Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Congratulations to Me

Six months ago, being able to say that I have gone for this long without a cigarette would have been a stretch. I truly did not think I could quit. In fact, I was afraid to try. I was afraid I would fail.

Twenty times five equals 100. That’s how many minutes I spent smoking each day.

The fact is, I had been a smoker since I was 13. I never really quit for more than a day or two. Smoking was my crutch. I recall talking to my wife once, after a job interview. I told her that I had been asked how I dealt with stress.

“That’s easy,” she replied, almost too automatically, “You go smoke.”

The reality was that I smoked for a lot of reasons, to satisfy a lot of needs. I smoked out of habit—the nicotine urge that springs forth as an ugly reminder to fire up.

I also smoked to reward myself. If I had written a good introduction, or had just made progress on a project, I would light up and savor the moment. I smoked when I was bored, anxious, nervous or edgy. I always smoked in a bar setting. I always smoked just before arriving home. I smoked because not smoking would mean that my ex-wife was right.

But I quit for myself.

I am so much happier now.

Thank you, Chantix.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Photo by Request


Of the few comments so far, there has been a request for a photo of the 63/64 (I believe it’s a 64) Valiant Station Wagon that I see every day on my commute.

To GP, here it is:

I think it’s for sale. too. Shall I inquire?

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Simpsons are back


Yay, the Simpsons are back,

I don't have the energy right now to write a unique tribute to this show, but tonight's opening sequence was brilliant.

Spiderpig.
plus:
Steven colbert,
duffman
Good stuff.


Saturday, September 22, 2007

Will it Play in the Heartland?

Gay bars closing? A sign of the future?

If you read the gay press, you may have gathered this week that the era of the gay bar is over. Based on a number of bar-closings in some major cities like Orlando (ok, well a mid-major city, anyway), some gay pundits have determined that gay culture is on the wane, and that is because we, as a group, are less likely to seek out our exclusive haunts, since we have so many straight friends who like it when we call each other “Mary” at the local sports bar.

Somehow, I think the issue is a little more complex than simple conjecture about a few bars closing and whether there has been any real social progress in regard to gays and straights accepting each other in a shared bar or open public setting.

Last time I checked, gay still doesn’t play in the straight bar world. I mean, one or two of us in a bar is always ok, always has been—as long as we know our place and act straight. Play by the rules—flirt with a woman, even. Compliment their shoes—oops, that’s too gay.

According to Kinsey (the movie and the PBS documentary as citations), gay bars were a refuge, a place where men (primarily) could do all those things that couples take for granted. Behaviors like hugging, kissing, dancing and flirting among same sex individuals and couples were, in that day, subject to prosecution (and some might argue, still are). Bells on the doors of gay bars, and discreet entrances were there for a reason--to keep such things off the street. Gay bars served to let gay men and women interact without fear of public reprisal.

One of my biggest frustrations with coming out after a long standing opposite sex relationship, was the social restrictions I felt about public displays of affection. Although we rarely walked hand in hand, doing so with my wife would never have caused a stir because it is acceptable public behavior for straight couples to do so. However, when I started dating men, and when I have had a boyfriend, how we behave always depends on the town or community where we find ourselves. I struggle with that double standard.

Last winter, I went on a day trip to the Detroit International Auto Show with a guy I was dating. At the event, we never put an arm around each other, never had an overt or even a covert gesture of affection, such as a hand on the knee or a quick pat on the shoulder. We appeared as straight friends that day, not potential partners. But something in the crowd made me feel that anything other than that would have been socially unacceptable in that setting. I don’t like how that feels.

Sometimes, that frustration comes out. Last summer I was in Chicago, visiting a couple of close friends. Staying with us was a wonderful man I know from Ohio. When it was time for him to leave, I gave him a huge hug and kiss in the parking lot of a restaurant where we had just eaten breakfast with our gracious host. I didn’t care that others might see us kiss. I was from out of town. I didn’t have to deal with any long term retribution for doing so.

Until men and women are free in our society to publicly express their feelings towards their same sex friends and lovers, there will be a need for gay bars. Until I can walk hand in hand to my movie seat with my next date without getting a reaction, I will have to go to a gay bar.

Until then, I will remain somewhat frustrated.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Television

The screen measured only 15 inches from corner to corner. The case was silvertone plastic, with ivory trim and a built-in handle. The magic was inside.

Buying a TV was not an ordinary purchase for a 7th grade kid, but it was something I wanted badly enough to save for for over six months. It was also a purchase that needed approval. Twelve-year-olds in my day and age, weren’t exactly allowed to make such purchases on their own.

