Post Commentary Sparks Revisionist Art

The Washington Post published a commentary by Phillip Kennicott in today's Style Section that got me thinking about the recent art/censorship/gay controversy surrounding a video created by the artist David Wojnarowicz, and subsequently removed from the National Portrait Gallery exhibit, Hide/Seek: Difference and Desire in American Portraiture.

The dustup was sparked by Bill Donohue, president (and apparently the only member of) the Catholic League who vehemently attacked Wojnarowicz's video A Fire in My Belly as being anti-catholic. His real agenda appears to be to stoke the tiresome culture wars that continue around homosexuality in this country, and Mr. Donohue is quite successful in that regard. He set an anti-gay trap for the exhibition and for the Smithsonian, and R. Wayne Clough, Secretary of the Smithsonian walked right into it.

And R. Wayne Clough just kept right on walking. He's been silent on the issue ever since he made the decision to remove the video. The controversy (air quotes), the anti-catholic message (ironic air quotes) of the video stems from an approximately eleven second segment which shows ants climbing over a crucifix. Donohue took this segment completely out of the context of the remainder of the video, and denounced the whole piece as being anti-catholic. And Mr. Clough went along for the ride, feeling that it was better to appease the Catholic League, then to let museum goers make up their own minds.

Mr. Kennicott in his commentary calls for Mr. Clough to resign his post as Secretary. Kennicott further states that the curators of the exhibit should honor AA Bronson's request to have his work, Felix, June 5, 1994, removed from the exhibition in protest over the censoring of Wojnarwoicz's video. Indeed, the huge blank wall at the end of the exhibition would bear mute testimony to something, but I'm not sure to what. I have a better idea.

The curators should remove Felix, June 5, 1994 from the exhibition. Then they should nail R. Wayne Clough to the wall in its place. It serves the catholic need of Mr. Donohue, and it certainly is Roman in its application of justice. It will also please the masses.

R. Wayne Clough after the exhibition curators added him to "Hide/Seek"

My Closet

Who thought peanut butter could be so deadly?
The flattened, nearly headless mouse lay stiff
the trap sprung, but not a lick of Jif remained.
What peanut butter peril enticed the rodent there
to release the bale that bloodied hair, what pain.
Did it see stars before the end? Was it instant death?
Or were there seconds of nervous charge elapsed
a crashing synapse, broken neck, and matted pelt
a terror, a sharpened, sickened moment's motion
a squeal before no air could pass the esophagus?

The mousetrap sits on the drainboard drying.
Scrubbed clean of fear-soaked blood and urine,
ready to bring another mouse to ruin in the closet.
Reset with peanut butter and returned downstairs.

When my Mother Died

In the weeks after the funeral,
The widows came to the house
Corningware, Tupperware, Rubbermaid.
The doorbell rang; each dish accepted,
acknowledged, and refrigerated.

Jello eight ways. Three kinds of macaroni.
Spaghetti and meatballs in a metal bowl.
Four tossed salads with five different dressings.

Three molds, five glass baking dishes, four casseroles,
washed, dried, and returned.

December, January, and February.

Mysterious Mother

O Mother with your burning heart,
Sursum Corda on your lips,
Betrayed, the blade wedged in your valve.
Your skirted smile scarce hides your sorrow.
A golden crown can't salve your loss.
The lily's fragrance masks the stench
of death, of lost tomorrows.
O Mother's son sprained on the cross
O Mother's heart broke from the loss
A world quickly walks on by
lost in talk, concerns, and bills.
Your lips are closed to words expressed
that might explain your open breast,
spread apart with bleeding flames,
a heart afire that fans your pain.
O Mother, I can hardly stand to watch.
Not a wrinkle or a blemish on your face,
and yet you tear a hole in my own chest
That connects your picture frame to mine.

O Mother with your burning heart
Betrayed, that blade wedged in your valve.

No Knead Bread, but I only heard about it last Sunday

I'm a fan of Lynne Rosetto Kasper's Splendid Table, and I was listening to it as background noise last Sunday. One of her guests was Jim Lahey, owner of the Sullivan Street Bakery, and the inventor of No Knead Bread. He was making claims on the show that this is a chewy, wonderful rustic bread, just the kind I've been looking for.

