esrosedotblog

Today's film was more film directors from the disc Great Directors.

Hard to encapsulate.

It is like having a pitcher pouring into your mouth. A drink from a fire hydrant. So much, so little time.

I don't even feel like writing about it.

It is a very good disc and I am glad to have it.

But I will be back to film films tomorrow.'

Labels: films

I lived through World War II and have vivid memories of it.

But they are all personal. I was four when it started for the United States and eight when it ended. Almost all movies about the war have not really touched me. I guess I am averse to bluster and big booms.

But there are a few quiet films that tell me a lot about what the war was like and, oddly, these end up being European films. The American ones tended to John Wayne and such propaganda that in retrospect they are hard to take.

Today's movie is especially dear to me. It is Danish and tells about a hero of the War there. Distance makes it more real somehow.

Max Manus (2008)

Manus was an underground leader during the German occupation and the film quietly depicts his contributions but also his personality in a compelling way.

This film is a 5 out of Netflix5 and I have bought it for my collection.

Its appeal is hard to describe but I think that the performances are key. The quiet progress of the simple lives of its resistance leaders toward what came to be hero status at the end of the War.

Real heroes.

Labels: films, WW II

I had a physical checkup over the last week.

I have reached the age where they will pay for an every four month cycle so, as much as I squirm about it, that is what my doctor has me on.

The lab report came back today. I passed it all with flying colors. The trouble I had last year with urinary stuff is gone. Back to normal. All OK. The creatinine. Down below what it is supposed to be.

But he is not going to relent on the frequency.

I do not really mind going. I like him, I like the routine and I like knowing what is going on. And, medically, I just figure that I am beyond the age of consent. What I want or think I need is not really up to me. I have to turn it all over.

I have to admit that catching things in time is a good thing. The spell I had last year with the nephrologist and the urologist was enough to tell me that early detection about anything is best. It is not a sell point for the medicos.

I have not had any cancer except for years ago with my prostate. They gave me radiation for that and it worked. I am 20 years, maybe more, free and clear. I did find out that they want ten years now and not the five they used to talk about.

But no other cancer anywhere now. It did not spread.

Heart? Nothing. Well, not nothing. There is a beat but it is fine. I take some little pills for an elevated blood pressure but everyone my age takes those. And I have a history of irritable bowel syndrome. Donnatal. Atropine/Hyoscyamine/Pb/Scopolamine. It is a barbiturate so I must be careful. I probably do not need it any more so I have dropped it to one a day. Sometimes I forget about it and nothing happens. He doesn't want me to go off it. So I won't. Doctors orders.

Boring, huh. Medical conditions. But some people read this who care about this kind of thing so, there it is. If you are still reading you are a better person than I. I hate hearing people go on about their medical "issues".

Labels: health, medicine

Today was the blackest of black comedies.

Fun on the run. Gangsters out of control.

I Kina spiser de hunde / In China They Eat Dogs (1999)

It came highly recommended but I do not know from where. This is a hilarious film. With a dark side that is so dark it doesn't quit.

That is the surprise. First, one does not expect this from Scandinavia, I guess that included Denmark, home of this film. Second, there is not a twist that does not get turned somehow. Surprise surprise.

A mild mennered brother seeks help from his criminal brother to get together some cash from an extorting girlfriend. Filial love triumphs through small and large disasters as the young innocent gets the money he needs. But the victim becomes a hero, the mild becomes the strong and the older brother is able finally to admire the younger for being able to sink just a bit lower than he.

See? Twists.

Not to everyone's taste I suppose. But highly enjoyable. With a finale that is the height of magical realism and very fun.

A 3 out of Netflix5.

Labels: films

I knew this but did not see it verified with studies and all.

Gay Neighborhoods are Turning Straight and It Might Not Be a Bad Thing

I don't think it is a bad thing at all.

We lived in Boston's Beacon Hill area and saw it "straighten" out. A combination of real estate deals and the end of crime and nasty street scenes led a lot of straight people to return to what had been, before the gays even, an elite conclave of privileged Anglos.

Same with the South End in Boston which had been ghetto black, then "turned" by gay couples who bought up the row houses, rehabbed, sectioned them off into apartments and condos and then rented or sold to other gay people. I know more than a few gay couples who bought when the buying was good and sold when the selling was even better. And made a bundle.

Now, you would have trouble walking the streets without bumping into little kids and yuppies of all stripes.

Now, Palm Springs. Gayed up with a lot of retired men mostly and the younger gay men who escape here to grow up a little and to be part of the vast service industry that serves people like me.

Now it is changing again here. We still outnumber the straights at all the events that I go to. But then I don't go around to many places. The atmosphere is quite "mixed" though wherever we go.

The gym population, by actual count this morning is probably 50/50 at an early hour (we must be getting up earlier now too) and it is hard to find many young women or single men shopping when I go. Guys and old people.

So, this is the revolution. We forget that it means change and that something is revolving or evolving. And here we are.

The days of the secret handshake, the furtive wink, the sly glance, the knowing grin are mostly over. It is all out in the open.

I remember that when I came out, older gay men actually resented the fracturing of the closet. Now, there is more fracturing. For awhile we were the new blacks, now and after us there are the other marginalized groups. By now the repressive institutions, mostly the church and state, have collapsed their rules and strictures. From what I can see we have even taken over the priesthood, the government and many of the other hallowed halls of former prejudice and hatred.

Only a few bigots are left. I know there are a few closet cases but most of these keep their heads down and grumble the hate words. Knowing that it is their time to disappear.

Here is where we spent at least five full summers and many many weekends before and after.

36 Hours in Provincetown MA

This is a very good writeup.

Of course, we spent many weekends and weeks there before and after our full time. We were gay. We were within a hundred miles. The magnet reached quite far.

In the early years, we would stay with friends, a sleeping bag if there was no extra bed. If we had some money we stayed in a motel off the strip.

Then, for five years we rented a second floor beachfront condo. Old style. Bare wood rafters. Quite old. On the middle east end of Commercial Street. Barely off the strip. But back on the beach, no noise.

In the last years we stayed in high style further out the East End at a nice condo like place on the water. We practically lived there.

And then we wanted our own condo in Boston and that killed the cash cow that we milked to spend so much PTown time.

And, frankly, by that time, we had burned out on most of it. In a good way. Much more relaxed and water oriented. Nice.

But it was time to go and we went. Back to Boston and then for vacations other places. One of which was Palm Springs.

The rest is history. Ten years later we lived here full time. California, here we came.

There is no way that PS has the wild gay vibe of Provincetown. More sedate. For one thing while the gays are now over 40% of the population, we run to the older, more affluent and partying does go on but not anywhere near where we live. Palm Springs has depth and height and the goings on are going on some distance away.

In Provincetown there were two streets and even on the more sedate street, it never went away.

I don't miss it at all. I am glad we did it all though. Unforgettable.

Labels: provincetown

Since I am still in the student applicant business for MIT, I read all the propaganda that comes out about cost and delivery.

Money Magazine has a new ranking out based on the cost and the earnings of a graduate from a host of schools.

The first and best two schools are basically business schools. Babson and Webb Institute. I know Babson. Not Webb.

The third ranking school for bang for the buck is MIT.

Money's Best Colleges.

I graduated there and still interview students who are prospects in my area. Or they interview me.

This is great grist for the mill. Money.

I am not surprised about this although I do think that MIT is one of the most expensive schools in the world. That said, it also has one of the best student aid infrastructures of any school in the world. Maybe the best.

In our interviews (optional talks really with an alumnus and a student over coffee) the issue of cost doesn't come up much. I tell them not to worry about it. I know that whatever their situation, if they have the stuff, the money angle is the last one that is looked at. And never for admission. More for aid.

All applications are blind as to financial circumstances and we are not to address or ask about that. I do not of course. But in my area of the country it is sometimes glaringly obvious that a second or even first generation Mexican boy or girl has a financial hardship. Some not, but most do.

We step aside from it.

All that is handled later after admission.

And that is a good thing.

Since I attended over fifty years ago, the emphasis is on talent and personality. And not net worth.

It is still going on that way.

Good.

Labels: MIT, money

Two young men fall in love.

One is a soccer player, the other a student. Engaged to be married. Trouble ensues.

La Partida / The Last Match (2013)

This happens in Cuba which is not known as the most progressive place for gay men but it could happen anywhere.

Ill fated, the relationship flourishes none the less and as the story unfolds we see that it is universal. Cuba is just another place.

The lines of the story are classical gay romance but the actors, the locale and the particular spin of the Cuban culture play together to make a fine film.

While the ending is the traditional gay-romance-ends-unhappily routine, you can feel the eye wink of the writer director to indicate that the story is the thing and that it was a strong and wonderful relationship.

