And all this time, we were on the lookout for a second gun-MAN.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Jesus Toys - Makes a Great Christmas Gift...
Some poor kid somewhere (probably on the Bible Belt) is staring at one of these sitting on his night stand. Note the boy going in for the tackle. Do you really think he'll get into heaven doing this?
Just testing new features...
Blogger.com recently included a photo program. I'm just testing it out a little bit.
<----- This is a picture my friend, Michael, took last winter. It's actually the alleyway next to the Post, but it has a very surreal and haunting underwater feel to it. When he first sent it to me and it slowly downloaded onto my computer, I thought I was viewing a shot of some sea wreck. (although truth be told, I've seen alot of wrecks in this alleyway).
Blah, Blah, fuckin' Blah...
I am thinking about going into therapy (again). I don't know what it is, but for the past couple of weeks I've just been feeling really sad and lonely. A few weeks ago, I wrote that I woke up one morning feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. Twenty-four hours later, I come to learn that my friend, Eddie, died of cancer. That feeling of dread has been hanging over me ever since and I can't figure out what's wrong with me. It could be burnout from work and the commute involved. It could be lack of sales, bringing with it the lack of funds. It could be the heat. It could a combination of everything. I tried getting back into the gym thing, but I can feel that I'm on the verge of injuring my shoulder again (which is the main reason I stopped going almost two years ago).
About two and a half years ago, I sought therapy. I was really at a low point in my life and the thoughts going through my head were constant and quite scary. Upon my initial interview, the therapist had me fill out a questionnaire and told me to be completely honest with my answers. After handing back the completed form, she looked it over, excused herself nervously and returned a few minutes later with the on-call doctor. He suggested to me to that I should consider voluntarily admitting myself into a hospital. Apparently, my honesty scared them into believing that I was going to kill myself. I assured them that, although the idea was certainly in the forefront, I was too chickenshit to do anything about it.
The doctor prescribed Zoloft (about the strongest daily dosage allowed) and I began my sessions with my therapist. Almost immediately, I started to feel better just being able to talk. I don't know how much of an effect the Zoloft had on me, but I assume there was some. I figured, if I'm taking a drug, it should make me feel giddy and happy, or at least light-headed. The drug did give me some unpleasant side effects, mostly stomach problems and sleepiness so, after taking half of my prescribed dosage over the next couple of weeks, I stopped.
The talks with my therapist helped a great deal and I started to feel good about myself again, but unfortunately, after about a month, she announced that she was taking her practice out to the suburbs. She recommended I continue my sessions with someone else, but I declined. I have a hard enough time opening up to someone, let alone a complete stranger. I wasn't prepared to reopen wounds that were already beginning to mend.
However, after two and a half years, I have managed to keep some things that I have learned from my sessions. I've learned that I can't keep things bottled up inside. If something is bothering me, I'm gonna let it be known. (although there are a couple things going on in my life right now that I don't know what to do about)
My feelings this time around aren't the same as before. I don't have the suicidal thoughts racing through my head. Just sadness. Maybe I'm on the verge of another bout of depression, I don't know. One of the biggest things I wish for is someone truly significant in my life. Everytime I feel that I have found someone, I am quickly dropped back down to earth and back into reality. But I also realize that I can't be happy with someone unless I'm happy with myself. But it's like a double-edged sword. I mean, how can I be happy with myself if one of the things that is bothering me so much is the feeling of being alone?
Calgon, take me awaaaaaay!!!!!
About two and a half years ago, I sought therapy. I was really at a low point in my life and the thoughts going through my head were constant and quite scary. Upon my initial interview, the therapist had me fill out a questionnaire and told me to be completely honest with my answers. After handing back the completed form, she looked it over, excused herself nervously and returned a few minutes later with the on-call doctor. He suggested to me to that I should consider voluntarily admitting myself into a hospital. Apparently, my honesty scared them into believing that I was going to kill myself. I assured them that, although the idea was certainly in the forefront, I was too chickenshit to do anything about it.
The doctor prescribed Zoloft (about the strongest daily dosage allowed) and I began my sessions with my therapist. Almost immediately, I started to feel better just being able to talk. I don't know how much of an effect the Zoloft had on me, but I assume there was some. I figured, if I'm taking a drug, it should make me feel giddy and happy, or at least light-headed. The drug did give me some unpleasant side effects, mostly stomach problems and sleepiness so, after taking half of my prescribed dosage over the next couple of weeks, I stopped.
The talks with my therapist helped a great deal and I started to feel good about myself again, but unfortunately, after about a month, she announced that she was taking her practice out to the suburbs. She recommended I continue my sessions with someone else, but I declined. I have a hard enough time opening up to someone, let alone a complete stranger. I wasn't prepared to reopen wounds that were already beginning to mend.
However, after two and a half years, I have managed to keep some things that I have learned from my sessions. I've learned that I can't keep things bottled up inside. If something is bothering me, I'm gonna let it be known. (although there are a couple things going on in my life right now that I don't know what to do about)
My feelings this time around aren't the same as before. I don't have the suicidal thoughts racing through my head. Just sadness. Maybe I'm on the verge of another bout of depression, I don't know. One of the biggest things I wish for is someone truly significant in my life. Everytime I feel that I have found someone, I am quickly dropped back down to earth and back into reality. But I also realize that I can't be happy with someone unless I'm happy with myself. But it's like a double-edged sword. I mean, how can I be happy with myself if one of the things that is bothering me so much is the feeling of being alone?
Calgon, take me awaaaaaay!!!!!
Saturday, June 25, 2005
If Boredom were I Drug, I'd need Rehab...
Man oh man, I gotta get me a new job. Here it is, Saturday morning, hotter n' hell (and I don't think the A.C.'s working here, slightly hungover from experimental apple juice shots (they're either getting better or I'm getting more *hic* drunk). I'm sitting at work....work...and writing my blog. There are so many other things I'd rather be doing....ANYthing. I could be sitting in Rittenhouse Square sipping a fru-fru coffee drink. I could be cleaning my house (yeah right). I could be strolling the city, taking in the morning air before the heat becomes unbelievable. But what am I doing? Sitting at work writing a blog.
Not that it's such a bad thing, mind you (although I don't really have anything to write about...I'm so bored my brain's not even functioning correctly). Some of my best postings have come out of complete boredom. How else would I have been able to establish a connection between Kevin Bacon and Osama Bin Laden (see previous post)? Besides, writing these postings makes the hours whiz right on by, so long as I have something to actually write about.