Of course, I was off Googling the Internet for No Knead Bread recipes, and they all came back to Jim's basic recipe, a recipe so simple that even I could make it. It has four ingredients: flour, yeast, salt, and water. You stir them together in a bowl, cover it, and let it sit for the next 18 - 20 hours. Then you (minimally) shape the loaf, let it proof for another couple of hours. Finally, you really crank up the heat in the oven, and bake the loaf. It's baked in a covered, heated dutch oven, then the loaf is uncovered, and the baking continues until the top of the loaf is browned.

This isn't to say that other recipes aren't out there. They are, but they acknowledge Jim's genius, and they use his methods and recipe proportions. The method was published in 2006, but as the old joke goes, I only heard about it yesterday. Even Martha Stewart has her version of No Knead Bread. She uses olive oil to grease the mixing bowl, and to grease the top of the bread dough while it's rising. The oil is not necessary.

I like this bread for several reasons: it is simple. It heats up the kitchen when it's cold outside. The loaf really is a rustic loaf. The texture is crusty, chewy, and holely. The gluten forms during the long rising, and the flavor is distinct - a slight sourness rounded out by the salt, with a smoky aroma. Although the crust is singed in places, the loaf does not taste burnt. The loaf looks like and tastes like it just came out of a wood-fired oven.

An Important Part of Cooking

An important part of cooking is creating the smell. Try this: heat the oven to 400°F. Take some chicken giblets, and maybe the wing tips, and place them with a little oil and butter in a small iron skillet. Sprinkle them with salt, a grind of pepper, and two large pinches of thyme. Set the skillet in the oven for fifteen minutes. In the meantime, chop half an onion, a small carrot, and a stalk of celery. Add to the chicken giblets, and continue cooking for another 15 minutes or so.

Take a sniff. The smell is herby from the thyme. The onions are fragrant, and you can smell the sweetness of the carrot and the fresh whiff of the celery. The aroma hits my nose when I open the oven door.

Quickly, my chicken stock takes shape as I dump the skillet contents in a saucepan, and add some water, a bay leaf, some cloves, and allspice. As the stock bubbles, the wonderful smells continue, and my home smells lived in and loved. The joy of onions, carrots, and a chicken neck transform a cool autumn day into an abundant scent of memories.

Each Day I Write a Poem

Each day I write a poem
Not always with much meter
Never published in a tome
Unsavored by most readers

Sometimes, my poems have punctuation.
Each line is filled with tidy thoughts.
Captitalized lines march in formation.
All ended neatly with tiny dots.

Or I can wander.

And not really put much thought
into heuristics.

I'm not Emily Dickinson.

Stone Gray Trunks

Stone gray trunks, leafless
limned in the radiant burst of
a declining fall sun
hold aloft a vault
dyed brilliant blue.

The brightness of autumn afternoon
fills my eye in this sanctuary
that was disguised as a forest path
just weeks ago.

I can see the vistas in the trail now.
The abrupt majesty of this place
overwhelms me in this moment.
I am grateful for this moment-
that in this little end node of time
the whole universe conspired
(for twelve billion years)
to make this happen.

Blind Passion

When Jerry, Ron, and I were traveling across America, we were having a food conversation, picking out the smells and flavors in a restaurant somewhere (possibly at the Painted Pony in St. George, Utah). Jerry remarked that without seeing the dish, and the ingredients, he wasn't picking up on the aromas and textures. He said he'd like to try the food blindfolded. Suddenly, a great idea was born.

Jerry and I talked about the blindfold idea several times, trying to figure out how people could eat a meal blindfolded. (Try it yourself; it's not easy. Hint: put a very large napkin in your lap.) Gradually, we refined the concept, and decided to try it out on a potluck group that we belong to.

Here's the idea: we would ask each guest to bring a dish that represented their cooking passion and a blindfold. Prior to the meal, we would have a blindfolded tasting of each dish. The rules were, no guest would tell the other guests what he had brought. No more than one guest could be in the kitchen at a time. While we were tasting the food, we would all be wearing blindfolds.

