I am out straight all weekend so this post will be it, with the exception of an SNL…if you visit the blog, you know what that is.
I’ll be back posting on Monday.

Saturday will find me staring an 18+ hour day in the face. Sunday is much the same just a few less hours.

Tomorrow is the Gay Pride Parade in Boston. There’ll be more LGBT’s on the city streets than you can shake a pogo stick at.
Ten years ago this event would have freaked the bejeezus out of me, now I think I take it in stride.
Whenever I find myself thinking gay people are whack, I think of Fred Phelps and his Westboro Bapstist Church of nutjobs and it makes me realize that people that march in the GPP are just that: people, albeit flamboyant people, covered in pink feathers and holding multi-colored bouquets of Mylar balloons.

While most are fairly normal folks, there’s the faction that feels the need to chant,
“We’re here, we’re queer, and we’re not going to go away! We’re here….”

You get the gist.

There’s a friend of mine that has the chant down and it’s hysterical.
Takes a certain type, I guess and he does it almost too well.

Parking will absolutely suck but maybe my butt will get pinched walking to the store because I hear that “bald” guys are in now.

One of the guys at work wanted to wear a pair of bright red leather pants with a white belt and pink cowboy shoes.
If you knew the man I was talking about you’d find that vision really funny.

Then again, maybe I’ll just wear my Red Sox hat.
After all, I am a happily married, blatantly heterosexual guy you know.
Have a great weekend all!

~m

(journal landscape courtesy of: The Yellowjackets – Mirage a Trois)

This is a recurring dream that I've had several times over the past ten years.
No idea what it means.
Would I really want to?

It’s always the same dream:
It’s nighttime and I’m driving up the short gravel hill that leads to the backyard. Something doesn’t feel quite right because the lighting is all wrong.
The top of the driveway is dimly lit; an impossibility because the softly glowing porch lights are too far away and it’s a new moon.

When I see the house, a shiver runs down my spine, tiny fingers of ice dance on the nape of my neck; the house is in total darkness and all the windows are wide open.
The curtains are blowing freely outside the windows, diaphanous hands waving for help but there’s no wind to make them move.
I step out of my truck as the first wave of whispers caress my ears.
Thousands of voices speaking words, childish phrases, calls for help…possibly just calling. I run down the red brick walkway that gives way to the open backdoor which is as I knew it would be, waiting.
I’m afraid to go in but I do as my heart begins to pound in my ears.
I stand in the midst of the kitchen and listen to the house breathe in and out.
I call, ‘Hello!’ to no one in particular.
There’s no one here and somehow I know that.
No wife, no kids, no animals—just me.
But something is in the house with me and I can feel it.
Something, not someone.
I turn to my right and see a shadow move across the living room.
I run in the direction of the living room sure that there’s something in there; some dark memory from my past coming back to let me know it’s still alive and well.
I close all the windows and find myself staring at dancing shadows on the wall but the lights are still off, another odd impossibility. The shadows dance a macabre routine as I watch, helpless to stop it.
I hear a faint squeaking coming from one of the bedrooms upstairs.
Everyone should be sleeping, I say to myself.
No, I’m alone, remember?
I listen to the rhythm of the sound and envision something (or someone?) swinging from (a ceiling hook?)( a broken curtain rod?)
My mind won’t let me believe otherwise.
I try to turn and leave but instinct tells me to walk upstairs and see for myself the source of the noise. I reach the top of the stairs and find all the doors are locked.
It’s then that I hear a faint dripping sound and it’s growing louder.

The dream dissolves into dawning lucidity and the only telltale sign of it is the sound of raindrops plip-plopping on the air conditioner outside my window.
The dream is over…for now.
No warm and fuzzies here.

~m

ps. Check out Supernatural.
It's a haunting and fascinating website.
A great read after this post…

I learned a valuable lesson this week: Never send a politically charged "petition" email to all contacts in your address book.
I ended up losing a few friends in the process simply because our politics are invariably different. It's not so much the intent of the forwarded email that bothers me as much as the manner in which it was interpreted and proccessed.
I'm not going to rant or name names because in the final analysis, humankind has bigger and more pressing issues to deal with.
I didn't need to be told that.
I'm a big boy.
Ultimately, I zigged when I should have zagged and carbon copied myself into an inescapable corner; not a comfortable place to be.
I felt like the AFLAC duck trying to cope with a rambling Yogi Berra.
If you've seen the commercial you know where I'm coming from.
I sent out an email apologizing to all that were offended; a cyberspatial bandaid at best but I felt it needed to be done.
I will say that I now know where some folks stand politically and that in the future I'll be standing far away from the salty societal funk and even further away from my computer keyboard where I'll continue to think my own thoughts.
Thank God, I still have the freedom to do that.

