Hooters, Coming Out And Reality Shows

So it's like this. I have found that I may be gay! I don't think I am but I found myself making comments as if I were one of my few gay friends while watching The Bachelor on television recently. I was aghast that the young man starring in this so-called “Reality Show” could not see the manipulative bitch in one of the girls on the show. I was commenting on the issue to my wonderful Fiancee (a woman) when it struck me that I sounded just like a gay male talking about one of his friend's lovers! I had to laugh and then asked my sweetheart if I sounded “gay” to her while making the comments. She looked up from the laptop with which she was using to play a computer game and said, “......No?.....” After which a huge grin crossed her face. She continued, “You are not, in any way, gay!” I must admit her comment did little to comfort me but served only to disturb my calm even more. Truth be told? I am not, in point of fact, gay. I only sound gay sometimes.

I admit to being addicted to certain reality based programming such as the aforementioned as well as things like Cops and Survivor. I don't like many of the other ones and don't understand why. I suppose you could say that I'm a little strange that way. My Fiancee tells me I'm strange in a lot of ways but that's beside the point.

Why does it have to be that a heterosexual male cannot display emotion as a rule? I was an only child and very close with my Mother. I learned from her how to stay in touch with my emotions. I learned from her that it was alright for a man to cry and to show that he was hurt emotionally. I learned from her that strength came from accepting and understanding my emotions. So what happened to the majority of other men in this world?

Most Blue-Collar men in this country hardly ever hug. A shaking of the hand is more than some are comfortable with doing for the most part. Hugs and kisses, some even on the lips, is an accepted practice in many other cultures. This type of contact does not make someone gay! Here, however, men as a majority tend to strut around as if they were the bantam rooster ruling the yard. No more than a hand-shake for no longer than a second is the routine. If you see one man hugging another and saying, “I love you” as they part ways, you assume they are related in some way or gay. This sort of practice is acceptable for females and is quite common.

I am a man who likes to fish, hunt, play golf and I also enjoy many other “Manly” activities. Here's the rub. I have male friends who I hug when I visit them. I hug them again when departing from their company then tell them I love them. I can find no shame in doing so. I do love my friends and don't mind touching them. I just have no desire to touch them “down there” and would have a cow if they did that to me! These are men who love to talk about the female physique and are rather the braggarts when it comes to their sexual prowess with the women. Me? I'm one of those guys too. I don't think a 'Gaynometer' would even move if any of us were hooked up to one. Let me interject a query here. Do you think I'd ever say, “No” to going out to Hooters? I think not! The food is great! (Being engaged; isn't this what I'm supposed to say?) The girls in their outfits make me want to stay and enjoy a nice long beer or leisurely cup of coffee after the meal!

Speaking of sounding gay. I once knew a young man in High School who was teased constantly about being “queer”. He was one of my better friends. He never complained or said otherwise but would only grin when someone teased him about it. I had been invited over to his house for lunch one day and afterward found myself sitting just inside his garage talking as we watched the traffic go by on the street. We both were enjoying the fellowship when he suddenly became very quiet and his smile faded to a sullen line harshly drawn across his face. He began to speak in almost a whisper with his head down and gaze on the concrete on which we sat. “You know?” he began, “I'm not queer. I just let every body think I am.” This unsolicited admission rattled me. I sat there with mouth open not quite knowing what to say. “I only act this way because I can get all the dirt on all the girls.” he continued “That way I know which ones put out!” I sat there both shocked and envious of him. He began to name a few of the girls he'd had physical relationships with and I found myself becoming angry because many of them were fantasies of mine!

It was at that moment I became a member of a very elite club. The few who knew he wasn't gay! I later had conversations with some of the girls he'd “known” and they confessed he was an extraordinary lover but had been sworn to secrecy as I had been. I cannot recall any other boys that ever knew my friend was not gay but I still remember the girls who knew! I decided back then to never pass judgment on any man or woman because they acted or sounded gay. My “gay” friend from school? He's been happily married to a woman for many years and has a family now. I spoke to him recently on the phone and he still does sound a little on the more feminine side of testosterone but I'll bet he still laughs about his conquests when he was younger.

