July 17, 2008
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July 13, 2008
As you probably surmised, I suffered a bit of robopsychosis yesterday. The morning started out with the inability to connect to fully half of the websites I normally read. WordPress—and any other site that linked in any fashion to google-analytics.com was taking forever to load. At first I thought it was a problem with Cox’s DNS servers (we’ve had issues in the past), so I switched over to OpenDNS. That seemed to help somewhat, but there was still more latency in loading the pages than usual. I tried pinging a few sites directly and they kept coming back as “timed out.”
Thinking that perhaps there was some problem with my router settings (I’d changed something the night before) I went back in and returned to them the earlier configuration.
Still no joy. At this point I wrote the whole mess off as being a problem with Cox.
This reminded me of the tracert tool. The ping got as far as the second jump to the Cox hub and then everything after that crapped out.
That pretty much confirmed that the internet was fucked up somewhere along the line between me and Google (even their main search page was now refusing to come up).
If this weren’t enough, over the past several days I’d also been having problems with the new Firefox. I can’t point to any one thing in particular that was happening, but it was annoying me sufficiently that I was really longing to go back to version 2. Maybe not the best thing to do when the internet itself was acting dodgy, but I backed up my profile and uninstalled it. After reinstalling the earlier version, I copied the bookmarks.html file over from the backed up profile, started the program and…
…the bookmarks were two weeks out of date. WTF?
I was able to sort that out (from memory, thankfully), but what finally pushed me over the edge was when I went to open a link in an email and Windows returned the message, “Security settings prohibit you from running active x controls on this page. Contact your administrator.” Can you say, “Ready to put my fist through the screen?”
Something got screwed up in the downgrade from Firefox 3 to Firefox 2, and at this point I was in no mood to try and troubleshoot it. Since dozens of my file extensions also had mysteriously stopped working over the past few days, prompting me each and every time to select the appropriate program to open them, I said to hell with it. Time to reformat and reinstall.
And y’know, that solved all the problems I’d been having.
July 4, 2008
- Main Entry:
- 1tool
- Pronunciation:
- \ˈtül\
- Function:
- noun
- Etymology:
- Middle English, from Old English tōl; akin to Old English tawian to prepare for use
- Date:
- before 12th century
1 a: a handheld device that aids in accomplishing a task b (1): the cutting or shaping part in a machine or machine tool (2): a machine for shaping metal : machine tool
2 a: something (as an instrument or apparatus) used in performing an operation or necessary in the practice of a vocation or profession <a scholar’s books are his tools> b: an element of a computer program (as a graphics application) that activates and controls a particular function <a drawing tool> c: a means to an end <a book’s cover can be a marketing tool> doften vulgar : penis
3 a: a person, typically male, who says or does things that cause you to give them a “what-are-you-even-doing-here” look. The “what-are-you-even-doing-here” look is classified by a glare in the tool’s direction and is usually accompanied by muttering of how big of a tool they are. The tool is usually someone who is unwelcome but no one has the balls to tell them to get lost. The tool is alwasys making comments that are out-of-place, out-of-line or just plain stupid. The tool is always trying too hard to fit in, and because of this, never will. b: One who lacks the mental capacity to know he is being used. A fool. A cretin. Characterized by low intelligence and/or self-steem.
July 3, 2008
…hit your fat, bloated ass on the way out.
If Obama wins, I’ll leave the country.” - has-been actor and right-wing born again nutjob Stephen (not to be confused with the cute, liberal one) Baldwin
Frankly, I think that if an Obama win would run this loser out of the country, that in itself would be more than enough incentive to get people to go to the polls.
July 3, 2008
From CharlesFred
June 21, 2008
From Proceed at Your Own Risk (user: PAYOR, password: PASSWORD):
The Bible once told me that Jews killed Christ and should be hunted down like dogs, burned in their homes, their women raped and their property confiscated and given to devout Christians.
The Bible once told me that aggressive women were in league with the devil and had to be burned at the stake.
The Bible once told me that foreigners defeated in war could be sold into slavery.
The Bible once told me that people with dark skin could be kept as property by people with white skin.
The Bible once told me that if I had too many daughters, I could sell a few of them into slavery–just not in my own village.
The Bible once told me that if a woman committed adultery I should stone her to death.
The Bible once told me if I blended linen and wool, I should be stoned to death.
The Bible once told me that if a man believed the world was round and not flat he should be imprisoned or skinned alive and then drawn and quartered.
The Bible once told me that Protestants should be rounded up and shoved into mass graves.
The Bible once told me that Catholics should be rounded up and shoved into mass graves.
The Bible once told me that if I found a flourishing civilization that wasn’t Christian, it was my right as a Christian to burn it to the ground, convert those who would be converted and then commit genocide on those who would not convert.
