Entries Tagged as 'General'


The International Space Station. It’s up there. Flying around or rather, I suppose, floating around. Really quickly. And it is bright.

Tonight and tomorrow night, it’s a bit more special as the shuttle has detached, but is floating in orbit with the ISS for a couple days, waiting to “come on down”, as Rod Roddy used to say.

So this is a good time to look for the ISS with the shuttle preceding it in the night sky. The passes last about ten minutes. I went out just moments ago for the 10:31 to 10:41 pass. Very exciting.

Now, in NYC we get to see blessed few stars and other celestial bodies, what with the ambient light and all. One of the things I really like about living at the top of the island in Inwood, is that it is just a wee bit darker up here, consequently we get to see a star here and there. And the website I visited (which I have since lost track of) pretty much said since the ISS is darned big and bright, even we New Yorkers would have a good chance of a viewing.

But not tonight. No, when I went out, I discovered that tonight, it is cloudy. Very cloudy. Very dense and cloudy.

Ah well, at least I now know where I can look up the flyby schedule for future, uncloudy, nights. And sooner or later, the shuttle will join the ISS in another dance across the sky. If you’re interested, head on over to Heavens-Above.com, that link will take you to the NYC configuration, but you can change it to whatever your locale may be.

Maybe tomorrow the sky will be clear. I hope so.

Ok, so I’m a geek.


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To the mega-media conglomerate that Jamie works for, for their two awards from the Commercial Closet Association. Admittedly, it was the same ad winning in two categories, but still…

The Commercial Closet Association has quite an interesting site, rating the best and worst gay portrayals in commercial media.

I’m particularly fond of the Norman campaign.

Also, congrats to the creators of Homestar Runner (a fav of mine) for not selling out recently to offers from Comedy Central to move Homestar off the net and on to the tube. Yay, Homestar! Special thanks to Jamie for bringing that to my attention.

Oh, and it’s two days now until Jamie and I close on our Co-op. Two more days… two long, long days… and counting.

And on a more serious note, I would’ve thought that by age 44 I’d stop producing zits. Not lots, not often, but right now, one, annoying as hell. These are the things I obsess over so I don’t have to think about the real problems in the world, like Greenland.

But if I start writing about Greenland now, I’ll never get to sleep tonight. So my zit and I are joining Jamie for a good night’s sleep.


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Just a quick round-up of happenings this week in the life of Jamie & I.

  • Got a closing date for our Co-op.
  • Had dinner with my High School French teacher at Chez Josephine. A great reunion!
  • Tried to watch Walk the Line but it stopped halfway through. Netflix is replacing.
  • Did I mention we got a closing date for our Co-op?
  • Packed some more boxes.
  • Got extremely drunk at the above mentioned dinner with HS French Teacher.
  • Regretted the item above seriously the next day.
  • Got vegetables galore at our Greenmarket.
  • Watched The Passion of Joan of Arc, an amazing silent film with an amazing history.

Yes indeed, as of the late afternoon of June 21st, Jamie & I will finally be homo-owners. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Gay Pride. Who needs a parade?


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I just had to say, before I go to bed, that one of my greatest pleasures lately is watching the berries grow on the Mulberry tree at the side of our building. They’ve gone from flowerbud to flower and now to green berries all over the tree.

Soon, they’ll be their wonderful deep purple. Soon, they’ll be dropping off the tree staining everything under them. Soon, I won’t care for the Mulberry tree at all, it will just be that tree with the annoying berries that get all over the place.

But for now, I’m enjoying the simple miracle of nature, ever producing, creating, growing.

Gotta hold on to that thought when I’m slogging through a carpet of mushy, inky mess.


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This is what I need to learn.

And so…

Walking tonight, well yesterday nite really,
The air outside was like
I’m 6, 7, 8, 9 and on my parent’s porch.
The thunderstorm is coming, but for now
The night is close, even with the breeze
That carrys the promise of violence.
Violent, but yet comforting.
Because I’m on the porch, watching,
Waiting for the unleashing. Expecting
Downpours that will brush under the
Eaves and touch me with their clean,
Electrified majesty.

And now, to quote a favorite song by The Smiths , Frankly, Mr. Shankly, “I didn’t realize you wrote such bloody awful poetry.”

I promise not to do it too often. Really I do.


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As I passingly mentioned in my last post, (see, already I’m not procrastinating!) Jamie and I are packing up our apartment in preparation for our move to our new home. Or rather, what hopefully will be our new home should we ever get a closing date. With luck, we will have that date in stone sometime this coming week.

This is a major move, not that we are moving far. We’re not moving out of state. We’re not even moving out of the City. No, we’re moving about a 15 minute walk north of where we are now. We are moving from Manhattan to The Bronx.

Now, while many Manhattanites would see the move from this fair island to the northernmost mainland borough as a major change, that’s not what makes it a major change for me. In the twenty years I’ve lived in NY, I’ve lived in 4 apartments in Manhattan, 3 in Brooklyn and even lived for awhile across the mighty Hudson in Bloomfield, NJ.

What makes this move different is this: I have always been a renter. Now, I will be an owner. Or rather, Jamie and I will be owners.

