ISleepInADrawer.com

Californication

For some reason, today just seems like a Red Hot Chili Peppers sort of day.

Go figure.

Oh, and the Game Boy earphones finally gave out yesterday. But, I didn't get off my ass and buy replacements... Zach did.

Magic Beans

One of my labmates went to Uwajimaya the other day, and brought back a treat for us to share: crispy fava beans, salted and fried.

The beans possessed their own unique, spicy... bouquet.
But, the packaging... well, the packaging just says it all:

When I was a child
My favorite was Yuhuan Fava Bean
Carved into the shape of a ring
Fried crispy over slow fire
And processed with refined condiments
By nimble mum
Bravo!  The taste
It is indeed beyond word
The cool breeze blows gently
Accompanies my grandpa sitting
In the field
Past stories flashed through my mind
Yuhuan Fava Bean, when I see you
Each makes the mouth full of fragrance

It just sort of gets you right here [*indicates heart*], doesn't it?

Remember

To my knowledge, I've posted little, or nothing, about the Iraqi war on this website. I have my opinions, of course (as my father would say: "Opinions are like a**holes... everyone has at least one..."). But at the risk of igniting political controversy like a stick of dynamite, or being placed under the watchful eye of Attorney General Ashcroft for "un-patriotic comments", I've generally kept my damn mouth shut. So, for the love of God, if you don't want to hear what I have to say, then read another entry.

I was unable to hear the President's speech this evening, but I've read the entire transcript and studied the exerpts. Two words: provoking and interesting. I've spent a great deal of time washing myself in international politics - reading up on past and present events - scrubbing my soul with it.... and not just so I can name the President of Sri Lanka or tell you the names of the current government parties of India, South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Japan... but so I can sit, and think some more.

Now, with all that build-up, I've one minor point to make to President G.W. Bush. In his words:
""A new Iraq will also need a humane, well-supervised prison system. Under the dictator, prisons like Abu Ghraib were symbols of death and torture. That same prison became a symbol of disgraceful conduct by a few American troops who dishonoured our country and disregarded our values."
AND
"America will fund the construction of a modern maximum security prison."
AND
"When that prison is completed, detainees at Abu Ghraib will be relocated. Then with the approval of the Iraqi government, we will demolish the Abu Ghraib Prison as a fitting symbol of Iraq's new beginning."

Fine. Build a new prison. That's something that should be a part of rebuilding the Iraqi infrastructure anyway. But here's a suggestion: keep the old one. Turn it into a museum. Let future generations of Iraqis visit this shrine to the Hussein regime and the American occupation... and show them why something like this must never be allowed to occur again. All of it - dictatorships, abuse, occupiers, wars, torture, intimidation, brutality. All of it.

I sincerely hope the intentions of my government are not to level Abu Ghraib in a vain effort to erase the record of abuse (symbolically, of course) that the "few" American soldiers did to a score of Iraqis. Sort of an "out of sight, out of mind" scenario. Instead, keep Abu Ghraib around as a record - a museum - a memorial. Just like Dachau and Auschwitz. Let future generations see the burtality, so they can understand that it must never happen again. I was taken to Dachau when I was younger; believe me, I learned that lesson then.

So, if (and only if) the Iraqi government (and let me stress here, I do not mean the government that takes control on the 30 June... I mean the Iraqi government elected by the Iraqi people in a fair and democratic election internationally reconigzed and supervised by the UN, EU, and the Arab League) wants Abu Ghraib torn down, let it be done. If they want it kept as a memorial, let it be done. But, President Bush, let the Iraqis decide.

(Now you see why I don't often post my feelings on these sorts of issues. But perhaps I'll have something else to say on 30 June.)

My Small, Self-Centered Universe

--I've been very frustrated with the movie industry lately. Little has come out that remotely tugs at my soul and begs, "Come see me!" Consequently, Kill Bill, Vol. 2 was the first film I'd seen on the big screen in months. I was not disappointed. Friday, by some twist of fate, I saw Good Bye Lenin! with Zach and Brad. In a word: Stupdendous. Go see it.

--Last night, our house hosted about 25-30 folks for one of my housemate's birthday party. I didn't know half of their names; but, for the ones I did know, I might've actually made a few friends. Or at least acquaintances. Somehow, a hula-hoop contest was held; somehow, I won second place.

--Here's how cool I am: for my housemate's birthday gift, I bought him a map.

