The comment I received on the ‘Ban Pit Bulls’ post was from a groupdevoted to regulation of dangerous breeds of dogs and education of the public about the risks these menaces pose. There is a ton aof great information on their website and I am encouraged to know that my personal rage is shared. Check it out:

http://www.dogsbite.org/forum/index.php

Posted under Dogs (and other pets)

OK. Now I’m loaded for bear. My dog, the most gentle 40 pound mixed breed I’ve ever had was just attacked AGAIN as I walked him through Hillcrest, where I live. This time it was a black and white pit bull on a leash held by a young thug who smiled and nodded engagingly as we approached. That usually means ‘my dog is friendly.’ My guy walked over wagging away and was immediately set upon.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ I asked.

‘Well, you’re the one who let your dog come over,’ said the thug, ‘What do you expect?’

And that’s the problem. These dogs are bred to kill. They are often adopted by people who get some kind of kick out of seeing the attack. And WE THE PEOPLE allow them to wander amongst us. It’s insane.

I’ve witnessed three similar incidents involving and pit bulls this year. One was at the dog park. My dog was not involved but I watched the bull attack first a great dane and then a smaller dog. I intervened and almost came to blows with the owner. Quite a few of us leashed our dogs and exited the park, listening the the squeal of yet another dog the pit bull went after.

Then there were the homeless punks who litter the streets of Hillcrest. They come and go and sometimes have dogs, which always seem to be pit bulls. A few weeks ago I was walking Homer and this guy, whose bull was not on a leash had to physically restrain the dog as we went by. We got into a shouting match. In his mind the frakass was my fault for not crossing the street when I spotted them.

I am looking for a group that is actively working to greatly regluate/restrict pit bulls in San Diego. Ideally we’d just ban them like Ontario and some other municipalities have. At least we could require spaying and neutering. I mean: have you noticed how many male pit bulls have their nuts intact? And, as is true with all dogs, not neutering makes the dog way more aggressive.

If you know of such a group, please leave it for me in a comment or in the chat box. If you are also interested in getting involved in ending this madness, get in touch. I’ll let you know what I find.

Posted under Dogs (and other pets)

I am in a very dark place. Here: take a look

There’s hardly any light at all in here today. Strike that. There is no light in here today.

Last night I . . . well, never mind.

And then, this morning, I packed up and drove over to Gordon’s house to hang out. I’m supposed to be living there while he’s out of town, but it’s way out in the suburbs and there’s absolutely NOTHING for miles and I miss my dog and my desk and my neighborhood, so I haven’t been staying there. But I told him I would so I was going to go make good on my promise . . . but when I arrived, Mark was there.
Mark is another friend of Gordon’s who has a key and was encouraged to use the place. He’s been there every day for a week. First thing he did when he arrived was to unpack his leather sling and get me to help him chain it up in the garage so that he could bang some guy who was coming over. After putting the thing up and testing it for height and strength, I split.

So when I saw his truck STILL there today, I just turned around and came back home. It was something I didn’t want to do. I was having a bad Bob day.

It occurred to me walking the dog this morning, that Bob would be perfectly happy to go through the rest of his life (and mine) living in the same house, hating each other. That’s nor fair. I don’t HATE him and I don’t think he really hates me. Nonetheless, we share no love and it’s not very pleasant. But that’s the way it’s always been for him. I remember when his mother was dying in our spare room from lung cancer. He was a consumate asshole. He cursed her out more than a few times and did the same to her sisters. Somehow in that family, that kind of behavior was OK.

I’m different. I don’t play that way and I take it personally when someone around me does.

So I didn’t want to come home. But I did. A few chores occupied me for awhile and then I sat down and watched the Chronicles of Narnia on TV. It was really good. This was the best part of the day so far. From then on it’s been a dizzying whirl of me trying to help Bob with his business, clean house, walk the dog again, and on and on. I just sat down and realized: I was in a dark place

I have to do a few meetings over the coming weeks and I’m doubting myself. Like: I’m telling myself I don’t have much to offer (which is laughable), that I’m a fraud and all that.

‘Where’s this coming from?’ I ask.

And I know. Thursday. It’s coming from Thursday. I was coming home from the Padre’s afternoon game on my bicycle. I was rolling through downtown and came to a red light at Fifth Ave. where I wanted to turn right. I looked left to make sure it was clear and then went for it. At that instant, the light turned green and a woman stepped off the curb and . . . I ran her down.