Not that it's such a bad thing, mind you (although I don't really have anything to write about...I'm so bored my brain's not even functioning correctly). Some of my best postings have come out of complete boredom. How else would I have been able to establish a connection between Kevin Bacon and Osama Bin Laden (see previous post)? Besides, writing these postings makes the hours whiz right on by, so long as I have something to actually write about.
Friday, June 24, 2005
O'er the Land of the Chat and the Home of the Nuts...
Political chatrooms are a riot!!!
From the war in Iraq right on down to the round-the-clock death watch of Terri Shaivo and her family's bitter reality-tv show-like battle for her life, it has been reported time and time again how stories such as these have divided the country literally in half. No better place can this be found evident as in an AOL political chatroom.
The cast of characters found in a political chatroom are too many to mention, but they do fall into 3 simple classes: the Liberals, the conservatives and the whacked-out-super-Right-Wing-kill-the-world-because-they're-different-repent-before-Jesus-comes-a'callin-Christians.
Now, when I go into one of these chatrooms, it starts out to overcome complete boredom, but I end up getting pissed off at the stupidity being typed and the complete fascination at the fact that some of these people have the mentality to turn on a computer, let alone raise families of their own. I rarely go into these rooms to chat, but rather read, laugh and try and decipher the statements being tossed about.
No one in these rooms really have much of anything to say. I've come to the conclusion that the actual topic that brought you to the room is truly meaningless. The same three or four sentences are repeated over and over again by literally hundreds of chatters with nothing better to do than compare the size of their dicks with one another. The views are all over the board and, more often than not, so far-fetched you start to wonder if the state mental hospital is aware of the fact that their patients are tapping into the computer systems when they should be weaving baskets.
The Liberals are Bush-bashing and saying he should be impeached. They sit at home infront of their televisions, eagerly waiting for the next body count so they can run into a chatroom and announce to the world that Bush's actions have killed another soldier. The Conservatives are Liberal bashing. And when they can't find anything to bash on a Liberal in a chatroom, they'll fall back on their old stand-by, Slick Willie, and the infamous stained blue Gap dress event. At times, I wonder if these conservatives are just jealous because their viagra hasn't kept their weakened dicks up for 8 years like Bill's. It's apparent that they seriously think Bill spent every waking hour for eight years fucking interns and any television appearance made by him was actually a double (since Bill was fucking non-stop). The Liberals blame bush for 9/11, the Conservatives blame Clinton....or Hillary....or Kennedy....or Barney, the Dinosaur. The one thing I've come to learn about the hard-core conservatives is this: if they can't figure out the reason for a problem, they'll travel back in time and pick any one person, place or event, and construct their own warped timeline that will lead to something that happened 20 years later. It's 6 degrees of separation all over again...
Why aren't they blaming Kevin Bacon for 9/11? After all, he did star in Footloose with John Lithgow, who was in 3rd Rock from the Sun with Jane Curtain, who played Kate in Kate & Allie with Frederick Koehler, who played a prisoner in the cable show Oz and was seen in nothing more than a baggy pair of underwear, which is the same thing Saddam Hussain was photographed in, who is supposedly connected to Osama Bin Laden who claimed responsibility for bringing down the Towers..... So, ultimately, shouldn't we condemn Kevin for more than just making bad movies?
And let us not forget the ultra high and mighty Christians (cue the angels singing). Who do they blame? Everyone! But it doesn't matter to them who's to blame because the Rapture is right around the corner and if you're not ready, according to them, you'll be left behind to fight for your very existence under the wicked power of Satan. You will spend your years fighting for attention and look to be forgiven in a world that has turned wicked upon you, until the ultimate battle between good and evil is staged and the 2nd coming is upon us! (again, cue the angels)... In the meantime, they'll continue paying their $19.95 a month to hang out in a chatroom and threaten the lives of any homosexual or non-believer who crosses their path. Somehow, they think that, by going to church every Sunday and washing their hands before each meal and after pissing, they are considered "saved" and as long as they say Christ's name at least once a day, then every thing else they say, do or feel towards another person, no matter how self-centered or racist or biggoted it may be, is just "doing the work of the Lord".
Oh CHRIST!.... (ooooooh..lookie...I'm saved!...)
From the war in Iraq right on down to the round-the-clock death watch of Terri Shaivo and her family's bitter reality-tv show-like battle for her life, it has been reported time and time again how stories such as these have divided the country literally in half. No better place can this be found evident as in an AOL political chatroom.
The cast of characters found in a political chatroom are too many to mention, but they do fall into 3 simple classes: the Liberals, the conservatives and the whacked-out-super-Right-Wing-kill-the-world-because-they're-different-repent-before-Jesus-comes-a'callin-Christians.
Now, when I go into one of these chatrooms, it starts out to overcome complete boredom, but I end up getting pissed off at the stupidity being typed and the complete fascination at the fact that some of these people have the mentality to turn on a computer, let alone raise families of their own. I rarely go into these rooms to chat, but rather read, laugh and try and decipher the statements being tossed about.
No one in these rooms really have much of anything to say. I've come to the conclusion that the actual topic that brought you to the room is truly meaningless. The same three or four sentences are repeated over and over again by literally hundreds of chatters with nothing better to do than compare the size of their dicks with one another. The views are all over the board and, more often than not, so far-fetched you start to wonder if the state mental hospital is aware of the fact that their patients are tapping into the computer systems when they should be weaving baskets.
The Liberals are Bush-bashing and saying he should be impeached. They sit at home infront of their televisions, eagerly waiting for the next body count so they can run into a chatroom and announce to the world that Bush's actions have killed another soldier. The Conservatives are Liberal bashing. And when they can't find anything to bash on a Liberal in a chatroom, they'll fall back on their old stand-by, Slick Willie, and the infamous stained blue Gap dress event. At times, I wonder if these conservatives are just jealous because their viagra hasn't kept their weakened dicks up for 8 years like Bill's. It's apparent that they seriously think Bill spent every waking hour for eight years fucking interns and any television appearance made by him was actually a double (since Bill was fucking non-stop). The Liberals blame bush for 9/11, the Conservatives blame Clinton....or Hillary....or Kennedy....or Barney, the Dinosaur. The one thing I've come to learn about the hard-core conservatives is this: if they can't figure out the reason for a problem, they'll travel back in time and pick any one person, place or event, and construct their own warped timeline that will lead to something that happened 20 years later. It's 6 degrees of separation all over again...
