Internet Typo Service - Friend or Foe?

I find this disturbing.

If you type the wrong thing into your web broswer, Verisign has decided to be your benefactor and suggest alternatives. So nice of them, don't you think?

How long until these alternatives are for sale? Are they already?

Perfect Soup

I am eating the perfect Chicken Noodle soup.

And it's not perfect because of taste or smell.

The temperature is perfect.

When I raise the spoon to my mouth, the soup steam fogs up my glasses. When I swallow the soup, it warms my throat. And hot enough, that I've broken out into a mild sweat.

I think I'm over my cold - but I have a cough. That's progress, as far as I'm concerned.

This is the only enjoyable thing about getting sick - is getting better.

I have a Cold

I remember being little and hearing, “Feed a cold…starve a fever…”

I also remember my mother telling me that you can sweat out a cold. At this moment, I am sitting in my messy room wearing as much clothing as is humanly possible to wear. I refuse to get sick. Rather, I refuse to get sicker.

On the plus side...fevers are slimming...

I respond to illness in two distinct ways. I embrace the illness – very Camille – very dramatic – very I - am - too - weary - to -come - to - the - phone …* * hacking cough * *….. if - I - do - not-awaken - from - my - slumber - it’s been - fun …* *sneeze* *…..speak - fondly - of - me ….or, conversely, I will run around at hyper speed, doing MORE than I normally would, resisting the thought, the notion, that some stupid virus has decided to attack my immune system.

Once, in college – I had an abscess in my throat. It was this infected mass, that the doctor said he would lance if it didn’t heal over the weekend. Well, do you think that stopped me from going to an amazing after party? No!!!!! Decked out in my best disco glam, I walked into this freezing warehouse and went straight to the bar (this was when they still had bars at after parties…pre-energy bars….pre-Rave...and when a Saturday night without drinking was unimaginable). In fact, by drinking straight vodka – the abscess vanished, and although extremely hung over, that irritating infection was gone. I’m not planning on hitting the bottle tonight, but I didn’t sit at home, either.

Tonight I went to a swell art opening and to a Drag Queen Bowling event. Both were very fun, since I was souped-up on Dayquil and the Chinese herbs that my sister, the acupuncturist, sends me. Now I am home, considering my recovery strategy. I have hot tea, and I just drank this Echinacea/Goldenseal herbal mix and took some more Chinese herbs…. I love Chinese herbs. You get to take 5-7 pills three times a day. Very sparkle, Neely, sparkle – but instead of being quaaludes, it’s some forsythia bush/peony seed natural combo.

I am off to bed, convinced I will be better in the morning.

Zombies Matter

I recently gave this book to two friends. One, I've know for 12 years, the other, less than six months. Both are creating new lives, in a new home and a new apartment, respectively.

Now, perhaps many would question, why in the world would you give someone a book on Zombie Survival Skills as a housewarming gift?

I would say, "Why not?"

It is nearing Halloween, if you've ever been to a gay.com chat room or the Complex (I'm not putting hyperlinks here - you do the work!), you've definitely encountered a Zombie.

And finally, Thriller was an important moment in my life....and nostalgia is a lovely thing. Zombies may be the Living Dead, but they certainly can cut up a rug....

News of the weird

News of the weird????

CIA seeks probe of White House

Social Climbing Clark Kent with a Messy, Awkward, Sexy Edge

Myers-Briggs

ENFP - "Journalist".
Uncanny sense of the motivations of others. Life is an exciting drama.
5% of the total population.

What is your Medieval name?

Your medieval name is: Magdalen. Out of conformity and inducing sexual meaning, you're seductive and passionate, silent until spoken to and only violet when provoked. Gorgeous and mysterious,you've got it all.

Enneagram Test

Conscious self	Overall self

So... I took these tests.
And I think I'll take them again in a week or so. Funny thing about these tests is to what degree does one answer truthfully, and to what degree does one endeavor to pick the answer that would make himself (or herself), and others happier when reading the results?