--I'm concerned about Nader's ability to draw votes from corpse-like Kerry. But apparently, others are more worried about it than I am.

--Plans for Victoria are rapidly evolving. Looks like we're driving/ferrying to Port Angeles Friday night, and taking the ferry to Victoria Saturday morning. We've the hotels booked, and will probably return Tuesday morning. I'm really looking forward to this mini-vacation. Work has been a bit overwhelming lately, and I'm looking forward to the opportunity to "get away" for a bit.

--Online shopping: some t-shirt design options...

Republicans for Voldemort

You Rock my Small, Self-Centered Universe

Robot Monkey Pirate

Suggestions?

Obsession

It is time for Illinois, my former home, to elect a new Senator.

Fresh from the Primaries:
Democrat Barack Obama vs. Republican Jack Ryan

You'd think a simple Senate election would be straightforward, right?
Wrong!
Ryan has hired a campaign worker to film every minute of Obama's public life. What the hell is going on in my former home?!

Social Anxiety

Yesterday, I was attempting to explain to a co-worker how, more often than not, simple conversations with me end disastrously... at least in my eyes. I tried to tell her how I get distracted from the conversation-at-hand when I begin to fixate on several small, interesting details in my surroundings - this could be something I hear, see, smell, touch... or even just some daydream I'm having. Then, the next thing you know, I'm incorporating these small, interesting details into the conversation I'm having. To make matters worse, I sometimes mix up words in sentences, either as I'm saying it or in my head before I speak, or say an entire sentence in reverse. I always used to think that everyone had the same issues with speaking that I did... and had to plan sentences well in advance before uttering even a sound. But, as is evident by my co-worker's sheer confusion at my revelations, I was mistaken.

I'll admit, it's an issue that keeps me from talking to people much of the time. Hell, I've been here for almost a year now, and I know only a handful of souls outside of my lab. Borderline autism? Social anxiety? Not likely - I find it much more probable that a lobotomy was performed on me sometime in the past without my knowledge.

But, I have a good example from this morning's journey to work that should illustrate my point to this co-worker:

As usual, I shared my bus ride with many other Hutch employees this morning. I recognized one man in particular as a technician in the lab down the hall from me. I had my earphones in on the bus and sat alone - but when we got to the Hutch, we both obviously took the same entrance in, and the same elevator up four floors (well, three floors, actually... but I'll explain later). As we'd been walking (me a few paces behind him) in awkward silence (or near-silence - I still had my music droning in my ears) down the empty hallway, I contemplated taking my earphones out and introducing myself to him.

"Hi, I'm James. I work just down the hall from you."

"Hey, I'm James. You work in Dr. So-and-so's lab, right? Well, I'm just down the hall from you."

"Hey, I've seen you a million times, and you seem harmless enough - my name is James."

Simple pimple, right? No - by then I was already fixating on the fact that we were taking the elevator up from the loading dock to the second floor... but, due to the building's interstitial floor design, we were really going up four floors instead of three. And, I'd by then been staring at his backpack... more specifically, the round patch on his backpack. It was from a casino (Isle of Capri, to be exact), and it bore a symbol of three legs, each bent at the knee with their toes pointed counterclockwise, and joined to each other at the thigh. I knew exactly where this image came from - the flag and coat of arms of the Isle of Man. I don't know why I know such a thing. I just do.

So, while one part of my brain was contemplating the idea of striking up a conversation with this man and possibly making a new friend, another part was busy analyzing the Manx symbol on his bag... and yet another part was contemplating the interstitial construction of the building I work in. I foresaw disaster:

"Hi. You don't know me, but I work on the same floor as you - which is just above an interstitial level, you know. Do you think any buildings on the Isle of Man have interstitial levels?"

"Does the Manx government know that casinos are using their coat of arms? I would've taken the stairs, but there are four flights, not three."

"With all those legs on your backpack, you could take the stairs."

I kept my trap shut, and turned up the volume on my CD player, praying the music would drown out the ideas swirling in my brain. Looks like introductions will have to wait for another, less-distracting day.

Breaktime

Granted, the holiday weekend itself doesn't come around for another ten days or so, but Zach and I have already decided where we're going.

It was a toss-up between

AND

Portland lost. Victoria won.

The hotel has been booked:
Zach: "I just called and asked their rates... it's a little less than $70 a night."
James: "What?! Holy sh*t. There's no way I can afford that. Screw this; we're going to Portland instead."
Zach: "J.R., that rate is in Canadian dollars."
James: "Oh... nevermind. Canada it is, then!"