I liked it. I had already bought it because it was not available on Netflix. So I am glad that I have it and will rate it a 4 out of Netflix5.

It is not nearly as happy and whimsical as the trailer would indicate. Still it is a generous sample.

Labels: gay films

Today's movie was a television show.

Lewis Black hosting an examination of the

History of the Joke (2008) for the History Channel.

No reviews. Just a show. Not bad. Not good. A lot of funny people. The time passed. A 3 out of Netflix5. I got this because I wanted all of Black's videos. I did not notice that it was really not what I thought.

The thing about humor is that you shouldn't talk about it. And of course, they never really answered or tried to answer the questions. Or tell the history. Rambling.

One other thing. This being teevee, they actually bleep the "bad words". Retro. Not funny.

In any case, I own the DVD now but I don't think I will be watching it again any time soon.

Labels: films

I mentioned the New Yorker and, oddly, it becomes an item because of its current cover.

The Fifty Ninth Street Bridge in New York, a favorite which I would often cross on the way into Manhattan. And two cyclists. Male. And nothing said about it.

Just me.

Love it. Thanks.

Labels: gay life

I have neglected writing about my reading.

Perhaps because when I am reading I am not thinking about writing and certainly not about writing about my reading at the moment. Or something.

I need to catch up.

I just put down a wonderful book called The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman. In this lovely novel, various characters get their own chapter. All are part of the staff or audience for a small English language paper published in, of all places, Italy. It is owned by a guy named Ott who has a business empire. He bought it and sort of forgot it many years ago. His story is one of those told. As well as that of his successor son who is a wastrel and idler.

This ownership situation allows the writers and readers have at it together for years without interruption or financial cares. A necessary removal of reality for the kind of things folks get up to here. It is a serious journalistic enterprise however and the mix of ex-pats and locals involved all live very interesting lives, indeed.

The Gelman family are newer Russian emigres and the youngest son, an aspiring writer, is the subject of A Replacement Life. Slava. There is no telling about him in a short review. He is a dolt and a genius and as he sets forth to write his grandmother's ghetto to holocaust to immigrant story. He gets swept up in the stories of a lot of her friends. He makes up grandiose stories which somehow end up being case making for reparations from Germany for their wartime depredations. And so on. His efforts are fraudulent and he is just on the cusp of arrest when, well, that is the story. Great dialect humor without being in dialect. I loved it.

I am currently reading Steve Martin's biography by Steve Martin. Born Standing Up

He says it is not an autobiography because he is writing about this other Steve Martin, the famous one, who became a comedian and not himself. OK. Good idea. It is fun to read. Breezy in the Martin style but not without some bittersweet details about where all that genius comes from.

Labels: books, reading

In writing about Angell, below, I realized something.

I have been reading The New Yorker for 60 years.

When I went to MIT, the dorm sold magazines in the "office" and as I got to be friends with Freddy, a character out of the annals of queendom, he shoved this magazine in my hands and said the equivalent of "read, dear, read".

So I did. And I was tested. Freddy made sure I bought one every week and what is more, he would ask questions about the articles. How did I like this or that.

I didn't go to MIT for the courses actually. As it turns out, I barely managed to pass those. What I got was a whole way of life which was totally new for a boy from the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. A hillbilly. A smart one and an alien among his people but a hillbilly nonetheless. Incidentally the word "hillbilly" passes the spell check with flying colors.

The desk which turned out to be a little fiefdom of its own (I worked there later in the game but was a dining hall worker for most of my time there), impressed itself on every kid who ever lived on East Campus. A complex of dorm buildings all in a tight little community never to be outdone by the newer dorms on West Campus across Massachusetts Drive. We were proles. They were more upper class, non-scholarship. We were clearly sent to East Campus because we were part of a group identified as student aid kids. Loans, scholarships but not likely, and workers on campus jobs. My kind of people. They knew what they were doing, if they were doing it and I believe that they were. In those days stuff like that was done routinely. It worked! No rich kid ever appeared on East Campus except to get help on his homework from some smarter kid who was on the way up. Who might even, someday, hire the rich kid for a job. It was that way. A kind of unraveling of the social fabric that led to MIT leaders all over the world. A lot of people think it is the education. Sure. But it is the experience. The way of life. Engineering has no classes. It works to undo the system not reinforce it. Revolutionary.

MIT was the first school to have work co-op programs in three departments, deals with the likes of IBM and other big companies to take on kids as interns. Nurtured into the system. In a good way.

I digress.

The key point I am making is that it was MIT life, not MIT academics, that made me the man I was and still am today. And, thank god for that. And for Freddy and The New Yorker. One more aspect of the making of a life. What you put in is what you get out.

That's Boston in the background incidentally, after the Charles River.

Labels: culture, MIT

I have been reading Roger Angell in The New Yorker for years. It has been a puzzle to me how he could have been writing there when I started and is still at it. This might be a result of his being 93 today.

The one kind of article I didn't read much was his work on baseball. But when I did, I was fascinated and informed. I just wasn't that interested in baseball.

Now he is appreciated by none other than the bitch Maureen Dowd who I do not read as a matter of conviction. I hate her ass intensely. She calls Mr. Obama Barry and has an attitude that I really do not like at all. But I read this. Because it was about Angell.

Angell in the Outfield

He is being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. A special award for writers of the game.

He is obviously thrilled. He did not set out to be a baseball writer and, in fact, he wrote about everything under the sun. But his baseball columns became popular and so he went for it along with his editor William Shawn. A fluke.

The only time I ever wanted to read about the game. He made it attractive and interesting.

Also, look how neat his desk is.

I am glad he is still alive and, apparently, kicking.

Good for him.

Labels: baseball, writers

Here comes a new wave of effort to stop the criminalization of marijuana.

Now, even the most prestigious editorial page in the country says

Repeal Prohibition, Again

The HTML slyly says "high time marijuana legalization". High time. Ha.

I do not smoke reefer today. It is part of my life as a recovering alcoholic. No substances. Period. But, in the day, I liked my weed and found it benign in almost every sense. That is a pun incidentally. Every sense. Gotta spell it out sometimes.

As I recall, compared to alcohol, I never, ever got in trouble with marijuana. No hangovers, not even a slurred word. Maybe a bad case of the munchies. Perhaps a giggling fit. But not any trouble.

Whereas alcohol? Trouble. Lots of it. Loss of motor control, blackouts, severe hangovers, lapses of judgement. All of it.

I got my ticket punched as far as mj is concerned because, fundamentally, any drug is a gateway for me to the bad one. I almost always had a white wine with my smoke. So, a trigger. I don't use that word, trigger, but there it is.

This is where the whole procession of old aunties, anti-drug fanatics and religionists come in and scream various untruths about the evil of getting high.

What they mostly mean as that marijuana smoke kind of takes the edge off our concern about things that moralists take quite seriously. For example, sex.

There is no better marital aid than a good puff of dope. It enlivens the senses, focuses in on sensation and basically turns down the usual mind chatter that goes on. That gets in the way of being with one's self and/or the other person. It is not essential. It is just a nice enhancer. Like some folks find a glass of wine to be.

Take taste. Same thing. Food is better. The munchies are no joke. Focus again.

I don't have to explain it. Step right up to the local dealer and have a bag if you want to know.

If you dare.

And that is the other thing about all this. There is a certain paranoia to doing a joint. It is just there. I had some of it. Some people have a lot. Some of the paranoia is appropriate but most of it is not. It is an unpleasant side effect and frankly, if there was some reason it was safe for me alcoholically speaking I probably would not use it. But that is me.

Here is the main thing I worry about. When they make too big a deal about marijuana they fly in the face of logic and experience and, basically, the personal experience of most kids who have tried it. None are dependent. Well, except the ones who have a problem with substance anyway. Powerless over that one. Most like the effect.

The heavy anti-marijuana campaigning is over kill and leads an impressionable youth to a conclusion which is not instructive or constructive. That society is a heavy handed and that laws are unreasonable and repressive with no reason. And mostly, rebellion is delicious.

In that respect, we should maintain some restrictions. At least to provide some second thoughts before someone starts to use it.

And so on.

We have been through this before and before that and even before that.

But the New York Times for legalization? That is fucking news.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

Labels: law, marijuana

Before we moved to the desert, a road runner was a cartoon character with a strange beep sound. Beep Beep.

I can testify that if the bird actually beeps it does so in the privacy of its own habitat and not around people.

This morning, we were waiting for our friend Jim to arrive, out front, and we were joined by a road runner. A male. Someone had seen the hen down the street. They travel in pairs.

He was, as usual, curious as to what we were doing and did not flinch at any human thing that we were doing. Of course, we did not run at him or throw anything. We behaved ourselves.

They are a most peculiar bird and as if to live up to their name, will not fly unless and until they absolutely have to. If they can, they prefer running. They will eventually fly of course but not because they want to.