I mean it: I ran her down. She was a screaming flailing mass of grey hair in a brown pantsuit tumbling beneath my bicycle. She hit her head on a yellow fire hydrant. I hit the pavement. Immediately I hopped up and ran to the poor woman, appologizing for all I was worth. I know: you’re never supposed to appologize or indicate your own wrong doing in any way at an accident scene. But hell: I screwed up and I knew it. I sat with her there on the curb until the ambulance came and took her away.

She called me later to tell me she had stitches and bruises, but probably nothing more serious than that and suggesting that I pay the hospital bill, which I wll gladly do.

But I keep seeing this person rolling down beneath my bike, screaming and smashing into the ground. I dreamed about it night before last. I keep going over it in my mind when I’m awake.

I am a cocky idiot.

That’s all. I’m so cool, riding my bike through downtown San Diego to a Padres’ game, scoring free tickets from a guy who had a couple of extras, given to him by an Umpire. On the bike I dare cars to get me. I stare them down when they come too close. I am urban bike man. I am cool, I am invincible.

I am so full of myself that I am stupid.

I realize that I may be slapped with some kind of lawsuit at any moment. But I don’t get that sense about this. This woman is a nice person and, angry as she was at me and that this happened to her, I think she’s going to be happy to get up and walk away. But no matter what happens in that regard, I got taken down a notch or two. That’s a good thing when it comes to bike riding. But I’ve gone down a few in other areas as well and that’s not warranted.

Really?

Really. Look: I think I see the sun peaking out:

Posted under Personal Drama

Or bulge in jeans.  Or male bulge.  Or just plain bulge.  It’s become my most poular search string.  Everyone is looking for big bulges, preferably in jeans.  I mean, I get dozens of hits a day on a post I did a long time ago called, ‘You Pervert!’ because it contains a photo of a guy with a decent bulge in his jeans.  So, if that’s what spins your propeller cap, here is an absolute gallery of crotch baskets for your viewing pleasure. 

Posted under Silly Fun

I was on a business trip this week. It was mostly a meeting in Philadelphia, but I decided to take a detour down to Baltimore as well to see some people. The business part of the trip was really good. I got lots of good stuff done. It was the after hours stuff that sucked.

I didn’t get a chance to get out in Philly, but I was done by mid-afternoon in Baltimore, so I Googled ‘Gay Baltimore’ and got the location of all the bars. They seemed to be clustered around Charles St. near North. The Light Rail Station was not far from my hotel at BWI and had a stop right on North, so I headed out.

First there was the train. What a joke! It made about 15 stops between origin and destination, many just a few blocks apart. It moved along at a snail’s pace, so slow that I’m pretty sure I’d have gotten there quicker on a city bus.

About the time we hit Camden Yards and the ballpark — where many of the people on the train got off to see an Orioles game (I should have done the same) — I struck up a conversation with a very drunk derelect sitting across from me. He had been sleeping and woke to ask me: ‘You know what the bestest nation in the world is?’

I thought for a moment. The obvious answer was the good ol’ USA, but that was too easy. I mumbled, ‘Carnation, Elimination, Tarnation?’

‘Naw,’ he answered, ‘It’s when God smiles on you and you open up your wallet and make a DONATION to a homeless person.’ I laughed. He laughed. I dug in my pocket and found fifty cents and handed it over. He nodded thanks.

‘You know,’ he said after a bit, ‘I drinks too much.’

‘Oh?’ I asked, feining disbelief.

‘Yeah,’ he went on, ‘Sometimes I forget where I’m at and I do mean things. I gotta start cuttin’ back.’ He began to rifle through a bag he had on his lap and soon produced a pint bottle of cheap vodka. ‘Course, I think I’ll start that cuttin back tomorrow,’ he said through a toothless grin, and turned the bottle up. Screwing the cap back on, he replaced the bottle in his bag and promptly went back to sleep.

I started to notice that we were passing through some really trashy neighborhoods. I hadn’t seen so much boarding up of businesses, buildings and houses since I attended an Urban League conference in Detroit in the late 80’s. I told myself if it looked this rough when we got to the North Ave. station, I wasn’t getting off. Though it looked only slightly better, I told myself I was bigger and meaner than anything I might encounter outside the cab’s door and forced myself off the train.