And so, it was decided that we would purge. Well, Jamie would purge and I would purge a lot. You see, when Jamie’s and my life came together oh those eight years ago, he had stuff and I had… stuff. I had stuff on shelves, I had stuff in closets, I had stuff in boxes that I hadn’t opened in years. We, collectively, had lots of stuff.

When we moved from Brooklyn to our current apartment, it was a fairly quick move and so the pre-move purging process was omitted. Omitted to the point that all our stuff wouldn’t fit into the huge moving truck that we had hired and so the next day we had to rent a van to move the rest of it from place to place. That’s a lot of stuff.

This time, however, due to the drawn out process of buying, we have had ample time to cull the wheat from the chaff (understanding, of course, that even in that process some chaff will inevitably remain, but still…). This has been much easier for Jamie than I. Jamie doesn’t really care for stuff. He cares more about it than he thinks he does, but he is not committed to stuff in the way I am.

Some stuff is useful stuff, stuff that is used. No problems there.

Some stuff is more insidious, it is useful, maybe not right now, but someday, it could be of use.

This stuff is fairly easy to release. It’s been in a box for any number of years and still you haven’t found a use for it. Or else, you are just being foolishly cheap, no one needs 5 bottles of glue or three hundred pens, or even one replacement head for a Sonicare that died months ago. Small twinges of anxiety with some of these tossings, but really, not much.

Other stuff is stuff of memory, of emotion: that cheap plastic flower X gave you X years ago, those cards another X sent you, professing eternal love and committment (and we now see how that turned out), that notepad from a hotel in Berlin from your days on tour; these are the things that seem to have memory locked within them and when gazed upon, they transport you to another time, another life.

These things, as (appropriately ironic, I now realize) the Ghost of Hamlet’s Father said, “Oh horrible, most horrible.” How can I ever rid myself of these? It seems a betrayal of one’s past. Tossing away these things would be like tossing away a part of myself.

But hold on a moment there, Petey, these things don’t magically hold any memories, they are as dead as last year’s Thanksgiving turkey; you hold the memories. If you can’t conjure up a memory of something without this inanimate mojo, then most likely, it’s better forgotten.

That was the lesson I learned, am still learning, with these moving preparations. It has been a very difficult, very necessary and in the end, very freeing lesson. I urge everyone to throw out something they think they couldn’t possibly part with. It is the most liberating thing I’ve done in a long, long while.

And the rest of the stuff is just cool stuff. That stuff is definitely going to Da Bronx.


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I am not a procrastinator.

I seem like a procrastinator to, well, most people who know me. But I’m not a procrastinator.

Take this site for example; a year or so ago I moved my site to its current host. They supply many, many, options for blog/web publishing that can be effortlessly installed onto your site. While this is, indeed, not unique, it was daunting.

I decided to install, for reasons that memory fails to retrieve, Drupal. Drupal was, well, simply, much more than I needed. And thus daunted by the myriad of options, doohickies and whistles, I wrote one post crowing my entry into the blogging world and then promptly ignored my site.

For about a year.

Until I came to my senses yesterday and decided to switch to WordPress. This switch effectively killed two birds with one stone.

  1. One: It meets my needs (although arguably, who needs to blog?).
    1. I need a heart transplant.
    2. I need to get out of the way of this speeding truck.
    3. I need to see Jello Biafra at the Knitting Factory because he comes to the East Coast so rarely.
    4. I do not need to blog. Although I’m sure that someone actually does.
  2. Two: Jamie already uses WP and thus is readily available for assistance.

So, yesterday I installed WP and today, Jamie gave me a list of all the cool toys he uses on his site, queerspace.com. And I’ve spent the day fiddling and uploading and cropping pics for the front page. And now, it’s 1:30am and I’m busily writing this post.

Jamie will be pleased. Jamie will be overjoyed.

You see, Jamie is convinced that I’m a procrastinator.

Jamie has also said that I think too much. There will be no argument here; I do think too much. This is why I can’t sleep. This is why when he’s calling me from the other room, I don’t hear him. I admit it, my head is obsessively caught up in thought.

I am not a procrastinator; I am an over-thinker.

This is not new, I’ve been overthinking all my life. It’s not what I do, it’s who I am. I’m not saying it’s pretty, but for the most part, it has served me well.

Have you ever seen the mini-series The Singing Detective, not the movie, which I’m sure is lovely, with Rob’t Downey, Jr. and all, but the mini-series? Michael Gambon’s character is an over-thinker. If you have an over-thinker in your life, I urge, no, compel you, to rent it from Netflix or where ever else you procure you home viewing matter. This work is required viewing, both for your sanity and the sanity of your beloved over-thinker.

If you’ve not seen it… no, just go and rent it. I know, it’s three disks, it’s seven hours long, but the disks and hours fly by and even if you know no over-thinkers (and if you say you don’t, well, I’m sure you do or perhaps are one yourself), it is worth the time simply for the brilliant writing and amazing performances.

So anyway, I love my dear darling husband who spent all day packing up the apartment for our impending move, cooking lunch and answering my WP questions whilst I searched for plugins and such, but he’s wrong on this account. I am not a procrastinator, I am an over-thinker.

And if you are reading this and it’s, oh say, June 15th of this or next year and it is still the second post, well then, ok yes, indeed, I may be a procrastinator. And then, maybe, if I have time, I’ll work on it.

Nite, k.

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