I'm From Milwaukee and That's Not Funny

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Men: a Paradox Within
The paradox (and a generalization): gay men, who can be the biggest sluts on Earth, are startlingly poor at physical intimacy. They will let you put your dick up to their lips (and beyond), but they will rarely let you put your mouth up to their lips. They will sorely want to put their dicks inside your body (often without condom), but they will not put their arms around you. And the word "love" is so frought with tension and baggage that they will not tell even their friends that they are loved for fear that the feeling will be "misunderstood."

I understand that the physicalness of sex is the easy part. I get that (not often enough, though). But I have a lot of trouble with partners who draw the line at the small stuff, and who cannot bear the thought of having anyone love them.

Always Golden to Me
The news of Estelle Getty's death today upset me a lot. According to the newspapers, her passing was just a matter of time, as it is for us all, I suppose.

It's sad when you know that a great ensemble will never again come together; John Lennon or William Frawley are two that come to mind. And there are a few famous people whose death saddened me greatly, like Karen Carpenter and Jimmy Stewart. Estelle Getty is one of them.

Thank you, Estelle, for all your hard work.

"Don't feel sad about her passing. She will always be with us in her crowning achievement, Sophia."
-- Rue McClahanan

Brett Favre Is a Total Drama Queen
Living in Milwaukee -- nay -- living in Wisconsin brings with it a certain amount of societal baggage that does not ordinarily affect people from most other parts of the nation. You are expected to love beer and bratwurst. You are expected to snack lovingly and longingly on dairy products. You must know the various forms of polka and be able to dance to them all. These requirements transcend race or creed. Most importantly, though, you must care very, very deeply about the Green Bay Packers and their fickle quarterback, Brett Favre.*

It is impossible to exaggerate the depths of passion and concern that Wisconsinites have for the Green Bay Favrers...I mean Packers. The decades-old cycle officially begins at training camp, although it is often hard to tell this because sometimes the end of the cycle is not yet reached before the next one begins, resulting in confusing overlap. Anyway, at training camp time, the question of "Will He Retire" is on everyone's lips, quite often taking up much time and space on TV and radio talk shows, newspaper articles (news as well as features), water cooler conversations, and chats around the sheepshead table. The 10 PM news shows try to outdo each other, coming up with kicky graphics showing a cartoon Favre on his tractor riding up a big "Will He/Won't He" graph (the "Tractor Watch", no I'm not kidding), or showing obscure and leafy pictures of Favre on his tractor (taken from a nearby bush), or having on-camera interviews with store clerks in Hattiesburg, MS, where Favre lives, describing the Favre vegetable purchases that day.

-Mowing around the left tree first must mean he is retiring.
-He bought blue BVDs instead of red Fruit of the Looms so that means he will be back.
-His wife sneezed in church all over Mrs. Primpleprow, and Mrs. Primpleprow hates football, so that must mean Brett is retiring.

Then come the ha-ha-fooled-you press conferences where all he does is sit up there in front of a zillion microphones, telling us that he hasn't made up his mind but would we all please come back next week? The news repeats these utterances each night until the next press conference, where the new loop is inserted.

Then he actually shows up to camp and the public inordinately relieved. And then he plays and everyone is jubilant. And then Brett (no one ever calls him Favre...except me, evidently) comes thiiiis close to getting back to the Super Bowl -- by himself it seems. But before that's even done with, there are sportscasters jamming microphones in his face asking him "Brett! Brett! Could this be your last game?" Then you see him get misty. The crowd holds its collective breath. Everything falls silent. Then he shrugs and goes into the huddle. The crowd cheers.

Each year there is an odd twist to the cycle that makes that particular year unique. His wife got breast cancer. The entire state donned their green Number 4 t-shirts, held their spouses close, and cried. His father died. The entire state put on their black Number 4 shirts and prostrated themselves on the ground with grief, but cheered themselves to a froth when he (Brett, not his dad) played the very next day. I honestly saw people cry.

