Saturday, October 29, 2005

Little Voices

I was just mucking around this evening on the computer because I actually had a little time to muck for once. I'm so glad I save everything. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to bring you this little number recorded earlier this year:

Monkey with Mic


Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The Secret Simon World Tour

Let's move on to something less brain hemorrhaging, shall we? Because I only have one and I'd like to get as much use out of it before the expiration date.

Someday, I'll get to see other places. But in the mean time I'm content to just hear about it from all you wonderful people.

If you've been paying attention the one thing you do know about me is that I'm in Florida. Before That Guy moved on up to Atlanta (after hearing it whisper sweet nothings in his ear), we were chatting one evening and he noticed that I had put my home state as SL. Where in the world is SL?

Well, Simonland, of course.

So, even if you never comment, validate your existence by sending a teeny tiny shoutout on the new nifty-neato map thing called Frappr!

I heard about this on the My Gay Life podcast so go pay him some love also. Is it just me or are there a lot of gay podcasters in Chicago?


Monday, October 24, 2005

An Imperfect Number

I sat in my car this morning trying to warm up after several attempts of fighting fierce winds and icy rain at 6AM pushing sandbags out of the way to get into the back door that would not open. I tried my key over and over again and the door would not open. For ten minutes this went on. My shoes and shirt were soaked through. And finally the door gave way to the deserted warehouse of the early morning. Half of the employees didn't show up until after lunchtime because of the storm. And I discovered that I could have used my key in the new front door after all.

Tonight is the first cold night we've had this season. I need a blanket.


Seven years ago this month, I started working working at this place of employment. Not gainfully, and there certainly aren't ladders to be climbed, but I'm still employed nonetheless. Seven years ago, I moved into this house I call home. In the distance from here to there during those seven years, I just hit over 100,000 miles on my car. Seven is such an odd number to leave things at. Some cultures hold it as a perfect number, although to me it seems rather an imperfect.

Seven years ago today, I remember sitting on a balcony overlooking the beach at dusk feeling a coolness of the same sort. The hotel was a surprise for her. We really had no money for a honeymoon but I pulled some strings. There was another wedding happening on the beach outside our room. When I came to find her she was standing by the door she was ready to go in. I believe I fumbled with the lock to that door as well. We both caught colds after crashing from the stress of finally getting married that night. But we were happy to be together.

Later in the evening, not being wise in the ways of expensive hotels that had such amenities we had forgotten to put up the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. When we heard the door suddenly open and a voice in a droll and unflinching tone, that had obviously seen all this before, asked if we'd like turn down service. I was guessing that's for the bed. And so we sat there naked in the bed, giving her an awkward "No thanks," and couldn't help but burst in laughter after the visitor had made her equally abrupt exit.


Seven years later, tonight, we sit and hold hands for a while. I know she is thinking about it. The monkeys are asleep. The Elder Monkey coughs, a reminder of his current illness. The TV is showing sitcoms and dramas but it all just turns into noise after a while. That familiar question arises, what are you thinking, what am I thinking? We remember the date. We conclude there is no anger, only tired minds. It's late and time for me to go home.

To she, I hope to be her confidante and a comfortable fellow human being until we are ripe and mewling in old age. To she, who is mama to my monkeys, I will do my best to not let them too close to the sun. To she, who I burdened with my name, I will always ask for forgiveness.

As I sit here trying desperately to see through a salty blur in my eyes, with a slight fever and only a few thoughts that are worth anything...I hear the cough. I speak nothing. I'm hungry. I eat chocolate and drink tea and I'm sure it makes my head hurts. Wet socks make my feet itch. I have a lot of work to do that I won't get to. My tummy hurts. I miss people. I take a deep breath.

These are not complaints by the way. Merely observations. I can do nothing more at this point. Although I'm done with slippery doorknobs and will use the front door from now on.

Why we do the things we do will forever be my riddle, sonnet, humor and curse mashed together in a perplexing and unbreakable thread. Ask me again in another seven years.


PS. Now that I have read this again after some sleep it occured to me that I must give off an impression that I'm backtracking or not dealing with all that has happened very well, which couldn't be farther from the truth. I am in fact moving on, I just want to be sure the relationships I have change in a good way. There are times that I do feel guilty though and sometimes reflections can get my apologies.