Why aren't they blaming Kevin Bacon for 9/11? After all, he did star in Footloose with John Lithgow, who was in 3rd Rock from the Sun with Jane Curtain, who played Kate in Kate & Allie with Frederick Koehler, who played a prisoner in the cable show Oz and was seen in nothing more than a baggy pair of underwear, which is the same thing Saddam Hussain was photographed in, who is supposedly connected to Osama Bin Laden who claimed responsibility for bringing down the Towers..... So, ultimately, shouldn't we condemn Kevin for more than just making bad movies?
And let us not forget the ultra high and mighty Christians (cue the angels singing). Who do they blame? Everyone! But it doesn't matter to them who's to blame because the Rapture is right around the corner and if you're not ready, according to them, you'll be left behind to fight for your very existence under the wicked power of Satan. You will spend your years fighting for attention and look to be forgiven in a world that has turned wicked upon you, until the ultimate battle between good and evil is staged and the 2nd coming is upon us! (again, cue the angels)... In the meantime, they'll continue paying their $19.95 a month to hang out in a chatroom and threaten the lives of any homosexual or non-believer who crosses their path. Somehow, they think that, by going to church every Sunday and washing their hands before each meal and after pissing, they are considered "saved" and as long as they say Christ's name at least once a day, then every thing else they say, do or feel towards another person, no matter how self-centered or racist or biggoted it may be, is just "doing the work of the Lord".
Oh CHRIST!.... (ooooooh..lookie...I'm saved!...)
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Broadway Bares...
I went on a day trip to New York City this past Sunday to see an AIDS benefit entitled Broadway Bares. I need to thank my good friend, JC, for the invite. He had been going for the last 10 or 11 years and this was my first time experiencing the show. From my understanding it had started out about 15 years ago with 8 dancers in a gay bar. This year, there must've been over 200 male and female dancers performing erotic routines in elaborate costumes. There were even surprise appearances by a few well-known broadway and television celebrities including David Hyde Pierce (Niles Crane), Tim Curry (best known as the transexual in Rocky Horror, Bruce Fellanch (spelling?), Christina Applegate and, of all people, Dr. Ruth Westheimer.
I had also seen some celebrities of past and present in the crowd enjoying the show, including Jm J. Bullock and a few of the guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
It was good to spend the day in the Big Apple again and we enjoyed lunch in a nice little Greek Restaurant (where I nearly knocked myself out walking into a floor length mirror in the tiny bathroom). It was an extremely long day and quite tiring. We JUST made the midnight train back home (if we had missed it, the next train running would've been 3am).
Sorry...that's about all I can write right now. I'm sure I'll think of something alittle later, but I have a 12-hour day of work ahead of me and I had a rough night's sleep last night. I'm tired and my eyes are literally burning, they're so dry and bloodshot.
Maybe I'll write about why I am lacking sleep, but that sexual encounter is alittle too graphic :)
I had also seen some celebrities of past and present in the crowd enjoying the show, including Jm J. Bullock and a few of the guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
It was good to spend the day in the Big Apple again and we enjoyed lunch in a nice little Greek Restaurant (where I nearly knocked myself out walking into a floor length mirror in the tiny bathroom). It was an extremely long day and quite tiring. We JUST made the midnight train back home (if we had missed it, the next train running would've been 3am).
Sorry...that's about all I can write right now. I'm sure I'll think of something alittle later, but I have a 12-hour day of work ahead of me and I had a rough night's sleep last night. I'm tired and my eyes are literally burning, they're so dry and bloodshot.
Maybe I'll write about why I am lacking sleep, but that sexual encounter is alittle too graphic :)
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
So Simple Even a Monkey Can do it...
When bidders were given the chance to buy paintings by Andy Warhol, Renoir and Congo the chimpanzee, can you guess which they chose?
Three of Congo's abstract, tempera paintings were sold at Bonhams in London for more than $26,000. Those went, while bidders bypassed the works of both Renoir and Pittsburgh's Warhol.
Congo's paintings were only expected to fetch up to $1,500. The museum's director says it was quite a surprise. He says “We just put them in for our own amusement.”
Congo produced about 400 drawings and paintings between the ages of two and four. He died in 1964 from tuberculosis.
Three of Congo's abstract, tempera paintings were sold at Bonhams in London for more than $26,000. Those went, while bidders bypassed the works of both Renoir and Pittsburgh's Warhol.
Congo's paintings were only expected to fetch up to $1,500. The museum's director says it was quite a surprise. He says “We just put them in for our own amusement.”
Congo produced about 400 drawings and paintings between the ages of two and four. He died in 1964 from tuberculosis.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Pet Diaries Uncovered (thanks, Chas!!) ...
As seen in a dog's diary:
8am - Oh Boy! Dog Food! My favorite!
9am - Oh Boy! A car ride! My favorite!
10am - Oh Boy! A walk! My favorite!
11am - Oh Boy! A car ride! My favorite!
noon - Oh Boy! The kids! My favorite!
1pm - Oh Boy! The Yard! My favorite!
3pm - Oh Boy! The kids! My favorite!
4pm - Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite!
5pm - Oh Boy! Mom! My favorite!
7pm - Oh Boy! Playing ball! My favorite!
9pm - Oh Boy! Sleeping in master's bed! My favorite!
As seen in a cat's diary:
Day 183 of my captivity...
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant.
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded. Must try this at the top of the stairs.
In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair. Must try this on their bed.
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strikefear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm...not working according to plan.
There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More importantly, I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies". Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured.
But I can wait... It is only a matter of time...
8am - Oh Boy! Dog Food! My favorite!
9am - Oh Boy! A car ride! My favorite!
10am - Oh Boy! A walk! My favorite!
11am - Oh Boy! A car ride! My favorite!
noon - Oh Boy! The kids! My favorite!
1pm - Oh Boy! The Yard! My favorite!
3pm - Oh Boy! The kids! My favorite!
4pm - Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite!
5pm - Oh Boy! Mom! My favorite!
7pm - Oh Boy! Playing ball! My favorite!
