Dancing with Myself

Running in Place

Day 21:  Nothing has been done in the kitchen remodel since last Thursday.  We're in a holding pattern awaiting delivery of the range and dishwasher which are supposed to get here next week.  They are installed simultaneously with the countertops.  However, I got sick of the dust and dirt, so I cleaned house on Saturday. 

My home computer is on the fritz, resulting in a lot less blogging on my part.  The computer situation will resolve itself by next week.  I'm switching to an Apple Powerbook.  Better times are a comin'.   

And the Beat Goes On

Day 16:  The kitchen remodel goes well.  Here's the link with the latest pictures.  We're waiting for the appliances to arrive which, god willing, will be any day now.  The appliances are ordered from the same company that's doing the countertops.  I noticed on the receipt that they've given themselves until August 10.  I was assured verbally that they generally take from one to two weeks.  That was a week ago. 

So far, everything's going exactly as planned. 

Touching Base

My birthday well well celebrated.  Saturday night Reilly and I saw the San Jose Stage Company's production of Idols of the King.  Very interesting.  It featured a young man from Alabama who must be the best Elvis impersonator in the business who essentially performed Elvis's Las Vegas concert, interspersed with little vignettes based on the lives of half a dozen Elvis fanatics.  We all know people like that.  I personally know a woman who has a shrine in her living room and goes every year to Graceland on the anniversary of Elvis's death.  I know another woman who won't listen to any music except songs by Elvis.  Crazy?  Who's to say?  I think they're both a crazy as bat shit.  The play pokes fun at such people while showcasing Elvis himselvis.  Where the play fails, in my opinion, is that it simply makes fun of the Elvis fanatics.  It doesn't help you to connect to them in any way, so they just come across as crazies, and while we all agree that they're crazy, the job of a playwright is to help you connect with them in just a little way.  You need to see your own potential for being crazy, and then laugh with those poor fools as well as laugh at them.  The man and woman who played all of the different parts did so magnificently.

Sunday afternoon I enjoyed with a few of my drinking buddies at the Edge Bar in San Francisco.  That's my regular drinking bar.  When I walked in the door, Gary (Queen) screamed happy birthday at me, and then the entire bar broke into "Happy Birthday."  You'd have thought it was a planned surprise party.  I spent several hours with the boys before heading home to get ready for dinner.

Kevin and Wendy took me to dinner at a very nice little French restaurant in the Rockridge neighborhood.  Rockridge is in Oakland next to Berkeley.  It's a cute little neighborhood of Craftsman bungalows and trendy restaurants and shops.  I can't remember the name of the place, but it was our third choice upon which we happened to stumble.  Our first choice was closed and our second choice told us it would take 45 minutes before we could get a table.  We put our names in and started walking around the neighborhood when we noticed a nice little place with tablecloths and empty seats.  We checked the menu, saw it was French and decided to give it a try.  It was absofuckinglutely fabulous.  I had crusted scallops for my first course, and bouillabaisse for my second course.  I had a dessert, too, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was.  I think I'd rather have had another round of either the first or second course.

Wendy is 8-1/2 months pregnant with twin boys, bless her heart.  She looked it, too.  I adore this couple.  I'm looking forward to the babies.  This is about as close as I'll get to being a grandfather, and I intend to make the most of it.  The boys are to be called Hank and Dexter.  Good solid names. 

The kitchen remodel moves along smoothly.  I'm comfortable with the progress and there have been no surprises since the weird plumbing was exposed in the first week.  So far we're still on time and under budget. 

In this morning's paper there's a review of Harold and Maude.  I've never had it dissected and labeled before, so I found it interesting for that alone.  The reviewer, Mick LaSalle, who was too young to see the movie when it came out in 1971--that should tell you something, professes to really liking the movie before reducing it to a collection of tired cliches.  He really should have ended the review with "Well, bless their hearts."  (To you few non-Southerners who haven't read that very funny piece by author unknown from about ten years ago, in the South, a negative comment is allowed in polite conversation as long as it's followed by "bless his/her/your heart.")

In a perfect world you wouldn't see or hear much out of me for the next couple of weeks.  I should take advantage of the upheaval and catch up on my reading and work a little on my other two major projects, but the truth is, when my life is in upheaval, I blog more than I contemplate.  My room is a disaster.  ,Go see for yourself.  Every inch of floor is filled with boxes, files, shoes, clothes and, well you know, just stuff.  I want to re-carpet my bedroom, but in order to do so, I'd have to clean my room.  That task is just so daunting.