They talk. A harsh squawk. They fuss. They are very interesting. Nod and bob the head, looking us over. Almost challenging us to get closer.

He stayed there as we watched each other. Stood his ground. Eventually I think that he left when the car we were waiting for arrived. By that time we had lost interest in each other. He had other things to do and so did we.

They are not rare by any means. They are very good for their human neighbors because they eat mice and other good sized animals that we consider pests. Unfortunately, this includes lizards so if you have a road runner or two you will not have lizards.

We used to have a nice big one around our house and I remember the day I saw a road runner take off with him. I still mourn the loss.

I am not kidding. Sadness takes over. But lizards grow back and the road runner has his tastes and so be it.

Labels: birds, desert

Today's film is irresistible although I wanted to run a dozen times.

Adams abler / Adam's Apples (2006)

with Mads Mikkelsen and many other familiar Danish actors.

Anders Thomas Jensen is the writer and director of this dark, dark, black irreligious comedy.

It is very funny and, did I say, dark. And I did like the mocking of religion. Pretty ballsy.

That said, I can say that Mads Mikkelsen is perfect as a deluded priest (minister variety not RC) who finds life's meaning in an apple tree near the church. Mikkelsen is the reason I got this. Not the apples or god.

A lot happens to and around this tree.

There is a lot of magical realism and a good supply of very disrespectful talk about and against churches of all kinds. Even God takes a beating.

But I hung in until the end and found it rewarding but not an experience I would want again.

Labels: films

Congressmen, regardless of party, are not known as mental giants.

But it is particularly funny when the buffoonery is GOP based.

Rep. Curt Clawson Mistakes U.S. Officials For Indian Nationals, Awkwardness Ensues

Auto-pandering has a price. You can pander yourself right into the manure pile with your bullshittery.

Clawson had some Indian-Americans testifying. No not the Native American kind of Indians. Indian Indians. OK. I will say it. The ones with the very "swarthy" complexions. Brown people.

It does get confusing.Especially if you are a white Floridian who has not been around.

e heaped praise on their country and countrymen and couldn't stop.

I was amused.

Labels: republican whack jobs

Surprise weather today.

It is raining right now in Palm Springs.

We need it. It has been a long time.

The day has been unsettled, then very cloudy and now, rain.

I cannot tell you how unusual this is.

We do get rain during the "winter" months. Often February is considered the wettest month. July? About 0.1 inches, average. See for yourself here.

While we are at it, we are in the warmest month. It is why we go away so often. But August is just a touch behind.

I went out to "feel" the rain. It is hot and muggy.

Forecasting thunder showers, we heard some rumbles, and rain into tonight.

It is quite unstable and the forecast changes every few hours.

Not exactly edge of seat conditions, but interesting. After all, it is the first weather in a very long time.

Labels: weather

I went back in time today for my current favorite series.

Teen Wolf Season 3, Episodes Silver Finger and Riddled

I was just getting ahead and found out today that they are renewed for Season 5 so there is a long period of catching up ahead of me.

It is a puzzle to me why I like it so much. It is, of course, well produced and very well acted. It is done completely without irony. Straight on. Not camping it up in any way.

In this way the viewer can take it seriously. The fact that each episode is more or less self contained helps this.

There is a bit of suspense as the hour ends but not so much that we can't wait a bit for the next time to come.

They do not overdo the beginning catching-up part either. A few well chosen words and we are on our way. Bang. You get on the train very quickly after that.

It has been awhile since I saw the last episodes. I was away, there have been other films. All that. But I got on very quickly.

I immerse. I do laugh and even get teary. They have me where they want me.

On reflection it is rather silly but not when I am in it. So I don't reflect. I just put the disc in, sit back and let it go.

Labels: films, teen wolf

We have started a new tradition.

Every Thursday, we go out to eat somewhere medium. There are not a lot of criteria involved. It must have table service, be kind of informal and not some la-di-da pretension. We have ended up with six places: Elmers, Coco’s, Jakes, Appetito, Al Dente and Shermans. I include this list for the local interest. Or, if you visit, here is where we will end up.

Last night we went to Elmers. This is a small chain just here on the west coast, 25 locations. They have a great menu which has changed recently. We thought since last time but the waiter said five months.

I had a Ruben Sandwich.

I never noticed it on the menu before (hence our assumption it was a new item).

In any case, it is the first Ruben Sandwich I have had in many years.

The last I remember would have been at Ken's in Boston on Boylston Street.

A Ruben is sublime. Freshly grilled corned beef (shaved), white meat turkey, sauerkraut and miscellaneous dressings (Thousand Island) on thick rye toast.

To top it off I had real lemon merengue pie. Another thing I have not had in years. And this is not the old lemon pudding kind of pie filling. It is the traditional recipe. The one that uses condensed milk. The secret of a good LMP. And, of course, real merengue and not some crappy substitute.

There is some disagreement about the crust for one of these pies. Some use graham cracker. Not me. I don't like that crumbliness. And this pie was a regular crust.

Jeez. I meant to write about the Ruben but end up doing a tribute to the pie.

Well, that is Elmer's for you. Surprises around every corner.

Labels: food

I am proud of my adopted State. In a lot of ways it is similar to my Massachusetts where I lived for so many years. 32.

It is left leaning and, what is more, it works.

There are a lot of jokes about us being where the "fruits and nuts" come from. Well, to some extent. But it is a wonderful kind of nuttiness that makes us take risks and see the world as a place you can arrange for better living for everyone.

I will leave the "fruits" part for another time.

Paul Krugman writes about this today.

Left Coast Rising

The point is that our policies of raising taxes to even out the economy have largely worked. There is more employment, there are expanded social services and, what is more, there is a budget surplus.

Good news for the lefties, bad for the sour grapes, me first right wing who still say it is all a give-away. Wait. Is that one of the conservatives I see there scooping up his benefits of living here?

I live in the middle of the angry right belt. Riverside County and Palm Springs are the home of the old and mean. Less and less so, gratefully. They are thawing out. They have learned that when the tide rises so do all the boats. And, in the end, they are all reaping the benefits of a strong retirement income. At least part from a (gasp) government program, Social Security. The irony.

Labels: California, economy

There are some "stars" who illuminate the world and have managed to incorporate their persona with their person. I don't know her but frequent examination over many years would indicate that Elaine Stritch is one of those people. Certainly there is the person who is "on". A performer. And another side when he or she is "off". But they can be consistent and integrated as merely sides of a whole.

I watched yet another bio-pic of her today. Actually a documentary of her.

Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me (2103)

Double meaning of course. A chin up statement of self and another request to be shown, to perform, to have the camera take a look.

She just passed from us recently. It took a long time. She had a cussedness that must have helped her hold on. She performed almost to the end. One woman shows. A gig with the series 30 Rock.

So here she is again. Showing us how to do it.

Labels: films

Having spent some time being "straight", I can attest to the fact that a lot of straight people have a lot of wrong ideas about "the gays".

This article does a nice job of dispelling many of them.

8 Things Straight People Get Wrong About Gay Men

(The "8" should be spelled out, incidentally, eight, as it is under ten, but never mind. It is a headline.)

I have a longer list but this is enough to provide a good tutorial.

One that we hear less these days is "who is the husband and who is the wife"". This illustrates a blindness so severe that it even ignores that many non-gay relationships steer out of the gender role waters. The answer, dear heart, is that we are both husbands and thank the good lord that is so. We like men after all. Husbands are great. All of us want one! All of us want to be one.

Another one not on the list is a little more refined than the example given but does have to do with what we do in bed. The first answer to that is that bed is just the beginning of it. It is more relevant to spell out what we do all over the house, on the floor even. I have never done it in the attic because I never had one.

We are exotics and it is "normal" for everyone to be curious. As a former member of a straight relationship, I can report that there isn't much difference. God provided many bits and parts for sex play and when the heat is up there is just no end to the possibilities. Even that! Straight people's obsession about the asshole is quite amusing. Little do they know.

The thing is that sex is a full body sport and anyone who is thinking about specific parts is probably revealing an impoverished sex life. By now, the world has tumbled that there is more to sex than fumbling around in bed in the dark. You can do it anywhere and so much the better.

The most peculiar straight reaction is that of women who have the idea they could convert or repatriate a gay man to straight living. Talk about the arrogance of men and their assumptions about manipulation. Women have a touch of the same delusions.

There are, of course, some gay men rumored to be bent on converting straight guys to their way of life but that is really an older myth. There is very little scarcity these days. Lots of gay prospects running around looking for other gay prospects. And, I think, men's expectations are more modest. A one time quickie is fine. In an out so to speak. And what was your name again?

Sometimes you don't even have to buy him dinner or, for god's sake, stay the night and worry about serving breakfast. Low commitment means more frequency of making the connect.

