Deconstruction

Exhausting. That’s what it is.

To quote an overrated movie, “Life is like a box of chocolates”, blah, blah, blah.

I mean, Jamie and I knew that the apartment we bought was in need of repair. We embrace the concept of “sweat equity”. We were not, however, quite prepared for the amount of sweat that was in store. It’s like biting into a chocolate expecting a yummy caramel only to find it’s crunchy frog.

This weekend, our first 2 1/2 days of owning our new home, we have completely gutted the kitchen. Well, the wall tiles are still in, but we’re taking them down tomorrow. Here are my phonecam pix from today. We’ve also prepped all the walls for priming. It occurred to us near the end of the dust-spewing scraping that perhaps we should have donned masks.

Click here for Jamie’s account and pix.

We’ve discovered that the marble in the kitchen was laid badly and all cracked. This had been hidden by the linoleum laid atop it. So we ripped that out; the linoleum and marble, all gone. The cabinets have all gone bye-bye. The stove is in the living room until Monday when it is being carted away with the 100 or so above-mentioned marble tiles. The fridge, the fridge is staying. It has water and ice in the door and that makes Jamie extremely happy.

And what makes us both very happy is that it is ours, and remembering that, all the work is definitely worth it.

Tomorrow we head to IKEA to figure out how we are putting the kitchen back together again.

Did I mention the existing toilet leaks into the apartment below? A new one is arriving Monday. Talk about your box of chocolates. (Sorry, I’m exhausted.)

Nite,
k.

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Exclamation

Points! Are what I wanted. I didn’t get them.

Ok, I am incredibly fortunate. I am now a homeowner. Well, actually the bank is a homeowner, I’m a 10%-of-a- homeowner, but that’s not my point. My point is that I’m incredibly lucky in a world, in a country, with such mindboggling poverty and homelessness, to have the wherewithall to purchase a home. A home with my partner, my husband, my other-and-better half. That said…

I wanted bells. I wanted whistles. I wanted a big, “Hurrah!!!” at the end of the process.

This process, not counting the four months of prep and waiting that preceeded today, consisted of 2 hours of signing. Signing form after form after form. As our wonderful lawyer pointed out, it’s like a Monty Python routine.

“Sign here. And here. And…here. Initial here. Sign. Here. And here. Initial here. And now here, with full name. And initial. And here, with full name in reversel alphabetical order… no sorry, lawyer’s joke… Well, we find it funny. And here. Here. Here…”

I was warned that there would be a lot of signing of papers; I felt prepared for the ordeal. I never imagined that there would be that much signing of papers. There were paper covering this. There were papers covering that. There were papers stating that we had the right, or no right, in the future to sign yet more papers should the need arise. There were papers to be signed stating that we had indeed signed the papers. There were lots of papers. There were two hours worth of papers. An entire forest was decimated by our transaction for a smallish one-bedroom apartment; this was the least green thing I’ve done in ages.

And when all the papers were signed, it all sort of piddled out. There were no more papers to sign, no more checks to write, nothing left to be done but go our separate ways.

Admittedly, I was the only one in the room new to this process. The lawyers do this for a living; they can close in their sleep. Jamie has gone through this process twice before, although as it was in FL where they use no lawyers, I’m told the process is much more… compact. This was however, to me, a totally alien experience.

And… I wanted something more. I suppose I wanted more closure from this closing. This is something I’ve been anticipating for four months and, to be fair, when something has been anticipated for that long, imagined for that amount of time, the actual event couldn’t possibly live up to the hype that has been built up in your head.

I wanted Be Our Guest from “Beauty and the Beast”; corks popping, people whirling; an orgy of frivolous mayhem and celebration.

But there was none of that. Before I knew it, the last paper was signed and there were quiet congratulations and hand shaking and parting of ways. Like smoke in a gust of wind, it was over and done.

I suppose the lesson to be learned here is that the really big moments in life most often aren’t accompanied by thunder and lightening. They often slip by unremarkably. And they are no less earthshaking for their modesty, just harder to recognize.

