Pen and Ink

I hear dead people.

While on my music rampage this evening, I noticed a pattern: I've been listening to dead people.

First Laurie Beechman.  Dead.

Then Laura Branigan.  Dead.

Then Freddie Mercury.  Dead.

Thank heavens I didn't put on the Meatloaf/VH1 Story Tellers album I was contemplating. More likely than not, he'd croak by morning.

All of 'em died way to young too.

OK. That's enough of my self-indulgent posts.  I'll put up something lighter tomorrow.

We will rock you.

This is the continuation of the post immediately below.

Laurie Beechman, God bless her soul, morphed into Queen.  Now there was another diva -- Freddie Mercury. What a monster talent! And like Laurie, he died way too soon.


What more would he and Queen have done? 

Nonetheless. Feeling down in the dumps?  Just put on Queen's Greatest Hits and full volume.  Your troubles will be long forgotten.

Lift me up.

One of the great things about living alone -- especially in a single family house -- is that you can turn up the volume on your music as much as you want.

I'm appreciating it tonight. I came home feeling a bit blue, for reasons that I am not going to go into. As I often do when feeling this way, I retreat into music. Right now, I'm listening to Laurie Beechman's "Time Between the Time."














With 15 foot ceilings in my family room, Laurie's voice just soars. This album is particularly beautiful. Laurie's voice was rich, full of nuance. As I've written before, I was captivated by her in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat back in the 1980s.

She is one of those artists who can lift me up out of any funk.

Two.

With just over 400 posts under my belt, Pen & Ink turns two today.

It's hard to believe it. This all started by some link I found to blog for some gay reporter from the Miami Herald. He had a link to Shades of Gray, which is a great blog, if Ethan would ever write. I just re-read his second-to-last post, written last September. He commented that two years of blogging left him dry.

I sorta understand that.


This blog has been an interesting experience for me.

It has helped reconnect me with people in my life. More than one person has said, "I keep up with what is happening with you through your blog."

I've even made a friend through this site -- a fellow blogger in Toronto -- for which I am grateful.

It's been an outlet for my creative self-expression. It's helped me process things that are going through my mind, both good and bad.

But since this is a semi-public blog (in that a lot of people who read it actually know me), I find that I have to censor myself. Sometimes I can't say everything that is on my mind for fear of hurting or insulting someone. This particular style of journal requires a certain level of responsibility.

There are times when I think of abandoning this site for a new blog in which I can be completely anonymous. Then I can talk about whatever is on my mind. But Pen and Ink has so few readers, becoming an anonymous blog would guarantee me no readers at all. Unless, of course, I talk about my sexual exploits (real or fabricated) and post lots of pictures of naked (or nearly naked) men.

But, no. While I occasionally post a bit of eye candy (sometimes stretching a bit to find a relevant reason), I'll stick with what I've got.

For those who read this regularly, thank you. Thank you for reacting with a comment (rarely) or by emailing me. I appreciate it.

T minus six weeks and counting.

Tomorrow, the nice ladies in Dunkin' Donuts who have my order ready by the time I get to the counter, will sink into a deep despair. I am now forbidden to enter.

The Baltic cruise is six weeks away and Cary has declared that he and I will get into shape, starting tomorrow. Truth be told, he's infinitely closer to "in-shape" than I, but he insists that we'll do this together.














As soon as I drop Martin off at the airport, I'm headed over to Cary's place. We'll workout in his gym, using a routine put together by the trainer he used to have. We'll go through the diet that the trainer's nutritionist wife assembled.  And as a reward, we'll go to Storks for a healthy lunch and make decisions about which shore excursions we'll take.

He called me at work one day last week with his declaration.

"Can I lose 25 pounds in six weeks?" I inquired.

"Not that you need to lose 25 pounds, but yes, if you work hard, you can."

I'm not going to go that far, but I'm gonna shoot for two or three pounds a week.

So no more poppy bagels in the morning. No more carbs after six. Lots and lots of water.

But it will be worth it.  As Cary keeps reminding me: "We're gonna be on a ship with 3,000 gay men. Half are single and looking for sex. The other half are married and looking for sex.  We have to be fabulous."

We'll see.

Luxurious.

Martin and I decided to have a day of beauty at one of Fort Lauderdale's gay spas today. And it was heavenly.

I spent two hours with J, my regular massage therapist there. I started with something new (for me): a full-body scrub. Never before have I had someone thoroughly wash me like that. First, he used a cleanser, then a glacier salt scrub. What an amazing feeling...so very relaxing. J said some people are actually opting for that treatment over massage.

Not me. I'm a slut. I got the massage too. Not only that, I did an 80-minute massage, rather than the typical 50-minute session.

I can remember being more relaxed before. My mind must have been pretty relaxed because it didn't even click when J whispered to me about needing other "services." It was only after he left the room did I realize what he meant.

I'm so clueless sometimes.

Martin started his spa day with a facial, followed by a deep tissue massage. As he walked into the lobby at the end he declared, "You're going to need a gurney to get me home."

Both of us were like zombies as we drove home. I never felt better.

I'll take the moon.

These are lyrics to "Stars and the Moon" by Jason Robert Brown. I've been thinking about materialism and this song came to mind.

I met a man without a dollar to his name
Who had no traits of any value but his smile
I met a man who had no yearn or claim to fame
Who was content to let life pass him for a while
And I was sure that all I ever wanted
Was a life like the movie stars led
And he kissed me right here, and he said,

"I'll give you stars and the moon and a soul to guide you
And a promise I'll never go
I'll give you hope to bring out all the life inside you
And the strength that will help you grow.
I'll give you truth and a future that's twenty times better
Than any Hollywood plot."
And I thought, "You know, I'd rather have a yacht."