9pm - Oh Boy! Sleeping in master's bed! My favorite!
As seen in a cat's diary:
Day 183 of my captivity...
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant.
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded. Must try this at the top of the stairs.
In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair. Must try this on their bed.
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strikefear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm...not working according to plan.
There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More importantly, I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies". Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured.
But I can wait... It is only a matter of time...
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Welcome to Never(gonna get me)Land Ranch...
Yes, as the rest of the world already knows, Michael Jackson 
is free to fondle pre-teens again. As guilty as the guy is (and I do believe he's guilty), I knew from the very start that the Prosecutors were gonna find one way after another after another to fuck this case up. And, just as in the OJ, Robert Blake and now Mickey J, it just proves that, if you're gonna commit a crime in California, you better have an agent more so than a lawyer.
I was watching Good Morning America this morning and Diane Sawyer was interviewing 6 of the jury members. I can't blame them for their decision. It's tough being a juror and when you're handed a 100 page instructional manual on how to decide your vote, the stress has got to be tremendous. Every charge brought up on The King of Pop was directly related to the little boy in the English documentary. The prosecution fucked up repeatedly in making their case. Whoever told the boy's mother how to dress for her court appearance was the major fuck-up! The jurors interviewed this morning said that, during her police interview, the woman was well-dressed, made up and very respectable looking. During her court appearance however she looked like "Mother Theresa caught in a bad rain storm". They said that she was very intimidating and continuously snapped her fingers at them. The son was the victim in this case, so why would they tell the mother to look like roadkill?
However, when asked if they suspected Michael Jackson of being a child molestor, they all nodded. What does that tell you about the prosecution?
Bottom line: it was just as big a circus as the afternoon of M.J. danced on the roof of a car back at the arraignment.
And so, I hear there's a mass exodus out of California and many families with young boys are scrambling to find housing in other states, far far away from the land of llamas and chimps and toys and rides...
...and Jesus Juice...
I was watching Good Morning America this morning and Diane Sawyer was interviewing 6 of the jury members. I can't blame them for their decision. It's tough being a juror and when you're handed a 100 page instructional manual on how to decide your vote, the stress has got to be tremendous. Every charge brought up on The King of Pop was directly related to the little boy in the English documentary. The prosecution fucked up repeatedly in making their case. Whoever told the boy's mother how to dress for her court appearance was the major fuck-up! The jurors interviewed this morning said that, during her police interview, the woman was well-dressed, made up and very respectable looking. During her court appearance however she looked like "Mother Theresa caught in a bad rain storm". They said that she was very intimidating and continuously snapped her fingers at them. The son was the victim in this case, so why would they tell the mother to look like roadkill?
However, when asked if they suspected Michael Jackson of being a child molestor, they all nodded. What does that tell you about the prosecution?
Bottom line: it was just as big a circus as the afternoon of M.J. danced on the roof of a car back at the arraignment.
And so, I hear there's a mass exodus out of California and many families with young boys are scrambling to find housing in other states, far far away from the land of llamas and chimps and toys and rides...
...and Jesus Juice...
Monday, June 13, 2005
Thanks for the Support...
Since my last post, I have received numerous e-mails from friends expressing their condolences. I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you. The blog was the only way I knew how to get my feelings out as quickly as possible so I didn't end up dwelling on the news and the fond memories I had of Eddie and wind up breaking down infront of a client (I was at work when I received the e-mail). All of your thoughts and well-wishes mean alot to me, and I thank you all once again.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
A Tribute...(the only way I know how right now)...
Several years ago, I met a really cute and nice guy named Edmund (Eddie). Ironically enough, it was in an AOL chatroom and a bunch of us were bitching about dating, so we all decided to meet up and have a weekly bitchfest and just hangout. The bitchfest lasted only on time, but Eddie and I hit it off instantly. We had gone on a few dates, but it never really had a chance to grow into something more other than a long distance friendship, since he had soon sold his house in New Jersey and moved out to Oklahoma City.
We had chatted online quite a bit and cyber-visited one another but, as most times it happens, we started talking less and less. He had met "the love of his life" and they both moved further west out to Los Angeles where Eddie went back to school to become a nurse.
A few years ago, Eddie contacted me out of the blue with a crushing blow. He had cancer. He would provide weekly (at least) updates on his status, treatment and anything that may or may not look good on the horizon. With the medical background and schooling he had gone through, it was easy for him to describe to the rest of us what was happening and what was to be expected. He talked about the difficulties he faced after bouts of chemo and the awkwardness he fealt when he first went out in public with his shaved head (that awkwardness quickly vanished when he suddenly realized that shaved was "in")
Not too long ago, he was convinced that he was going to beat this monster. The tumor growing under his arm had dwindled in size to that of a dime (down from a grapefruit). But then, almost as quickly, not only did the tumor grow back, but the cancer had spread. He had voiced his concerns and hatred about George Bush's battle against stem cell therapy (although he was already in the process of going through it). However, for reasons too technical to go into (low numbers/high numbers/no numbers) stem cell therapy became less and less an option.
A few months ago, Eddie passed an email telling us that he has accepted death and is in the process of settling up loose ends in California. His health quickly deteriorated and in the last email I received (which was at the beginning of May), he said that he was moving back East to be closer to his family and he would be going into a hospice in Delaware within a couple of weeks of that email.
That was the last email I received from Eddie.
Yesterday (Friday, June 10th), someone from the list of email recipients had sent out a request for any information concerning Eddie, since she too had not heard anything. Ironically enough, I had closed the email and had seen Eddie's screen name just exit my buddy list. I quickly responded with word that, although I didn't talk to him, I did see him online.
Today (Saturday) I received another email from one of the nurses in the hospital that Eddie had worked and stayed in while sick:
Eddie passed away May 16th. He did go home to his mother and was with family at the time of his death. I am sorry to relay this via e-mail.
Cindy Damboise
PHCMCNurse Manager
Telemetry / DOU
It is with tear-filled eyes and a pained heart that I write this latest blog.
Eddie, you were a good addition to my life and, although the contact through the years between us dwindled, you will never be forgotten.
Edmund Zeron
1965-2005
We had chatted online quite a bit and cyber-visited one another but, as most times it happens, we started talking less and less. He had met "the love of his life" and they both moved further west out to Los Angeles where Eddie went back to school to become a nurse.