I got my bearings and headed east, across and overpass in the direction I believed Charles to be. The neighborhood still had a bombed out feel about it but I started to notice art supply stores and some small theaters. Bad as it was, it seemed to be an art community and I fugured the gay bars had to be close by.

At Charles, I turned South and walked, and walked, and walked. I saw nothing resembling a gay bar. I saw lots of closed businesses, some real dive bars and more theaters. But none of the places I’d seen in my internet search seemed to be there. Strange. I remembered seeing the Eagle Bar on the map, back up and across North, so I turned around and headed that way.

Across the big street, things got even rougher. Every person I saw seemed to be some kind of thug. Even the women. Thug-ettes? Still I pressed on, one block, two blocks, three blocks . . . Finally at the fifth block I decided this was nuts and turned around to head back to the train before it got dark. On the way back down to North, I look to my right across the street. There, in a dingy window I saw a sytlized bird in unlit neon. That had to be it. But it looked closed. I knew it probably wasn’t: Eagle Bars around the country tend to look dark and decayed but they are almost always open. I contemplated crossing and checking it out but I was being eyed by a couple of rough looking kids sitting in a stoop next to me and decded to just pack it in.

I’m sure Baltimore has some nice stuff. I bet it’s a fairly artistic place. Like Cleveland. But the short and narrowly focused tour I took that afternoon left me not wanting to return ever again. Of course, I know that’s crap. I’ll be there on business I’m sure, probably within the next year. But next time I have a free evening in Baltimore, I’m not going out looking for gay bars. I’ll go to a Orioles game or to the movies, but not another trip to nowhere on the slowest train on Earth.

Posted under This Gay Life, Travel

Well, I just watched all of the 2998 Tony Awards that I could stand.  I made it through the opening number and Jane Fonda’s presentation of the first award.  What irked me so was the utter lack of originality I saw.

The opening number was huge and featured numbers from just about every musical that’s running this year.  That was the problem.  There was Billy Elliot, Shrek, and 9 to 5 – all musical remakes of popular movies.  That’s an easy formula:  the public already knows and likes the story.  Great box office; but it’s easy.  Then there were the revivals:  Guys and Dolls (yet again), West Side Story, Pal Joey, and Hair for God’s sake.  What crap. 

I mean:  is there nothing new and original on the great white way?  Has all of the creativity of Broadway dried up and blown away?  Or is this the end result of a Decade of Disney on 42^nd Street? 

I will always remember and cherish 1997.  That year we had Rent, Jekyll and Hyde, Miss Saigon was still running strong,  and Bring in Da Noise, Bring in the Funk was happening.  My favorite show that year was by Bill Russell and Henry Krieger  - who wrote Dreamgirls .  It was Sideshow, the story of conjoined twins, Daisy and Violet Hilton.  Adventurous stuff . . . so adventurous that it closed in 90 days.  Though the show was wonderful is no many ways, people on vacation in New York weren’t willing to risk $80 on a show about Siamese Twins. 

I could go on and on.  But let me focus on one thing that was happening at that time and that’s obviously not happening now:  Frank Wildhorn.  Frank wrote Jekyll and Hyde, brought it and Linda Eder to Broadway and did very very well.  Unfortunately, the High Theater Crowd has a red velvet chord draped across the entrance to their little club and Frank, who was NOT from New York, had not been in town long enough to gain entry.  That fabulous show won . . . nothing.  Instead an utterly forgettable musical (that has since been forgotten) won everything:  Titanic.  (Hated it).  Frank ignored the snobs and opened  The Scarlett Pimpernel which was also wonderful.  I think Doug Sills actually did get a Tony for something.  With both of those shows popping, he then launched a failure:  The Civil War.  It was a great leap:  a country music themed (sorta) telling of the war between the states.  I liked it, but by then everyone was fighting to get into The Lion King and the show failed.    Soon, Pimpernel and Jekyll were closing and Frank was being ushered out of town. 

I see it as a symbolic moment when New York opted to go for solid, predictable hits – things people from Missouri would be excited to see – rather than ground breaking innovation.  Now, ten years later (give or take) we have Poison on Broadway in something called Rock of Ages, lip synching (and fake-playing the guitar) through a stupid, loud, pretentious tribute to themselves.  It’s the ultimate slide into . . . well . . . into the modern era.  We’re getting dumber and tackier in almost every other aspect of our collective lives.  I guess it was just a matter of time before Broadway followed suit. 