I met a man who lived his life out on the road
Who left a wife and kids in Portland on a whim
I met a man whose fire and passion always showed
Who asked if I could spare a week to ride with him
But I was sure that all I ever wanted
Was a life that was scripted and planned
And he said, "But you don't understand —

"I'll give you stars and the moon and the open highway
And a river beneath your feet
I'll give you day full of dreams if you travel my way
And a summer you can't repeat.
I'll give you nights full of passion and days of adventure,
No strings, just warm summer rain."
And I thought, "You know, I'd rather have champagne."

I met a man who had a fortune in the bank
Who had retired at age thirty, set for life.
I met a man and didn't know which stars to thank,
And then he asked one day if I would be his wife.
And I looked up, and all I could think of
Was the life I had dreamt I would live
And I said to him, "What will you give?"

"I'll give you cars and a townhouse in Turtle Bay
And a fur and a diamond ring
And we'll be married in Spain on my yacht today
And we'll honeymoon in Beijing.
And you'll meet stars at the parties I throw at my villas
In Nice and Paris in June."

And I thought, "Okay."
And I took a breath
And I got my yacht
And the years went by
And it never changed
And it never grew
And I never dreamed
And I woke one day
And I looked around
And I thought, "My God...
I'll never have the moon."

And we're off.

Martin arrived yesterday afternoon for a long-weekend visit, his first ever to South Florida.

The weekend started with some technical difficulties, namely, my car battery. I stopped at the Shell station on my way to the airport. After fueling the car, I got back in and turned the key. Nada. This was 40 minutes before Martin's flight was due to arrive and I was about 30 minutes away from the airport.

Thankfully -- and amazingly -- AAA arrived pretty quickly, jump-started the car, and I was on my way. When I got to FLL, Martin was still at baggage carousel.

Today was an action-packed day, once I had the battery replaced. We took off for South Beach and a private tour of The Wolfsonian, an amazing museum that is better suited for New York City than Miami. I used to work there, so I got to catch up with old friends. After a brief walk over to disgusting Ocean Drive, we drove town to Lincoln Road for lunch at Nexxt Cafe and then a walk up and down the street.

I decided to take the scenic route home up A1A. We stopped at Haulover Beach on the way and got naked. But as luck would have it, clouds rolled in less than an hour after we arrived, followed by rain. So our beach time was cut short.

After a brief respite at home, we had a great dinner at Il Mulino in Fort Lauderdale, followed by a water-taxi ride around the city. (Best line by the taxi driver: "This is the Middle River. It takes you out to the Everglades. But more importantly, it separates the rich from the filthy rich.")

We got off the boat at Las Olas Boulevard and went for a walk there. We then took a regular taxi back to the mall where I had parked. Getting into a car, I got a text message from Cary, inviting us to join him at Rosie's for a drink. There we met Danny. I'm not going to tell that story, even though it's quite exciting.

Now, it's 11:30 and Martin's in the pool while I sit at the patio table writing this post. Tomorrow, we're off to Grand Resort and Massage for a day of beauty. I have a full-body scrub and 80 minute Swedish massage, while Martin's got a deep tissue massage and facial.

And so the weekend continues. It's fun to actually relax and not work around the house for a change.

Golden glow.

Used to be a time when Saturday night would roll around and I would have to be doing something. Going out to movies or a bar. Visiting friends.  Entertaining. Something...anything.  After all, it's Saturday.

It's funny. As I get older, I can actually tolerate being home with nothing to do. Still feels a little weird, but I'm relaxed.

I write this at 10:30 p.m. There's a golden glow from the lamps in my living room, which have parchment-colored shades. The lights on the lanai have orange bulbs (thanks to my ex) and I have golden orange candles on the patio table. The doors to the house are open and I have Toni Lynn Washington, an amazing Boston-based blues singer, going on the iPod.

It's in the 80s, there's a nice breeze. I'm nekkid out by the pool. And I'm alone with nothing to do and nowhere to be.

And it's really pretty good.

Amazing thing, that Internet.

While moving my study, I came across a large cardboard box filled with photos.  Mikes, mine, ours.  All co-mingled.  He had obviously forgotten about them.

When we talked the other day, I mentioned the box and he asked me to send him what was his.

So last night, sitting on the floor of my study for an hour or so, I went through well more than a hundred envelopes of photos.

There were pictures of the houses and apartments that we had had over 17 years. Photos from our "honeymoon" to St. Thomas in 1988. Trips to Florida, San Francisco, P-Town and New Orleans.

The last two batches of pictures brought back wonderful memories of a friend we had in those days. John lived in the same apartment complex as we back in the early 90s. We met him within days of moving into that apartment and struck up a nice friendship. We moved a couple of years later, and as often happens, we lost touch.  I'd bump into him here and there, but it was never the same.

Seeing those pictures and remembering what a kind, genuine, fun guy John is, I was moved to try and find him. Google to the rescue. I typed in his name and the second hit led me to a skating club where John serves as an instructor (he's a former professional figure skater) and a board member.

I sent an email to the generic board of directors email address, asking whoever read it to forward the message to John.

Well, this morning at 9:15, up pops an email from him in my inbox. He was surprised and delighted that I had found him. We exchanged numbers and I will plan on calling him this weekend.

One of the beautiful things about life, in my opinion, is how people and come in and out, and very often, back in, to our lives.  Sometimes they reappear for a brief moment. Other times, they come back for good.

I also found a single photo of another friend -- Charlene -- from that same time period. In the picture she was wearing a flannel nightshirt of mine while ironing clothes. I actually remember when it was taken. 

I'll have to Google her next.