Portland is not lost. Other weekends further into the summer will be more convenient for us to galavant around Oregon's largest city - hopefully with Dainen. But Victoria was slightly more appealing because:
1. I'd like to say that I've been to Canada - even if only the southernmost tip of Vancouver Island.
2. Though we could easily drive up to Vancouver to satisfy "I've been to Canada", I need a "quiet" mini-vacation in a smaller city.
3. C'mon, there's a ferry involved. Do you really think I could resist that?
4. By leaving my car in the States, Zach and I will be doing tons of walking = James gets a little thinner = looking better to galavant around Portland (swing those hips, baby) when Zach, Dainen, and I paint the town red (later in the summer).

Of course, #4 is entirely Wishful Thinking. But hey, a guy can dream!

My Husband

Back off, ladies. I saw him first.

Why, hello there, you handsome devil.

Lazy Saturday

What I did today.
And all under a blanket of light drizzle, too.

Quite possibly the greatest joke:
Ted: I flew single engine fighters in the Air Force... but this plane has four engines! It's an entirely different kind of flying... altogether!
Rumack & Randy: It's an entirely different kind of flying.

Another Chubby

I just broke a chair by sitting in it.
Christ almighty!

Theater and Interior Design

On the way to work this morning (Zach gave me a ride), we decided to listen to the headlines on NPR. We were too late for headlines. Instead, we heard an interesting interview with L. Gray Kelley, a (now former) Justice of the Peace in Massachusetts.

Ms. Kelley (or Ms. Gray Kelley, I'm not sure which) just turned in her resignation as a JP on religious grounds - after Mass. Governor Mitt Romney issued an "edict" concerning the legal gay marriages that are due to begin in that state on Monday. The basis of the "edict" = just do it. All JPs must perform gay marriages when requested within their official duties. It's the law. Right now, it's legal. No conscientious objectors, no "I'm not available right now", etc.

Ms. Kelley/Gray Kelley, a devout Catholic, chose to resign, since gay marriage conflicts with her religious beliefs. That's fine with me - it's her decision. I'd much rather have JPs resign rather than refuse to marry couples. I mean, the last time I checked, Massachusetts Justices of the Peace could not pick and choose between couples to wed - gay or straight, fat or thin, tall or short, interracial, so forth. Their jobs do not include passing judgement upon potential unions, or using that judgement to refuse to perform the wedding under Massachusetts law. If the paperwork has been done, and the fees paid, then the JP must perform the wedding - anything else would not fit the JP job description.

But, as Ms. Kelley/Gray Kelley's interview was wrapping up, the interviewer (I didn't catch who it was) asked how her homosexual friends reacted. She admitted they were "shocked", and also admitted that, on national radio, she probably sounds somewhat homophobic. But, to counteract this apparent homophobic image she's probably getting nationwide now, she put forth the following evidence: she has always been involved with "theater and interior design."

Theater and interior design.

I'm confused. So, she isn't homophobic because she's always been involved with theater and interior design? Oh sh*t. I must be homophobic, then - because I've NEVER been involved with theater and interior design! Oh no! I hate myself, then! And my boyfriend! Oh me - oh my.

Oh, wait. I get it. Gays must be involved in theater and interior design, I suppose. So, to tolerate gays and befriend them (us, me), I suppose she's asserting that one must be involved in theater and interior design.

Think on that.

Done thinking? Okay, as a gay man, I'm physically, emotionally (and so forth) attracted to other men. Not theater and interior design. I've never been involved in either. I get stage fright - I could only play in orchestra pits, at best. And anyone who knows me for five minutes will realize that my idea of "interior design" consists of two main facets:
1. Picking up stray paper clips and bits of food off of my bedroom floor BEFORE turning on the vacuum.
2. Ensuring that my sacred Ewan McGregor poster is hung up straight.

To my friends out there reading this entry, please... please don't ever tell anyone you aren't homophobic because you know "theater and interior design" - I'd rather you instead say because you know James.

I weep for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Decay Constant

Some two weeks ago, I went to the dentist to have my teeth cleaned. There, Peggy, the world's most friendly hygenist, broke the news to me - Dr. D has to replace my single filling. Hence my trip to the dentist this morning... to let Dr. D tap and drill, saw and slice... into one of my poor upper right pre-molars.