Cancer is horrible. Death is tragic. Topper's family has had both aplenty. I felt the same amount of sympathy for him that I do for any stranger in those circumstances, but of course most of the public doesn't consider Brett a stranger. He is a friend, almost a member of the family.

When he retired (finally), I don't think the reaction could have been worse if he had died. People mourned. They mourned. Maybe it was because of all the pent-up waiting from years of Tractor Watches -- who knows? But some smart people out there made small fortunes peddling anything with Favre's name or likeness on it. Sports Illustrated made a very LARGE fortune, in fact.

But then a strange thing happened: after months (and I do mean months) of mourning, most Wisconsinites grew a scab over the gaping wound that was Favre's retirement. They didn't look for their yearly Will He/Won't He fix and more or less looked forward to the new team.

I think (I have to say "think" because thoughts are protected but assertions could be slanderous) that Favre missed his yearly dose of adoration. As much as he claimed to want to be left alone during the summer and "I'll tell you when I've decided now leave me alone" (not a quote), I think that he needed his ego pumped again and came out with this "unretirement" crap. And so what do we get? Favres of Our Lives. Drama drama drama.

"The team hates me."
"The GM hates me."
"If you won't let me play, I wanna leave the team." (He's still under contract, remember.)
"What do you mean I can't leave?"
"I'm not gonna play second fiddle."
"Maybe I should take my tractor and go home."

But here's the rub: it seems that most people just want him to stay retired.

And now it sounds like the Vikings are in trouble for touching him inappropriately. Sorry -- making inappropriate contacts. It just goes on and on and on. I am so tired of it all I could puke.

Hey Channel 12 News -- something important happened in the world today, but nothing important happened in Wisconsin.

*Oddly enough, I do not like beer, bratwurst, or the Packers. I am lactose intolerant. And my mother promised to teach me to dance the polka and never did. Huh. Go figure. But I can bowl!!

Maybe It Was the Tune?
While driving up to Park Falls to surprise my Dad at his surprise 70th birthday party (more on that later), I found myself listening to Duran Duran's Greatest Hits. Now, I was not really a major fan of theirs, although I enjoyed their music and in 10th grade I almost went to one of their concerts with my friend, Janet (it sold out).

So anyway, here I am, driving up Interstate 39, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, kind of mumbling along with the music, when it hits me. With one exception, none of Duran Duran's song lyrics made any sense. Did you ever notice that? I didn't until yesterday. Here are some examples:

Moving on the floor now babe you're a bird of paradise
Cherry ice cream smile I suppose it's very nice
With a step to your left and a flick to the right you catch that mirror way out west
You know you're something special and you look like you're the best
-- "Rio"

The reflex is a lonely child just waiting by the park
The reflex is in charge of finding a treasure in the dark
And watching over lucky clover isn't that bizarre
Every little thing the reflex does leaves you answered with a question mark
-- "The Reflex"

I can't read about it burns the skin from your eyes
I'll do fine without it here's one you don't compromise
Lies come hardly disguised betting me to fight it out not wild about it
Spare your seedy judgments who says they're part of our lives
-- "Notorious"

Even the song they wrote for the James Bond series is really baffling:
Choice for you is the view to a kill between the shades assassination standing still
First crystal tears fall of snowflakes on your body
First time in years to drench your skin with lovers rosy stain
A chance to find a phoenix for the flame a chance to die but can we
Dance into the fire
-- "View to a Kill"

Upon reflection, every song really CAN be answered with a question mark. That being "What the f**k" (question mark), or "What were you injecting just before you wrote these lyrics" (question mark).

In fact, it is very difficult to tell what the songs themselves were actually about, titles aside. Except Electric Barbarella -- that one is clearly about a blow-up doll.

Current Mood: confused

Black Russian Pudding
Tasty, easy, and lethal dessert!