I worked them from all angles. I told my mother that a portable TV would be nice for her to use in the kitchen while she ironed. I told my dad that he could watch baseball when mom or my sisters were watching something else. I told them all that this TV would get UHF reception for that new public TV station that was going to start up soon.

It worked. One cold, late February Saturday, my dad and I went to the radio & tv store. Among the Mediterranean console stereos, and the Early American swivel console color and black and white TVs in various sizes and finishes, was a largish portable RCA model. It had “a screen you won’t have to squint at,” my dad said. I think it cost $107. My dad threw in another $15 for a chrome stand.

In my room, I could watch what I wanted. I had craved Star Trek, Laugh-in, Room 222 and many others in reruns and production that my family did not watch.

For many years I could not see certain shows because of their supposed poor influence on our family. Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie come to mind for their support of witchcraft and magic. My Mother the Car also fell into that category of “things we don’t watch.” For some unknown reason, Lost In Space was also banned, and for many years I had watched that show at a friend’s home, two doors down. Batman and the Monkees, too. My cultural heritage was slipping away from me, right before my eyes!

But now, the years of parental dominance were finally over.

I also discovered Johnny Carson that summer.

Life has never been the same for me, really.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Commuting New Car? (part 3 for now)




The trusty Toyota yields in the face of the Civic Si. No surprise here, really, is there? A 1990 Camry DX vs. a 2003 Civic Si? I mean, the DX vs. the Si; suffixes tell the whole tale, don't they?

But on my way home from the dealer, I stepped heavily into the trusty Toyota's gas pedal, and heard the predictable push of the valves and the groan of the exhaust of the once admirable, 2.0 twin cam engine, which was always more about transportation than enjoyment, anyway. It brought disappointment to my face after test driving said Civic this evening.

Not yet, say I, to the beautiful six speaker sound system that will some day shamelessly sing Karen Carpenter songs to the masses imprisoned at intersections.

Not yet, say I to the beautiful moonroof, which allows a view of the stars while staying warm through three seasons.

Not yet, say I to the pressure (as in "you may feel some pressure" as this happens) in my neck as I downshift and accelerate to 60 in what seems as an instant, compared to the trusty Toyota, which somehow was just fine until I test drove that Honda after work.

Not yet, say I to the smile that came on my face. I have to figure out how to pay for this simple luxury.

Not yet.

Soon, however.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Commute - Part 2 Road Time

The lengthy, and somewhat relaxing commute leads to think time on the road. I'd like to think that absence of good radio, and the recent malfunction of my car's cd player (after the recent theft of most of my cd's--but that's another story), lead me into introspection, but that's not really true. I can daydream and pontificate on a variety of topics. Today's topic is road music: guilty pleasures.

I confess a soft spot for the following 80's bands. I'm not sure why; outside of that these were not the mainstream "pop/culturally significant" bands of the 80s, such as U2, REM, and, well, U2 and REM, eh?

Here's a few that always get me going:

Def Leppard - Pyromaniac
VanHalen - mostly Roth stuff because he had such attitude, but occasionally Sammy could hit it.
AC/DC - Back in black sounds better than ever
Journey - Lovin' touchin, squeezin, et. al.

Ok, I guess I'm listening too much to the "classic" rock station on my way to work. Back to NPR tomorrow. I promise.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

The Commute (pt. 1)

Just about the time the trusty Toyota hit top gear, I glanced to the left and saw a man taking aim with a rifle. Fortunately, his back was to me and he was aiming at something in the field behind his driveway. Still accelerating as I drove out of town on my way home from work, I didn’t get much more than a glance. Another little visual tucked away from my daily commute.

Some trips I spend the time checking out the out-buildings; other times it’s the crops. Vacant farms, beautiful gardens, and a 1963 (I think) Plymouth Valiant Wagon. All on a 40 min. drive to and from work each and every day.

Leaving my house, I navigate a few city streets until I reach the freeway. Since I leave the house just after 8, traffic isn’t too heavy and I’m quickly up to speed on my way out of town. The trip consists of 30 miles of freeway traffic, and 10 miles of rural highway.

Although I look around while on the freeway, I can’t really see much at 75-85 mph. The driving is too competitive anyway, and I’m always more concerned about making good time. It’s when I hit that last stretch that I ease up, look around and enjoy the view.

Earlier this week in the morning ride, a small falcon crossed over just ahead of my car, on its way across the field, probably in search of a better view of the cornfield. Other days it’s seeing the older farmer who walks along the side of the road, accompanied by a poodle-mix dog, also of a certain age trotting gamely behind him. I imagine her name is Sandy.
It’s usually a very nice drive, and this time of year, I’m looking forward to seeing the fall colors. The winter? Well, I’ll think about that when it comes.