To make this possible, we needed some helpers. I volunteered Ron (bless his heart!), and Jerry recruited Ed. Ed and Ron worked the kitchen while six of us enjoyed the fruit of their labors. The helpers warmed up the dishes, and assisted those guests who need to make last-minute preparations of their dishes. The dishes were tasted serially, and for each presentation, Ron and Ed would put tasty morsels in six small cups, announce to the guests to put on their blindfolds, make a pass through the living room, giving us each our taste, remove the spent cups, and tell us that we could remove our blindfolds.

Having just a taste of each dish was delightful. Being blindfolded made me more aware of the food's texture. I tasted flavors that I don't think I would have noticed without the blindfold. The food was wonderful, from the papery lightness of roasted kale to the earthy, citrusy taste of a beet salad full of exotic textures and flavors. Quinoa added a bity texture to mashed sweet potatoes. Who knew that broccoli is right at home in a burrito? My offering was scalloped potatoes. There's nothing like a cheesy shot of goodness in the dark! The cruncy finale was a pumpkin cake roll filled with toffee and whipped cream, and topped with a caramel sauce. What a taste that was, a spongy, creamy, crunchy treat.

After each taste we took off our blindfolds and discussed the subject morsel. Each cook spent a few seconds talking about his dish. Personally, the most surprising taste and texture was the roasted kale. It was papery, and it's tasted exploded on the tongue. I thought the ending, the pumpkin roll was completely awesome!

The Mouse Has Roared

The people have spoken, and it's going to take some real leadership in Washington to figure out exactly what the people have said. Mostly, I think, the people are fed up. All kinds of themes emerge from this disgruntlement: smaller government, less taxes, poor economy, government overreach, take back our nation. I'm depressed, but if I were Harry Reid, Mitch McConnell, or John Boehner, I'd be terrified. I don't think the government has overreached. I think our politicians have. The voters sent a message: change the way things are done in Washington. The conundrum is what do the voters want changed?

Our country is in for a lot of misery, two years of misery - maybe a lot more. The United States is in a different kind of recession, and businesses and people have lost confidence in the economy. This particularly hurts our consumer-driven economy, because people are saving more, spending less, and hunkering down for the long term. In short, personal responsibility is taking the economy to hell in a handbasket. For all the reasons that people voted in this election, this economic trend isn't going to change much in the short and medium term, not until the American people feel confident about their paychecks and their jobs.

Politicos are proposing solutions that aren't going to solve the economic crisis. Cutting taxes and reducing spending won't get the public to consume more. Instead, those two proposals will spread a lot more misery by removing an (already tattered) economic safety net from the very poor, and threaten programs meant to help the middle class. As for the government overreach charge, regardless of how voters feel about the bailout, it will be repaid to the Treasury, and the bailout did keep the finance system and the economy from collapsing entirely. Without government intervention, the calamity would have been a lot worse. I believe that cynical politicians know this, and that "government overreach" is a bogus argument that has confused voters.

Politicos want to repeal Obamacare. Beware. That really isn't what the voters want. When polled on various parts of the health insurance law, most voters agree with the provisions. But cynical politicians have twisted the law and scared the voters into thinking that the law will impose a socialistic dictatorship on America. Politicians sneer about "European-style healthcare." Irony is lost on our leaders. Most Europeans who are covered by a government-sponsored healthcare plan are really quite happy to have it. I'm much more frightened by our "American-style political discourse."

Rand Paul wants to take back America. He echoes many other newly-elected leaders on their way to Washington, DC. Who are these leaders taking America from? Is the level of discourse so polarized that those with whom we disagree are un-American? To the politicians who promise to take back America, I would offer this advice: look in the mirror. The American people want a responsive government. They want politicians who will work across party divides to find solutions. And the American voters will take back Capital Hill in 2012, if you don't make governing work. If that doesn't terrify you, you're already in trouble.

Dinner and All That (Explained to the Uninitiated)

Ron pointed out to me that I tend to gloss over details in my blog entries. So I thought I'd try to explain better what I mean in my annotated version of yesterday's entry.

Sometimes, dinner is just what dinner is. You can't explain it. It just happens. Well, actually you can explain it, but I put in those two sentences for dramatic affect. And dinner doesn't "just" happen, it takes a fair amount of work, if not planning. The less planning the more chopping, paring, and drinking spirited beverages. I know this from personal experience.I like the word melange*. I'm not quite sure what it means (I really do know what it means, because I looked it up before I published this blog post), but I think it explains tonight's dinner perfectly (It didn't, but that's the subject of another blog post).