But fundamentally, men like men because that is the way they are built. The culture around it changes but the idea remains the same. Gays are guys who like guys. Period.

Labels: gay culture, gay men

Weird Al Yankovic is back.

Actually, I don't think he went away. He was just waiting around doing his thing waiting for the world to recycle toward a taste for his zany antics.

No Joke! He’s Topping the Charts Weird Al Yankovic Scores With ‘Mandatory Fun’

I have always had a taste for this kind of parodic genius. Spike Jones. Stan Freberg.

Now Weird Al.

And another one.

Labels: comedy

The angst of the "twenties" is a predicable dilemma, soon to be resolved by real life.

In the meantime, suffering is optional.

In this new film about this period of life, the "terrible twenties" are a drawn out affair and not, in the end, very interesting.

The New Twenty (2009)

This is a slice of several lives that intersect and there is not really a lot to recommend it.

There is a gay story line but, it seems, more to be politically correct than to reflect a genuine experience of the gay characters. They ends up being a stereotype.

I suppose this kind of wrecked it for me.

I tried not to feel pandered to.

All in all it is a film that tries hard and has too many people and, in the end, doesn't seem to add up to much of anything but a giant sigh of relief that this self centered age group will soon head into some real life where they can begin to forget about themselves all the time and engage with other people of all ages.

I will give this a 2 out of Netflix5 as I didn't much like any of them including the gay one.

And the cover art? Remember those paperbacks that used to show sexy covers so you would buy them? Similar misrepresentation.

He isn't half that good in the film in any way including that set of abs and shit.

Labels: films

When the Obamas visited the Valley the last time, the rumors began.

Now, a news item. Deemed as "not accurate" by the White House spokesman.

White House Denies Rumors Obama Buying Rancho Mirage Home

Of course it is being denied. No one wants word to go out about buying a new house. Particularly someone as rare and awesome as the Obama family.

It would not be our first President by any means. Eisenhower played golf and had a home here. Gerald Ford.

It is a good place to go because there are so many already famous people here. The "star factor" fades in the desert. Good manners are routine. Gawkers are dispensed with quickly through social disapproval. "Leave them alone".

I would say it is ideal for them for a lot of reasons. Not least of all, the golf. 124 courses. A horrendous drain on the eco system but there they are. Green grass and all. Some are happily "natural" but we know there is no such thing as a natural golf course.

I hope it is true that they will live here. I will not go to see them. I will not gawk. I am like the rest of the people here. Happy to have all kinds of folks and more than happy to leave others alone no matter what their star power.

Labels: Obamas, Palm Springs

I don't report on the weather much.

It is always good. Rare to have it be cloudy or, more rarely, rain.

So it is tediously the same day to day. Oh dear.

Even in winter, as you might guess, it doesn't get very cold.

But we do pay the price for that some summer days.

Of course, we are not outside much. I just went for the mail. It is reported at 109 right now.

But, as you have heard, it is a dry heat. Not that dry for the desert but 9% is pretty low for any place else.

It is the first such day.

We had 120 once but that was in Death Valley. Here, this is pretty much the max. But you never know.

It tends to get hotter toward sunset and that is in three hours.

Labels: heat, weather

Went for my every four month physical this morning.

I have reached the age where this is now the frequency. I tried to talk him out of it but it would seem that Medicare pays for three a year or something and so the argument boils down to it being inconvenient which, of course, he will not buy.

I am a pretty good patient but if I get off the beam, Doctor Jim is pretty good at nudging me back.

I still need to do the tests. Thursday morning. I am too busy tomorrow. See? Still resisting. Just a bit.

Last year, I had an episode of urinary trouble. Blockage at the prostate but that is now taken care of so there is no backup into the kidneys and bladder. TMI? Too bad. The old get to talk about their medical shit.

No. The deal is that I tell all in this blog. Or all that is decent and clean and reverent.

I am not one who labors over being old. It is not a profession. It is a state of mind and, of course, physical condition.

And I have a good, if feisty, attitude and have a lucky body.

So, on to the tests. Let's see what that shows. I know one thing. There will be an elevated creatinine level and that will set off bells. It is just me. But it could get me sent back to the nephrologist to make sure.

A day at a time.

Labels: health

I have had the privilege of being with professional dancers in my life, backstage.

It is not an easy life and yet it is wonderfully rewarding in every instant. From the first dance class to the retirement from the stage, it is a life which is devoted to only one thing. Dance. Other life events occur but all are in reference to the one thing. Dance.

Today's film is a tribute to a person and the profession.

Afternoon of a Faun: Tanaquil Le Clercq (2013)

Through archival footage and contemporary interview with people who were close to her, Tanny's story is brought alive vividly and very engagingly.

Le Clercq was a prima ballerina with Balanchine, Robbins and other top dance directors. In one trip to Europe, she became ill and was diagnosed with polio. The dread disease which has, by now, been conquered. At that time, I remember, it was the terror that walked by everyone especially young people. A very grim reaper.

She became paralyzed and never regained more than movement in one arm.

We see her dance. Luminous. We see her after the illness. Still luminous. She beat it. Not the disease. She never danced again. But she had a life in dance and in all other respects. Told she would die in her forties she lasted into her eighties.

Indomitable.

An important narrator is her main dance partner Jacques d’Amboise who is still bright eyed and also still has his Bronx accent. An American he had to affect a frenchified persona to advance. Then dropped it later in his career. Another wonderful story of transformation.

I am not attracted to this kind of film because I do not like sob stories and avoid emotional manipulation. But there is none of this here.

It is straight forward with lots and lots of footage of Le Clercq dancing. She appeared widely on national television frequently. A star. I am grateful that they did not use the sound from these clips but managed to dub in appropriate, high fidelity music that perfectly matches the steps. Ballet is, of course, essentially music set to music. The timing is as precise in all respects. But it does take some care to dub in as the film does so successfully. I think it makes all the difference.

I am really glad that I saw this and would not mind seeing it again. A 4 out of Netflix5.

Labels: dance, films

The annual assault by ants is going full blast.

Argentinian ants to be specific. The little black bastards. They are everywhere.

But not as bad as they were when I left.

There does not seem to be any way to stop them. Ant traps, not enough. Raid Ant and Roach Killer, temporary.

Outside, they march in lines like soldiers. Some of the lines point to the house. I try to spray those also.

It is just the usual routine and while this year seems worse than other years, I suspect that it is pretty much just the same.

They will diminish and frost or cold at a certain level will eradicate them.

We have extermination here but nothing much phases them.

Tough little bastards.

Labels: pests

Today's film is a gay film, a cross cultural film, an immigrant film and all round wonderful film experience.

A top five winner which is part of my own DVD library.

My Beautiful Laundrette (1985)

Stephen Frears' first film is beautiful in every way.

Two young men meet as an immigrant nephew is given responsibility for managing a rich uncle's investment property. A launderette.

The young Pakistani asks a childhood friend to help him, a street punk who wants off the street.

It doesn't take long for both young men to fall in love with the other. Fortunately about the same time.

This is not an unrequited love gay film. Nor is it really a gay film. Romance does follow the machinations of the business. But it would not work nearly as well if the couple were straight. Don't ask me why. Sort of because some toughness is necessary in dealing with the street gang from which one of the young men comes.

I have seen it many times and do not get tired of it.

This is Daniel Day Lewis' first film. Another first. He is radiant as the punk who befriends the young Pakistani man and then falls in love with him.

The surprising thing is that the film bears so much repeat viewings. I have seen it five or six or more times. I have not tired nor do I know what is going to happen next even though I have been through it before.

The acting is so good all around and the story so engaging that this ends up being one of my very favorite all time movies.

A 5 out of Netflix5 for sure.

Labels: films

The Russkies caught red handed?

Anyone brought up in the Cold War has been waiting for this all along. Inevitable. You might have thought they were changing. No.

Something that they cannot hide, cannot lie about and cannot either wish or force away. Their usual modus operandi.

This is What Kremlin Panic Looks Like.

They have tried to scrub things but the fact is that there is no way to hide the obvious. The Russians supplied and ran the missile batteries that somehow went off and hit the plane. Period. End of sentence. Final paragraph.

Eat that you slick fucker. Putin is just another version of the slimy bastards I grew up with.

I do not hate the Russians but I was reared to believe that they are duplicitous, bloody and totally focused on what used to be the commie dream of world domination.

Putin is just the same villain modernized. But it is a different world. Media all over the place. Coverage. Unlimited. 24 hours.

No place to hide.

Labels: communists, Putin, Russia

The most unlikely place for a comedy would be a butcher shop.

And that is the whole point of the very blackest dark Danish comedy

De Gronne Slagter / The Green Butchers (2004).

