved

Well, another birthday dinner under my belt. We had a good time at Old Europe, but I'm thinking we'll go somewhere else next year. The waiters were cute, but the service was very slow. It may have been the crowd, the main restaurant had a big crowd, and there were a bunch of Marines in dress uniform with their women in the party room. The slow service did not dim my party mood in the least; I was just getting very hungry.

Perry, Ron, and I drove downtown. We were discussing the Prius navigation system on the way. The system uses a call center in Bangalore. The car sends an invisible signal through the air to a geosynchronous satellite that communicates with the call center. We believe (though have not confirmed) that the car has a camera and a microphone inside the passenger compartment so that the young woman (with an irritating voice) who is directing us can see and hear us as we puzzle over the details of the route. We have some paranormal evidence that all of the employees in the call center compare notes on their respective passengers, generally ridiculing us for our faux fashion statements, and occasionally they misdirect us down one-way streets just for grins. The navigation system rocks! Really.

We found a nifty parking place and made it to the restaurant. Tim and Brian showed up forty minutes later. Brian claims responsibility for the tardiness, but I never heard the back story. Ron, Perry, and I put the time to good use by eating potato pancakes and herring salad.

Ron found something on the menu that he could eat. He was pleased about that. I forgot to ask him how it was. I had the bratwurst and sauerkraut. Ummmm, savory and sour. This restaurant really does know how to fix the old favorites. A little mustard, a little bratwurst, a little sauerkraut, and I probably do need to make an appointment with a cardiologist.

Of course, the nicest part of the evening (and why I forgive the slow service) was the fine company I was keeping. We had a great time talking and enjoying a birthday dinner. I don't think you could find four finer friends than the ones I had around the table. I love them all dearly. So you add the friends, a mixed drink, a beer, and a dessert to the appetizers and the bratwurst, well, you have a surefire recipe for indigestion this morning. That's okay. It goes with the territory, and I should probably see a gastroenterologist as well.

The other boys observed an elderly couple seated directly behind me who appeared to be experiencing some obvious indigestion with our celebration. Perhaps Ron said the word, "lesbian," too loud. Maybe they had never seen five gay men eating dinner together, and enjoying it so much. I am fairly certain that we were not being too loud or making spectacles of ourselves, but I could be mistaken. I hope the problem was the couple's food, and not our company.