And Then I Became a Wood Elf...

If the blame needs to be placed somewhere, put it on The Awesome Son.  He moved in with me while he was in his mid-teens, bringing with him something that stirred an overwhelming hunger inside me. The addiction began slowly, as most gripping ones do.  Before I knew it, almost all of my waking hours were spent running around the wilderness:  dodging rouge critters, looting mines and caves for treasure, finding portals to hellish realms.

 

The Elder Scrolls series.  If you are not familiar, approach it with my warning.  I’ve never been much into video gaming, but that all changed with the third installment in the series.  Morrowind.  Just go to urbandictionary.com and search the word.  You will find numerous definitions; most alluding to the fact that you will never again have any genuine social contact in your life.  You will spend your time with graphic adventurers and bandits, running with beastfolk (lizard and cat people), and encountering elf politicians & law enforcement officers. 

 

When the fourth game in the series, Oblivion, was released, I played it compulsively as well.  And with utter abandon.  One of my friends was at my house one day, watching me play the game as my character (an Orc brute) crushed enemies with a sword and an axe, generally destroying everyone or thing in his path.  My friend was mortified.  And here I was, laughing raucously and swearing at the characters and the creatures as my Orc annihilated them.  Not too characteristic of a peaceful, friendly guy in his early 40s. 

 

Skyrim, the fifth game in the series was released a couple of weekends ago.  The Awesome Son and I were beyond excited.  Anyone who plays the series was also probably foaming at the mouth before the date.  Since the game is a single-player one, my son and I cannot play at the same time.  But that is no matter.  He and I shared adventure stories from the previous two games. 

 

Both he and I took a vacation day on the release date of Skyrim.  I traveled to Louisiana to spend the weekend with him and the Fiancée.  He and I played all weekend, in shifts of two-hour turns in front of his huge TV screen (talking about total game immersion).

 

Our gaming style said a lot about our personal styles.

 

• My son’s character of choice was a Nord, sorta like a Viking, big and brawny.  The son’s style?  Crushing enemies.  Running through dungeons and obliterating the undead, picking and choosing which chests and containers to check for treasure.  Running all over the landscape, slaughtering any hostile animal or human.  The Awesome Son is a gusto kinda guy.
• My character was a Wood Elf, short and slight.  My style?  Sneaking past enemies.  Creeping through dungeons and picking off enemies with a bow, checking every container for treasure.  Cutting a wide berth around any aggressive being.  Harvesting ingredients for potions from flowers and plants.  The Queer is a slower moving kinda guy (as least in relation to my exuberant son).

 

The weekend flew past.  Finally Sunday morning, I was brought back to reality.  I received a message for My Extraordinary Nephew mentioning that I hadn’t posted to my blog in quite a while.

 

So here I am.  Back to reality for a while.  Resolved to only play Skyrim one hour a day.  Everything in moderation.  Even diversion.

 

On the drive back to Houston , I was alert.  Checking the roadside for sources of alchemical ingredients, watching the horizon for saber-toothed tigers, checking the skies for dragons.  I probably will have to push toward reality with a bit more might.

(P.S.  I've logged in almost 70 hours playing this game in less than a month now.   See you at the Asylum)

Watch Your Mouth...

Suddenly I’m swearing like there’s no tomorrow.
 

The Beastie Boys just released a new CD, The Hot Sauce Committee, Part Two.  

Mainly, I've been listening to nothing but that.  If you know the Beastie Boys’ style, you’ll know that they might inspire me to sling the F-word all over the place.  And I’ve been cutting it loose.  In public, during work, at home … you name it, I’ll MF it.

Believe that this is not standard-operating-procedure for me.  I was raised a good Southern Baptist boy.  I remember as a child one night my dad came home from work and pronounced that my mom’s cooking that evening tasted “like sh*t.”  I was mortified.

Swearing is one of the first rites of passage for many of us.  I could remember how odd the cuss words felt in my mouth as I first learned to say them.  But I got most of them out and into the air.  Even then, I didn't much enjoy the process.

My best friend loves the F-bomb.  But I think she is trying to wean herself from using it too much. I do have a tendency to agree with her that sometimes the word is necessary for accentuating a sentence properly.

Then I look at some of the great songs that have great swear lines:  “Long Shot” by Aimee Mann, “Let’s Pretend We’re Married” by Prince, “Play Guitar” by John Mellencamp, just to name a few.  (You’ll notice that each of these songs is quite a few years old.  Songs with swears were staggering back in the day.  Now they’re so commonplace, the swears are hardly noticed).