Allow me to pull a Scarlet O'Hara on you and say, "I'll just worry about that tomorrow."

Where Was I?

Anybody remember Terri Cole Whitaker?  She was this hot woman who was on TV back in the mid-80s telling everyone that reality was simply something you perceived in your mind.  She spoke to me, praise the lord.  She used to say that we all begin as winners.  Out of millions of zygotes laden in sperm, only one made it successfully.  We all come from good stock, she would say.

I had the most serendipitous day.  I accomplished all that I needed to accomplish.  There were two areas of concern and my contractor happened by and saw simple solutions.  I am so attracted to him that I almost started humping  his leg.  We begin by being the same age, seven years apart.  I'm 57, almost 58, and he's 51.  We went to similar high schools at different times in the same generation.  We both worked on the Trans-Alaskan Pipeline Project at the same time.  He's 20 years sober.  I'm a 20-year drunk.  When he's not around I have a hard time believing that he's a real person and not just someone I made up.  His name is Randy.  OH-MY-GOD, do I have a crush on this hunk of a man.  Today we bonded over our memories of the Alaskan Pipeline Project.  Jeez!  That was sweeter than sex.  It was so cute to watch the change in his expression when he realized that he was not older than I, but actually younger.  That's the same time he told me that he's been sober for 20 years.  Isn't that what Friends of Bill say just before they get interested in someone?  I wish.

I am, however, blessed to have this person pass through my life right now.  He's straight-forward, knows the true value of things, and is happy to be making an honest living doing things he enjoys.  He's a natural facilitator.  He knows people and helps them connect with others.  Did I mention that he's a total hunk?  Today I caught myself checking out his crotch.  For chrissake.

I  took the day off to take care of remodeling details.  I was happy to be home.  I noticed that the upper cabinets were not the ones ordered.  I only have 5 feet of upper cabinet.  That's divided into two sets of double doors.  I wanted opaque glass doors.  They delivered solid wood doors.  Fortunately, I had the receipts handy, and Randy, the true love of my life, spoke with absolute authority and  the wrong doors were re-packaged for return. 

My affection and appreciation of Randy is surpassed only by my appreciation and affection for his partner and crew-chief, Mike.  Oh-My-God-I'm-in-Love with this man!  Mike looks to be Asian, but I can't tell because he speaks Spanish, talks Californian, and radiates a calmness so profound  that my Guru would probably bow to him.

Yada yada yada.  He's my contractor and not yours, so screw you, the fantasy's mine.  I can't begin to tell you how pleased I am to be worried about erotic fantasies about my contractor as opposed to nightmares about getting screwed. 

Tomorrow night, Reilly's taking me to a show with Elvis impersonators. My back hurt too much for dancing, so I sent my regrets to Steve R.  Reilly is one of my closest friends.  He's also the most perverted person I know.  (We all have our icons.  He's one of mine.  He tells me I'm one of his, but I think he just wants to keep me titillated.  He's just lucky I'm easy.)

58 years old on Sunday.  God that sounds old.  I look in the mirror and I just don't see it.  I see another pilgrim who's dodged much of the grief that seems to come to most humans.  Shit, my face isn't even wrinkled yet.  My body feels old, but thanks to my genepool, I don't look anything near my age.  I have to ask myself each time the idea comes up, "What is age?"

La Plus Ca Change...

Day 10:  Lorenzo and buddy finished preparing the walls onto which the new cabinets will hang.  That was it today.   I did submit a change order, though.  The Pergo floor (which I hate) can stay for another year.  I'd rather spend the money on other, more pressing projects.  It doesn't look nearly as bad next to the new cabinets as it did next to the old ones.  Tomorrow, (Friday), I'm taking off from work to go pick up the range hood and the new doors to the deck.  After that, the only shopping that remains to be done is light fixtures and  rheostats.  So far I'm substantially UNDER budget.  That is sweet.

This is my birthday week-end, by the way.  I'm not begging for attention, just mentioning a complicating factor to this week-end's social agenda.   A good friend, Steve R., shares my birthday, July 17.  He's throwing a dance party Saturday night.  It's a swing and 2-step party.  I invited my favorite dancing couples, but I don't think any of them will be able to make it.   I bet that doesn't slow me down much.  I LOVE dancing.  Sunday, I've been invited to dinner with my friends Wendy and Kevin.  Wendy's in her 8th month carrying twin boys.  I've already adopted her babies as my chosen nephews.  God willing, I'll have a good twenty years to plant all of my heretical ideas in their heads as I do my best to spoil them and warp their perspectives.  After all, what are Gay uncles for if not that?