Monday, October 17, 2005

A New Week At Work! Thundercats, Ho!

I've just gone to the little boys room to discover I have Oliver-Twist-Meets-Mad-Scientist hair. Normally I wouldn't notice, but being that I've been up for some hours already and figuring that even without the aid of any product, bed-head usually would have subsided by now and that nobody really even blinked... I am reminded that anywhere else coworkers might awkwardly glance at random five inch spikes and indicate some kind of reservation to the unprofessional. Or wonder what I was doing with a ruler in the bathroom. (Well I had to know how high we were talking here...)

To give you an idea of the general mindset of the people I work with, this was sent around from the boss first thing this morning. It's highly probable, however, that it's not safe for your workplace...: Puberty Explained

Here's hoping your week has at least one hair-raising yet life affirming moment. Hair not required.


Saturday, October 15, 2005

Somewhere Inbetween

You know, my biggest obstacle in writing is that sometimes the precedent I set is overly drenched with emotion and insight that the words are too sincere for my own good. Write, delete, write, delete, write, delete, delete. Eventually even the best ingredients will go bland when overcooked. Most of the time what you get to read is something that takes me less than half an hour to write. It's one of those principles that you don't learn about in art school, but figure out on your own later, that usually your first thought is the best thought. It's something I can do much easier with the sketches but not so easy for me with the arrangement of words.

And so, I haven't had many interesting first thoughts lately, nor the time to sort out what needs to go in the pot. So until I can settle down and figure out my mind about everything thats been goin' down lately, here are a few banal bits that have kept me distracted enough to know that I at least haven't lost my peripheral vision. :

* Podcasts I was never interested in talk radio...on the radio. It must be because it's on the radio. I can't stop listening to podcasts. People give me a blank stare when I try to talk about what they are. Radio for control freaks? Blathering souls with sound equipment? Really it's nothing more than an audio file with a fancy name. However, like anything else on this addictive thing dubbed the internet, go discover them at your own risk. Podcast Alley is a good place to explore. (And since I have a feeling I have a lot of gay readers out there, you can check out qPodder.)

* Funny Linky - Here's a quickie for you. The Pretty Boys Club. Literally, it'll probably only take you less than a minute to ogle at the banter and fine male specimens, but my, what an enjoyable minute it is. And if you haven't ever noticed, I like to list new blogs that catch my eye at the top of the list in the sidebar over there ----->

* check dis scally lad owt - Speaking of British boys, this isn't one that I read, but for a while I was getting hits from Gay Scally Lad, an explicit and linguistically challenging escapade of extremely horny Brit boys. This isn't the first time a gay sex site has linked me and while it is sorta flattering in a weird way, I often wonder...WHY exactly? Wouldn't any random bloke looking to get their jollies off more than likely be confused to land in my rather tame corner after, for example, just reading about"...this str8 scally woz alwayz gettin his kit off an now u can see all his fit body, an he's got a massiv cock!" It's just all that indelible sexual repression that's subconsciously oozing out of my writing. That's the ticket. UPDATE: Upon further inspection they've recently come to their senses and removed me from their links. I can't help but chuckle a bit.

* I've been periodically gathering up all the various scraps of art that are longing to be rescued from folders deep in the heart of my hard drive. Hopefully with bigger things in mind. Here actually is a sketch that will never see print again, a victim of the Great iMac Crash of 2004. Damned to be lo-resolution for eternity, it may as well enjoy a home here.

* OK so I lied, I remember now that "first thought, best thought" is indeed something I learned in art school. From a talk that Alan Ginsberg gave. Go figure. Don't worry there's more sketches and real life drama on the way.


Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Sketch o' the Day ~ Conjurer

If you'll excuse me I seem to be expactorating mass amounts of color at the moment. I'll have to check and see if someone set the dial to 11.


Monday, October 03, 2005

Sketch o' the Day ~ Luminescient

No time for words these days. So we sketch.

Update: for your convenience (actually more for my convenience) you can see all past sketches grouped nice and tidy in the bar to your right. Wasn't that nice of me? ---->