One of the funniest things that ever happened to me?  I worked in a record store back when I was in my late 20s / early 30s.  One day, I loaded the CD changer with five discs, selecting as one of them Whatever and Ever Amen by Ben Folds Five.  I play piano and enjoyed the arpeggios in the song, "Brick".  Randomly, "Song for the Dumped"  came up and into the second line of the lyric, Ben Folds yells “F*** YOU TOO!”  and then suddenly follows that up with “Give me my money back, you b*tch!”  Imagine store clerks and managers running in dead heats toward the sound system, stunned parents covering the ears of young children, teens snickering with hand-covered mouths.

I know that I’ll need to rein in my rogue mouth a bit.  I expect that I’ll be blessed with grandkids one day (only if my son is totally on board for that).  I don’t want to set a bad example.  As expressed many times before, my son is awesome.  I almost never swore in his presence when he was a child, and consequently I rarely hear him swear.

I’m especially frustrated at work right now.  I am not getting enough sleep.  So many things in life seem up in the air.  So I'm swearing casually and frequently right now.

I’ll not blame it on music.  I’ll not blame it on the media.  I’ll not blame it on my friends.

I’ll just try harder to control my mouth.

Life will get MFing better.

Memorial Day Madness

This past weekend was a big waste.  Plus it was a holiday weekend.  A big wasted holiday weekend.  For many, Memorial Day is celebrated by the year’s first trip to the beach.  The Man and I didn’t leave Houston.

OK, the weekend wasn’t a complete wash.  The Man and I did catch a couple of movies (and we rarely go to the cinema).  We went to see “Bridesmaids” on Saturday.   He cracked me up by saying that he and I would be the only guys in the theater who were not attending with a girlfriend/wife.  He wasn’t entirely right, though; another couple of guys entered the theater (without women), and he and I elbowed one another and giggled.  Yes, we are so mature.  The lady sitting next to me in the theater checked her voice mail in the middle of the movie.  I wanted to grab the phone from her and chunk it across the room.  I was a bit irritable. 

We also saw “Thor” on Sunday.  I’d seen the movie with my son during my last trip to Louisiana.  But it was a fun movie.  I like any of the Marvel Comics movies and can watch them over and over.  In the middle of the movie, a man in the front of the theater took a call and talked in his normal (loud) voice.  I wanted to walk up to him, grab his phone, and chunk it across the room.  I was a bit irritable. 

After leaving the cinema on Sunday, I agreed to go shopping with The Man.  Let’s make it clear:  he usually does all the shopping for the house.  As a rule, I reserve the word “hate” for things that absolutely sicken me.  I hate shopping.  I stumbled around the store with him, grumbling and being generally bratty.  Shopping makes me irritable. 

He keeps his shopping list in his cell phone.  At one point, he said “I need a little help here.  Can you hold my phone and name off what we need?”

I just came back with: “I can push the shopping cart instead.  I’ve been doing that since I was around eight…”

He just rolled his eyes.

I then moved quickly around the aisles, chatting crazily and waving my hands dramatically.  Suddenly he said, “Why don’t you go get some beer, and I’ll meet you in that aisle?”

I laughed and asked, “Getting enough of me?”

He simply smiled. 

By the time we arrived at the check-out, The Man looked rather tired.  Poor guy.

Monday, I did yard work and stayed out of his way … well, mostly.  Later that evening (a bit too late to sensibly go), I decided to head out to the gym.  But not before, I ranted fifteen minutes on a completely meaningless subject.  He finally said, “You are doing a little projecting here.  Why don’t you go work-out?”

I did.

At the gym, I sent him a text.  “It must be challenging to have a crazy partner…”

He sent back.  “Sometimes challenging, always rewarding”

“Exhaustingly entertaining.  Well, ‘entertaining’ is not the right word.  Unavoidable?”

He texted, “Are you working out?”

“On the treadmill.  It’s difficult texting while walking on a 15 degree incline.”

“I’ll bet.”

When I got home, he was at his desk.  “Wow,” I said. “You are still up, but it sure looks as if you shouldn’t be…”

He laughed.  “I’m headed to bed.  I’m tired.”

I showered off the gym sweat, and then jumped on top of the covers of the bed.  He turned over and smiled.  “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“I’m all pumped up from the gym … plus I’m a bit manic.”

He laughed.  “Really…?”