Fed up with their jobs at the town butcher, two guys start their own place and through a set of circumstances find them having to dispose of a fresh corpse which they are kind of responsible for. Sort of.

What else but to convert the dead meat to fresh product. Needless to say, the new filets are a great success and it is not long before the original carcass is used up.

What to do?

That is what we find out with the wonderful Mads Mikkelsen and Nikolaj Lie Kaas as they try to cover up their success and at the same time find ways to keep the business going with fresh meat supplies. In a word, macabre.

I got this because of Mikkelsen because the idea of him in a comedy is hard to imagine. But he is great. He has a receding hairline and is always sweating with stress. Two gimmicks that help us forget his serious roles and reputation.

Everyone in this comedy turn in wonderful performances and while the line is often nearing, the line of respectability, they never quite go over it.

After all, one of the great taboos is cannibalism. But this kind of incongruity makes the best comedies.

Nothing is slapstick. Nothing is glided over. While it is very funny it is human funny. The best kind. Even the villains are benign.

I loved it and will give it a Netflix 4 as I would not mind seeing it again sometime. A slight stretch but I want to give them the benefit of any doubt. It is that kind of film. Brave and very successful even though it takes the viewer right up to the line of repulsion.

Labels: films

Many people assume that the fight for gay rights or, as we prefer to think of them, human rights, is over.

Nothing could be further from the case.

The focus on children of gay parents and their equal rights continues.

In U.S. Gay Marriage Cases, Children Emerge in the Limelight

When I came out I had five children, not all adult.

Nothing happened. Their mother did not press the point. But we did not file for divorce right away for precisely this reason. Both she and I wanted me to continue being a parent, side by side, together.

Thanks to her, we never had to test things out. But there is no doubt that had she fought it, I would have been at least restricted in catholic Massachusetts although then, as now, that state is considered quite liberal. Only later did the laws and the administrative procedures change. We had a legal separation so that we could go our separate ways in other respects but did not have to deal with this issue in that arrangement.

Today, as in the past, I remain an active parent. Today, I am a grandfather with my husband John. We are all legal to the extent that has any relevance as the kids are parents now themselves and well past the age of worry.

This focuses on the children of gay men and lesbians who were born from the union either by surrogates or other means. But the issues are the same. The law is not settled. Yet.

Just saying.

After this, there are other hills to climb.

Human rights are always just a bit beyond the reach of every man woman and child regardless of the question of sexuality.

Labels: gay history, gay parents, gay rights

Being a parent is harder than ever.

Not because the world is a worsening place but because there are so many people looking over your shoulder. Busybodies who can't resist the impulse to complain or warn or call the cops or whatever.

I have noticed more and more news items about this.

A woman arrested for leaving her kids alone in a car while she went into a store. A classic. Some asshole saw this and picked his or her phone up and called the cops. The cops cannot back down. A complaint was made, there is a law, the evidence is clear. The kids are in the car alone.

The parent is arrested, the kids taken to a "home", not their own, and all kinds of shit rains down on the lives of what used to be normal people doing what used to be normal things.

I don't like to talk about the good old days. They were just fine but not better. Different maybe. But one thing is clear. I was alone for vast expanses of time as both parents worked and during WWII while my Dad was gone I had no one but myself and other kids in similar situations to hang out with.

We ran the fields and for the most part had a great time with each other without adult supervision of any kind.

Of course, there were more women, a fact, at home and so it is possible that they were watching out the window but I doubt it. They had other things to do and we were all living in the norm.

I am not the only person to notice the creeping encroachment on the rights of parents, and their kids, actually, to live life without interference from others.

The Parent Trap

This is Russ Douthat, a conservative.

When I was a parent we lived in a small village but it was a close neighborhood. Any threats were similar to the kind that any kid today encounters.

I think the worst worry was about child molestation and as it turned out that was based on actual events just down the street. My close friend next door was "done" by the guy who lived just next on the other side.

No doubt. A worry. Never take candy from strangers. Useless when it is Mr. Vernoy who has been there all our lives. But the Mom reported him, he went to jail and that was that for as long as I heard anything about life on the street.

When I was a parent, as I recall, my kids just sort of ran around. We knew they were around because part of the time they were in our house or yard or in the neighbors' or something. Usually in a gang. Safety in numbers.

Parental hovering is such a bad thing for kids. It creates fear. Fear of fear itself.

And there is the whole thing about anonymous power. Any creep with a power drive can use his leverage to meddle with other lives and our laws now support that. Child endangerment.

And this thing about letting the kids be in the car. I was in the store a few weeks ago and an announcement was made about a dog shut in the car. Keerist. Some person saw it and came in and told the manager and made out that the manager should announce this and please come to take care of the dog so the bastard that complained would be placated. I know this because I asked my friend Jim who manages the mornings there. He verified. The complainer insisted. He said there was a crack in the car windows and it was not hot.

So here we go. Meddlers. Tattletales. All on a bit of a power trip at the expense of innocent bystanders around them. The "professional" hall monitor from school days. The finger pointers who point to divert attention from themselves.

In a word, assholism, a growing plague.

Labels: culture, parents

Another catastrophe, another demonstration of the failure to control arms, another goddam horrific consequence of the continued compulsion of men to act rashly and irresponsibly when they have weapons in their hands.

With Jet Strike, War in Ukraine Is Felt Globally

The cold war. The hot war. The insurgency. The this, the that. All code words for the evil that grips men when they get their wind up. Over the top. Out of control.

I read the whole thing.

I don't know why.

I have read this kind of thing all my reading life and quit somewhere along the way because I couldn't stand it any more.

But I read this one.

Heartbreaking.

A failure for all of us.

It is well known that the availability of weapons leads to the inevitable result. They will be used. Proven. Definite. A known known.

Yet efforts to stop it fail.

Look at our own struggle with gun control laws. The "right to carry". All that shit.

This is the same thing on a global scale. Same result, different day.

Tragic.

If you have it you will use it. Simple. Just fucking basic.

But the cat is out of the bag, a tiger, a bad cat. And it will never, ever go back into the bag.

There are too many interests involved. All the way from weapon makers to weapon users.

I grew up in a house where there were weapons. I hated them. I could not hunt. I could not fish. It was not an intellectual or moral superiority on my part. I just could not. A puzzle that my Dad never unraveled and a subject that kept us apart until both of us were too old and loved so much we could not let it get between us.

I don't know.

I hate it. I hate the advocates, the zealots, the loudmouths who have no idea about implications of their dumb positions.

I hate the instincts that drive us to do this kind of thing. The thoughts. The ideas. The illusions. All of it.

It is sometimes tough to live as an optimist. Just keep my head down and believe that things do get better.

But when all hell breaks out over a wheat field in the Ukraine it is hard to think very positively about our future. Just a long continued struggle that God has contrived to make our spiritual journeys more interesting..

Or something.

Labels: anti-war, weapons

The director is the one I want to hear from.

Actors are critical and interesting to hear from but we forget they are working under the close guidance of a man or woman who has the total vision of a film. Movies are made scene by scene, almost frame by frame and each "take" is usually out of sequence of the story, expediently shot for efficiency.

Perhaps there are a number of scenes to be done in a particular location. They do not trek around to all the locations in order. They do all the work that needs to be done at that particular one. Early scenes, later scenes and so on.

Even studio films are not shot in order. The camera and light setups are so different for each bit that unless several cameras are used the scene has to be redone again and again for closeups and other viewpoints. Very complex.

Who keeps this all in his or her head? Who knows the "arc", the way it should all piece together at the end? Who knows what is needed from each temperamental actor who thinks that he or she is the star?

The director.

For awhile, the French coined the term "auteur" or author for the director. I guess it is still used. It is a good description.

And it is not just the acting. It is the lights, the sets, the rest of it. And when the filming is finished s/he is in the editing room.

Directors have not always been well known nor are they now. Early on, some, like John Huston could hew a reputation out of a series of very successful films so that any film they made had marquee value. Now, more and more, people who love films follow the director. Not the stars. There are not a lot of actors that I would see just for their name value. But there are some directors that I will always see and some of them are in this wonderfully crafted documentary.

Great Directors (2009)

We see interviews, interwoven around certain themes, and bits from their films.

Bertolucci (The Conformist, The Last Emperor); Catherine Breillat (Fat Girl, The Sleeping Beauty); Liliana Caviani (The Night Porter); Stephen Frears (My Beautiful Laundrette, The Queen); Todd Haynes (Far from Heaven, I'm Not There); Richard Linklater (Slacker, Before Sunrise), Ken Loach (Kes, The Wind that Shakes the Barley); David Lynch (Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive); John Sayles (Lone Star, Silver City) and Varda (Cléo from 5 to 7, Vagabond).

I have seen 15 of these films.