The Moral of the story? Just because I may sound gay from time to time or hug my male friends and tell them I love them doesn't mean you should accept or assume that I am gay. Besides! I suppose occasionally sounding gay has certainly played a part in getting me close to certain women in my past. (It should be noted here that I wear a huge grin on my face.) Close indeed!

Post Script: I love you, Laurie!

Love, The Double-Nickle And A Sink Full Of Dishes

Today is my birthday and I'll be spending it in the office of a doctor. What fun! I've been putting this visit off for a while and I should be happy to be getting it over with.

Fifty-Five! I used to think someone this old was really old! Now it some how doesn't seem so old. At least I'll be able to get discounts at most of the places I do business with in the future. That will be great!

I currently have the mind of a seventeen year old and the body of a seventy-seven year old. So far over the last year I have survived quintuple by-pass surgery and later a body full of blood clots, which were discovered following a pulmonary embolism compounded by massive amounts of fluid in the chest, lungs and abdomen. I can't work. I can only play with the dogs for a couple of minutes at a time. Washing a sink full of dishes is a true chore. Vacuuming the floor puts me down for a few hours. I even get winded just walking to the mail box. In other words, I no longer can run a marathon. I used to say I'd get to see my one-hundredth birthday but now realize I'll do extremely well to see my sixtieth. Such is the result of a lifetime spent without care for one's own future.

Even with all the health issues, I can say I truly am happy. I know my place in this world and understand my journey here. I was put here for four reasons. I am here to get people to talk about me so they will leave all others alone. I am here to make people think and laugh. I am here to show a special someone that things can be better when you're with the right person. I am here to share a song; to make some people smile; to make some people cry; to make some people imagine, “What if?”

I guess I'm just tired today and anxious about what the Doc may say. I anticipate some not-so-good news but hope I'm wrong. Days like today serve to remind me how important it is to tell those around you that you love them. Take my advice and do just that today. You might never get another chance to tell them.

Fish, A Past Master, And A Song Called Corina

Sitting in my recliner and pondering in the silence of the moment, I began to recall things from my past such as people who are no longer with us. My Mother and my Grandfather are the two which are at the forefront of a great many of the good times I had while growing up. Those were happy times indeed. Let me tell you a little bit about my Grandfather.

I used to tag along with my Grandfather on Saturdays to help him work during the School Year and spent many days each week with him during the Summer months. As I look back on those days I realize just how much I learned from him and just how much help I may have been to him. He was a Heating and Air Conditioning Repairman and much of our time back then was spent crawling around under houses where the furnaces were typically installed. I was the one in charge of handing Papa, as I call my Grandfather, the right tool when he asked for it. I was also the runner. That job entailed crawling out from under the houses and running to the van to retrieve whatever else Papa found he needed to facilitate the repairs. It was an important job, according to Papa, and one which I took very seriously. There were instances where I couldn't find what it was I was sent after and would run back to tell him. He would then make his way out and I'd follow him to the van where he'd instantly lay his hands right on what he had sent me to get. He never complained about having to go to the van to find what I could not. I'm not sure if he deliberately taught me how to organize tasks and my time or if I just learned it by attrition while helping him. Either way I learned how to do those things as well as how to use some specialty tools.

Papa was an amazing man who was nearly always smiling. At least I remember him smiling more than anything. He was a quiet but quick-witted man and everyone loved him dearly and trusted him because of his honesty. He was well respected as a tight-wad but would give you the shirt off his back if you were truly in need. He was a musician just like most of his side of the family. This was because his father came to the United States, became a Citizen then immediately opened his first music store. All his family was constantly exposed to music and various instruments. Papa learned to play the guitar, piano, saxophone, clarinet, flute, drums, pump organs, and was a fine vocalist as well. His Sisters, Brother and Mother were all as well versed in varieties of instruments and singing.