Mister Burly

An old bus stations with wooden departure docks. Wood steps that creak and moan. Walking slowly down the street with a co-worker, talking about things. My feet crunching slowly through the snow. Relevant important subjects. Getting to know someone better.

Strangers sitting in empty room in that bus station again. I’ve been to a place like this before. Like the Arcade in Nashville – like the interior spaces at the Farmers Markets here in St. Louis. But somehow different. Lots more yellow, or sunshine…..but the color is different, somehow….faded like the faded colors of movie flashbacks.

A scary house with enamel cast furniture in England. American-something-or-other style furnishings, very rare – and a long haired lady or man – in long johns walking up the stairs from the basement – making a scary face – his/her hair wet seemingly out of place amidst all the antiques. I think it’s a ghost. This place is haunted and someone will die. A chair’s seat is cast metal hands, a verdigris set of out-stretched palms. Sit here. The fingers will curl around you and hold you down.

An Indian doctor who tells me that it’s all in my head. I can make things better with reflection and thought and he walks through a door that had a big padlock keeping it shut. The door remains unlocked and I walk into a room, a house….a space that I haven’t been in before. Synthesizer against a corner, navy blue sheets on the bed, turquoise shades and sunshine streams through the windows. I look around for a bathroom, but I change my mind.

IMs on laptops. Some sassy lady named Beverly is chatting with me. In her profile, she’s riding a horse and has an outfit that reminds me of an African Joan of Arc. Always read someone’s profile – you’ll find out more than you expected. She has a big pointy stick.

Spring/summer/fall/….lots of sunshine.

Cold in my dream…….and then the stupid cell phone rings…some burly-sounding fella looking for Charlene. Who the hell is Charlene?

I love remembering my dreams, though. Usually I don’t. Mr. Burly might have done me a favor. I remembered a lot this morning.

Burberry Blues

I haven’t posted for over a week now.

I thought about writing last week. I thought about it a lot. I just couldn’t make myself do it. The words sat there, percolating….unformed…uncertain….A few happy thoughts and feelings, but a lot of unhappy ones, too. Sometimes I’m not even certain why I am even feeling what I’m feeling (on any number of subjects), and that makes communicating about those subjects, and frankly….everything….much more difficult.

I’ve just been chugging through life this past week, without really pondering the impact of my words or actions – stuck in an torpid stupor of physical inactivity and mental lethargy. Feeling some regret for some of my actions, and feeling stupid for not taking action when the moment was appropriate.

And now….when the urge to write strikes and I summon the strength to commit my words to paper…um…screen….I think about what purpose these posts/blogs really serve?

Are they just observations?

Or are they some sort of plea, some sort of explanation, some sort of rationalization for my life to anyone who may stumble across them?

I wish that everything I posted here was a charming story, some witty recap, some clever little observation. It’s probably much more fun for you to read. But sometimes….sometimes those stories, those recaps, those observations are just exercises in redirection, dear reader. God knows that I never put it ALL out there for ya.

Will you really get to know me better if I write about a failed expectation, an unhappy situation, a disappointing relationship, an argument, a confrontation, a bill collector calling?

Will I just seem much more interesting if all I write about is going out with friends to clever little night spots, about nights dancing to good music, about getting free dessert from a foxy little waitress and about how sassy I felt when some hunkarific fella admired my faux Burberry hat?

I dunno.

Maybe just putting it out there is enough.

At least for now.

Totally Cute Hair

So...without trying to sound super vain - as if this blog isn't some sort of hyper self-aware-narcissistic experience to begin with - my hair was totally cute tonight. It was curly and tall and super cute.

I decided that such cute hair should not be wasted, so I went out. *sigh* I think the universe needed to teach me a lesson.

I went to the city's "best gay bar" and was subjected to the most horrible music. Ever. Ever and ever and ever and ever and ever, I have never heard such boring crap.