And even if the Bible wasn’t perfectly clear on any or all of this, church authorities helped me with the interpretations; I didn’t need to actually read the Bible myself to understand it’s laws.
The Bible now tells me that homosexuals are sinners, abominations and should be slaughtered like pigs so that they can descend into Hell and burn for all eternity.
(more…)
June 21, 2008
A reviewer wrote:
Now, I’ve swallowed a lot of cock in my time, so when I tell you that cock soup isn’t a new taste for me, you should know I’m not lying. However, I was unprepared for the full cock flavour that permeated the rich, creamy broth. If there’s better cock in Los Angeles, I have yet to taste it. Nice and spicy, like you’d want your cock to be, Grace has really got something special here. I’m grabbing this cock and not letting go until the flavour is completely drained.
June 20, 2008
I think I’ll plan on having lunch out next week.
June 14, 2008
Only Dr. Who fans will get this…
June 2, 2008
I had a wonderful long birthday weekend. It started out with the all-too-brief Tucson visit last Thursday and culminated with my friend Michael driving down from Prescott yesterday to share lunch and Iron Man with me.
My ex brought me current with the gift of a wireless router. It’s been something I’ve been wanting to get, but other financial obligations always seemed to take precedence. I’m happy to report that it’s up and running, and now I can be a proper 21st century slug and sit with my laptop in my comfy chair in the living room while watching television and trawl the interwebs at the same time. Ain’t technology grand?
The downside is that I can no longer feign ignorance about setting up a wireless home network when people ask for assistance at work.
My walk through the University of Arizona campus brought into very sharp focus just how much I miss The Old Pueblo. While San Francisco may always be Home (with a capital H), I don’t think I will ever return there to live. On the other hand, I feel that at any point I could return to Tucson and be at one with the Universe.
There’s something special about the energy there. It sparkles, even in the dead stillness of the summer heat. While things have changed over the years, it seems you can always count on Tucson being Tucson, a place that still tries to live in harmony with nature instead of throwing a layer of asphalt over it like Phoenix does.
Of course, part of the magic is that I have so many long-term friends there; people with whom I have grown up—and older—with.
So what’s stopping me? At the moment, parental care concerns and the improbability of securing gainful employment. Tucson has been exceptionally good to me in many ways over the years, but unfortunately finding work has not been one of them. Love and relationships seem to spontaneously flourish down south, but the same cannot be said for my professional life—ironically the exact opposite of my experience in San Francisco.
And then there’s just the whole issue of moving. Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about pulling up stakes, throwing all my stuff in a U-Haul and driving it 750 miles to the coast. Now, however, I’ve reached the point in life where even my recent move across the damn parking lot—95% of it done by movers—was draining. Maybe that’s still too new in my memory, but right now I can’t even imagine moving to another city.
Yesterday, over tacos and tostadas at Loco Patron (Yes, Lewis, I had to go back!), while ogling the cute bartender, Michael and I searched our aging memory banks for our own links and connections—surprising each other with the missing blocks in our own recollections. Back in 1978 I thought Michael was so incredibly cool because he had an answering machine. And not only that, instead of just some dry message, when you called you were greeted by Pat Benatar singing, “I Need a Lover Who Won’t Drive Me Crazy.” Now we laugh, but it makes you realize how incredibly far we’ve come in the last thirty years.
Michael had all but forgotten about Pat and the answering machine, but for some reason it’s remained etched in my memory.
After lunch, we saw Iron Man. (Yes, I’m a little slow. I wanted to see this weeks ago but something has always come up to prevent it.)
Frankly, I wasn’t expecting much after the abomination that was Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull , but I was pleasantly—very pleasantly—surprised.
The story was fresh. The acting decent. (I’ve liked Robert Downey Jr. in just about everything he’s appeared in.) The special effects augmented—rather than overwhelmed—the film. (George Lucas, take note.) And for the first time in a years, I watched a movie that wasn’t full of tired old sci-fi clichés that we’ve already seen dozens of times over.
Contrast the quality in Iron Man to the next abomination hurdling down the tracks, The Incredible Hulk. Based on the video-game quality of the visuals in the trailers, I’m not even going to think about throwing money away on that piece of celluloid.
On the other hand, I’m more than willing to be suckered by M. Night Shyamalan—again—into seeing The Happening. I loved Signs and The Sixth Sense. I thought The Village was interesting. But by the time he got to Lady in the Water, I thought the bloom was definitely off the rose. (In other words, it stunk.) While the apocalyptic end-of-the-world-thriller genre has been pretty much played out, I’m still interested in seeing Shyamalan’s take on it. And I fully expect to be walking out of the theater feeling like I didn’t even get a reach-around out of the deal. Please, Night. Surprise me.