Papa used to sit around playing his guitar and singing when he was young but played less after arthritis settled in his hands and fingers. There was one song he was quite fond of playing from the 1940's called Corina. I decided to learn that song one day in order to show him I could play it as well and maybe even play along with him as he played it. I spent weeks learning a finger-picking technique I created just for that song. I never got to play it with him because his fingers hurt too bad and had become stiff from the arthritis. I vowed to play the song for him at some point before he died.

I had bought into a studio in Georgia at ten shares and later acquired more and more stock to become a Majority Shareholder. Things were going well with the Corporation and I asked Papa if he might let me bring him to work one day to see what I did for a living at that time. Papa agreed and I picked him up on the date agreed upon. I was amazed when I picked him up. He was wearing a grey, pin-striped silk suit and carried a charcoal grey fedora in his left hand. I asked why he dressed up so and he replied, “Well. You wear a suit and tie to work. Don't you?” He went on to say he just thought it might look a little better for him to wear a suit because I used to dress in appropriate clothing to go to work with him. He said it was only fair.

We talked about music all the way from his house to my offices and studio in Georgia. When Papa walked into the main entrance, he paused to look around. We were busy with construction building more offices and adding on to the studios. The place was a mess. I took him in to see my office first as I laid my briefcase on my desk then gave him the grand tour. I deliberately left the control room of our A Room for last. The control room was a room, within a room, within another room. Each wall was isolated by sound deadening material between each floor, wall and ceiling and was totally sound-proofed from the studio and outside world. There were various sizes of speakers hung from the ceiling and walls as well as a couple of different sets of near-field monitors sitting over the Hill, J-5 board which sat under the main window. Several different recording machines were along the wall left of the main console and out-board equipment filled several racks along the right side of the console. Papa took a seat on the client couch along the back wall of the control room as I spooled up reel after reel of 2” tape to let him see how things were done.

I finally asked Papa if he felt like trying to play a little guitar for my partner who had joined us and he agreed. I gave him an easy playing Martin with a buttery timbre and he strummed and plucked it for a few moments to get used to the feel. He immediately broke into Corina as I knew he would. Papa began to sing and I picked up another guitar to strum along with him. Before he could finish the song he started to get stiff fingered from his arthritis but I continued to play for him until he finished singing the song. When done, I told him that I had a song I wanted him to listen to. I pulled an A-DAT tape out of my personal rack and placed it into the player. I cued up a song and began to push the play button. It began with four clicks and I started finger picking Corina to the rhythm track I recorded some time prior to his visit. The look on Papa's face was all I needed from him. I could tell he was proud as tears welled up in both eyes then began to leave their moist tracks down his cheeks. When I finished the song, Papa was speechless for a moment then asked how I knew that song. I explained to him that I had grown up listening to him and watching him play it and wanted to give him a different arrangement of it for him to sing along to. I handed him the tape which I recorded as I played along with the rhythm tracks and explained to him that I did all this for him. Papa wept openly for several minutes then told me he was indeed proud of his number one Grandson. Hell. I was his only Grandson! That was one of the most poignant moments I ever spent with him. He died years ago but I still miss him today.

As I was growing up, Papa and I had become expert fishermen. Of course, he always was able to out fish me and it was our competition, of sorts, that kept us in good humor the whole time we would fish. It was Papa that taught me how to tie blood knots and many other fishing knots all the way up to the Bimini Twist. I still know them all today. We used to go night fishing under the old I-85 bridge on Lake Hartwell before they built the concrete structure that remains today. We would tie up on the crossbeams under the bridge and fish until daylight. The fishing was good back then. We stopped our night fishing for some years after the new bridge was built until Papa bought a boat that had a stove, a sink and a refrigerator. The only thing missing was a head. We'd anchor out in the middle of the lake and again fish the entire night. A couple of the things that made it better is that we could cook something to eat like a fish we had caught when we got hungry instead of having to eat cold sandwiches brought on board before shoving off. We also could percolate fresh coffee which was much better than coffee from a thermos type bottle.

