Cary and I are off on our long-awaited Atlantis Baltic Cruise...Copenhagen, Germany, Estonia, St. Petersburg, Helsinki and Stockholm.
I'll try to write as we go, but not sure how much time I'll have. If not, lots of posts when I return!
Damn Murphy and his law. That's what I have to say today.
We have this thing at work where we have an annual option of two extra weeks vacation or two extra weeks pay. Most of us take the money, because our time off policy is pretty liberal.
So with some extra money in hand, I decided to invest in some improvements to my home. There are some major projects that I want to do, most of which extend well into the five-figure range. But one project was within reach: heating the pool.
The previous owners of this house are a mystery to me. They installed the pool after the house was built. It's maybe 15 or 16 years old. They also had a propane tank to heat it. But at some point, they removed the heating system. Why, is anyone's guess.
So as a result, I can't use the pool year-round. It's too cold in winter, which is frustrating, because I still have to heat the damn thing.
I did some research and opted to put in solar heat. It cost about the same as another propane tank, but it operates at absolutely no cost. The pool pump directs the water into tubes on the roof, which are heated by the sun. The water is then put back into the pool. Fabulous.
I signed the contract on Saturday and they installed on Monday.
When I got home Monday, I went directly to the back yard to inspect what was done and to check the water temperature. It was up to 88 degrees. Just what I wanted.
Then I went into the house. It too, felt about 88 degrees. Not fabulous.
One of the two air conditioning units crapped out. The other one was replaced a couple of years ago, so it didn't surprise me when this one died. But did it have to do it on the exact day I dropped a few bills on heating the pool? And a week before I'm leaving on vacation?
The joys of home ownership.
It all starts with a connection to another human being. A stranger on the street, a co-worker, a friend, a lover.
It can be through a quick hookup. Or it can be from a long, lingering, prolonged encounter.
Either way, the viral matter is transferred. It works its way through your body, hitting your immune system, affecting your brain until you are delirious to the point of being incapable of rational thought or reason.
It's tragic. And it always ends the same way.
I was infected yesterday. It wasn't intentional, but it happened.
Driving to Lincoln Road, I suggested to M that he park in a surface lot on Michigan Ave, close to where we were to meet a friend of mine for lunch.
"Oh, this is where I park when I go to the Apple Store," M said.
"I don't go there," was my curt reply.
He inquired as to my reason.
"Too dangerous," I added, trying to avoid contact as best I could.
I thought I escaped unscathed, but after lunch M tempted fate again.
We had discussed mobile technology and downloadable content during lunch. While driving back, I had my personal cell in my hand. We chatted about how we use our phones. We talked about text messaging and Facebook and MySpace and iPods. We talked about blogging and how Typepad is making all these improvements.
"Dude," he said, "you have to get an iPhone."
NO!!! Unprotected discourse!!!!
Caring not a bit about my health and my risk of infection, he continued on and on about the virtues of the new iPhone. You can take pictures and post them to your blog on the go. You can write in your blog on the go. You can access your personal email. You can do this and that and the other thing.
By the time he was done, I was out of breath and ready for a cigarette.
I was infected and I could feel the virus traveling through my veins. There's no cure, no stopping the disease.
I. MUST. HAVE. A. NEW. iPHONE.
Once again, I've taken a bite of the poison Apple.
After spending the early evening with the Republicans on Friday, Cary and I needed some soul cleansing. So we did what any normal, healthy, red-blooded gay Democrats would do: we went to see Sex and the City on opening night. Along with a gajillion other people.
We purchased our tickets on-line a few days before, which was a good thing, because by 12:30 a.m. on Friday, every showing at the Regal on Lincoln Road was sold out. We arrived about an hour or so early, which was also a good thing. There was already a line of people waiting to be seated. Unknown to us at the time, they were showing the film on two screens, so we actually were able to get choice seats.
The film has not been met with the best of reviews, but fuck reviewers. They said, "It's really just a long episode." Yeah, that's what it's supposed to be. They said, "It's all about the women and the men are just in the background." Yeah, hello? Did you not see the show when it ran on HBO? They said, "It's all about the fashion." Well, duh?
We loved it. It was exactly what it should have -- and needed -- to be. Fun, warm, sentimental...the perfect finale for the series.
After the Republicans and Sex, we were ready to call it a night. But fate and traffic would have otherwise.
We made it back to the city parking garage at 12:30 a.m. We parked on the roof of the six-story structure and by the time we made it to the fourth floor, the exiting traffic came to a complete stop. After spending 15 minutes to go just three car lengths, Cary called and said, "Pull into any open spot and park. Let's go for a drink."
Good idea.
So we made our way back out to Lincoln Road to Score, home of the infamous frozen cosmos. I've written about those before. I am very proud of myself that I stuck with a Diet Coke. Even a third of one of those cosmos would have done me in.
After sitting at one of the tables on Lincoln Road for about 45 minutes taking in sights, we walked a block down to Pizza Rustica for a slice of their amazing pizza.
We made it back to the garage around 2 a.m. and found the traffic almost the same as we left it. As we snaked our way down, one of the dumb garage attendants opened a gate to let some people down the ramp to a side exit. After Cary passed through, she made her way with the chain to close it off again. Before letting me in.
It was 2:15 a.m. and I was in no mood. I sped up and made it through before she could close it off. She shot me a nasty look and I said, "Don't look at me like that bitch or I'll send you to a Republican fundraiser." Unfortunately, the car windows were closed and she couldn't hear me.
So let's review. Republicans, traffic, and dumb parking attendants. Thank God for some great Sex.
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.
Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my memories, I recall there being some Old Testament story about plagues. Locusts, I think. And frogs, maybe?
I found another frog today. This one was on the window sill in my study, leaping at the screen trying to escape.
Where are on Earth are they coming from? I have no open windows. The toilet lids are closed? This is weird. (Martin, don't freak out.)
Is this God's payback for one of my many sins?
OK, I just had a freak-out moment.
I walked into the bathroom to pee. I didn't turn the light on as there was enough illumination from the hallway.
After lifting the cover to the toilet, I heard splashing.
WTF?
I turned on the light and there, swimming in the bowl, was a frog. Yes, a frog.
I freaked a bit and called John, not knowing what to do.
(Side story...many years ago I created a fictional character called Kissy the Frog. Mike and I used to make up stories about the adventures of Kissy. So John, when he stopped laughing at me, asked if it was Kissy. I said, no, Kissy is green and this frog is a tanish color. John started howling and said, "So it's Pissy the Frog!")
"Can I flush it? It came up that way, so it should go back down that way."
Yes, he assured, me. Flush it.
I love frogs and other creatures. I just don't love them in my toilet.
The other day I blamed the ghost of Ray for stealing and then returning a favorite tie. I also suggested that maybe John was behind it.
Well, I was sorta right about John.
We were out last night and I mentioned it to him. He said, yes, he was the one who put it there. He had found the tie crumpled on the floor of the closet behind some pillows.
That still doesn't explain lights turning on and mysterious stains.