A few years ago, Eddie contacted me out of the blue with a crushing blow. He had cancer. He would provide weekly (at least) updates on his status, treatment and anything that may or may not look good on the horizon. With the medical background and schooling he had gone through, it was easy for him to describe to the rest of us what was happening and what was to be expected. He talked about the difficulties he faced after bouts of chemo and the awkwardness he fealt when he first went out in public with his shaved head (that awkwardness quickly vanished when he suddenly realized that shaved was "in")
Not too long ago, he was convinced that he was going to beat this monster. The tumor growing under his arm had dwindled in size to that of a dime (down from a grapefruit). But then, almost as quickly, not only did the tumor grow back, but the cancer had spread. He had voiced his concerns and hatred about George Bush's battle against stem cell therapy (although he was already in the process of going through it). However, for reasons too technical to go into (low numbers/high numbers/no numbers) stem cell therapy became less and less an option.
A few months ago, Eddie passed an email telling us that he has accepted death and is in the process of settling up loose ends in California. His health quickly deteriorated and in the last email I received (which was at the beginning of May), he said that he was moving back East to be closer to his family and he would be going into a hospice in Delaware within a couple of weeks of that email.
That was the last email I received from Eddie.
Yesterday (Friday, June 10th), someone from the list of email recipients had sent out a request for any information concerning Eddie, since she too had not heard anything. Ironically enough, I had closed the email and had seen Eddie's screen name just exit my buddy list. I quickly responded with word that, although I didn't talk to him, I did see him online.
Today (Saturday) I received another email from one of the nurses in the hospital that Eddie had worked and stayed in while sick:
Eddie passed away May 16th. He did go home to his mother and was with family at the time of his death. I am sorry to relay this via e-mail.
Cindy Damboise
PHCMCNurse Manager
Telemetry / DOU
It is with tear-filled eyes and a pained heart that I write this latest blog.
Eddie, you were a good addition to my life and, although the contact through the years between us dwindled, you will never be forgotten.
Edmund Zeron
1965-2005
Friday, June 10, 2005
Why Can't These F*$(#NG Mothers Know When to Shut their F*$(#NG KIDS UP?...
I'm sitting in the mall...
Now mind you, I haven't had a cigarette in more than 10 hours now, so that could be a big factor in all of this...
I'm sitting in the mall and for the last 45 minutes, a woman is walking around with 2 kids, one about 2 the other about a year old and just walking. They're going around screaming at the top of their lungs at each other, playing some chasing game through the mall. Now I am sitting in my store and I can here these little voices bouncing off tiles, glass and cement with abso-fucking-lutely nothing to absorb the painful screeching, until it reaches my ears, pops the eardrums and I start dripping blood onto my shoulders!!!!
Are mother's so fucking deaf that they can't hear their own children enough to shut them up or take them elsewhere unless it's annoying them????? What about the other few hundred people within ear(shattering)shot who have to put up with this shit???? There is NOTHING worse than the sound of screaming kids bouncing off of hard, non-pourous surfaces!!!!
MOTHERS: HAVE SOME CON-FUCKING-SIDER-FUCKING-ATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Oh God....as I was writing this, the mother I had just been bitching about and her two little rugrats have moved off to the other end of the mall. Granted I can still hear them, but from a safe distance away.... Now as I finish, I can hear the growing whine/laugh/cry of the older of the 2 getting louder)
ooooooooooooh...my head...
Is it possible to bleed from behind your eyeball?
Now mind you, I haven't had a cigarette in more than 10 hours now, so that could be a big factor in all of this...
I'm sitting in the mall and for the last 45 minutes, a woman is walking around with 2 kids, one about 2 the other about a year old and just walking. They're going around screaming at the top of their lungs at each other, playing some chasing game through the mall. Now I am sitting in my store and I can here these little voices bouncing off tiles, glass and cement with abso-fucking-lutely nothing to absorb the painful screeching, until it reaches my ears, pops the eardrums and I start dripping blood onto my shoulders!!!!
Are mother's so fucking deaf that they can't hear their own children enough to shut them up or take them elsewhere unless it's annoying them????? What about the other few hundred people within ear(shattering)shot who have to put up with this shit???? There is NOTHING worse than the sound of screaming kids bouncing off of hard, non-pourous surfaces!!!!
MOTHERS: HAVE SOME CON-FUCKING-SIDER-FUCKING-ATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Oh God....as I was writing this, the mother I had just been bitching about and her two little rugrats have moved off to the other end of the mall. Granted I can still hear them, but from a safe distance away.... Now as I finish, I can hear the growing whine/laugh/cry of the older of the 2 getting louder)
ooooooooooooh...my head...
Is it possible to bleed from behind your eyeball?
Law & Order - Bitters Unit
Well... There's one less crack-ho walking the street right now.
Tuesday night, after another 12-hour day, I decided to stop in at The Post for a drink (or two). Nothing exceptional happening there and I wanted to get an early start the next morning on some projects around the house I had been putting off, so I decided to head home. It was around midnight and the night was warm and still humid. The walk home was uneventful until I nearly reached my street.
As I crossed South Street, I noticed one police car after another (4 total) slowly pull out of my street (the wrong way) and onto 19th. One car pulled to a stop while the other slowly made their way to the next intersection and then headed off in their own directions. As I approached my street, I was looking at the police car that had pulled over and suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a skinny black woman crouched down between two parked cars I was passing. Her back was to me so, even though my footfalls weren't exactly silent, she took no notice of me passing behind her. She was mumbling something, but I couldn't quite figure out what she was saying. I stood there watching her for a moment and wondered just what the hell had transpired over the last thirty minutes or so to have four cop cars and a crouching and obviously intoxicated woman hiding behind a couple of parked cars.
I decided to head over to the parked police car and ask the cop if they were looking for someone. I approached the car slowly, stealing glances behind me to see what the woman was doing. Then I noticed her getting up from behind the car, still jabbering on about something or other, and she started walking towards me. I decided to leave well enough alone and I turned back towards my street. As our paths crossed, the girl, dark black skin, skinny enough to have to tie to a tree in a windstorm, tight jeans and a slutty looking shirt, stopped and asked me for a cigarette. Or rather: "Heymanyagottasmokefrmeeee."