[At least, I am not running around the Texas Medical Center:  no shirt, no shoes, no socks, no sense … just a pair of white jeans and 180 pounds of psychosis.  That story will follow one day...]

“I’m going to write for a while.”

He smiled again.  “See you in the morning.”

I waved at him, as I jumped off the bed and reflected his smile.

It’s not easy living with someone who has bipolar disorder.  It’s not easy living with bipolar disorder.  Life is not always a trip to the beach.  But life is also not a big waste.

I'm Feeling It, Cheryl

I've been goofing off.  Well, that's not necessarily true.  It's just better than offering up an excuse for not posting.


I could say

• I can't find the spirit to write:  I've been a bit depressed (You'd shoot that down, if you had read this)
• I'm too distracted and grumpy to write:  I've quit smoking (There will be an upcoming post on this Hell, for sure.)
• I've no time:  I'm working out at the gym five nights a week (I wrote about this here)
• I've no time (I know that I've already used this excuse):  I've starting walking my dogs again, instead of just letting them run around aimlessly in our back yard. (Luke and Casper could totally bust me on this if they could talk - I've only done this once in the past week).
• I'm taking care of my Inner Child:  I got a new video game The Sims Medieval and have had my head crammed in my computer screen (playing, instead of focusing on the three Rs of blogging:  Researching, Reading, and wRiting).

So it's all about choice.  I guess I've not been prioritizing correctly.  And I've slacked a bit.

I try to post at least once a week.  And technically, I missed this week by one day.  But, ignore those points listed above.  As my Mom would have said.  "If you are looking for an excuse, any of those is a good one."

So now, I will just leave you with one of my favorite songs from the wry Cheryl Wheeler.  This tunes sums up the way I'm feeling today.  And the way a lot of us may feel.

Unworthy by Cheryl Wheeler

If you know of another song that expresses the same type of sentiment, please let me know.  I will use it the next time I'm goofing and not writing.

Peace,

Jason AKA The Queer Next Door

The Onions Are Watching the Kings on Pluto!

Surfing the web to cure my boredom, I came across a site that generates random sentences.  I had to refresh the page about eleven times before I came across something that was somewhat amusing.  And even "The Onions Are Watching the Kings on Pluto!" barely qualifies.

I then surfed on to another site where a random question was posted:  “Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4.”  The book?  The Dhammapada.  The line?

        We are what our deep, driving desire is.

What are the chances...? (My fight with fatalism continues).

My deep, driving desire?  I achieved it simply by becoming a father.  Doesn’t sound like much of an impressive goal, does it?  Oh, but it was and is.  What I wanted most in life was to be a dad (I can only imagine that many other guys feel the same). But when I realized long ago that I was gay (in those days when gays and lesbians were not allowed to adopt),  the thought of having children of my own seemed far-fetched.

So some may laugh and say, “You can’t build a life on being a father.”  Well, maybe.  It’s a lot of fun to try.  I know enough not to crowd my adult son.  I mostly leave him be and let him initiate contact.  I’ll call if I haven’t heard from him in a week or so.  But the best way to get his attention?  Random texts.  For example: 

I knew he was excited about seeing an upcoming film.  I was at the gym and saw an ad for the movie on the TV.  I sent him a two-word text. 

“SUCKER PUNCH!”

He sent back:

“LOL.  Ur weird, Dad.”

Yesterday, apropos of nothing, I sent:

“YOU ROCK!!!”

This morning I got: 

“You rock :-P”

To which I replied,

“I’m lining ‘em up like ass cracks.”

He just came back with

“Ur bizarre, LOL.  Good morning, Dad.”

Surprisingly, in the midst of all this mature modeling that I provide, he’s turned into quite a responsible adult.  In the future, I hope Random-Gramps doesn’t scare his children.

(but I'm not the only one who does it...)

Bathroom Instruction

At the office today, this sign was taped to the mirror of the men’s restroom on our floor.

I was pretty sure that the cleaning lady did not post this message for us guys.  Upon returning to my desk, I immediately sent an e-mail to one of my co-workers:

Thanks.  Blunt, but effective.

The reply:

How’d you know it was me?

My explanation:

Well, if anyone knows truck stop bathrooms…

His comeback:

            That’s offensive.  You know I prefer roadside parks.

You have to appreciate this kind of camaraderie.  My friend posts on my “regular” Facebook page occasionally.  At the end of his comments, he’ll call me “bitch” and “faggot,” (yes, he’s gay himself). I wince with the knowledge that my family and hometown friends might see the crude comments.  But I never squelch him.  He has to be himself, and I respect that.