I don't mind going to my physician; and I adore my optometrist. But just mention the word "dentist" to me and... well... I don't exactly think of it as something fun, sexy (??), cool, or even weird. No... think first of Steve Martin's role as the sadistic dentist in Little Shop of Horrors (I even sing the song in my head).

My pappaw on my mother's side is retired from his dental practice, which he ran out of an office attached to his home. The waiting room is now my mammaw's sewing room. The examination room and prep room still have all their original instruments. The entire area was open... and rather creepy for a four-year-old to wander about unsupervised. I scared the hell out of myself time and again looking at the archaic drills, needles, lights, and levers that looked less like dental tools... and more like Ultra Decaptitaion Devices. My first pediatric dentist, I've been told, loved to decorate his office with clowns - because he found such joy in making little ones happy. Well, not this little one. Little Jimmy was (and still is, quite frankly) scared sh*tless of clowns! Hence, dentistry and I did not get off on the right foot. Fast forward through various pediatric denists in Florida and Illinois... all asking the same questions:

Testosterone-laden pediatric dentist: "So, Jimbo... what sports do you play?"
Jimmy: "None."
Testosterone-laden pediatric dentist [now offended]: I notice another cavity. Why don't you brush and floss?
Jimmy: "I do... two or three times every day."
Testosterone-laden pediatric dentist: "Uh, sure. Next thing you know, you'll start playing sports, too. Go get your mom so I can tell her about your teeth."

And I'm not even going to get started on my orthodontist.

Luckily, things began to change after the braces came off and it came time to yank out my wisdom teeth. My parents decided I finally should switch to their dentist - the lovely, charming, and talented Dr. K. She rocked. She single-handedlyreduced fears I'd built up (thanks to the testosterone-laden pediatric dentists)... these fears included:

A. Jimmy is a total dumbf*ck because he had four cavities on his baby teeth and obviously can't brush his teeth properly.
B. Jimmy is a defect because he had crooked teeth that forced mom and dad to fork over thousands for 3.5 years worth of braces.
C. Jimmy is defective because he doesn't play any sports.

Dr. K, who gleefully treated my teeth all through college, took each fear and tore it down. When my first "adult" cavity came up, she gently reassured me that I indeed knew how to brush and floss. "James, didn't any of those previous dentists tell you that you that the layers of dentin and enamel in many of your teeth are of a different thickness than most other people?!" Alas, no.

I so wanted to marry her. If you need a good dentist in the Quad Cities area, let me know.

When I moved to Seattle, I chose the dentist one of my housemates goes to. Dr. D is obviously skilled... but he lacks Dr. K's grace. Maybe it's because I subconsciously deal with women better than men. Maybe it's because I'm afraid of seeing clowns decorating his office. Maybe it's because I don't play sports. He said he needed to replace the filling Dr. K put in five years ago - but didn't take the Time Needed to Convince James That Everything is Going to be Okay. He treated me... like a man.

So, on to this morning:
Dr. D: "How are you this morning?"
Me [thinking]: "How the f*ck should I feel?!... It's 8:30AM!"
Me [saying]: "Uh, fine."
Dr. D: "What've you done with your day so far?"
Me [thinking]: "Is this question for real? I've only been up for an hour."
Me [thinking]: "Uh, nothing really."
Dr. D: "Okaaaay. Well, I've been studying the last x-rays we did, and I'm concerned about the tooth behind the pre-molar we'll be working on today. I think it's showing significant decay as well - so we'll just slap a filling on that one, too... probably."
Me [thinking]: "WTF?! I'm not prepared for this! Jesus H. Christ! I've only mentally prepared myself to have a filling replaced. I thought I'd still be James-with-one-cavity when I walked out of this office! Now you're telling me I have to be James-with-two-cavities?! No f*cking way!"
Me [saying]: "Uh, okay. You're the expert."

Halfway through the procedure, Dr. D steps out to do something else. Or laugh at me. Whichever. Mia, his assistant, takes the time to inform me of other cavity-related news:

(Keep in mind that my mouth is full of five dental instruments, as well as a blue-green colored dental dam.)
Mia: "Dr. D has been studying your last set of x-rays this morning."
Me [thinking]: "No sh*t, lady. Just call me James-with-two-cavities."
Me [saying]: "Arglellll unch mmmhmmm."
Mia: "He's marked a few molars on your lower left and right sides with a WATCH WARNING."
Me [thinking]: "WATCH WARNING?! What the hell is that? Did you notice that my watch band is brown, but my shoes are black? I'm sorry I don't match - I was in a hurry!"
Me [saying]: "Mflrrrrrrgh."
Mia: "They might be cavity danger zones that we'll take another look at when Peggy [my regular hygenist] does your new x-rays in six months. Just keep your molar region in mind when you brush and floss."
Me [thinking]: "Lady, are you telling me that now I'm James-with-several-cavities?! Christ, just knee me in the groin now while you're at it! And what do you mean by several?! I have more than several molars, lady. I took two vertebrate paleontology classes in college, you know!!"
Me [saying]: "Llllllllungh."