Here is the test. When each director spoke and a small bit of film was played for us, I felt pangs of happiness, sadness, joy, mourning, all the emotions that come up in a good film unbidden. It was just there. For a small slice! Powerful. Mysterious.

The magic of good film is still in the hands of the people who made it and the availability of the viewer to let go and go for the ride. It is not a science. Oh some of it is. The clarity of the picture today is incredible. But it is interesting that none of the emotional impact really seemed to depend on clarity. The clips were a little tired perhaps, the masters dimmed by years. But the wallop was the same. Bang.

Angela Ismailos made this film out of her own love for movies and movie people. It is clear. She is seen and heard but she knows her place.

She has no theories. No explanations. No message. She is the messenger.

What a wonderful job she did. I will give this film a 5 out of Netflix 5 and on the strength of the interview I just bought it to see the extended interviews. There are two discs so I will be able to wallow.

Labels: films

It is July and the condo complex is deserted.

Just John and me and a few others. The big horn sheep. And not many of them anymore.

There is a permanent population of about half the normal level. A considerable number of the properties are part time to begin with. People come for a month or two and then lease it out for the rest of the season to "tourists". Well, not actually. In our condos they are limited to thirty day minimum leases. There are violators but not enough to cause a fuss.

Then there are the full timers who, like John and me, take some time away in cooler climes.

We are doing more of this in 2014 than we have before. I would normally go to San Diego for five days and will do that in August. And, I went to London, Boston and Toronto just this past week. John goes to Italy but he is going in September for three weeks. A bit post summer that, but still hot. A get-away.

We decided when we first came here permanently that we would not be two place people. We had tried that with summers in Provincetown and the rest of the year in Boston. Weirdly unmoored. We just gave it up and never did buy a place there which is good as the real estate cycle on the Cape is a horrendous roller coaster.

Now, here. Hot. Dry. A dry heat. Cliche but true. We do not go out at noon and stand in the sun but it is usually good to have the place open in the morning and then close about 11AM. Open again when we go to bed if we are lucky but probably not until morning. My morning. Three AM.

So, we are holding down the fort. There will be no condo board meetings until September but a few of us are here for, at least, moral support of the professional managers. I will review the monthly finances. (We are ahead for the year but not too far ahead to piss people off. By the end of the Fiscal there should be no balance. We are tracking pretty well at this point).

Today and for the next several days, it is below a hundred. Unless the sun comes out. Partly cloudy. Maybe some showers end of day.

And deserted.

It is a desert after all.

Labels: heat, Palm Springs, summer

Travel broadens, brings new perspectives, enlightens.

Hence it is not surprising that I actually learned something on this trip to a "foreign" country.

England (or is it Great Britain, I still do not know, more to learn) is different. Sometimes, quite different, in their ways.

I include this word, "ways", as that too came up as a new means of referring to culture and such during my trip. Broadened again.

I don't think much about people's "ways" unless they get in my way. I am curious about culture but I have mine and they have theirs. I'm OK, you're OK. I digress.

We were talking about the surprises to be had in other cultures about common things.

For example. In my friend's kitchen, I was helping myself to granola when I saw that right in front of the granola container was a 6-pack of eggs. In the open. Room temperature. Not in the refrigerator ("fridge" I think).

I stopped. I looked. Yes. Eggs. Room fucking temperature. What was going on?

I put the thoughts of correcting this egregious violation of simple hygiene and, as a guest, kept my mouth shut. A position that I am not used to. So, it is not surprising that eventually, about five minutes, I blurted about the eggs being warm and what the hell? Kindly of course.

I was set straight by the cook who has strong ideas which have been firmly set in place by good kitchen training. Basically, another culture clash but not only that, a statement of yet another American failure to keep up. A subtle competition revived around the field of egg husbandry. Is that the right word? I am struggling here.

It turns out that there is only one way to explain this. Bluntly, the Americans let a lot of shit get on the eggs in production and the Brits do not. The Americans have to clean their eggs before distribution, basically, as far as I can see, to compensate for poor or inadequate sanitation in the hen house.

I was chastened and, yet again found that just because we separated from them, well, rebelled, there are certain areas that the English (in this particular case Welsh and not the same thing by any means and don't forget it) still have over us.

Americans, Why Do You Keep Refrigerating Your Eggs?

Simple answer, because they have shit on them and we have to clean it off to avoid salmonella contamination.

And why do we have shit on our eggs? Because the farm industry turned into an industry and, as usual, took profit motive over public health.

And then, in the usual sequence, it turns out that the measures taken to clean the egg increase the probability of further contamination because the cuticle is removed. More messing with Mother Nature to our detriment.

I am not worried about this. All things considered, I would rather refrigerate my eggs anyway. Just to be sure. Besides, I hard boil all of them soon after their arrival at home and, while that is for another purpose, this tends to kill any bugs and also makes them a bit more resistant to spoilage.

Thus endeth our lecture on eggness in the UK and the US. More culture notes will follow.

Labels: agriculture, culture, eggs, food

I know it is boring.

I am home and on the family hearth and all. What the hell.

In this day and age, with everyone else running all around, with the world changing every minute?

Imagine how it feels to have gone thousands of miles and back in just over a week and to have so many fine things to keep in my heart. Then, home.

The big thing for me today was to get up and have my yogurt and fruit and grainy cereal breakfast then go to the super market for the Friday shopping and then lie down for the morning nap. Home, sweet home.

Hey, I did get up at 4 AM but that is a bit late for me on the usual basis. It happens that jet lag helped me drop right into my normal schedule here.

No staying in the house that Mick Jagger lived in, no bedroom window looking down on the Thames, boats, water, joggers. No dining al fresco in the suburbs of Plymouth County, no talking the talk at an out of town Meeting (as here, when you are a visitor, you are red meat to lead and speak, not the same old mashed potatoes warmed over).

No visit with one of my life's best friends with the inevitable walk through Toronto to see new and wonderful sights still left on his list of notable places I should see. I know there are more for next time.

No sitting in a tubular box car with strangers and strained conversation flying at 35,000 feet.

I did have a fine ride back with a woman who loaned me her blanket (I was fucking freezing, so desertized) and we had a nice talk about nothing much. Companionship without a lot of blather. The best kind.

Not one delay.

Not one serious encounter with the border police. I was thoroughly rumbled for having a tooth paste tube which was way too big. It is technically liquid. The fucker took it. And something else too just to show me. And a bit of a lecture which one must endure with a smile. Faint.

I am good at the straight face, "yessir" attitude that gets one by these things but the TSA is a formidable group of commissars in the making and I want nothing to do with them anytime soon.

The Brits could show the Americans something about beneficent bureaucratism.

Give a Yank a little power and he is all over himself with what we like to think are Prussian ways.

But that was all coming home.

Going over was lovely.

I had first met with family in Scituate MA where the high point was a cookout with every available kid and some grandkids attending. Even the far flung Australian resident was in town!

Not a lot of time to sit and bobble the grandchildren on my knee but they are all too grown up for that and I am not a knee man.

They are well and I am very proud of each and every one. They all have that look in their eye that tells me they are on the beam.

What have I left out here? A lot probably.

My friend Dennis who is just new to retirement. Only a few months. Boy did I have things to tell him about this life. He is starting well though. I asked what his plan was and he said "to develop a plan" and in the meantime enjoy the freedom of not working in the world of publishing where he spent so many years. Business side which, believe me, ain't arty. Hard as nails those publishing people.

This is a severely disorganized account of my trip. It was glorious. And it is over. And the last words off the plane in Palm Springs with the gorgeous mountains and beautiful plain are "that is the last time I am doing this". I had a great time and I never, ever have to do it again.

Well, no one forced me to do this. I wanted to do it and I loved doing it and I enjoyed every minute of it (really) and I never want to do it again, thank you.

My husband was out front of the airport in the Volvo convertible, lurking just off the premises. When I got to the lobby I called him, he was there in a minute or two and I was away, away back home.

My god, what a wonderful place to live.

And it was hot and it was dry and it was just at sunset.

Home.

Labels: family, Palm Springs, travel

On the way home, I thought about how there would not be a dog waiting in the car, or at the door, for my return.

John, in another vein, found that with me out of the house he was alone in a way he did not like. He had the dog thing too.

So today I will call "Aunt Rusty" at the Airedale Rescue place and put our name in.

We had planned to wait until September when both of us would be here all the time but that is not how the dog will live. We will be in and out. So the sooner the better. Besides, the dog gets spoiled when there is only one dad around. Dogs like that!

It is funny that after a long life of not wanting a dog, not really liking other people's dogs much (I still don't actually except for Booker's friends), I am now in deep need to have a dog in my life.

It is very nice to find that "at my age" (a phrase I try to avoid) there are still changes and excitements to be had.

Well, I knew this but not first hand.

Life is not a dead end.