1 large package instant chocolate pudding mix (sugared or sugar-free)
1/4 cup of Bailey's Irish Cream
1/4 cup of Kahlua
Milk as required by package, reduced by 1/2 cup

Whisk together all ingredients until well-blended. Pour into cups, if desired. Chill until set. Serve. Eat. Pass out.

If you prefer a stronger pudding, add more liqueur to your taste, but don't let the overall quantity of milk and booze surpass the amount of milk needed for the recipe.

When I Said "Put It On the Slow Boat to China", I Didn't REALLY Mean...
The next time I order something I really want, remind me not to select "four day ground shipping". The suspense is killing me!

Current Mood: anxious

On the Eve of Independence Day, I'm Going to Incarcerate You!
You know, I try to be a Wisconsin booster. I really do. People know that I think this is a great state even though we give people lots of reasons to laugh at us. (Like that guy who got caught screwing a dead deer at the side of the road). But sometimes ... sometimes it's really difficult.

Take this story from the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel. Turns out that if L and I decided to go to California to get wed, we could find ourselves being fined $10,000 and serving up to nine months in jail upon coming home.

Yup. Wisconsin has a law on the books that would throw legally married same-sex couples in prison for no reason other than that they are married. How fucked up is that? What's more fucked is that some people (referenced in the story) actually believe the law should be enforced.

Sometimes being proud of my state is so hard -- so very hard.

Current Mood: angry

Happy Canada Day, Everyone!
Happy 141st Birthday, Canada! You are loved as much as you are missed.

Achy Breaky Bus (Ode to Putzmeisterbear)
On the way home from work today, the Route 44 Freeway Flyer bus we were riding on died a horrible death. There we all were, downtown Milwaukee commuters gaily chatting away and generally feeling smug about the fact that we were all avoiding the Summerfest traffic that plagues us each year at this time, when the bus started lurching to and fro and making God-awful sounds. Something under the bus started grinding, then it sounded as if we had rolled over a steel tumbleweed. And then we heard this strange noise that sounded something like thump! screeee! thump! screeee! thump! screeee! very, very fast. It seemed as though our back wheel were actually a ship's wheel, and all the spokes on it were gouging out chucks of the undercarriage.

The bus driver stopped the bus and turned off the engine. Then he started it up again, explaining that he hoped it would "work itself out" (!!!). Much to his chagrin and our relief, it didn't. So we all sat there, wondering what to do next. We were, after all, on a Freeway Flyer, and there are precious few stops that this bus makes. Someone next to me, though, shouted out jubilantly that we had broken down not half a block from the very last stop before the bus got on the freeway and parts far away.

So we all piled off the bus and moved in a rather surly mass to the bus stop. We could see that the bus was dying because there was a great quantity of dark fluid (reddish oil?) coming out from under it and running to the sewer grate. There it was, bleeding to death.

Anyway, the next bus came 20 minutes later and we all pushed our way on, clearly startling the bus driver. And all the way home, I thought what a great story this would make to my favorite (although as of yet unmet) bus fixer guy.

Splurge!
Well, gents -- today I bought it. No, not the farm -- this new computer. To be honest, this is kind of nerve wracking. I'm asking myself all sorts of questions that you ask yourself when you buy a new computer or a car: Did I get the right one? What if it's a lemon? What if I can't use it right?

But, since my computer is pretty well taken over by The Borg / Norton (resistance or removal is futile), and the current box is well over seven years old, it's time. L will be using my old box because he mostly just checks e-mails.

You know -- I remember when a friend got a 1200 baud modem and I though he was The Man. Then I got a computer with a whole gig of memory and *I* was The Man. I feel sorta like The Man right now (a little), but I wonder how far in the future I will be when I look back at this 1 Terabyte machine an snort derisively.