Ron had prepared a list of dining possibilities inside our kitchen. I kid you not! He withdrew a list from his shirt pocket. I was totally amazed! They included green salad; warmed over veggie stew (more about that later*); watermelon, beet, and tomato salad; potatoes; roasted cauliflower; corn on the cob; and beet greens. He said we didn't need to fix all of it(!), but these were the options. He was going to pass on the veggie stew, but everything else was in play, if I wanted it.

Okay, here's the lowdown on those asterisks and the veggie stew. I'm not sure that I literally "like" the word "melange," but it fits in well with my narrative style, at least I think so, and I'm writing this blog. If you can come up with a better word, please comment on this post. Oh, and about the veggie stew, it was another chili debacle. I accidentally put too much heat in it, like two ancho chilies and a fair amount of chipotle chili powder, plus some significant amount of cayenne pepper, and many grinds of black pepper. Honestly, it did not taste too hot for me, but when Ron started sweating profusely, I kind of figured maybe I could have used a lighter touch. Bless his heart, he did not complain until after eating at least three spoonfuls, and then he ate the rest of the bowl with a manly determination. You have to love this guy!

Ron's keen on corn, almost like he was born in Kansas Do Tel Aviv natives eat corn on the cob? or something. I really wanted some fried potatoes (it's a well-known fact that fried potatoes contain significant amounts of essential vitamins and minerals, especially if they are Idaho potatoes). The veggie stew had so much chili in it, that I figured the fried potatoes would cut a little of the heat, and my heartburn wouldn't kill me when I went to bed. I did have heartburn, and it did affect me when I went to bed, but I consider that as a minor penance for subjecting Ron to the veggie stew earlier. Besides, it really tasted wonderful, smoky and hot. I was a go on the beet and watermelon salad, and the beet greens. Operation Melange Dinner* was about to get underway.

*I started using nomenclature like this after Operation Iraqi Freedom. I figured if Dick Cheney could co-opt a perfectly useful word and turn it into a militaristic slogan of American Imperialism, I could do the same when referring to certain culinary operations in my own kitchen. Besides, I'm quite sure that Dick and Lynne must love chili because they are from Wyoming, and Wyoming is famous for buffalo chili. The Cheney's would probably think that my vegetable chili was a little effete, and if the shoe fits, wear it.

I figured Ron could eat the corn, and I would eat the veggie stew. I peeled the potatoes; he finished prepping the watermelon, beet, and tomato salad*, husked the corn on the cob, and washed the beet greens. *Did you do a double take when you read watermelon, beets, and tomatoes? I did, too. But I have learned that Ron's recipes, while exotic, are more than worth the experiment. The salad was very good, with watermelon sweetness and crunch, and the subtle flavor of the beets, plus their texture. This dish deserves a repeat on the dinner table. I got the potatoes frying about the time the beet greens were cleaned. Then all we had to do was to wait on the potatoes, warm up the veggie stew, and zap the corn on the cob.

And we did all that, got it on the table, and had an absolutely wonderful meal. He loved his corn, and the potatoes did cut the chili burn on the veggies. We had this colorful, delightful, and fresh meal that was tasty, and didn't have any cholesterol, corn syrup, BHA, or BHT. Nothing came from a box. Most of it came from the CSA farm in Pennsylvania. The food was good, and the company unsurpassed. I enjoy these cooking adventures with Ron, and appreciate his skill, talents, and inquisitiveness in the kitchen. I'm happy he cooks for me! Real food for real homosexuals.

Dinner and All That

Sometimes, dinner is just what dinner is. You can't explain it. It just happens. I like the word melange. I'm not quite sure what it means, but I think it explains tonight's dinner perfectly.

Ron had prepared a list of dining possibilities inside our kitchen. They included green salad; warmed over veggie stew (more about that later); watermelon, beet, and tomato salad; potatoes; roasted cauliflower; corn on the cob; and beet greens. He said we didn't need to fix all of it(!), but these were the options. He was going to pass on the veggie stew, but everything else was in play, if I wanted it.

