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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Tue 11/19/2002
Nonpoking needles into your mouth type stuff
I guess I should be writing about my last visit to the dentist, but that would involve stuff about needles, and the horrible smell of drilling out old filling as bits of metal and acrid smoke come flying out of your mouth. So nope, nope, nope, no dentist talk today.
Instead here are some nonpoking needles into your mouth type stuff:
John has discovered that one of the problems of having a kitten who specializes in hunting and killing hands and feet when he did some maintenance work on the fish tank. Numerous small cuts on your hands + salt water = not a very fun time.
Despite her penchant for biting the hands that feed her, Spanky D is enough of a cat that she knows to lay off the mauling and to act extraordinarily cute when we have visitors. All of our guests love her and refuse to believe that she is the little hellion I make her out to be. Well, at least one person might. Perhaps taking lessons from the two older cats, Spanky has learned how to immediately head straight for folks who are allergic to cats.
Now if only Babe and Jet could teach her that the kitten in the bedroom mirror is only her reflection and there really is no need to charge it every time she sees herself.
I was at a one day conference for work last week. Something about building bridges between assorted agencies. Despite the subject, it did turn out to interesting.
It seems that every time I go to one of these things I end up finding out about some relatively gross kind of food. Last time, I learned about balut (key words: fertilized egg, boiled, chick, yuck).
This time it was toriwasa, which is essentially chicken sashimi. Nice pretty, attractive slices of raw chicken breast served with a shoyo/wasabi dressing. In this case, the key word would probably be salmonella. Yummy.
Other fun things included exploding trash containers (apparently there's a reason cleaning supplies are considered hazardous waste), portable meth labs small enough to fit into a backpack (which on occasion have also resulted in exploding trash containers), arsenic in drinking water (not good), and bathtub cheese (buy some raw unpasteurized milk from a dairy farm (illegal), add rennet, toss into the trunk of your car for the trip home, dump the mixture into your bathtub to drain the whey, shape the curd into rounds with cut drain tiles or pcv or moldy wicker baskets, then (illegally) sell your nice, probably listeria laden Queso Fresco door to door, claiming it's authentic. Just like in Mexico).
Since the conference was in Orange county, I used that as an excuse to stop at dvd planet. I was a total geek boy and bought the Star Wars movie, a couple of Farscape episodes, and the special edition of the Fellowship of the Ring. Again, total geek boy.
My only saving grace was that I wasn't as bad as the large, sweaty man in line in front of me who was buying the same Star Wars movie, the special collectors SpiderMan box thing, the obsessively complete special edition of the Fellowship of the Ring complete with little plastic bookends, and some horror movie with a gory sounding title that I had never heard of.
The visit left me wondering why a sales clerk would announce out loud to the world the titles of all the junk you are buying. There's a potential for embarrassment there, especially considering that there's a small porno section in the back. Would he do the same thing with these titles as well?
"Let's see now, you have the wide screen edition of Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones, the Criterion Collection edition of the Seven Samurai, and Vixen Cheerleader Spankathon 6. Very good choices sir!"
Yes, I am a Farscape fan, which sucks since the show has been canceled. There is an animated version of the show in the works, but I'm not overly enthused by this, partially because I'm having visions of the old Star Trek cartoon, partially cause it's the actors I really enjoy.
Not surprisingly, I consider Ben Browder to be major eye candy.
John and I drove out to Thousand Oaks for a monster (John's college buddies) get together. We had a nice time. Good food, good talk, lots of catching up, and lots of little rug rats running round underfoot.
During an interesting conversation, Joanne mentioned a first hand experience with the differences in class in America. For various reasons, Joanne was at a luncheon with a bunch of young thirty something mothers. Except for Joanne, all lived in multimillion dollar homes and had money. Despite considering themselves not particularly wealthy, they were.
It's odd how folks with loads and loads of dough want to consider themselves as merely upper middle class, even when they are nowhere near it. Anyway, during the lunch, some of the women talked about poor Betty.
Betty is raising her two young children all alone without any help. Very sad. Joanne sympathized with poor single mom Betty.
When she spoke with Betty latter that day, it turns out that Betty is happily married and lives on some estate somewhere with her relatives. It seems that Joanne misunderstood what all the other woman understood perfectly.
Being all alone with no help, meant no help as in no servants.
No maids? No nanny? Nothing any sane person would every try to attempt.
The misunderstanding went both ways. While the other women understood each other fine, they could not quite get Joanne's suburban soccermom life.
Something which would not have bothered me too much. I'm not sure I want to understand a world where people think nothing of spending a couple thousand dollars on a new imported Italian handwash sink faucet.
The old one leaks don't cha' know.
A no less interesting conversation happened when I was reading a book about sharks to young Mr. Cam. While looking a picture of very large shark teeth fossils, he asked me if sharks had tooth fairies.
I admitted that I didn't know and suggested that we ask Uncle John. After hollering at my hubby to get his attention, Cam asked him the same question. Recognizing that I had sidestepped the question by palming it off to him, John gave me an evil eye, then asked Cam if he knew how much money a shark tooth fairy would give for a tooth as large as the one in the book. The answer was a lot.
When I related the story to my friend Kristen a few days later, she responded that of course sharks don't have tooth fairies. After all, they don't have pillows to put their teeth under.
More latter,
nico
Music:
John has been playing the Ragtime cast album a tad too loud and a tad too often lately
Want:
For a certain person to get more good news very soon
Elsewhere:
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