My old girlfriend, Katie K., remember her?  I barely do.  She fell in love last year and I fell off her radar completely.  Damn, people in love are so fucking selfish.  She's probably worried that I'll make a play for her fiance, Adrian.  I would, too, or rather, I will, too.  He's such a fox and totally cool.  I adore him.

Meanwhile, I'm listening to Canadian Country from the lusty throats of Shania Twain and Terri Clark.  Thanks, Robbie, for hitting me over the head and tying me down and making me listen.  You're absolutely right.  Both of them are very clever song writers.  I mixed in some Travis Tritt, not because he's any good, but because my mother gave me one of his albums  and I was curious.  First of all, he's NOT Canadian, and he's not nearly as clever as either of the above CANADIAN song writers.

Kitchen Remodel Update

Day 9:  Lorenzo arrived at 8 a.m. to prepare the walls for the new cabinets.  I started a photo album of the project here.  Even though I just returned from holiday, I took the day off to do some shopping for the kitchen.  I need to take my mother to the airport, choose a floor, decide on lighting, look at some doors, pick up Beauregard's ashes, have a breakdown about 4 p.m., after which I pick myself up, shake the dust off my clothes, have a cocktail and then move on. 

I know politics has been interesting lately, but I'm still in my Canadian mode, preferring not to think about it.  The only comment I have about any of the shit that's coming down is how can decent honorable people who think of themselves as Republican, conservative, or American, not be outraged by the conduct and attitude of this administration and the Right-wing extremists who control the Congress? 

I feel a profound sadness about the bombings in London.  This horror is going to continue until the Muslim community decides it has had enough.  Irish opinion against the IRA had more to do with the end of that reign of terror than did the British iron hand.  Muslims take note.  You are responsible for your extremists.  They are your children, your brothers and your fathers.  When you have had enough, please let the rest of us know and we'll help you get rid of them.  Until then, I note that many of the victims of the London bombings were Muslim.  Terrorist bombs don't distinguish the Good from the Bad, the Young from the Old, Christian from Muslim, women from men.  I further note that almost all of the victims of the bombings in Iraq are Muslim.  What's with you people?

I despise fundamentalist extremism whether it come from Jews, Muslims or Christians.  I am unable to distinguish between the mullahs of Iran and the mullas of the extremist evangelicals.  Both denigrate women, praise ignorance, persecute homosexuals, and justify their evil in the name of God.  A pox on all of you, you evil bastards.

Didn't mean to take off on a rant.  Well, gotta run.  Tchuss.

 

Hitting the Ground on the Run

Progress has been made on all fronts.  Only the floor is left to decide.  The tile I wanted originally has been discontinued.  I can't take time off from work until Wednesday to do kitchen shopping.  It'll have to wait.  Meanwhile, I'm without a kitchen.  No problem so far.  I enjoy sharing food as a social experience, so I'll be having lunch and dinner out with friends a lot this next month.  Oh, and I still have my refrigerator.  It just doesn't make ice right now.

Did I mention that I hate my Olympus C-50 zoom which has spent at least six of his 18 months in the shop?  And did I mention that it lasted a week on my trip?  Did I mention that I hate the son-of-a-bitch?  I really can't buy any new toys right now, but I'm going to have to do something about this piece of shit.  That said, here's the first installment of my pictures from my Canadian holiday.

Home Again

I have to hit the ground running.  How does that song go?  "There's a riot going on."  The kitchen's been torn out, there were hidden surprises, I haven't talked to my contractor, but then, neither have I purchased appliances to be installed, chosen the floor, or gotten the permit to do anything.  I had three anxiety attacks about the project while I was on vacation, so it's really is okay with me if it slows down for a week.  It'll all be okay. 

Canada was lovely.  To paraphrase Sally Fields, "They love me.  They really love me!"  Fell in love three times.  Twice with Canadians, once with Canada itself, again.   Canada will always play huge in my life, regardless of whether or not I move there.  You should have heard me talking Canadian, eh? 

My only regret was not being able to get to Winnepeg and see Ellen.  It proved much more difficult that I imagined.  It seems the rest of the world was on  holiday at the same time I was.  Sorry, Ellen; I haven't given up on the idea of lunch, I've just postponed it.  In this particular instance, Oakland may be closer to Winnepeg than was Calgary.

I do have stories.  I have to check in with the rest of my world first.  Stay tuned.