And we deserve it, too.  Hell; we love it.  We’ll pay over and over again to see another tired revival of Guys and Dolls while Sideshow leaves town to be performed once or twice a year by some community theater group somewhere . . . somewhere where there is still a spark of creativity and an desire to do something NEW. 

Hey:  here’s a clip:

 And from Jekyll and Hyde, Linda Eder and Frank Wildhorn:

Posted under Music & Singers

I’m evolving a new perspective about sex, I think. 

You know from reading this electronic rag that I’ve really jumped into annonymous, meaningless, recreational sexual encounters since Bob and I decided we couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other, much less in the same bed.  There’ve been the baths and the gay resorts in Palm Springs, wild nights in the bars in New Orleans and lots of silly cannoodling at the gym . . . you know. 

The thing is:  somehow that’s all becoming less appealing to me.  I have this new urge to actually know (and probably even like) my partners;  strange.

I guess it started with Michael.  I met him at CCBC in Palm Springs last month.  By the way, that bit of code stands for the ‘Cathedral City Boys Club,’ a clothing optional resort that’s really just a sprawling place for guys to hook up, and hook up, and hook up.  I had wandered back to a secluded area called ‘The Barracks,’ which is all decked out in military stuff:  camouflage and netting and helmets and the like.  I was standing in one of the open structures there when I turned around and there he was:  this small, young looking Asian guy wearing black undies and sporting a remarkably large schlong. 

I’ve played around with a few Asian men and have always enjoyed it.  Totoshi who I met at the Vulcan Steam and Sauna comes to mind.  They often have the most delicious skin, all smooth and velvety.  And whether it’s the diet or a cultural norm surrounding exercise, they can often have pretty tight little bodies.  This was the case with Michael. 

We were onto each other in an instant and the encounter grew hotter by the moment.  Ultimately we both let it fly, so to speak, and then melted into each other’s arms. 

‘Wow!’ he said, ‘I’m sure glad I ran into you!’

‘And I’m glad I ran into you,’ I responded.  We were both a little slippery from the sex and from the sweat which made the softness of his skin even more delightful. 

“Are you local?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ he answered.  I was staying at the place but Michael, like the herd of locals that flood CCBC most days, was there on a day pass.  ‘In fact,’ he continued,’I was just getting ready to give up on this place and head out.  Where are you from?’

‘San Diego,’ I said.  We exchanged names, shook hands, and strolled back to the bank of lockers where he had his phone. 

‘What’s your number?’ he asked,’I'll call you and then you’ll have my number.’ 

“Oh,’ thank you, I said.

‘I come through San Diego fairly often . . . maybe we can hook up again,’ he smiled.

‘I’d like that,’ I said.  ‘In fact, I’d really enjoy getting to know you when we both have our clothes on.’ 

“Yeah, that would be cool.’

And we left it at that.  It was two weeks later when he called and told me he was coming to town.  It was Saturday and I started looking for him around 5.  By 8 he had neither shown up or called.  No surprise, really:  gay guys (like me) can be sooo flakey.  At 9 I took myself out to the Loft and had my own little party. 

My phone discharged over night and I didn’t notice until almost noon.  When I had recharged the thing, I had a text message from Michael at 9 in the morning saying he was hoping to catch up with me before heading back to Palm Springs.  Hummmp! 

I called and we made stupid chatter about how we’d gotten our wires crossed, me expecting him Saturday night, him wanting to see me Sunday morning.  I know it wasn’t a matter of crossed wires, but who cares.  I wrote it (and him off). 

Then last weekend he called again, headed my way.  I had plans for Saturday but after telling him I was busy I thought about it . . . and decided to excuse myself from that gathering and give Michael one more chance.  I called him back and we agreed to rendevous sometime around 1 Saturday afternoon. 

1 came and went and so did 2 and 3 and 4.  Then the text messages began to flow, first from me (’wha’ts up?’), then from him.  Turns out his dog died.  It really did.  He sent me a picture of it:  a little Yorkie pup.  Aparantly choked on something.  He’d only had it for a few weeks  and had gotten it to breed with his other Yorkie.  We decided to pospone our ‘date’ again and I suffled off to join my friends.

So, I’m now twice stood up by this guy . . . and still, I want to know him.  Something about him . . . Something has me wanting to talk, not just to him, but to men in general.  It’s different.  And I think it’s meaningful.