Papa was never a trout fisherman so I never learned to operate a rod and line for trout fishing streams and rivers until I moved to Wyoming. I told him about one of my adventures in learning how to cast fly line over the phone one day. He laughed as I told him how many times I snagged my vest with a fly while trying to cast properly. He would tease me a little then tell me to keep practicing. He told me I'd get the hang of it and I did.

Papa always encouraged me to be myself and not listen to negative banter from anyone. He never told me how proud he was of me until the day I played Corina for him but I always knew he was proud. He never discouraged me from trying to beat him on the fish count. He hugged me often and told me he loved me each time he did so. He never stopped telling me to use my head and figure out new or alternate ways to do something because maybe I'd come up with an easier or faster way to do it. Some of you will understand what I mean when I say that Papa, a Past Master several times over, raised me in the Masonic Lodge. What an honor for me. He told me afterward that it was more an honor for him. Yes. I learned from Papa. Yes. I miss him. Yes. It was my honor to have him as my Grandfather. Yes. I will miss him forever. Moreover, I will forever carry a piece of him inside me. When I cross over to the next world, I will remind him of how my time in this world has been positively augmented because of his teaching and encouragement all those years. There in the next world, I will hug him, thank him and tell him how much I love him and how much I've missed him. If there are guitars in the next world, I'll play Corina again for him and maybe, just maybe, he'll play along with me.

  

Whipper-Snappers, Dangerous Chemicals And A Crotchety Old Fart

I suppose I finally turned into that crotchety old fart I used to poke fun at so many years ago. He was a grumpy bastard who complained about how stupid the young whipper-snappers had become over the years. I never understood much of what he griped about but being a Facebook user for several years now, I'm beginning to see his point(s). I hazard a supposition if you are one of my Facebook Friends, you might recognize this Status Update from yesterday. I went on to use a direct quote from the post I read made by someone else. The resulting comments put me in mind of the proverbial “Shit-Storm” everyone always mentions at some point in their lives. Though my post was not intended to be directed at any one person by using the quote, the post was taken personally by its author as a direct and vicious attack on their educational background. This was so far away from the original purpose that the comments which poured in shocked me into a realization. That being, I shouldn't post certain things on Facebook but should just keep on scrolling on down the page. I presume the comments about my character will continue on for many days.

The post was meant to enlighten some of the younger folks awareness of what they type is simply too incorrect to be understood properly by the rest of the folks speaking English in this world today. Most incorrectly used words are proliferated via text messaging and so-called social networks. Both have contributed to making our children lazy about Grammar and Spelling. Math, too, may be listed as another subject payed ill attention. The words, “yore, your, you're” all three seem to be interchangeable containing the same meanings. Others, such as, “then” and “than” share the same or similar contemporary fate.

Another thing that confuses me is why do people re-post things that have long since been debunked and comment on how awful it is that this could be happening this day and time. The additional comments regularly ramble on and on about the shame of it all even after someone posts the fact that the subject is a hoax and even list a hyperlink which exposes the hoax. It just goes to show you the old saying is true. “There's one born every minute.”

After great consideration, I decided to put to the test a common misconception regarding the younger generations typically believing without questioning. That is; “It has to be true if it's on the Internet.” As many of you may already know, this is far from the truth. Un-Truths are proliferated daily by the folks less willing to learn or find out things for themselves. Most people today have become sheep in a global environment populated with too few shepherds. They will most often believe what they are told and most of what is heard and read without trying to verify a single fact. These sheep feel our politicians and news media are infallible, without bias and as honest as eternity is long. I have toyed with the idea of creating a cult to glean wealth from such individuals in the world but haven't been able to bring myself to take advantage of such persons who are obviously sorely in need of so much compassion and guidance. At least I haven't been able to bring myself to do it..... yet!