I would've asked for more details after they'd finished transforming me into James-with-two-cavities-and-several-more-on-the-way, but the entire right side of my mouth was numb. I could only muster a left-side-of-face smile when Dr. D's parting words were "Brush and floss!" (as I thought, "No sh*t... What do you think I've been doing?!"). I thought I'd go to work after that, and gain sympathy from my co-workers. But that idea was shot when I took a gulp of water in the car, and saw half of that water dribble out of my swollen right side and onto my hoodie. "That's it. I'm taking a half day at work."

So, some lessons:
--I need to be telepathic in the dentist office. Or otherwise improve my communication with grunts and hand gestures while drool pours from my numbed lips.
--Dr. D knows his stuff... but he lacks Dr. K's charisma and motherly charm.
--I still obviously have some dental-associated rage left that Dr. K did not purge from my periodontal region.
--Every job I have from now on MUST have dental coverage.
--Dr. D and Mia could fit five or six dental instruments in my mouth at one time.
--It takes more than two hours for novocaine to wear off on my right side.
--I should invest in some straws.

The Today Show Syndrome

7:00AM – Alarm goes off.
7:15AM – I finally stir from bed and prepare to shower.
Zach – “Turn on the radio.”
Me – “Huh?”
Zach – “I wanna listen to NPR.”
Me – “Oh, okay.” [I turn on NPR and go shower, dress, and take part in a futile beautification ritual I’ve spent 23 years "perfecting".]

And coming back from the shower, I’m greeted not with Bob Edwards reading the latest international news… but with a train whistle on my radio accompanied by a "human interest" story involving old railway lines in some who-gives-a-sh*t town.

Me – “Did you change the station?”
Zach – “Nope. This is still Morning Edition, NPR…”
Me – “When did Morning Edition start to sound like the 'Rock Island Lines'?”
Zach – “Since they fired Bob Edwards.”
Me – “They sacked Bob Edwards?!”
Zach – “Well, forced him into retirement, I think. This is the ‘new’ NPR.”
Me – “What… an NPR without NEWS?!”
Zach – “Yeah. At least for this hour of Morning Edition… No news at all. Like the Today Show has become.”

Oh Lord. It’s spreading. First the Today Show, then CNN, then Headline News, and now at least an hour-long segment of NPR’s Morning Edition. Within a decade, there probably won’t be one ounce of the American media that actually delivers NEWS. The headlines won’t be about world events, climate change, and terrorism. They’ll be “A Special Report: the Courageous Fight to Teach the Value of Vitamin C in Public Schools of the Upper Mississippi Valley in the 1930s”, “Post-It Notes: the Untold Drama Engulfing a Fifth Grade Class in Shawnee, Oklahoma”, and “No. 2 Pencils: What Every Parent Needs to Know to Keep His or Her Child Safe”.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what plagues American society today. No news. Just useless soundbytes, coffee cups, plush couches, "human interest" stories, and Katie Couric’s laughter labelled as “real news programming you can count on”. Give me Bob Edwards any day.

Beverage

Zach, Four Beverages - at Breakfast

Interviewer: "How do you make decisions?"
James: "I don't, really. I just get a little of everything. If the waitress asks me which beverage I'd like, I order two. And have a friend order two more. After all, why have less when you can have more?"
Interviewer: "Fascinating. You must be quite f*cked up."
James: "Screw off, hippie."

It Takes All Kinds.

I need advice...

I'm a little perplexed about how to reply (or if I should reply) to this comment:

-----
ISleepInADrawer.com entry "The Anti-Anti-Gay Rally"
Comment:

Posted by: Matthew at May 4, 2004 07:52 PM
-----

I left the comment up because... well... it wasn't harmful. It was different. Unexpected. When I first read it, I leaned back, rubbed my eyes, blinked, and read again - convinced I'd hallucinated. Then I had Zach read it. He shrugged, kissed my forehead, sighed, and advised: "After all, it takes all kinds."