Ron's keen on corn, almost like he was born in Kansas or something. I really wanted some fried potatoes. The veggie stew had so much chili in it, that I figured the fried potatoes would cut a little of the heat, and my heartburn wouldn't kill me when I went to bed. I was a go on the beet and watermelon salad, and the beet greens. Operation Melange Dinner was about to get underway.

I figured Ron could eat the corn, and I would eat the veggie stew. I peeled the potatoes; he finished prepping the watermelon, beet, and tomato salad, husked the corn on the cob, and washed the beet greens. I got the potatoes frying about the time the beet greens were cleaned. Then all we had to do was to wait on the potatoes, warm up the veggie stew, and zap the corn on the cob.

And we did all that, got it on the table, and had an absolutely wonderful meal. He loved his corn, and the potatoes did cut the chili burn on the veggies. We had this colorful, delightful, and fresh meal that was tasty, and didn't have any cholesterol, corn syrup, BHA, or BHT. Nothing came from a box. Most of it came from the CSA farm in Pennsylvania. Real food for real homosexuals.

Food in Taos

One of the (many) joys of being human is eating well-prepared food. Food reflects both culture and place. It has its creation in the roots of the people who prepare it, and its substance in the bounty of the land and the sea. Living things are transformed by us into food that transforms and sustains us. Maybe that's why I enjoy cooking and eating so much. They are transformative and sacramental acts that have the power to imbue us with the culture, the history, and the elemental essence of the cooks and their landscapes from which the food springs.

So I am here in Taos. Over the past several three weeks, I've had a few "southwestern" meals. One was a soulless experience at a chain restaurant in Grand Lake, Colorado. Another was a timid meal at a cafe in Cortez, Colorado. But tonight at Graham's Grille in Taos, New Mexico, I had a meal that was true to its place, and in which the chef's sense of ingredients, textures, tastes, and fidelity to the dish all came together in a wonderful, sensual way. The chicken and green chile tamale pie was an entree to savor and delight in. I ate it slowly, deliberately tasting and enjoying it. It had a fragrant, corny taste. The cheese was just messy enough, but didn't overwhelm the rest of the dish. The green chile added a sweet heat to the tamale and the tamale was buried beneath chopped lettuce, tomatoes, a dollop of guacamole and two blue corn tortilla chips, happy to be along for the occasion.

Tonight's experience is what food should be about: a meal born in the chef's heart, knowledge, and skill; faithful to the ingredients; acknowledging the cultural context of the dish; and preparation \in a fashion that recreates the dish, and challenges our notions of what we thought the dish should be. That experience makes for a delightful meal.

My Intermittent Blog (Life!)

I'm sitting in our hotel room at Jacobs Lake Lodge in Kaibab National Forest. We're about 40 miles from the north rim of the Grand Canyon, and tomorrow, we'll probably go on a hike below the rim, just because we can.

For those of you among my four readers who are wondering why I haven't written in here in about two weeks, it's because I'm on vacation, having a really wonderful time, seeing parts of America up close and personal, which is really a good way to see it.

Community of Christ Temple in Independence, Missouri

We have seen what appears to be a fantastical space ship landing in the midst of Independence, Missouri. Latter-Day Saints seems to be a subtext of this trip. We walked around the Temple Lot, and admired the Temple built there by the Community of Christ. On the Temple Lot is another Latter-day organization, the Church of the Temple Lot, and across the street is a visitors center for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. This ground is a sacred place for many people, and Harry Truman spoke in the auditorium here a couple of times.

Tall Prairie Grass

Further on our travels, Jerry and I happened on the Tall Prairie Grass National Preserve. The visitors center there is an old limestone barn built by a rich farmer. The land has been acquired by the National Park Service and the National Conservancy and is jointly managed. The prairie, here, is beautiful, and I never would have seen it if I had called this place Flyoverland rather than Drivethroughland. It really is worth the drive through.

Stay tuned for more ruminations. I'll try to add something here later.