Current Mood: excited

I Look Too Much Like Me To Be You
People often tell me that it's hard to believe the person I was as a teen grew into the person I am today. As much as I would like to take that as a compliment to my maturity and grace, that's not what they mean. You see, when I was 19, I underwent major teeth straightening which actually changed the shape of my lower face, and many people have trouble determining how on Earth I could have gone from looking like I did to looking how I do.

A few years ago, I conducted an experiment. I walked up to a person I had worked with for over ten years and dropped a picture of me at age 15 on the floor behind her while she was at the copy machine and breezed away. I turned around swiftly to make it seem as though I was just happened to be walking by as she discovered the photo on the floor.

"Ooo! Someone's kid!" she said, looking at it intently.

Feigning surprise, I looked over her shoulder. "Hmmm. Anything on the back?"

"No. I wonder who's it is."

"Does it even look like someone we know?"

She looked at the picture, then looked me dead in the face. "Maybe Sheila? She's got a couple of boys."

So off she went, asking various people if the young man in the picture was theirs. People took it, looked at it, and shook their heads. The photo circulated from desk to desk, gradually acquiring a Post-It Note with the comment "Is this your boy? If not, please pass on." Eventually, it even wound up on my own desk, put there by my manager of five years. I passed it on. Two days later, it was on the bulletin board in the call center, still with its trusty Post-It Note. I pocketed the photo. (Subsequently, I think I lost it. Damn!)

I had a funny face -- fat, yet angular because of my teeth. It was the face that people made fun of. Many did. So, during my teens I often found myself trying to look like someone else. The results never worked.

( And whom did I try to look like, you ask? Click to find out. )

So...Is Richard Riehle Gay?
God, I hope so! I hope he reads this post and drops me a line!!

You've seen Richard playing various minor parts on TV in the 80s and 90s, and today he has bigger roles on sci-fi shows. According to Wikipedia, he was born in Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin, literally a quarter-mile from the house in which I grew up in Brookfield.

So THAT'S Why! Usher Knows Why Women Are Lesbians!
I'm not sure if this link will work, but I actually burst out into belly laughter when I read this article about how Usher, the singer, knows why women are lesbians. Evidently it's because there aren't enough men. And if I catch his drift correctly, it's because of an absence of black men.

A few thoughts for Usher:
1) There is no shortage of men, black or otherwise.
2) Unless you are bisexual, people do not "become gay" due to lack of partners. If the reverse were true, I would be straight right now.
3) I've found in my travels that when a straight guy comes up with a reason for lesbianism, the reason is usually a metaphor for "that's the only reason I can think of why she doesn't want me."
4) You should stop hypothesizing and concentrate more on your music. As it stands right now both your theories and your music could only benefit.

When Opposites Convalesce
L's recovery goes very well. He takes a few walks a day and is back in his own space upstairs, so we are both happy about that.

A few of you have inquired about our living arrangement, and it is this: we own an upper/lower-type duplex -- he lives in the upper unit and I live in the lower. That way we have our own space but still live together. Believe me, this is the best arrangement because L and I have very different ways of keeping our houses! He prefers his house to look like a museum, chock full of antiques (there is not an inch of free wall space) and kept very dark. I am the opposite: there is almost nothing on any of my walls and I like bright, natural light.

Naturally, this has led to some interesting exchanges while L was living in my guest room (so I could keep a close eye on him). Here's one from lunch a couple of days ago in the living room:

HE: Can I turn this light off? (click!) It's so bright in here! (twists blinds shut)
I: What did you say? Here is...oof! (kicks a pillow on the floor and scatters lunch all over)
HE: Oh, no! Look at the lunch! I'll get a towel.
I: Why are all the lights off (click!) and the blinds shut? It's so dark in here! (twists blinds open)
HE: (returning slowly from the hall) Oh, God! Why did you open up all the windows again? (twists blinds shut) And I thought I turned off this light! (click!)
I: L, I can't see anything without bright light, you know that. (click!) It's this crappy eye condition. (twist)
HE: (click!) Well, I've got a headache from this light now. (twist)
I: You have a headache from all this strobe lighting going on. (click!) (twist)

(In case you're wondering, I kept his bedroom as dark as possible, even in midday.)