I suppose he's correct. But I'm not sure how to reply - or even if I should. It seems crystal clear to me that the gentleman and I are so far polarized in our respective views that common ground or dialogue seem incomprehensible - and an utter waste of time for both of us.

But, then again, I've been known to be wrong before. Any thoughts?

There's Something About Mary

Though my current love of domestic politics is (to say the least) lacking, Zach, every Sunday morning, diligently watches his string of political shows on network television. By and large, I sit off to the sideline reading. But, I've now seen James Carville and Mary Matalin for the past four or five weeks on NBC's Meet the Press... and I've one thing to say:

Mary, oh Mary. You're a Republican strategist. You're shrewd, defensive, and well-spoken. I loathe your arguments and reasoning - but I'm not thrilled about your Democratic-strategist husband, either. You manipulate facts. But, all-in-all, why why why must you, my dear Mary, wear the most horrific outfits on Meet the Press. The two worst:
--a 1970s-puke-green crushed velvet "track suit" - with an oversized collar, no less
--a tremendous hot pink slim-fit blazer with a multicolored lace-flushed black-based blouse underneath... plus those huge pearl earrings mistaken for Jovian satellites

Mary, you're successful, married, and an apparently terrific mother. Though I may not care for you or Mr. Carville, the CV of your life is filled to the brim with internationally-regarded achievements. But... please... new wardrobe. It hurts.

Cerebral Peace Process

Tonight's Top Story:
--The report on my biopsy finally came in... All benign. I do show some possible/probable (I can't remember which word she used) signs of a slight skin condition. Nothing life threatening - so don't get those hopes up. But possibly/probably something I'll be bothering a dermatologist about sometime before I expire.

--This entire ordeal has led me to one conclusion... summarized with two dreaded words: premature aging.

In Other News:
--Dainen, hopefully, is in town tomorrow... and he, Eric, Zach, and I will venture out tomorrow to everyone's favorite leather bar. No, I'm not into leather all of the sudden. But I am into that bar... for the simple reason that I don't feel like anyone there tries to undress me with their eyes. Whew.

--After what authorities could only describe as "Utterly blah" days in our respective jobs, Zach and I slumped into early apathy tonight. We did manage to slump over to Scarecrow and walk out with some choice selections... among them Gandhi, one of my favorites - and a new one for Zach.

--A discussion of Indian-Pakistani relations followed after a screening of the above film... which spilled over into other world hot-spot regions...

--And eventually I found myself blurting out to him that I have my own peace plans figured out for practically every "troubled" region of the globe... or at least some of them. I'm not exactly proud of this... In fact, I was horrified that I'd spoken to him of it. I thought I'd wait at least another decade into my relationship with Zach to make such a revelation.

--But, since I'd already (in the purely metaphorical sense) unzipped my fly, I told him all of it: Israel-Palestine, Cyprus, Bahrain, Morocco-Western Sahara, Liberia, Nigeria-Sharia laws, Colombia-FARC, Korea, China-Tibet, India-Pakistan-Kashmir, China-Taiwan, China-Hong Kong, UK-Northern Ireland, Somalia, Sudan-Darfur... the whole of it.

--Perhaps it's my own way of trying to create order with my head, to compensate for the fact that there's little order in my head.

--After all, for the first time, I failed to cry during Gandhi! Damn it - sometimes I loathe being such an unfeeling little sh*t.

Bright Box

"Hey there, stranger."

I’ve never really considered myself one who’s on the “in” when it comes to fads. You know... the cool stuff. The neat trend that’s all the rave. It’s not that I missed the bandwagon as it came speeding by… it’s that I didn’t even see the bandwagon to begin with.

Dense? Perhaps.
Self-absorbed? Oh, yes.
Unaware? No sh*t, Sherlock.

Nowhere has this been more evident lately than in television. I’ll be the first to admit that I have a TV – and I love it. Nice flat-screener. Best thing I put in my car when I made The Great Exodus from Illinois to Seattle. Hook up the DVD player, VCR, good ol’ Nintendo and Super Nintendo, and James is a happy camper. Want to make me crap my pants with glee? Then send me the Atari set I left at my mother’s house, find the one missing part I need to hook it up, and watch the sparks fly. So, I love my Big Glowing Box. I worship it – just like every other patriotic American.