What I did was post a rather lengthy note to one of my Social Networking sites entitled, “A Simple Experiment In Human Nature". The subject matter was a re-post of a college prank that went viral on the Internet years ago and has surfaced occasionally to strike fear in the hearts of sheep world wide over the years. That subject being, a petition to ban the use, storage and production of Dihydrogen Monoxide in the United States Of America! (H2O for all the non-chemistry sheep). I haven't gone back to check since the posting but I had already gained one 'Like' before I could even get off the page. Here's the hyperlink if you wish to go and check it out.

My Simple Experiment In Human Nature

The experiment is a simple one. Of those who read the post, how many will have already seen the subject matter or heard about it prior to my posting it again? Of those, what percentage will believe it to be true? What percentage will post negative comments and what percentage will believe it to be so because it is posted on the Internet? Finally. How many will actually “get it” and have a good laugh over it?

What I'm attempting to convey with this Blog Post and the experiment mentioned above is indeed simple. We, as a global society, need to get back to questioning everything. How else are we to learn? Where would we be if people such as Newton, Einstein, Hawking, Bell, Washington, Lincoln and so many others had not questioned the things and situations around them? We may begin by learning how to properly communicate with those around us. Get back to what used to be considered basic education in the subjects of Math, Science, Spelling and Grammar. We need to get involved with the education of our children and not depend on others to teach them the basics. Make sure you know what your child is being taught! What your child learns may be taught to them by a teacher that doesn't care that your child can't spell or knows how to effectively count money. Not all teachers passively teach and pass them on to the next grade just to get rid of them. Some teachers actually care but find it difficult to compete with the lack of care some parents seem to display about education at home. Parents these days believe that some of the games their child plays on that expensive game system are really educational ones. Some may be but I feel kids can learn a great deal more and will find it much easier to learn if the imagination is first utilized. Further. Parents are too busy playing with their own toys to see their child being sucked down into the black hole that is literate ineptitude.

I'll come down from my lofty altitude which is the top of my soap box and close with these few words. There are parents who monitor their child's activities and educational progress. There are teachers who make sure no child goes on to the next grade without being prepared. There are politicians who give a rat's ass that our country is going down the tube. There is a large slice of society which is as alarmed about the same things I am worried about. We are not alone! If you are not with us but would like to be, all you have to do is grab a paddle then climb aboard that canoe we so desperately need to navigate along Shit Creek. We'll welcome you without fail! If my words confound you or confuse you, I'll leave you with something I left at the end of one of my posts on a social network site this past week. It plainly reads as follows:

“IF I PISSED YOU OFF WITH THIS POST, than your part of tha prollem!”

Post Script:  Be sure to check back next week when I'll be talking about the joys of fishing!

Golf balls, A Full Life And A Couple Of Beers

Prelude:

I am writing this post while not feeling well. Those of you who are my Facebook Fans probably know of some of my health issues. Let us just say that today has not been a good day and I currently am distracted by my difficulty in comfortably breathing right now. I mention this only because this post will be short and may contain grammatical errors. Please understand that this is not me.

Now let's get on with it. I was looking through some of the funny, sorrowful and unique stories I have on file and came across the following story filed away on my external hard drive. I posted it here only because of its relevance to my Blog post today.

The Wise Professor

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous, “Yes”. The professor then produced two Beers from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now”, said the professor as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things - your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions - and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car. The sand is everything else - the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Spend time with your children. Spend time with your parents. Visit with grandparents. Take your spouse out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and mow the lawn. Take care of the golf balls first - the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the Beer represented. The professor smiled and said, “I’m glad you asked. The Beer just shows you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of Beers with a friend.”

I have enjoyed the frustrating and relaxing game of Golf for almost as long as I can remember. I didn't start playing the game until I was about eight. At least I learned how to swing the club then. I used to caddy for my Dad more than anything and later, I caddied for other golfers. I was always finding golf balls that had been lost or simply let lie because of such a bad shot. I'd pick them up and put them into a canvass bag I always kept for such a find. I'd clean all the found balls before taking them home to put into my gallon sized jar. It was one of those jars you used to see at the neighborhood store that contained pickled pigs feet, pickled eggs or pickled sausages. I kept only the good golf balls that looked new so that I could use them later as I couldn't afford to buy my golf supplies. I'd hit the scuffed ones or the ones with a slice on them into the woods behind my house as I practiced my swings with different clubs. I suppose I was an fair shot for my age.