~m 

Got a nice review from BloggyAward today.
Check it out.
I think the Hemingway template brought my grade down.
Looks better now though.
Oh, well…

~m

I met Jesus today.
I was surprised to find that he’s a black man and he smokes Cherry Cavendish pipe tobacco.
He was dressed all in black; a priest shirt fitted with a white collar tab completed the ensemble.
Oh, and he was juiced to the nines. (at @10am)

“Hey, man, do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Uh, noooo. Should I?” I replied.

“I’m Jesus, man…looky here,” he said, lifting up his shirt to reveal a dark whale of a stomach.

He then pointed to his right nipple and said, “The Father,” then to the other nipple, “The Son,” and finally pointing to his disgusting and protruding belly button, said, “And the Holy Spirit….shit, man. Peace.”

Wow, I thought, you just can’t make this stuff up.

“Uh-huh. And what kind of tobacco would the Savior like today?” I asked.

“Cheery. Somethin’ cheery….and a little pipe. I’m the Prophet, man…shit.” (He meant cherry, but said ‘cheery’)

I weighed out his tobacco and got him a pipe and totaled him up.
He opened his tattered wallet to pay all the while talking ragtime and muttering vile obscenities.

He must have had at least $100 in there. I’m thinking, where does a guy like this get scratch like that?

Then I remembered; He’s the man.

Hey, wasn’t he supposed to be out battling the Anti-Christ today?
I mean it is 6.6.06.

Sheesh.

Gods.

For real… 

~m 

Thought this was just too amazing not to share.
Have a great Sunday everybody.
a vita …

~m 

My middle daughter makes her Confirmation tomorrow.
The rite of passage has been in the works for sometime with meetings, community service and personal reflection as stepping stones.
Her sponsor, Joanie, is an old and dear friend from way back when I lived at home.
She lived across the street from us and was a lifelong friend of my mother making tomorrow bittersweet in some ways because my daughter has chosen “Virginia” to be her Confirmation name; my mother’s name. (with no prodding from me)
I thought about this today because 30+ years ago her husband, Ray, was my Confirmation sponsor. They are very special friends indeed.
It amazes me how the pieces of this puzzle of life fit together sometimes.

After the ceremony, I’m making chicken shish-kebob on the grill with some of my homemade Rice Pilaf and a tossed salad to even things out.

If I could say anything to Jen, I would tell her how proud Pam and I are of her.
We love the fact that her faith is an intrinsic component of her soul, her life.

In the immortal words of Billy Shakespeare I would also tell her,
“Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none.”

As a new soldier of Christ, I bless her and leave her with these lyrics…

When you are a soldier

by Steven Curtis Chapman

When you are a soldier, I will be your shield
I will go with you into the battlefield
And when the arrows start to fly
Take my hand and hold on tight
I will be your shield, 'cause I know how it feels
When you are a soldier

When you're tired from running
I will cheer you on
Look beside you and you'll see you're not alone
And when your strength is all but gone
I'll carry you until you're strong
And I will be your shield 'cause I know how it feels
When you're a soldier

I will be the one you can cry your songs to
My eyes will share your tears
And I'll be your friend if you win
Or if you're defeated
Whenever you need me I will be here

When you're lost in darkness I will hold the light
I will help you find your way through the night
I'll remind you of the truth
And keep the flame alive in you
And I will be your shield
'Cause I know how it feels
When you are a soldier

Steven Curtis Chapman – When you are a Soldier

There are no guarantees in this life.
It seems only when we’re faced with a dire situation that we actually face the sobering fact that the frailty of life is a stark and frightening proposition.
In all actuality, our personal schedule is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, as we can be completely derailed at any moment in time.
In mass transit language, it’s a Code 3.

A close friend of mine just experienced a cataclysmic one.
At this time yesterday, the world was as it is everyday; overflowing with mundane sameness and learned ritual. Then everything changed.
It seems a predestined behavior that keeps our eyes focused on the tracks as we go about our daily lives.

If I could, I would stop the world so that my friend could rest and have more time to analyze the present situation, more time to prepare.

Sadly, even God can’t do that, but maybe He can.

When I write for true friends, I like to consider it my own indelible form of prayer; honest, true and straight from my heart.
I can only hope that in some small way the insignificant ripples my hands make from the shores of this inimical body of water bring about an unexpected wave of solace, somehow visible and yet sacred.

I understand all too well the phrase, “It’s a heavy cross to bear”.

I also understand that ultimately, you have but to lift that cross as would any good soldier and somehow try to carry on.
If I could magically bestow on my friend anything at all it would simply be the inner strength to do just that today because tomorrow is already on the way…

May God give you…

For every storm, a rainbow,

For every tear, a smile,

For every care, a promise,

And a blessing in each trial.

For every problem life sends,

A faithful friend to share,

For every sigh, a sweet song,

And an answer for each prayer.

~m

(Journal Soundscape:Michael Brecker – Tales from the Hudson)

Happy Birthday, PG…
You will remain known only to me.
Yes, you're welcome.

~m