The sign to vacate the premises immediately was this God-Awful-Pop-Sounds-Like-Hell dance track. My stomach began to ache, I physically became ill because this one song was so dreadful. I turned to a friend and said, "...with this.... I am gone."

He replied, "Cannot handle Justin..."

Pause.

Pause.

Me: "Justin?"

Me: "Justin who?"

Him: "Justin Timberlake!!!! I thought you were making a joke..." or something along those lines.

I should have been flattered that he thought I was being catty.

And while I wish I were (flattered and catty), the truth is:

1. I have to admit to myself that I no longer have my finger on the pulse of pop culture.

2. I am happy, indeed overjoyed that I do not know any of Justin Timberlick's music.

3. Something is terribly wrong when the city's "best gay bar" plays Justin Timberlick.

Horribly. Fundamentally. Terribly wrong and flawed.

I'm going to go listen to Ministry of Sound on CD.

The next time I'm feeling to confident about my hair, I think I'm gonna smush it down with headphones.

Tony, Tia & the FBI

My roommate not only wins the best roommate of the year award, but also receives a special shout out for being a very good friend.

Granted he has carried my sorry ass out of many a nightclub, been there through many emotional outbursts, as well as all my traumatic boyfriend dramas....but today...he picked up the Witch Mountain DVDs for me. I got home, and there they were...on my desk. I giggled and screamed and did a jig for joy!

Thanks, Kelly!!!

I am drunk on Disney nostalgia right now. And ever so happy.

Now on to stranger things than my obsession with Tony and Tia. In trying to find out more info about the pizza guy that had the bomb strapped to his body, I came across the FBI site for kids!

The FBI has indeed produced a website for those children 5 years to 5th grade.

I kid you not!

Now I spent my childhood pretending to be Wonder Woman and wishing I had tele-pathetic powers. I am ever so grateful that I didn't have these options:

Learn All About Narcotic Detection Dogs!
It's Fun to Spend Time with Chemical Explosive Dogs! There's a great quote for Atwood: While at FBIHQ, if I'm not training or working, you might find me resting on the 10th Street ramp or in my cool police car. So if you see me and I'm not busy, stop by and rub my belly.

And my very special favorite dress the agent in drag site:
Dress Up Fun With Bobby Bureau

Rainy Days and Mondays

	Today is both. It's actually a little chilly. It's a bit dreary. The weather is supposed to be gorgeous by week's end for the Saint Louis Art Fair. I am very excited to see that this artist is returning. It's Labor Day, and I'm feeling like a total slacker. I've been reading New York fashion/lifestyle magazines and re-visiting some old graphic design magazines looking for inspiration. After eating yummy good food from Greek Fest, I'm just feeling very mellow. Wishing I had a mystery to read. Or a fireplace. Or some hot chocolate. As for Rainy Days...while looking around for the lyrics, I came across this little tid bit: Tuesday, October 28, 7:30 p.m. Anheuser-Busch Performance Hall www.touhill.org Grammy® award-winners Melissa Manchester and Paul Williams - two of a generation's most prolific singer/songwriters - come together for this very special evening of their Songs and Stories. Hear the stories behind the classics you love as two great artists collaborate to perform their timeless songs. I really want to go! This guy wrote songs for Barbra Streisand, Karen Carpenter and Kermit the Frog! Rainy Days and Mondays Words and Music by: Paul Williams & Roger Nichols Talkin' to myself and feelin' old Sometimes I'd like to quit Nothing ever seems to fit Hangin' around Nothing to do but frown Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down. What I've got they used to call the blues Nothin' is really wrong Feelin' like I don't belong Walkin' around Some kind of lonely clown Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down. Funny but it seems I always wind up here with you Nice to know somebody loves me Funny but it seems that it's the only thing to do Run and find the one who loves me. What I feel has come and gone before No need to talk it out We know what it's all about Hangin' around Nothing to do but frown Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down.