Jamie and I went back after the closing to look, for the first time unaccompanied, for the first time crossing our threshold, at our new home. Needs work. Needs lots of work. That’s when I realized: it’s not about the bells and whistles and corks popping. It’s about Jamie and I tearing out the old carpet, painting the dirty walls, replacing the faulty toilet. It’s about building our home together, our life.

And that quiet realization is better by far than any fireworks or popping corks or any other noisy whoo ha could ever be. I’m building a life, a home, with someone I love, who loves me. Who could need anything more than that?

Nite,
k.

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Closing

So today is the day. Today is the first day of the rest of our lives, as they say.

At 2PM this afternoon, Jamie and I will be in a room filled with lawyers. We’ll be signing contracts and checks. And at the end of it all, we’ll get the keys to our tiny kingdom. Or queendom, as it were.

It’s all very daunting and stressful. I’m living in a kind of boxed up tension; very numb at the moment. I think Jamie is as well. It’s not that we’re nervous that this won’t happen, because it will, I think it’s the enormity of the thing.

In just a few hours, Jamie and I will have, as I’ve said before, our very own home. Together. And that’s a very nice feeling. We just want the process to be done with. And it will be… soon.

Ni… oops, can’t sign off that way at 7AM. Ok then,

Counting the minutes and seconds,
k.

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ISS

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.

Nite,
k.

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Congrats

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.

Nite,
k.

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Random

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?

Nite,
k.

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Guilt

I was thinking earlier today about my parents and how they would never have the grandchild that, I’m sure, they envisioned was in their future. Who can blame them? It’s the most natural thing humans do: expect, hope for, the continuation of our line.

So who could blame my parents for expecting the same from me. I would grow up, get married, and soon, just like their parents before them, they would be indulging my child, their grandchild. And so on and so on…

But of course, that wasn’t the way it turned out to be. The only child was gay. My parents landed on the Whammy; all systems stop, all passengers off. End of the line.

Now I need to clarify before I continue, my parents are wonderful. Not “wonderful,” he-must-be-hiding-some-deep-dark-secret
wonderful, of course there is disfunction, wouldn’t be a family without it, but all in all, I have great parents. And these parents, after an intial “you’re too young to make this decision” (I wasn’t) when I came out to my Mom at 14, have always been incredibly supportive. They’ve met most of the men I’ve dated over the years, they’ve always been heartbroken when my relationships have ended. It was their greatest fear that I wouldn’t find someone to spend my life with. They maintained that being gay made it so much harder to find a stable relationship, to which I always replied, “Have you seen the divorce statistics? Straight couples aren’t making such a great showing, either.”

And as it turns out, of all their friends, they are one of the only two couples still together after all these years. 46 of them to be exact. That’s a feat. The other couple that’s had that kind of longevity is a lesbian couple who are friends of my parents. I’ve known them since I was in grade school and they are still together and loving each other.

So as I see it, it’s a crapshoot no matter what your persuasion. Being coupled is hard work. If you are not able to deal with the manure under the beautiful flowers, then you’re not really ready to walk through that particular garden gate. Of course the trick is finding someone as willing as you to get his/her hands dirty. It’s all in the timing. And luckily, my and Jamie’s timing was perfect.

We both hit the time in our lives when, to quote Kiki and Herb quoting Kate Bush’s song “Moments of Pleasure” from her album The Red Shoes, “Every old sock needs an old shoe”. Do I miss the passion of new “love”? Sure, from time to time, but the comfort of my Jamie by my side reminds me constantly that I have something much more real. Who needs ephemera when you’ve got someone there, solidly by and on your side?

But I seem to have wandered far afield of the particular garden lane that was the path of guilt. Oh right, it’s just over there…

So from time to time I feel bad, feel guilt, that my parents will have no grandchild to dote over. I know that in the end, they are happy that I’ve found Jamie and that we have a good life together. But still I wonder if they cry in the night over what could have been. And then I realize that we all, from time to time, do that. We can’t change what is, we can’t change who we are or the hand we’ve been dealt by God, nature, life. We can only do the best with what we have and try not to worry about things that might’ve been. If we get bogged down in the what if’s, we lose sight of the beautiful what are’s.

And anyway, now they have my baby “sister” Precious, who’s all the loving bundle that they could ever wish for.