I have a significant DVD/VHS collection; and I make thorough use of them. The assemblage is far from completion, of course… But, anyone who knows me… and I mean REALLY knows me, will quickly realize that I do indeed watch TV.

But, in college, a personal trend began… which has only worsened over the past few years. I watch TV, but I don’t WATCH TV. I pop in a DVD or a VHS when needed, or play a little Nintendo/Super Nintendo when I feel like rotting my cerebral cortex. But, I don’t turn on NBC or CNN or MTV or even the freakin’ Weather Channel. No VH1, Headline News, or Lifetime. No HGTV, PBS, or SciFi Channel. Of course, it was not an overnight event. I gradually turned away from "Must-See TV" nights… only turned on MTV for Daria marathons or the occasional Sifl and Olly Show. NBC’s Today Show, as it became less about news and more about doilies and dandelions, was crossed off my list and replaced with CNN. When CNN began to follow the Today Show’s lead, I turned to BBC World News. I still tuned in to PBS for their historical-documentaries-with-substance when I tired of the History Channel’s incessant focus on American history (you can only take so many shows focusing on the American Civil War or Benjamin Franklin’s diaries). College orchestra rehearsals kept me TV-less on Mondays and Thursdays. I could’ve recorded shows, but was it really worth making time to watch them later? I’d see other shows when it suited me – The West Wing, ER, Will and Grace, and various Star Trek re-runs. But “when it suited me” became… well… less and less.

I spent one nearly-TV-less summer in Iowa City as a micriobiology intern… and one utterly-TV-less summer in Seattle as a Hutch intern. Then, one day, during my senior year in college, I realized that I hadn’t turned on a TV in over three weeks. BBC international news services online had kept me in-touch with world happenings. I broke this developing trend and actually bought a TV of my own, and all the fun go-alongs I mentioned above. DVD/VHS collection began in earnest. I consulted some cable news channels while I was still living in my mother’s house for the latest global chaos… and quit watching most “shows.” The “reality TV” binge missed me entirely. New shows, products, and superfunny commercials? I heard about them through co-workers and students… and sometimes got really freaking annoyed actually HEARING about the latest Cool Stuff society had to offer.

I moved to Seattle, and settled into a house that, for the moment, is without cable. For news, I check the BBC online, read The Economist, and occasionally purchase a copy of The New York Times. Between the two of us, Zach and I have a collection of TV-shows-on-DVD consisting largely of some isolated seasons of South Park, Strangers with Candy, various Star Trek series, Family Guy, and The Simpsons, among others. So, when we feel like “watching TV” at my place, the conversation does not entail wondering if there’s a new Friends episode on this Thursday (Hey, is Friends still on? And is it still on Thursdays?). Instead, I’d ask, “Should we watch the South Park episode where Cartman tries to find The Brown Noise during the Worldwide Recorder Concert in Arkansas? Or how about the Strangers episode where Jerri has to take care of a 10-pound baby? Or what about that ST:TNG episode where the whole crew gets amnesia? Oh, wait! Let’s watch the episode of The Simpsons where Burns sells the power plant to that German firm!”

Thus is my TV life. Rarely watched. And when it is – it’s all my choice… no Networks. I read books, check news online, and pop in a DVD when I feel like "watching TV." But yesterday, through conversations with two graduate students, it occurred to me that, due to my TV-less predicament, I’m entirely out-of-touch with American society. Completely. I’ve no idea what the Rest of You think, or how you think, or how you put up with some of that crap they beam out over the airwaves.

It was a disturbing thought... the very idea that I'd just flipped off society by becoming disinterested in much of what was beamed over the airwaves sent chills up my spine. But, I was even more disturbed by the fact that I don’t seem to give a flying f*ck!

Tearful

Since we've been together, Zach and I have had some arguments.
In fact we had one last night.

Nothing major. Just snapping at one another - being curt.
Heck, most couples I know do much worse.
(Oh God... did I just imply that he and I are a couple?)

But, I realized a thread common to all our arguments... they all surface due to technology.

You see, Z and I are not techno-whizzes. Between us, we have computers, digital cameras, and all that... but we have about as much techno know-how as a three-year-old. Well, actually, Zach manages for a nine-year old; but I manage for about a fetus... so that somehow averages out to a three-year-old.

And we always get impatient, snappy, and spatty when it comes time to Integrate Technology Into Our Lives. Take last night - trying to transfer images from Z's digital camera to my HP notebook.

Three words: Damn you, Microsoft.