We had thought we needed a smaller dog. But now that seems to recede in the importance. Booker was 85 big pounds but that is quite unusual. 60 is more the mean.

We are open to something other than a 'dale. Sort of. But now, an airedale, we are less fussy. We would take a younger one, an older one (4 or 5), a big one, a little one, a male or a female. We are airedale people. Period. But a welshie would be OK too.

We will let GOD/DOG hover over the process.

Labels: dogs

I have a number of stories, all nice, about the trip.

The last and best was my rather quiet but wonderful seat mate in the waiting room who actually gave me TWO blankets. I was sooooo cold. Do they have to have it that cold???? I am desertized. The thermostat now set at a nice 75 minimum temp as “cool”. Well, 72.

The house has had (gasp) changes but then what would we expect. The bedroom is a wonderfully dark dark grey, very dark, very restful. There is some suspiciously new looking art but that might just be the new setting. You know how I notice every subtle visual thing (hardly at all unless it is on my desk).

I can also say that if you cry upon the prospect and reality of meeting your man in an airport especially as he picks you up right out of the baggage claim in a Volvo convertible, kissing long enough to earn a honking rebuke from other drivers (I think meaning get out of the way, here every male kisses other males sort of) there is still a spark, a flame, a fire of love. The mountains were lovely coming in and now on the ground. The air is cool this morning at 80F/27C just as God meant it to be.

I had such a slew of email. A sample: “Hi it’s Jolene, wanna be my fuckbuddy?” (do straight people have “fuckbuddies”? Everything “the gays” do gets appropriated. Bloody hell. See? I picked up a “bloody”).

That is it. Sunrise soon.

I am up early as you can see. That is to be expected. I like it. It is 2 AM and my usual time is 3 so I am “right on time”.

Labels: home, travel

We are committed Volvo owners.

Love the SUV that we had and the convertible that we just got.

Muscle and good looks.

So it is nice to see this article today.

Volvo's New SUV Is More Powerful Than A Muscle Car And As Clean As A Prius

This has always been Volvo's market. The SUV. Ours was superb.

When we didn't need the room any more then we got the convertible. It is as wonderful to drive. And look at.

I am headed east for a whirlwind trip.

I will be touching base with people who I have not seen for awhile and may not be able to see again. I know. That is morbid. But probably more realistic.

My taste for travel waned and waned and then hit a bare minimum. So I have stayed here.

But I miss people. And I will go to them because for one reason or another it is hard or impossible for them to come see me.

I will go to Boston first and, of course, see family that is there but also some friends who are important and with whom I need a look in the eye. A touch of the hand. A soulful exchange.

After a couple of days there, I will head to London for another visit. Same thing. Long time no see. In either direction.

Then Canada, the same. Toronto.

There is not much to say about it. There are people I love who are scattered across the earth and I can get to see some of them on this run.

I will not be blogging.

I will not be taking my computer. Maybe.

I am still undecided. The iPad is ready in case. But I might just leave it at home. Bare naked travel. Take in the sights. See the people.

As I type that, it feels especially good to say.

I will take the Kindle to read and read. A lot of plane time. Sitting. Waiting.

Otherwise just me.

I will be gone for a week and so you will have to wait and hear how the trip went.

Labels: travel

It is hard to know what to make of this gay film made in China.

It is mostly about coming out of the closet and then going back in again. It is Chinese and some of the themes are quite retro. I imagine that gay men there are going through a lot of the stuff that happened here in the 70s.

In any case there is a lot going on. Too many subplots. But it tries hard. A gay Frenchman falls in love with a local man who is easily seduced and likes the experience.

The two male leads are nice to watch. The female lead, one of the guy's girlfriend, does everything she can to disrupt things and the results are tragic all around. She is a villain. Pure and simple.

The speechlessness comes from the fact that one of the men is rendered that way from a head injury. But you don't understand this until much later. I thought that he was legitimately mute and just getting along in the world but that is not the case.

There is some nice loving type of sex between the men. There is real kissing. There is enough gayness to make it real. But the social situation is hard to handle. I am not Chinese and so I do not get a lot of the difficulties that these men encounter.

I didn't like it very much and certainly don't want to buy it. Gay positive, it is not. But it defends gayness and shows homophobia at its most destructive. So it is a moral tale without much positivity.

And so on.

I sure do not want to see it again.

Labels: gay films

There are a lot of bad guys in Beacon Hills.

And, to handle it, there are also a lot of good guys; wolves, banshees, things like that.

And they are all teens.

Does this sound like the kind of series that a serious man in his 70s would be addicted to? If you said yes, well you are right.

I cannot get enough.

I can't be objective about it. It is just one of those mind meld kinds of things that seem to happen and these must be pursued.

So today I watched Episodes 3 and 4 of Part 2 of Season Three.

The first two seasons were so popular that they doubled down the third year.

The plots are just incredible and the characters no end of interesting.

They are smart enough to keep the special effects and the magical stuff down to a level where more is always wanted. No overdoing it.

When the fangs emerge and the long claws come out, the eyes light up and there is a low growl, watch the fuck out.

No better way to be personal than to take to the street and be in a parade.

We have come a long way from the meager marches up Boylston Street with our gay brothers and sisters furtively watching from the sidewalk.

"Out of the closets and into the streets".

This date commemorates the time when the men of the Stonewall Inn in New York fought back.

The Stonewall Riots (1969)

I got the message in 1975. It took me a while to figure out how I could truly come out and have a life as a gay man. With all the trimmings. The marchers were the first to show me how in a kind of public way. I could watch and identify and see myself there.

That is why it is important.

It is also important to continually face down prejudice with a smile and a raised middle finger. Solidarity.

There are many fronts on which the battle for human rights has been waged but the parade is one of the most visible and, probably, confrontational.

In the old days, people would show up to demonstrate their opposition. They slowly disappeared from the sidewalks. More and more not gay people (and gay ones too) came to see and were impressed, won over, became allies.

There is nothing like seeing some real queers alive and well and in a range of types which theretofore was not comprehended. The outliers always had the courage to face the enemy. It took the rest of us to make it work. We were fairies too but we defied the stereotype.

In the old days, we would meet in the Boston Garden, then march up Charles in the heart of one of the gay communities. Then up Cambridge, the other side of the ghetto, and continue on Tremont to Boylston and back to the Common for a rally.

Here is our own Barney Frank warming up the crowd in 1976.

It felt good. We were together. People came out and cheered. Some left the sidewalk and came into the streets.

Such action catapulted those of us still hiding into visibility and commitment. It was a good exercise in being oneself. Cleansing.

Over the years, the Gay Pride Parade became the LBGT parade. Now called just PRIDE. Jeezus. Co-opted in my opinion. An old fogey in my own movement.

Out here in the desert we do not march in June. Too hot for the girls and boys.

We will have to wait until the first weekend in November when all the gay resorts and organizations run the parade. Individuals not invited. Highly organized and co-opted. I don't even go watch it any more. I am an old fart. I want today. The Stonewall time. The time when it all began. Oh well.

Labels: gay pride, gay rights

I had just gotten down for a late morning nap and things started to shake.

Earthquakes shake Southern California

It shook, then shook again and finally kept shaking. A 4.something.

When we came out here, we were very very earthquake sensitive.

I remember being at a motel for some work. The place shook one night and I went out of my room. Quickly. There was one other guy doing the same.

He was an easterner too.

Not one of the other people in the motel came out of their room. Welcome to California.

It is a little exciting but no big deal. There is no question that there is a quake happening. It is quite identifiable. It could be nothing else.

No truck out in the street next to the condo, no thunder, no nothing. An earthquake.

I am a veteran now. I just stay where I am, preferably lying down and wait. They used to say you should stay under a doorjamb but I have since been told this is not true.

Besides, there isn't a lot of time to do anything other than what you are already doing.

The epicenter was a bit north of Big Bear Lake where we were last week. Rats. We missed it.

But there was enough here to enjoy it.

The first one we witnessed was while we were at a store in Palm Desert. Shaky enough to be scary. But once one is in a series of them, they become normally abnormal.

Labels: earthquake, nature, SoCal

It is hard to make yourself look good when you don't know fuck all about what you are doing.

But "looking good" doesn't seem to have bothered George Plimpton much.

He famously made a journalism project by becoming a rookie with the Detroit Lions football team and wrote a book about it. Paper Lion.

It was a great book. I read it almost immediately after it was published. And so did everyone else.

Then he went on to do all sorts of amateur things with hard bitten professionals. Even boxing.

This is all captured nicely in a film made to celebrate his spirit.

Plimpton: Starring George Plimpton as Himself

It is a pretty good film. Plimpton was a privileged rich boy who wasn't very good at sports but as part of the role was expected to play anyway. Participate, goddam it! Which he did.

His sense of humor served him well and this shows in his first and later books.