What a Webcam Will Do

So I got a new netbook computer today with a little tiny webcam in it. This is what I look like after a long day of not getting a whole lot accomplished. Let me take that back. I went to Best Buy. I visited Tim and hung out at Sushi Damo. I went shopping with Ron. We ate out at Baja Fresh. Oh what a day it was, and could have been a lot better had my old computer decided not to have a brain ameurysm, and slowly fade away this morning. Actually, I should be upstairs packing for the next Great American Adventure of driving across the Heartland. But I guess that can wait until tomorrow.

Mt. Sneffels We Are Here

Montrose, Colorado is a pretty good location to get to the other places you always wanted to visit. We went south to Ridgway, Ouray, and Telluride. Heading out of Ridgway is the Mount Sneffels viewpoint, actually a spot that is used by the highway department for gravel. But, it has a picturesque fence from which to take picturesque pictures of loved ones in front of Mount Sneffels. So we did.

Lesley, Grace, Mt. Sneffels, Happy, Steve

When the Lights Go Out

Ron and I are having a mini-vacation in the luxurious Hampton Inn in downtown Silver Spring. The finely appointed room and the delicious breakfast are making this a memorable couple of days, indeed. We hope the power gets restored in Wheaton quickly. An enforced vacation isn't quite the same thing as a planned vacation.

The power went out yesterday afternoon during a very violent thunderstorm. Outages range from Gaithersburg east to College Park. The power may not be restored for a couple more days. We're crossing our fingers.

I do enjoy having electricity in our hotel room. I'm so used to power being on. It's difficult to use a wireless computer when the network is down. I am going to the house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to hope that the power will come back on. I'm ready to end this mini-vacation (but only when the electricity returns to 2101).

A New Dawn

I don't mean to be ironic; it just comes out that way. I slept in my own bed for the first time in a week, and indeed, it is a new dawn, a gentler dawn, a more rested dawn.

Ron and I spent the last week at the IMEN Gathering at Camp Ramblewood near Havre de Grace, Maryland. It's a gay naturist gathering, full of a lot of flair and verve, although not always at the same time. I added my own atmospheric presence at the gathering, too.

And I wasn't even one of the fabulous ones, although if I keep it up, I'll be fabulous before I die. The pic is the part of me that can be displayed in this blog. I wouldn't want to violate my TOS.... I was participating in a Rocky Horror costume contest. I looked very scary, complete with fishnet and leather corset, not to mention the thigh-length vinyl boots with 7" heels. I was in orbit.

I continued to the wear the costume for six hours which included dinner, and a talent show performance. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. Beauty doesn't come cheap! Classy means more than being born in a trailer park on Christmas Eve. Sometimes, you have to show your trouper colors and persevere. I think I look pretty good for an old man.

Naked Anxiety

I cannot use adjectives around naked men.
Hot? Or not-so-hot?
Speechless with small talk.
I don't want to offend hot naked men.

My own insecurity safely in hand
I hope, I think I'm a hot naked man,
maybe I'm a hot naked man,
maybe I was a hot naked man,
maybe I could be a hot naked man.
No, I can't use adjectives around naked men.

The stomachs, the gravitas,
the wrinkled notions of
boy grown much older:
Hot I don't think so,
in this reflection of missed connections
for not being hot and
not seeing hot, too.

I cannot use adjectives around naked men.

Short and Sweet

Happy on Fire

Okay, Fans, all four of you. I realize that I've been remiss over the last few weeks. Lots of stuff has happened, and you don't know jack. If I were you, I'd go somewhere else to read the news!

Not that I'm mocking you, or anything like that, like you don't have lives or are a bunch of losers, no, no, Happy would never do that, unless he thought he could get away with it, and make you believe that he actually cared about somebody, other than himself, which is kind of an interesting concept, anyway, because why would anyone except an egocentric person with an outsized concept of self keep a blog anyway?

None of this has anything to do with why I'm writing this entry, or why I entitled it, Short and Sweet. With a title like that, you might think I was going to write about waffles or cookies, both of which can be short and sweet, and in fact, I have some great cookie recipes on my recipe blog. That's probably too literal a reading of the title of this entry. In fact, I was going to make this entry a short summary of my activities in the last two weeks, but that's probably boring. But I'll do it anyway.