"Hell, no." I replied harshly and kept on walking. She didn't say anything, but walked (or rather staggered) right on past the cop car and down to the corner where she stopped and started talking to a couple of guys sitting at the stop sign on their bicycles. I turned down my street, headed for my house and pretty much forgot about what had just happened (which was basically nothing).
I went up to my bedroom, turned on the air conditioner and then went back down into the livingroom and watched some tv while my bedroom cooled down. About one in the morning, I turned off the tv and lights and headed upstairs for bed.
(sidebar:) Across the street from me lives an older black man. In reality, he's probably not much older than me, but he's an obvious alcoholic who spends all of his daylight hours drinking at the corner bar. Many times, I have witnessed him stagger down the street and fight desperately to try and get his key into the lock of his front door. In fact, one time, a few years ago, I was just leaving my house and I saw him trying to get into his. He was so drunk that he just simply fell backwards off of his stoop and landed on the top of his head on the sidewalk. I ran over to him (thinking he had actually died infront of me). Blood was spilling from his head, but he was at least managing to pull himself up into a sitting position. He was obviously so far gone that he didn't even know what had just happened to him.
Anyway, long story short, there's a small group of people who continuously bang on his door and shout out his name at all hours of the day or night. It gets to be very annoying when he ignores their shouts and pounding and they remain there for 10, 15 or 30 minutes, completely oblivious to the noise they're making for the rest of the street.
So anyway, I'm upstairs, the air conditioner's on and the television is showing me some adult oriented cartoon (Adult Swim on Nick at Night - great tv!). It was about 1am when the banging started on the door across the street, followed by a woman's voice shouting "Nickyyyyyyyy!" This went on for about 2-3 minutes before I finally got up out of bed and went over to the window. Normally, I would just ignore this shouting, but I chose not to this time for two reasons: first, it was 1am for Christ sake and second, if this shouting is bothering me with the a.c. running, the tv on and the windows closed, then this chick must be really shouting at the top of her lungs.
I don't know what had suddenly come over me, but I was pissed off with this girl. I threw open the window and shouted: "Knock it the fuck off, you goddamn crack whore!" She had no idea where the voice had come from, but it sent her scurrying down the block like a roach when the lights come on. I slammed the window down and got back into bed.
It was only a few minutes that had passed before I heard that familiar slurred voice and the heavy pounding again.
"Nickyyyyyyyy!!!"
I guess the anger that had stirred in me the first time was anger at myself. I knew this chick banging on the neighbor's door was none other than the same skinny piece of trash that was hiding between two parked cars an hour earlier. I was kicking myself for not going up to the cops the first time and pointing her out to him.
I jumped out of bed, threw on a pair of shorts and headed downstairs. Grabbing the phone on my way out, I unlocked the front door and stepped out onto my stoop.
"I told you to knock it off!" I shouted, not really caring if I was waking up the neighbors any more than she did at this point. "If you're not out of here, I'm calling the cops."
"I need my shoe!" She shouted back, not out of anger, but more that was the only way she knew how to speak.
It was at this point I realized that she was, in fact, only wearing one tennis shoe. She turned again to the house. "Nickyyyyyyyy!!!" She started banging on the windows of the house.
"You goddamn bitch, knock it OFF!!" I yelled, dialing the phone.
"I need my shoe!"
"9-1-1, what's your emergency."
"I want to report a disturbance. I know the police were looking for this girl earlier and she's banging on the door and nearly shattering the front windows."
"The police have already been dispatched."
"Nick-YYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!"
"Thank you." I hung up the phone and stepped out into the street. I had no idea what the hell this chick was on and at this point I really didn't care. The only frightening thing that crossed my mind were the group of guys on the bikes she had stopped to talk to earlier. I quickly glanced down the street behind me and was thankful that no one was coming from that direction.
"You happy now? The cops are on the way." She looked at me and took a step closer.
"Dis my uncle's house. I need my shoooooe!"
"It's one in the morning. Do I look like I give a fuck about your shoe?"
She went on about her shoe, slurring words and spinning around to face the door, banging and calling for Nicky.
I suddenly saw two shadowed figures heading towards us from the other end of the block. I thought I should hightail it back into the house, but I only took a second to realize that they were two police officers, one male and one female.
"Here come the cops." I warned her.
"Lisa!" The female officer called out. (ahhhh...so they know this girl). "We told you not to come around here anymore tonight." They closed in casually and were still about thirty or forty yards away when "Lisa" did the funniest move that I nearly pissed my pants laughing right there in the middle of the street. She turned her skinny, tiny breasted body towards the approaching officers. With her right hand curled into a fist and pressing into her right side just above the hipbone, she bent foward, her legs straight and her back almost parallel to the street, and said in a tone of voice that reminded me of a stand-up comedian imitating a old Southern black woman: "Who you be?"
If it weren't for the fact that I was still angry at being dragged out of bed, I would've been laughing my ass off at this little crack whore's antics. As it were, the female officer, also black but with a completely opposite build, with wide hips stuffed into the navy blue regulation trousers and the lighter blue police button-down shirt trying desperately to keep her oversized breast from spilling out onto the street, said: "Whaddaya me who I be. You know who I be? I be the one who is gettin' tired of all these phone calls about you."
"I need my shoe!!!!"
(I swear, Rainman wasn't this obsessed with Jeopardy)
So this battle of the tennis shoe bounced back and forth for a few more minutes while Lisa claimed that it was her Uncle she was trying to get to come to the door.
"But you told us earlier that your uncle lived right there." The female officer said, pointing to my next door neighbor's house. They started walking towards me and my neighbor's house that stood behind me.
"Whoa." I said, forgetting completely that I was standing out in the middle of the street with nothing more than a pair of loose fitting gym shorts. "She does not live there and niether does her Uncle." The officer was about to argue the point with me, but I wasn't going to give in. By this time, I can see other neighbors peeking out from their own bedroom windows at the comossion going on down in the street. "I've been here for 8 years and for 8 years that guy over there has had people banging on his door at all hours of the day and night, including this drugged out beauty before you. You were looking for her earlier tonight and I found her crouching down between two parked cars at the end of the block. Now trust me when I tell you this, I know my nieghbors and they are not related to her. You need to do something with her. I don't care if it's taking her home or taking her around the corner and shooting her. Just take her..."
The male officer, a big black man, was shaking his head and trying not to laugh. The female officer, her hand gripping Lisa's upper arm, warned me to calm down. I hadn't been yelling. I was just alittle loud, but I assured her I was calm.