Anyway, so we snapped and griped. I freaked out, as is usual when I must deal with technology. (How does James resolve a paper jam? By tossing hadfuls of computer paper over his shoulders frantically yelling, "Oh sh*t! Oh sh*t!!") Then we calmed down, and made up - realizing Bill Gates was at the core of the issue - and that we were not going to let Bill Gates come between us. (????)

Zach, who is always and evermore in-touch with his emotions, became tender and cheerful. I realized, for about the 20,000th time, that I am not always as in-touch with my emotions. I mean, I was equally pleased-as-punch that Z and I were not letting Microsoft keep us snappy and bitchy. But I realized: Zach knows every emotion he feels. And why do I think that? Well, he cries at the drop of a hat! Hey, don't get me wrong - I think that's terrific. I actually value that in any person... not the crying, but the I'm-so-in-touch-with-my-emotions-that-I'll-do-anything-to-express-them-within-reason.

But it takes an Earth-moving event to invoke such a response in me:
--Breaking up with David.
--My mammaw's funeral.
--My parents announcing their separation-with-intent-to-divorce.
--PJ dumping me.

Or, sadly, some Hollywood hits:
--Schindler's List
--Awakenings

And why can't I cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat? I'm not entirely sure... I suspect some of my more masculine male relatives lectured me on crying too much when I was younger, and pressed me to cry less... until it reached this point. But, I realized last night that I really envy guys like Zach. Guys that weren't scolded by odd uncles or well-meaning grandfathers for sniffling. (Don't worry - my father didn't do this, too! He and I are great!) At least guys like Z don't need a Steven Spielberg movie to tear up.

But, there's hope for me yet, I suppose.
After telling Zach all this last night, he announced intentions to purchase Schindler's List.

The Anti-Anti-Gay Rally

At age twenty-three, I finally went to my first protest.
And possibly my only one. But only time will tell.

Anyway, I made good on my earlier promise to go rally at the entrance to SafeCo Field on Saturday... and why? Well, because the May Day for Marriage organizers brought in a sh*tload of good citizens from Eastern Washington to "defend the sanctity of marriage."

So, I figured I should go down there, hold hands with Zach, and reallygive them something to be rage and beat their chests over.

Our protest (the anti-anti-gay rally?) was of a decent size... smatterings of gay couples from the Seattle-Tacoma-Olympia area, local gay activists, a marching band, my state representative, families, students, PFLAG, and so forth. Zach and I met up with some of his co-workers in the International District/Chinatown and marched over to SafeCo... where the police had the anti-anti-gay protesters partitioned off from SafeCo's main entrance, so the anti-gays could enter through a narrow passage... cops on one side, SafeCo bricks on the other. The anti-gays appeared to be Evangelical families and older couples. Most ignored us - stared right through us. Some yelled back. I was condemned to burn no less than three times (and I wasn't even yelling or anything), called "lewd" once, and appealed to with the whole "not-in-front-of-the-children" bit at least eight times. Some of the anti-gays just looked at us, shook their heads in an "Isn't-that-pitiful" gesture reminiscent of my mammaw, and kept on marching into SafeCo.

A sign had been thrust in my hand: "Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged." In fact, the anit-anti-gays were swimming in signs. Some of my favorites:
--Homophobes are just jealous 'cause they can't get laid.
--Want to save marriage? Then END DIVORCE.
--How does my marriage interfere with yours?
--Look at me. I am your son.
--Queer Eye for the Stupid Guy. [under a pic of President George W. Bush]
--Four balls and two rings is a good thing.

Gays galore shouting at Young Lifers (for some reason, in college, I began to call persons of highly Evangelical beliefs Young Lifers... don't ask me why... I'm still trying to figure this one out). Even though there were thousands of Young Lifers, and only hundreds of us, I still felt... well... uplifted. Hopeful. Just seeing people out in force - couples (gay and straight) and families (gay and straight) of all ages, compositions, etc. [Well, and cute guys galore, of course!] I held my stupid sign, got yelled at, wore a baseball cap (rare event), occasionally yelled back, smiled a lot, wrote my name in chalk, got sunburned on my neck, and felt like I was a part of something. It was... cool!

Some snaps:

Do this... don't do that! Can't you read the sign?!

Don't squint too hard... I'm definitely wearing a paleontology t-shirt. I completely skipped the grooming. Great way to look cool, ass.
(But at least the fellow behind me in the sunglasses is cute.)