And then there’s The Dark Knight, the summer’s other “big” movie. While the original cinematic rendering of the Batman story with Michael Keaton will always have a special place in my heart, I was so blown away by Christopher Nolan’s vision when I finally caught Batman Begins (a film I had no desire to see whatsoever when it was in theaters) on cable recently, that I can’t wait to see this next installment of the saga.
May 28, 2008
Madre de Dios, he’s back! After doing some research, it appears the age of consent (at least in Georgia, where Oconee is located) is 16, and in the majority of the other states it’s 17, so we’re good. Adam graduated in 2007 (the same year these pictures were taken) and as a senior he was in all likelihood already 18, so while drooling over these photos may still feel a bit pervy, it’s certainly not illegal by any stretch of the imagination.
And it’s not like he’s nekkid or anything, so enjoy—even if you feel like you might need to shower afterward. (Lots more of Adam can be found here.)
Just imagine what he’s gonna look like in about 10 years! Madre de Dios, indeed!
May 20, 2008
The Strangest Summer of My Life
Previously, on Battlestar Galactica…
I knew my first summer back at home after flinging open the closet door at school might be a little…strange. Little did I know how truly bizarre it was going to be.
It started only a couple weeks after classes ended, with the celebration of my 19th birthday.
I had decided to invite a dozen or so of my friends from Louie’s (at least the ones who were still in the state) up to Phoenix to help me celebrate. The only problem was, I still hadn’t come out to my family, and my folks didn’t really have a clue as to what had happened in Tucson during the previous five months. How on earth was I going to pull off having a bunch of (potentially) screaming queens in the house without tipping my my own tiara to Mom and Dad?
Fortunately, Dad suggested that the night of my party would be an excellent opportunity for he and Mom to have a much needed night out on the town. My sister was also away doing something, so I’d have the place to myself. Problem solved. But oh, how I agonized!
Phil was the first to arrive that afternoon—on a motorcycle, wearing chaps, no less! I thought, “Just shoot me now.” Mom didn’t bat an eye.
Since Phil was the only one of my guests who would be staying the night and not turning around and going back to Tucson after the party, I got him situated in the guest room—even though neither of us had any intention of him actually sleeping there. (Yeah, despite all my angst about this extremely flammable situation I still liked to play with matches.)
As the other guests began arriving, I was amazed. Everyone was on their best behavior—at least until my folks drove off. Then the glitter and chiffon broke loose.
My merry band of butt pirates: Don, Phil Chas, Kent, James, and Eduardo—May, 1977
Well, not exactly. My friends—as a rule—were not especially flamboyant (except for Chas, who could camp with the best of ‘em) and one incident of some dirty dancing notwithstanding, the evening was actually kind of dull. It was therefore a bit of a relief when 10 p.m. rolled around and it was suggested we adjourn to Maggie’s for some real fun.
I don’t remember anything that happened at the bar that night, other than I tried poppers for the first time and the resulting migraine made me swear them off forever.
The next morning, as Mom was making breakfast for Phil and I, she asked if the party was a success. I told her it was okay, and hastened to add that I probably wouldn’t be doing it again next year.
About a week later I got a call from a high school buddy who was absolutely imploring me to go with him to see this new movie called Star Wars. I declined. I’d seen the ads for it and I wasn’t particularly interested. It looked like cowboys and indians in space.
But Gary wouldn’t let up. He’d already been once and was itching to go again. “You have got to see it,” he said. “I guarantee it’s not at all what you think it is.”
Finally, reluctantly, I agreed.
As if my life weren’t already in enough of a state of flux, along came George Lucas and his goddamned double sunset, prompting a wholesale spiritual transformation. Not only was I now floating between two physical worlds (gay and straight), my personal beliefs began a fundamental shift from traditional Christianity to something very, very different.
The summer of 77 was also the first time I’d read Frank Herbert’s Dune. My first foray into that world was also disconcerting, not only being faced with new words and terminology, but also a new way of viewing the universe itself.
You would think that with all this going on, and with my previous belief system laying in tatters at my feet, the Universe (capital U) would at least give me a little while to regroup before throwing anything more my way.
Ha!
That summer I also I went to work for my dad. Fascinated by architecture since I was in junior high, creating architectural drawings all through high school, and finally majoring in the subject in college, I had become rather accomplished at putting a viable collection of construction documents together—a skill set sorely needed in his office. My dad and I had never been particularly close, but one day after we’d returned from lunch we were talking about the summer-long trips that my mom, sister, and I would make back east to visit my grandparents when I was a kid, and he blurted out something very personal. “When you guys went back east, I’d go down to the Ramrod and hang out with Oscar from down the street…”
I seriously don’t remember anything he said after that.
Ramrod? The Ramrod?!? That’s a gay bar! That’s a gay leather bar. It’s always been a gay leather bar!
Oh. My. God. The light went on.
Now I knew where that newspaper article had come from.
I wasn’t the only one leading a double life.
Cue up the Twilight Zone music…
(To be continued…)