And so on and so on. Today, much to our mutual relief for so many reasons, we moved him back upstairs. The first thing we both did was take a very long nap.

Current Mood: relieved

L Is Home!
L came home yesterday to much yipping and meowing from Bailey and Katie. He moves realllly slowly and gets tired quickly, but he's very happy to be home (and so am I). Last night, we looked over all the pill bottles and organized them into morning / noon / night / bedtome / as needed -- fourteen in all. And several of them needed to be cut in two, which was kind of annoying considering we didn't yet have a pill cutter. But today I'm going out to pick up a Dayminder and a pill cutter.

He's happy and that's what's the most important. He's on the mend and that's the next most important.

Thank you to everyone for your good wishes and comments and e-mails of support.

Topper xoxo

Current Mood: relieved

Recovery
Hi, guys! L's recovery so far has been phenomenal! He was sitting up in a chair the morning after his surgery, and the afternoon after his surgery he was back on solid food. There have been many walks, and most of his tubes have been removed. The doctors are astounded. So is he. He remains in ICU, though, until at least tomorrow.

To help him along in his recovery, it was gently suggested that perhaps I not visit him again until he is out in the ward. At first I was a bit taken aback by his request, but as my friend Judie says it's best not to argue with him now. Do what he wants. So even though I'm afraid I didn't take the request very well at first, I am staying home and staying cheery on our infrequent phone calls. Based on his progress, his assessment was obviously correct. But I have to admit that this is not how I pictured how this would go. I envisioned that we would be together in the ICU room, with me doing cold compresses, or encouraging him to do his breathing exercises, or helping him to walk the ward...stuff like that.

But the main thing is that he is getting much better, and when he is back out in the ward we will be together again. I'll probably have to do all the things at home that I thought I'd be doing in the hosptial, anyway, so I'll get the chance to play Florence Nightengale soon enough. Hopefully he is not as lonely in the ICU as I am at home. That would be a shame.

Oh, yeah. And the dryer broke. I think it's time for a Pepsi.

The Long and Tragic June
Well, boys, as the title gives away it's been a long June. The most important event was that L went into the VA Hospital with chest pains (thinking asthma or something) and after a few canceled heart caths was immediately scheduled for double heart bypass surgery. Needless to say, we were quite shocked. But L is always mindful of a condition his family has called hypo lipoprotein A (sp?) which basically means that his body has trouble with fats in his blood and also produces more than his share of plaque. Shocked and yet not really surprised.

The surgery was this morning and went very well. The only blip was that the vein they were going to take from L's leg wasn't good enough so they had to go deeply into his thigh, which means he now has two major surgeries from which to recover. I've seen him twice now in ICU and he is doing very well considering he is still on the breathing machine. He can nod and shake his head and trace letters on my hand: "T-E-L-L N-U-R-S-E I H-U-R-T" and "W-A-T-E-R F-L-O-W-E-R-S" and "I L-O-V-E Y....." (he drifted off to sleep in the middle of that one).

As I left him last night, an old dream I had came bubbling to the surface. Some friends and I are standing in a parking lot with L. L is dead and his spirit has lingered for a moment to say good-bye to all of us -- it's the last time any of us will see him, but no one knows that but me. He chats with all of us for a few moments, then waves "so long" with his usual big grin. I am beside myself because I know that if I turn my back he'll be gone forever, but in one of those thing that make sense in dreams but not in real life, I cannot stop myself from turning around, getting in a car and riding away. And that's it.

Last night as I left his room, I turned at the end of the corridor and there he was, in his hospital jammies, waving to me with that big grin on his face. I wrenched a smile onto my lips to show that I was confident of the success of his coming ordeal, then ducked into an empty room and had a complete breakdown. I crouched on the floor for over twenty minutes, praying that this dream would not come true.