"Okay, Lisa, let's take a little ride."
As they headed off down the street towards their car parked around the corner, I kept hearing those words I had come to loathe drift across the humid night air:
"I need my shoeeeeee...."
Tuesday night, after another 12-hour day, I decided to stop in at The Post for a drink (or two). Nothing exceptional happening there and I wanted to get an early start the next morning on some projects around the house I had been putting off, so I decided to head home. It was around midnight and the night was warm and still humid. The walk home was uneventful until I nearly reached my street.
As I crossed South Street, I noticed one police car after another (4 total) slowly pull out of my street (the wrong way) and onto 19th. One car pulled to a stop while the other slowly made their way to the next intersection and then headed off in their own directions. As I approached my street, I was looking at the police car that had pulled over and suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a skinny black woman crouched down between two parked cars I was passing. Her back was to me so, even though my footfalls weren't exactly silent, she took no notice of me passing behind her. She was mumbling something, but I couldn't quite figure out what she was saying. I stood there watching her for a moment and wondered just what the hell had transpired over the last thirty minutes or so to have four cop cars and a crouching and obviously intoxicated woman hiding behind a couple of parked cars.
I decided to head over to the parked police car and ask the cop if they were looking for someone. I approached the car slowly, stealing glances behind me to see what the woman was doing. Then I noticed her getting up from behind the car, still jabbering on about something or other, and she started walking towards me. I decided to leave well enough alone and I turned back towards my street. As our paths crossed, the girl, dark black skin, skinny enough to have to tie to a tree in a windstorm, tight jeans and a slutty looking shirt, stopped and asked me for a cigarette. Or rather: "Heymanyagottasmokefrmeeee."
"Hell, no." I replied harshly and kept on walking. She didn't say anything, but walked (or rather staggered) right on past the cop car and down to the corner where she stopped and started talking to a couple of guys sitting at the stop sign on their bicycles. I turned down my street, headed for my house and pretty much forgot about what had just happened (which was basically nothing).
I went up to my bedroom, turned on the air conditioner and then went back down into the livingroom and watched some tv while my bedroom cooled down. About one in the morning, I turned off the tv and lights and headed upstairs for bed.
(sidebar:) Across the street from me lives an older black man. In reality, he's probably not much older than me, but he's an obvious alcoholic who spends all of his daylight hours drinking at the corner bar. Many times, I have witnessed him stagger down the street and fight desperately to try and get his key into the lock of his front door. In fact, one time, a few years ago, I was just leaving my house and I saw him trying to get into his. He was so drunk that he just simply fell backwards off of his stoop and landed on the top of his head on the sidewalk. I ran over to him (thinking he had actually died infront of me). Blood was spilling from his head, but he was at least managing to pull himself up into a sitting position. He was obviously so far gone that he didn't even know what had just happened to him.
Anyway, long story short, there's a small group of people who continuously bang on his door and shout out his name at all hours of the day or night. It gets to be very annoying when he ignores their shouts and pounding and they remain there for 10, 15 or 30 minutes, completely oblivious to the noise they're making for the rest of the street.
So anyway, I'm upstairs, the air conditioner's on and the television is showing me some adult oriented cartoon (Adult Swim on Nick at Night - great tv!). It was about 1am when the banging started on the door across the street, followed by a woman's voice shouting "Nickyyyyyyyy!" This went on for about 2-3 minutes before I finally got up out of bed and went over to the window. Normally, I would just ignore this shouting, but I chose not to this time for two reasons: first, it was 1am for Christ sake and second, if this shouting is bothering me with the a.c. running, the tv on and the windows closed, then this chick must be really shouting at the top of her lungs.
I don't know what had suddenly come over me, but I was pissed off with this girl. I threw open the window and shouted: "Knock it the fuck off, you goddamn crack whore!" She had no idea where the voice had come from, but it sent her scurrying down the block like a roach when the lights come on. I slammed the window down and got back into bed.
It was only a few minutes that had passed before I heard that familiar slurred voice and the heavy pounding again.
"Nickyyyyyyyy!!!"
I guess the anger that had stirred in me the first time was anger at myself. I knew this chick banging on the neighbor's door was none other than the same skinny piece of trash that was hiding between two parked cars an hour earlier. I was kicking myself for not going up to the cops the first time and pointing her out to him.
I jumped out of bed, threw on a pair of shorts and headed downstairs. Grabbing the phone on my way out, I unlocked the front door and stepped out onto my stoop.
"I told you to knock it off!" I shouted, not really caring if I was waking up the neighbors any more than she did at this point. "If you're not out of here, I'm calling the cops."
"I need my shoe!" She shouted back, not out of anger, but more that was the only way she knew how to speak.
It was at this point I realized that she was, in fact, only wearing one tennis shoe. She turned again to the house. "Nickyyyyyyyy!!!" She started banging on the windows of the house.
"You goddamn bitch, knock it OFF!!" I yelled, dialing the phone.
"I need my shoe!"
"9-1-1, what's your emergency."
"I want to report a disturbance. I know the police were looking for this girl earlier and she's banging on the door and nearly shattering the front windows."
"The police have already been dispatched."
"Nick-YYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!"
"Thank you." I hung up the phone and stepped out into the street. I had no idea what the hell this chick was on and at this point I really didn't care. The only frightening thing that crossed my mind were the group of guys on the bikes she had stopped to talk to earlier. I quickly glanced down the street behind me and was thankful that no one was coming from that direction.
"You happy now? The cops are on the way." She looked at me and took a step closer.
"Dis my uncle's house. I need my shoooooe!"
"It's one in the morning. Do I look like I give a fuck about your shoe?"
She went on about her shoe, slurring words and spinning around to face the door, banging and calling for Nicky.
I suddenly saw two shadowed figures heading towards us from the other end of the block. I thought I should hightail it back into the house, but I only took a second to realize that they were two police officers, one male and one female.
"Here come the cops." I warned her.
"Lisa!" The female officer called out. (ahhhh...so they know this girl). "We told you not to come around here anymore tonight." They closed in casually and were still about thirty or forty yards away when "Lisa" did the funniest move that I nearly pissed my pants laughing right there in the middle of the street. She turned her skinny, tiny breasted body towards the approaching officers. With her right hand curled into a fist and pressing into her right side just above the hipbone, she bent foward, her legs straight and her back almost parallel to the street, and said in a tone of voice that reminded me of a stand-up comedian imitating a old Southern black woman: "Who you be?"