The film goes a fair way to demonstrate that he was an unusual participant in life. Gregarious. Willing to try things.

I enjoyed it.

It is easy to swallow. Nothing bad happens and, other than his own hurt pride, there is nothing to surmount either. Plimpton has a willing spirit which, when you think about it, is a life skill. He just was able to apply it in a number of spectacular ways. He was also rich enough, just from having money, that he could fool around.

I identified with this dilettantism. I tried a lot of stuff. I had to give a lot of stuff up. But I did the best I could and I got experience. Which they say is "the best teacher". "Them" again. "They" always have these sayings.

I wouldn't want to see this movie again but I enjoyed it a great deal and remember Mr. Plimpton fondly. He died at 71 in 2003. So he was a contemporary. Five years older than me.

Labels: sports, writers

The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Labels: United Sates of America

Ant season is upon us.

For most of the year we are insect free. No flies. No mosquitoes, ever. Nothing of the creepy crawly type.

I suppose there would be roaches inside if we were not clean but there are none of those either.

What we have are Argentinian Ants.

They are small and come in multitudes. They invade in a line. Outside you can see ¼ to ½ inch bands of them industriously moving from one place to another. Almost endless.

Inside, they send scouts who find a smudge or spill, any cup or glass not rinsed, any food source at all.

Once the scout reports back, the long black line advances to the target. It is done with pheromones. See the video below.

There is only one remedy. Johnson and Johnson's Raid.

We will use a large can during the summer.

I do not like the idea of bug poison in the kitchen but I don't like ants either. A hard choice.

So I go for the Raid and then wipe it up. The first shot kills the scouts and the line as far as I can spray. Then I wipe it up and let the small residual be a prophylactic against further invasion.

This doesn't work very well because they almost always find an alternative route.

By the end of the season, I will have neutralized every invasion route. But by then it will be the fall and they will retreat to wherever they go for the 6 months of cooler weather.

It is not a big deal but big enough to get vexed every season and a bit surprised when we get attacked.

Labels: condo, nature, Palm Springs, wildlife

Today's movie shows the underside of gay life in lower class England.

Sort of.

Along the way it might forget that it is a film of gay romance but, in the end, it regains its footing and, while supremely sad, does allow love between two young men to shine through.

Cal (2013)

tells what happens when young gays meet one another just on the brink of gang life and the social grinder.

This is a sequel. My policy is to avoid them and this shows why. The character's weight was pretty well expended in the first film and, this time around, has to have a complicated plot to keep things going: dying mums, social unrest, sexual predators.

Which is OK as far as it goes. But it doesn't earn the film as high marks as it might have if there were more focus on the young men and less on social unrest. The newsreelish bits between the story are distracting and a bit repellant.

I will be giving this a 3 out of Netflix5.

Labels: films, gay films

We have a new fountain in the courtyard.

It sort of cascades and ripples and makes fountain noises.

It is a bit smaller scale than the other three tier fountain that came with the condo.

There was nothing wrong with that fountain. This one is just prettier and, more important to the residents, novel. A conversation piece. We are basically show offs.

It will not take too long for the novelty to wear off for the humans.

But the birds will enjoy it. It took them just a few minutes to get over skittishness and head for a drink. Sort of. It is a bit touch and go. More go than touch.

Labels: garden

I took sides early between the Mac and the PC.

The Mac had all the graphics heft so we used it in the business for our training materials. And what is more, from the very beginning, Mac was a far more interesting company to be a customer of.

We had Steve Jobs. They had that other geeky looking guy. Bill something. Oh yeah, Gates.

I also liked Mac because they were second. The one behind. The undeserved underdog.

But look!

After all these years the tide is turning.

Windows Reign 'Is Coming To An End' ... And The Mac Is Taking Over

This is mostly because of the iPad and the iPhone but never mind.

My early loyalty to the company made it possible for the new generation to kick the big guy's ass.

I still believe that Mac software has it all over the competition. Look how they have had to copy us.

It is an old argument. An entire ad campaign was waged over the distinctions. Here are all the ads. Over thirty minutes.

I found this later in the day.

This photo is from some hearing in 1984.

Labels: macintosh

So there will be fireworks.

We will also have very hot and humid weather. So the prognosis is not good for sitting long outside. We will wait and see.

Sadly, we will not have a pup to freak out over the noise. Sadly because I miss our pups, all of them, but Booker most. Also because it will not give me a good excuse to go drive around and see the fireworks from the high desert.

We would "always" load up the family and take off. Dogs do not like fireworks at all. Shiver, whimper. Cry. It is awful.

But we had a good time.

We would all ride up the hill to Desert Hot Springs and then turn around. You can see clear all the way down. This is the mild hill before we get to the mountains. An easy ride. You can drive and look at the same time, sort of. And no noise.

Our airedale newsletter reminds us every year that fireworks will not be appreciated by the dog and that we should be sure to comfort him and to put complete tags on him in case he takes off. We have never had that happen. Forewarned.

By next year, we will have a new friend and so it will be off on the ride rather than submit to the torture of fireworks.

Did I mention that our fireworks in Palm Springs are shot off not half a mile from the house, over the ball field?

Labels: holidays

I should report on the CrockPot outcome last night.

Well, "should" is pretty strong.

How about "I will".

OK

I made the suggested recipe for pot roast, it came with the pot. It was pretty good.

Here is what I noticed. Maybe: slow cooking keeps the meat texture meaty and fibrously enjoyable. Definitely: for some reason, the vegetables came out better than I remember in a regular pot. So the meat got done but not at the expense of the vegetables. Is this possible?

Another definite: slow cooking enhances all flavors. Very tasty.

Slow cooking is not easier to clean up but it is no harder.

Slow cooking is fun when you are a neophyte and the whole experience is a novelty.

I do not have a next pot project outlined yet. Maybe the next time chicken comes up on the rotation of my 120 entree schedule. Of course it will do pork and poultry. It might also do lamb. Also veal, if I get over my thing about cooking baby animals.

I want to plop a whole chicken into it and see what happens. I have the recipe. It is pretty simple. I think one bay leaf or something and you just sit the chicken in there. No add ons.

Labels: cooking

At this moment, I have a pot roast cooking in the new CrockPot.

I have found a number of basic recipes. All the ones I first bought, books, are way to complex.

I should have known. That is what sells cookbooks. Complexity.

My experience is that the farther I stray from the basics the more effort is expended for about the same result.

So, I took refuge in the internet and found simple roasting recipes for a variety of meats.

There are also a few simple recipes in the brochure that came with the pot.

I started with one of those. Then I will move on if it is indicated, but I do not think that it will be.

Keep it simple.

I am not supposed to open it up while it is cooking 8 hours. I am supposed to be happy looking down through the glass lid which is totally steamed.

So I am taking it all on faith.

Labels: cooking

Today's movie was actually Lewis Black.

Red, White and Screwed.

Recorded in Washington, DC, Black skewers all parties. In the usual hilarious way.

Labels: comedy, films

I try to avoid weather posts because for at least 6 months out of the year we are so much better than those cold places up north and back east.

It is like gloating. Not pretty.

But it is worth noting that this year, our hot is not as hot as the average. It should be 104 high each day about now. It has not reached that on many days.

If you go outside right now, at 2:48 PM, you will feel heat. But it won't knock you down.

I have to admit that I am leaving the desert to be cool for the first time this summer.

I would be visiting Boston, London and Toronto sometime soon anyway but I chose July. We went to Big Bear last week and it was in the 70s. But we didn't stay there.

I will do my annual stay in San Diego mid August.

Then I am here for the long haul.

John is going to Sicily a week and a half after I return so a lot of the time in the haul will be alone.

Then when he gets back we look into the dog picture.

Labels: Palm Springs, weather

If you can mismanage a simple story with handsome anti-heroes, gorgeous night action in Paris and some beautiful French countryside, this film manages to do it.

The plot wanders. Halfway in I wasn't sure it was the same movie. It never regained its footing.

A hustler meets another hustler and improbably fall in love. Not because they are hustlers but because there is so little chemistry between them that even the sex scenes do not ignite. Pretty but palid.

The two get into some trouble, one of them has a predilection for thievery and they soon become a predatory couple stealing from their johns. Most of the clients keep quiet but every so often one does not and calls the cops. They run to some other city which still looks like Paris but I don't know where it is.

They reconnect with a woman, have threesomes, take on her son as a sort of mascot and generally just go off the rails. Another client comes by and they kill him. The boy has had enough and goes out into the snow and is found. The cops come. They arrest the two men. What a mess.

I skipped ahead but did drop in for the ending. Not a total bailout. Not a happy ending. Well, how could it be?

A 2 out of Netflix5. A long time since I had a real stinker. In French. Half assed subtitles. Even I could tell.

Labels: films, gay films