High on the list, while I was at the IAGSDC Square Dance Convention, Chi-Town Shakedown last week, Brian sent me one of those email questionnaires that you complete and send out to 147 of your closest friends. Brian in his own responses indicated that I was slow, perhaps a little sarcastic, and (if you really read between the lines) somewhat unhinged. To my credit, I completed Brian's questionnaire, and I'm quite pleased with the results. I'm grateful to Brian for providing the opportunity, even though it was an immense distraction (me thinking about it while on the dance floor trying to do-si-do). It consumed me. I spent hours awake at night thinking about an appropriate response. So I'm glad that that's been dispensed with.

The square dance convention was fabulous. I helped lay the flooring on the Wednesday before the convention, and met Norman during the work. Norman is this nice optometrist from New York City. I could just fall into the pools of his eyes. Dreamy in a mature male, who hasn't gone to seed, bearish sort of way. We hung out together on the Advanced floor for a couple of days. He's trying to nail down his Advanced calls. I was slumming because I just couldn't face the Challenge 1 floor. I danced several tips there on Friday, and decided that my head hurt too much to continue. I was nursing a sinus infection, and just couldn't do Challenge. Norman and I took a very satisfying nap Saturday afternoon, that left me refreshed and ready for more dancing.

It's great fun to have enough confidence in a dance program to go on auto-pilot and just move about the floor. I can do that at Advanced, and it's my own little heaven. Dancing is a lot like organized religion. The caller calls, and the dancers obey. Sound familiar? It's very hierarchical, a real S&M relationship. I had a great time dancing with Norman.

So on Sunday afternoon, the very last session of dancing, I went back to the Challenge 1 floor. I had a fabulous time on it. I was in a square with three (straight) couples from England who were square dancing across the United States. They dance C1 flawlessly, and helped me through it. What a dream square. I moved on to another square, and this guy bops up, takes my hand and we dance together. I get into another square, and there he is again, smiling at me, and hugging me 47 nanoseconds too long at the end of the tip. I ask him, your room or mine. He says yours, and asks me if his partner can come along. Whoa!

So that's how I met Michael and Steve. Michael is a hot little cub, and Steve is a big and very friendly bear. So we snuffled off to room 1530, and I discovered my inner bear. It turns out that Michael had been stalking me since Silicon Galaxy, which was was five conventions ago. He saw me in the Moonshine Tip, and had to have me. Such are the siren ways of square dance conventions.

The other wonderful experience at the convention was the piano bar. Chip Prince played all the show tunes, and several of us belted them out. I haven't done that in twenty years, and I only know three musicals, but it was so much fun, and hilarious, too. Thanks, Chip!

Joe Branch and I went on the Fun Badge Tour together, seeing the nether regions of Chicago, then I trekked with Grace to Calumet Park, and spent the night at her place. She turned me on to Ancestry.com. Very Interesting.

Now I'm back home. I've been out on my bike. I'm getting ready for the IMEN Gathering. This is our week in the sun. I should be packing, but I'm not. Actually, I should be writing out Condo checks, but I'm not. That will get done before we leave, or the world as we know it will be fundamentally changed. I'm really in a mood to do nothing, so I'm writing this interminable blog entry, instead.

Last night, Leo came over after work. Work drag is a big turn on for me. So I drag him inside by his tie. Leo is an overachiever. Really. So he wants me to be the cowboy and ride, ride, ride. I agree that that would be a good idea. I put some lubrication on my fingers, and prepare my delicate regions, only to discover that I haven't completely washed my hands of the chili peppers that I was roasting and skinning for dinner. Oops. Later on, Leo tells me, "Your ass is on fire." Boy, was that an understatement. Toward the end of the performance, he needed me to help him reach satisfaction. I was hesitant to do it, because of the perhaps residual damage I might cause to his member. But he urged me on. He reached Nirvana. I hope it was not a lot hotter than he expected.

Today, a couple of Ron's friends came over, Chris and Peter who were later joined by Jay. We went out to lunch, then came home for a wonderful conversation about life as gay men. I do not believe that straight men sit around the living room (or a campfire) and talk about being straight. Believe me, gay men talk a lot about being gay. I think it goes with the territory. So I told them my Leo story. They laughed their asses off. So did I. In fact today, it's only a warm memory, rather than hot sex. Leo, it really was on fire.