It’s not that I don’t provoke him.  Almost every morning, I sneak up behind him and slide my middle finger in front of his face.  Juvenile.  Well, of course.  Maybe we are trying to get over the gruesome fact that we are both in our forties.  Maybe we never grew up and are Peter Pans navigating the corporate world.  Either way, our antics make the workday go faster.

Furthermore, neither of us is leaving hemorrhoid pad packages in the restroom.

I Got The Papers On You

Going to a party!

The birthday of my sister happened earlier in the week, so we’re getting together today for fried chicken and ice-cream cake with some pool time to boot.

  

Now to be totally honest, she’s not my sister.   But she is.  We’ve both got the family insanity (but good).  She’s threatened to kill me (on more than one occasion – and truly meant it).   We tease each other relentlessly and laugh our butts off about it (my partner laughs along – her partner thinks we are both insane).

When we first met – about a million years ago – I liked her instantly.  She has a sharp tongue, bottomless eyes and (holy moley!) freckles (yes, I’m a fool for freckles – The Man has ‘em).  She and I hit it off pretty well and hung out together quite a lot.

 

She’s a master of subtlety (she kinda has to be – her partner is the mistress of directness).  I dated a guy for almost a year.  Toward the end, I absolutely knew that the partner completely hated the guy.  “I’m so glad that is over.”  She sighed when the relationship screeched to a halt. 

I turned to my Sis, “Did you like him?”

She smiled sheepishly “Not really…”  Wow, she was good.  She never let on.

Now I don’t want to paint the picture that she is covert and sly, she is old-school South.  Her mother is from an old New Orleans family, so my sis was “raised right.”  I was amazed the first time that I gave her a present … and I received a “thank you” note.  Seriously?  A “thank you” note?  Wow, I must be an ungrateful SOB, because I don’t believe that I’ve ever sent a “thank you” note for a birthday present in all my life.  (I think she is the extraordinary one here, not me).

She’s a collection of contradictions:

• she gets up early for exercise; she loves to sleep in.
• she says that she doesn’t like people; she has more friends than anyone that I know.
• she’ll come across harder than nails, then gets all teary-eyed when I tell her how much she means to me.

So, Happy Birthday, Sis … I adopted you.  I think I’ve got the papers in the glove-box of my truck.  You know … that truck that we two knuckle-heads used to pull up a palm tree in your back yard.  They should really keep us separated …

LOST...That About Sums It Up

I opened my browser to write my post this evening. Yahoo is my homepage. And on the right-hand side of the page, I see:


TRENDING NOW

1) Dunkin’ Donuts

2) Hole in Space

3) Evangeline Lilly

4) Kristin Chenoweth

5) Cynthia Nixon

6) David Cameron

7) Erica Blasberg

8) Tiger Woods

9) Rhinoceros Escape

10) Lost

Well, OK … hmm. Let me take a stab at this with no research. As I’ve said before, I’m not much for following the news. This could be interesting … or completely idiotic. I guess we’ll find out at the end.

• I’m not sure why Dunkin’ Donuts is trending at #1. Good Coffee, but #1? Dang, there must be some big donut news.
• Hole in Space? I actually wrote a blog on this.  Plus, The Man and I were watching the Discovery Channel last night. There were fascinating programs on Black Holes, The Universe, and Massive Stars. But were that many people watching Discovery Channel last night?
• Evangeline Lilly. Who is that? Never heard of her.
• Kristin Chenoweth. Who is that? I have heard of her. I don’t know why.
• Cynthia Nixon. C’mon…I’m gay. Of course I’ve heard of her. Sex and the City. Did she finally come out? Or did she already do that? (I’m such a current events numbskull ... or just old and forgetful)
• David Cameron. Who is that? (I really need to check these people out after I finish writing this … but I more than likely will not).
• Erica Blasberg. Holy crap! I have no idea who these people are. I must be living in a cave.
• Tiger Woods. WHY?! Is this story still interesting to people?!
• Rhinoceros Escape. Now. Finally. A story I will investigate. (This could be tomorrow's post)
• Lost. I haven’t seen even one episode. I watch American Idol (I’m a nerd). I watch the Simpsons (I’m an adolescent). I watch the Soup (I just have a huge crush on Mankini). 

So …how quickly we’ve established that I may be more than a little out of step with Pop Culture. And somehow my world will keep turning. American Idol comes on in 8 minutes.

See ya…