I think I’m actually ready to walk away from Bob.  I haven’t you know.  Not that I’m carrying a torch or anything — I mean, it’s over — but we could easily live the rest of our lives grudgingly living in the same house and just . . . enduring.  I keep telling myself I dont’ want that.  I keep telling him, too. 

Yesterday he started talking about a trip we planned six months ago to go to New York for a week with some friends in the Fall.  I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, and I had truly forgotten about it.  I told him I wasn’t going.  He was dumbfounded.  Why was I suddenly backing out?

‘Come on, Bob,’ I said, ‘You don’t really want to spend a week in New York with me, now do you?’  I paused but he didn’t contradict me.  I think I’d have been surprised if he had.  ‘And I sure don’t want to spend a week in New York with you.’ 

He was shocked.  Even through our demise (we swore hatred for each other and quit having sex in Jan of 2008), we’ve gone on vacation together. We’ve even had a good time.  But I don’t want that anymore.  I want something else.  I want to go on vacation with someone I really like, someone I can imagine growing closer to for the experience.  Bob is a dead end.  Michael is all full of possibilities.

Posted under This Gay Life

One of the things I love about living in San Diego is the abundance of natural beauty.  It’s a ghasp and a sigh around every corner.  This was taken at our favorite leash free dog run in Balboa Park.

Posted under Dogs (and other pets)

I just read the list of State Parks Gov. Schwarzenegger is proposing we close in an attempt to cure our budget problem.  We have, like, 279 Parks and he wants to close all but about 22.  Every single park I visited last weekend in my Big Sur, San Juan Bautista, Condor quest will be chained and locked. 

It’s so tragic.  And it’s so wrong.  Here we are locking up the Parks that are so big a part of who we are as Californians to cover losses caused in other areas of our government that continue to be out of control.  We’re going to pink slip Smokey the Bear . . .  but we’re not going to touch a single hair on the head of any teacher in the state no matter how bad they are. 

Huh? you say.  Let me ’splain:

• We have the highest paid teachers in the nation
• Conincidentally we have the highest individual taxes in the nation
• More than 60% of the State budget is earmarked for education in one way or another
• Our State’s schools rank consistently near the bottom in performance
• Almost 50% of our public school students DON’T graduate
• Violence and lawlessness among the young has risen at an apocalyptic rate (so has bad taste in nearly everything)
• It should be no surprise that our teachers’ union is supremely powerful.  If the teachers say vote for it, we vote for it.

Now, put all that in a shaker and give it a toss and it’s not hard to see where one of our biggest problems lies . . . and it isn’t State Parks!  We have been coerced into making teachers into the biggest and most bloated of sacred cows.  We’ll damn everything, but we’ll save teachers.  But take a look at the track record.  Despite all the dollars we throw their way, it’s the educators who are failing miserably.  It makes no sense.

Mix into the equation our immigration problem and you have catastrophe.  Our schools (and hospitals) are overwhelmed by a wave of undocumented ailiens that suck resources and destroy the most carefully conceived budgets.  Really:  we’re throwing all this money at education to teach kids who shouldn’t even be here.  The teachers squak about our per pupil spending being way low, but if you took all the illegal kids out, we’d be at the top of the list! 

So, Gov. Swarz:  your solution sould not be to close State Parks.  It ought to be to close schools!  I’m serious.  This is a perfect opportunity to convert the State to a voucher system where tax paying citizens receive an education voucher for each kid and then choose where and how to use them.  Schools would suddenly become competitve.  They’d have to perform to survive.  Bad teachers would be gone quickly.  Bad schools would fail and close.  Our kids would get a much better education.  Non-citizens would not have legitimate access to vouchers so we wouldn’t be spending money educating some other country’s kids.  And, bingo, bango, bongo:  our State budget crisis would be solved. 

Of course, sane as this idea is, it will never happen.  The teachers’ union weilds so much power in Sacramento that any attempt to change the status quo will be defeated.  I guess we just have to pray for earthquakes, fires and floods across the entire State at the same time to shake things up enough to change.  Change.  Change or die, remember?  We’re dying here.

Posted under Current Affairs, Politics, Rants n Raves

I have been taking a few art classes with my pal, Dick.  They are outstanding.  He has a real knack for pulling the best out of everyone.  A couple of weeks ago we messed around with pastels.  I’d never used them.  The big class project was a self-portrait.  Here’s mine:

Posted under Art