If it weren't for the fact that I was still angry at being dragged out of bed, I would've been laughing my ass off at this little crack whore's antics. As it were, the female officer, also black but with a completely opposite build, with wide hips stuffed into the navy blue regulation trousers and the lighter blue police button-down shirt trying desperately to keep her oversized breast from spilling out onto the street, said: "Whaddaya me who I be. You know who I be? I be the one who is gettin' tired of all these phone calls about you."
"I need my shoe!!!!"
(I swear, Rainman wasn't this obsessed with Jeopardy)
So this battle of the tennis shoe bounced back and forth for a few more minutes while Lisa claimed that it was her Uncle she was trying to get to come to the door.
"But you told us earlier that your uncle lived right there." The female officer said, pointing to my next door neighbor's house. They started walking towards me and my neighbor's house that stood behind me.
"Whoa." I said, forgetting completely that I was standing out in the middle of the street with nothing more than a pair of loose fitting gym shorts. "She does not live there and niether does her Uncle." The officer was about to argue the point with me, but I wasn't going to give in. By this time, I can see other neighbors peeking out from their own bedroom windows at the comossion going on down in the street. "I've been here for 8 years and for 8 years that guy over there has had people banging on his door at all hours of the day and night, including this drugged out beauty before you. You were looking for her earlier tonight and I found her crouching down between two parked cars at the end of the block. Now trust me when I tell you this, I know my nieghbors and they are not related to her. You need to do something with her. I don't care if it's taking her home or taking her around the corner and shooting her. Just take her..."
The male officer, a big black man, was shaking his head and trying not to laugh. The female officer, her hand gripping Lisa's upper arm, warned me to calm down. I hadn't been yelling. I was just alittle loud, but I assured her I was calm.
"Okay, Lisa, let's take a little ride."
As they headed off down the street towards their car parked around the corner, I kept hearing those words I had come to loathe drift across the humid night air:
"I need my shoeeeeee...."
Just Some Feelings...
I woke up this morning with an incredibly heavy feeling of dread and sadness that I can't seem to shake or explain. Maybe I'm just tired and have to work a 12-hour day today (alittle over 9 hours remaining as of this writing).
I had the last two days off and, even though it has been excruciatingly hot and humid, I managed to cram alot into those 48 hours. I am nearly complete in landscaping and replanting my back yard. I spent alot of time at the gym and worked myself to exhaustion (I think it's really starting to show). I had a really nice dinner last night with a good friend of mine at a Greek restaurant off of Fitler Square. I'm having more lilies and hostas given to me from another friend of mine (mature this time, not bulbs to give something for the squirrels to dig up).
So why the sadness? Why the feeling that there's something terribly wrong on the horizon?
I had the last two days off and, even though it has been excruciatingly hot and humid, I managed to cram alot into those 48 hours. I am nearly complete in landscaping and replanting my back yard. I spent alot of time at the gym and worked myself to exhaustion (I think it's really starting to show). I had a really nice dinner last night with a good friend of mine at a Greek restaurant off of Fitler Square. I'm having more lilies and hostas given to me from another friend of mine (mature this time, not bulbs to give something for the squirrels to dig up).
So why the sadness? Why the feeling that there's something terribly wrong on the horizon?
Friday, June 03, 2005
You Won't See this in an Episode of The Golden Girls ...
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Some Sad News (and I'm PISSED)...
Kinky Quizzo has been cancelled. I don't know if it's permanent or just for the summer, but I went into the Post this past Wednesday night and was told that they were no longer having it. I knew a couple of weeks ago that they were thinking about cancelling (or rather cutting back to once a month for the summer), but then they went ahead and had it anyway and it was a really good crowd that last night.
I find it ironic that this past Wednesday, I stuck around the bar until about quarter to nine and it was pretty much just me and the bartender. I guess word spread fast. Oh well, so much for doing something different and keeping up a good thing.
I hear Hamburger Mary's might be picking up Kinky Quizzo however. I'll keep you informed. I've spent a couple of afternoons hanging out there and am finding myself having a really good time. The staff is friendly, the food and service has gotten much better since the first time I was there way back when they first opened. The Dragonfly Lounge, upstairs, is apparently beginning to draw a nice crowd and they always have a kick-ass happy hour (so I'm told). Plus Thursday night karioke (which I hear is a blast) and a once a month "fabric" party, a hosted event for gay owned and operated businesses throughout the city (I heard the last one drew about 400 people).
I really think I need a little change of pace from the dark, seedy walls that surround me in the Post. Don't get me wrong, I love the place and the people, but it's becoming more evident that they are really hesitant on trying new things to bring some fresh blood into the place. My feelings towards that place as of late are like my feelings towards my refrigerator: I know I really need to clean it out, but maybe if I keep it stocked, I won't really see the mess. Well, as much sense as that makes to my readers, it makes even less sense to me...and yet...somehow it still fits.
Anyway, that's about all on the Post for now.
I find it ironic that this past Wednesday, I stuck around the bar until about quarter to nine and it was pretty much just me and the bartender. I guess word spread fast. Oh well, so much for doing something different and keeping up a good thing.
I hear Hamburger Mary's might be picking up Kinky Quizzo however. I'll keep you informed. I've spent a couple of afternoons hanging out there and am finding myself having a really good time. The staff is friendly, the food and service has gotten much better since the first time I was there way back when they first opened. The Dragonfly Lounge, upstairs, is apparently beginning to draw a nice crowd and they always have a kick-ass happy hour (so I'm told). Plus Thursday night karioke (which I hear is a blast) and a once a month "fabric" party, a hosted event for gay owned and operated businesses throughout the city (I heard the last one drew about 400 people).
I really think I need a little change of pace from the dark, seedy walls that surround me in the Post. Don't get me wrong, I love the place and the people, but it's becoming more evident that they are really hesitant on trying new things to bring some fresh blood into the place. My feelings towards that place as of late are like my feelings towards my refrigerator: I know I really need to clean it out, but maybe if I keep it stocked, I won't really see the mess. Well, as much sense as that makes to my readers, it makes even less sense to me...and yet...somehow it still fits.
Anyway, that's about all on the Post for now.
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