As I got older, I hardly ever played golf. I had discovered girls! My golf stuff went by the way-side and I had placed my big jar full of golf balls on the pea-sized gravel next to the basement door outside. I hardly ever played in the yard after girls were discovered and it wasn't long before I'd forgotten about my golf balls altogether. One day one of my Mother's friends came to visit with her five-year-old boy. I was told that I would be the one to “entertain” and watch after the young boy while Mother's friend visited. You can imagine my enthusiasm at being given this task. I showed the youngster out to our back yard and started to try and interest him in some things I liked to do. I quickly discovered looking after him would be no easy task. He was all over the place throwing rocks and sticks, running and trying to climb trees. I couldn't keep up with him even in my youth. He found the jar and started to put some of the gravel into it. I kept my mouth closed because he found something to keep him busy for a while. I watched as he packed the jar as full as he could get it, shifting the golf balls and shaking the jar from time to time as he progressed. At last the jar was in fact full and he raced off to find something else to interest him. I figured I could empty the gravel out later and once again, forgot the jar where it sat.

Many years had passed and my parents had made the decision to sell the house I grew up in. They had moved into a house nearer a lake and only a few miles away from my Dad's business while I was still a Sophomore in High School. I had lived there for the last two-and-a-half years by myself and kept the house and lawn in good repair. (I kept the house full of girls and parties as well, but that's a whole novel all by itself so we'll just leave that subject alone! Sorry about my ellipsis. Allow me to continue.) As we began to pack things up, the jar of golf balls and pea-gravel was found to have sand from the bottom to the brim. The wind had blown the sand into the jar over a four year period and it had settled in between all the gravel and golf balls and was also water laden which made it very heavy. My Dad wanted to just throw it away but I insisted I was going to keep it. I packed it into my car as carefully as I could with the rest of the things which were important to me and which I didn't trust anyone else to move for me.

I came across this stupid jar again many years later and wondered why the hell I had kept this thing. Being somewhat of a ponderer, I began to hold the jar up turning it and studying it for some time. I remembered my Dad complaining about the jar I had “filled” with golf balls. I remember thinking that the jar was certainly “full” after our little visitor had “filled” it with all the gravel. It occurred to me while studying the jar, however, that it never was “full”. It wasn't full as I studied it. The water had long since evaporated and even if water were poured into the jar, it would hold a great deal of liquid and still, the jar would not be totally “full” ever! If you consider the microscopic and atomic levels, there are always places where more and more substance may occupy space. I'm sorry. That's just the way my thought process has always worked. The jar can never be “full”. This is why I saved the story about the wise Professor for so many years. It reminded me of my revelation regarding whether the jar could ever be really filled.

All of this brings me to a wonderful enlightened revelation. There is always some time for everything. Our chore has become making the decision to fill the empty spaces in our worldly time-line with the things that are important first, then the other big things and finally with all of the lessor things no matter how small they may seem. There will always be room for my Family. There will always be time to fix something or do the dishes. There's still time enough to write a new song, play another round of golf, go hiking, take a nap, read a book, or spend time with the kids, parents, or grandparents. With all the things going on in my life, I still have time to share a couple of bottles of beer with a friend. As the saying goes; “Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things.” Enjoy a long life as full as you can make it because there are some folks who wish they could fill there lives a bit more. Like me.

I hope the year, 2013 will bring you many wonderful memories and few bad ones. I hope you will find your checking and savings accounts grow a little more than the years past. Most of all. I hope this coming year will bring you health and many more close friends with which you find pleasure in just spending time and sharing a couple of bottles of beer. I dare you to try to fill your jar this year.