One Button Town

At work Friday, I kept kvetching that I wanted to do something impetuous, impromptu….I wanted to get out of town, but didn’t want to spend the money it would take to go New Orleans for Southern Decadence, or Chicago, or any other traditional gay Labor Day destinations.

So…lo and behold, Saturday night, my pal Butter (we’re going way, way back with that nick-name) sends me a message:

BUTTER: HI
ME: hi doll
BUTTER: ARE U UP FOR A SCANDAL
ME: always
BUTTER: IM GOIN TO SOCO IN COLUMBIA TONIGHT
BUTTER: WANT TO GO
ME: LOL....that sounds so silly...why are you going there
ME: who are you going with?
BUTTER:BORED OF STL WANT TO SEE SOME NEW FACES

Butter

So that was it. Within an hour and a half, I was showered, shaved, and wearing my new shirt (!!!) and my bling…..we set off on an adventure to the middle of Missouri.

Columbia sits smack-dab in the middle of the state. And smack dab in the middle of this college town (88,000 residents/24,000 students) is the gay bar.

And it pretty much is THE gay bar in town. There’s an alternative night at some other location, but SoCo is essentially it. And it’s in a strip mall next to a Mexican Restaurant and Nail Salon. Right off one of the main drags in town, SoCo seems to exists in perfect harmony with frozen yogurt store, a cell phone store and numerous other retail havens in a very ordinary business development district.

Ten years ago, Kelly and I made a road trip to Columbia when I bought my 1964 Ford Fairlane. And we went to the gay bar that was there at that time. Since closed, someone told me that it’s now one of those Nueva Latin/Chipotle/Fusion kinda places.

Anyway, as the only gay bar in town, there’s an extraordinary mix of men and women. Unlike St. Louis, where the bars seem very polarized and divided by gender, age, race, and a laundry list of special interests, SoCo is the meeting place for the menz and and the womyn. I bet it was a 50/50 split.

A few random observations:

• There is a list of “Do Not Accept Checks From” posted right over the cash bar.

• The bar is really clean, but very plain in many ways. It does have a large stage and a lot of seating options. A small outdoor patio looks out onto a strip mall parking lot. It’s not a testament to interior design, but cleanliness compensates for the modest decorations.

• There is a rule that the menz must keep their shirts on – with at least one button buttoned. From what the fellas told me, womyn complained about the boyz running around with their shirts off. The fellas have to keep their six packs and nipple rings covered until the patriarchal culture allows women’s breasts to sway free. It’s a college town, after all.

I really had a great time. There were lots of things, that in retrospect contributed to the fun: being from "out of town," knowing no one, being removed from the local scandal and drama, but still doing my best to stir it up....And it was not a planned sojourn. It was very refreshing to just get up and go.....no worries.....no cares.

Folks in Columbia were very friendly and social and chatty. Butter and I kept hoping to find out about an afterhours. Someone asked me if I meant a rave.... I hadn't thought about that word in a while. It made me giggle.

The whole night did. That's the thing about going out of town. There are virtually no ramifications, well as long as you don't do something illegal, or something you wouldn't want someone else to find out about. For me it was a blast just talking to people and not wondering if they were friends of an ex, dating the ex, used to date the ex, wants to date the ex, etc. It was so enjoyable to have no connection, no association, no prior knowledge of a single solitary soul in the bar.

After having been out in St. Louis for over 14 years now, it was a breath of fresh air.

September 2003 Archives

September 28, 2003

Internet Typo Service - Friend or Foe?

Perfect Soup

September 27, 2003

I have a Cold

Zombies Matter

September 26, 2003

News of the weird

September 23, 2003

Social Climbing Clark Kent with a Messy, Awkward, Sexy Edge

Myers-Briggs

What is your Medieval name?

Enneagram Test

September 17, 2003

Mister Burly

September 16, 2003

Burberry Blues

September 6, 2003