And it didn't. Hurray!!!!!!!

This whole commotion was scant days after heavy rains pounded southern Wisconsin like none I've ever seen. Officially, Milwaukee got over 9" in 36 hours. Why, even Lake Delton in the Wisconsin Dells burst its bank and completely drained into the Wisconsin River. Can you imagine? It's like someone simply pulled the plug and drained it. Ironically, the only land that's dry seems to be this lake bed. Beyond the actual tragedy of the lake, the bummer is that the Dells are where L and I vacation each summer with friends. We were considering canceling this summer's trip, and of course with the surgeries we are definitely going to do so. But Wisconsin's waterlogged, guys, in a big way. And it's raining again.

Very long June.

The Door Into Summer
Pardon me for stealing a Monkee's title, but it seemed appropriate for today.

The calendar lists 21 June as the First Day of Summer, stretching through to 21 September or thereabouts. But be honest -- how many of you in my neck of the woods are still sitting out on the beach on 20 September, thinking to yourself "Gee, it sure is nice that the temperatures are still in the 80s and I'm getting this glorious all-over tan!" ? None of you, I reckon. No, no. 21 June isn't the start of summer -- today is the start of summer.

It's like that in my mind, you know? 1 June - 31 August is summer. 1 September - 30 November is autumn. 1 December - 28 (or 29) February is winter. And of course 1 March through 31 May is spring. So that means today is the first day of summer. I celebrated by eating many waffles, letting my trainer beat the crap outta me, shopping for odds and ends and various places, and taking my bike for a spin. Right now tuna a la king is simmering on the stove. Not the most glamourous meal, mind you, but in the past three weeks I've had only two home-cooked meals, and one of those was at the hands of very-talented-chef Robin way up in Toronto. I've never been so hungry for something off my stove, but first I have to burn off the dust.

Happy Summer, Everyone!!

A Topper Repost: My Encounter With A Bike (Suffering Through Loss Part II)
Today, in a spurt of ecofriendly zeal, I bought a bike -- my first in over 20 years. To commemorate this momentous event, I am reposting a short story from about two years ago. It was fiction when I wrote it, but some of the events have already come true.

My Encounter with a "Bike" (Suffering Through Loss Part II)

The other day my buddy, L, brought home a strangle-looking contraption. He called me outside, standing proudly by this machine, broad smile slowly fading as I walked around and around it, trying to figure what it was.

It had only two wheels, an avocado-shaped object on a small pole projecting from the middle, two tiny steps connected to a chain, and a twisted metal bar placed cross-wise across the front. Most of it was colored grass-green.

“What is it?” I asked, bewildered.

“What do you mean ‘what is it’? It’s a bike!”

“A ‘bike’?” I hadn’t heard about “bikes” in a long time! Some guys at work were rumored to ride one in each day, but I personally haven’t been on one since the day before I got my driver’s license. “How does it work?”

L looked at me for a moment to ensure that I wasn’t so stupid that I forgot how to breathe or hold my bladder. Then, without saying a word, he swung one leg over the entire “bike” and sat on the avocado piece. Several times he slowly lifted himself up and down off it to show that was where one sat.

( Read more about My Encounter with the Bike here. )

Happy 160th, Wisconsin!
Today my state turns 160 years old. As of yet, we have yet to have any of the following as a governor:

- anyone from a visible minority
- a woman
- an admitted homosexual
- anyone attractive (to me)
- a pro-wrestler
- an actor (of the SAG variety)
- a naturalized Austrian
- someone with an unspellable name, like oh, I don't know, Blagojevich (our worst was probably Schmedeman)

So everyone raise your glass to Wisconsin, the land of Easy-to-Spell, white, male, straight, non-wrestling, non-acting, U-S-of-A Governors!

Current Mood: 160 Years!