Nite,
k.

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Puppet

wins. Puppet wins. Nooooooooo… Puppet wins the Tony!

And Kiki/Justin looked so incredibly beautiful for that brief moment of camera time.

So sad… Puppet wins…

Oh well, I’m sure this will be some great fodder for Kiki to riff on.

But, puppet wins… So sad.

Nite,
k.

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Mulberries

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.

Nite,
k.

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BBQ

So tomorrow is the kickoff of the Big Apple BBQ.

This is a big deal for Jamie and I. How far the mighty vegetarians have fallen. Well, as they say, everything in moderation… Except for occasions like tomorrow.

Fourteen champion BBQ purveyors from across this great land of ours with their pits running at full smoke! And since it’s going to be hot and humid tomorrow, I mean that in all its permutations. All right in tony Madison Square Park. Hundreds, if not thousands, of folks walkin’ ’round with plates piled high with brisket, pulled pork, short ribs and sausage.

Oooh, sausage. Jamie and I usually disagree on who serves the best brisket, but we are always in full agreement that the best sausage, probably in the world, comes from The Southside Market in Elgin, (hard “g” as in goat, not as in the liquor) TX. Great Gravy Marie is their hot sausage good. You can order it online for delivery, but we never have. It’s a treat we get to experience once a year at the BABBQ. Someday we’ll make the pilgrimage to Elgin and try it out in their restaurant; a worthy expedition, and probably the only thing that would get me to TX.

I did note from the BABBQ site, that our other fav, Smokey O’s from St. Louis, MO, will not be there this year. We liked their brisket a lot, we loved the woman who ran the place, and we especially loved the reaction you got when you told someone that you’d had BBQ’d snoot, which is a Smokey O’s specialty. “What”, you ask, “is BBQ’d snoot? It couldn’t be…, could it?”

Yes, Virginia, yes. It could. BBQ’d snoot is the meat from around the pig’s snoot (odd that I keep typing snot), flattened, deep fried and served with BBQ sauce. Think pork rinds from a different part of the pig. Last year’s were less cruchy than the year prior. I think I preferred it that way, while Jamie preferred more crunch. But alas, unless a trip to St. Louis is in our future, and since I doubt we’ll be doing any baseball stadium trips this year, we’ll have to go snootless this time ’round.

This is a two day event and usually we attend both days. This year, however, since the Tony Awards are on Sunday night, we’ll be skipping the second day. This is a painful sacrifice but a necessary one. It’s about an hour from where we live to the BBQ. And since we’ve given up TV (more on that some other day), we’re watching the Tony’s in midtown. We’ll undoubtedly want a rest between events and well, that’s just too much travelling for entertainment. So we’ll eat our fill on Saturday. Rest up on all Sunday during the day and then head to Luxia/Mont Blanc for our Tony viewing pleasure.

Now, truth be told, we don’t usually watch the Tony’s. But this year, our favorite duo Kiki and Herb are nominated for their Broadway show in the Special Theatrical Event category. Oddly enough, the only other nominee in the category is Jay Johnson, the ventriloquist, for his show The Two and Only!. It is odd for so many reasons, but the one that strikes me as oddest, at the moment, is that Kiki and Herb’s show had to close to make room for Jay Johnson’s. Kiki and Herb could’ve extended their run but the theatre was closely booked. So Kiki got kicked out of the theatre to make room for puppet boy. An interesting contest indeed. And, to be fair, I do hear that The Two and Only was quite a good show and Jay Johnson is not a boy. Not that he’s a girl, he’s just a bit long in the tooth to be called a boy.

Anyway (or as David Milch writes it in any script he pens, “anyways”), I’m just hoping that the Special Theatrical Event is on the actual broadcast and not in the non-broadcast “we need to give out these creative awards but who cares” section. As a former theatre techie, I find the dismissal of the creative awards maddening, but I also realize that most of America couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the Tony’s anyway, so keep it short for America. Anyways…

Ok, so there’s the weekend. Big meat in a tony park and Tony’s midtown of the Big Apple. Fun filled and jam packed.

But first, we’re getting up a 6am tomorrow to do the laundry. Will the glamour never end?

Nite,
k.

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