the straight talk express

This story has been brewing over two or three weeks in my head and now it’s complete. I’ve hit upon what clarifies for me what I’ll call the yin/yang of what bothers straight guys when around or discovering gay guys in the midst. The narrative began when I was watching Prime Suspect 3 with Helen Mirren – she was starring in show not watching it with me. I think this episode was sometime from the late 80s and dealt with murders within the gay community of London. As they were tracking the hunting grounds of the killer in the gay community – the quiet clubs, the party clubs, etc. – one of the veteran officers gives them a rundown on all the joints and their specifics. As he finishes he gets razz'd for his knowledge of gay clubs by the other coppers in his office; right then and there he tells them that he’s gay. A bit later in the show he encounters one of his mates in the restroom and his friend is gobsmacked by the admission and completely put off by him. So, the light that came on above my little head illuminated this idea: straight guys are, in effect, bothered by the fact that the gay guy in the office, at the club, in his golf foursome or anywhere else hasn’t hit on him. The straight guy can’t possibly believe two things a) he should have already known his mate was gay because gay guy mate would surely have hit on him, b) there’s no way a gay guy, like any girl anywhere, wouldn’t find him dashing and attractive. The rub is that he wants nothing to due with his gay acquaintance but he wants nothing to do with it on his own terms: generally something that could be understood to combine a mean-spirited comment and a punch in the face. It makes a great story for him when he tells it while drinking beer in the golf cart with his pals. You may not agree, and that’s fine, but I’ll give you this – you will get the exact same reaction out of a straight guy if there are girls in a room who don’t flirt or coo around him. This aspect is genetic to all men; guys (straight or gay) and girls should certainly find his humor, personality, and feats of strength most interesting. Don’t believe the idea has anything to do with straight guy thinking about gay guy in any gay way, or his wanting to be gay, it’s merely the self-ideal that’s at play. Trust me. I’m right on this one.

That’s all - a little something to ponder after my last entry for the month.

t

dangling participants

On my bus ride to the Metro I noticed a woman sitting peacefully, if unstable, on the front bench with her legs dingle-dangling above the floor. The first time I remember realizing there were these people like this among us was during a training flight way back in the early naughts. I was standing behind the maid of honor from my first wedding (what are the chances?) and realized that while talking with her via headset, every time I asked a question, she stopped typing and used the microphone switch on her headphone cord in order to answer. As some background to the event you need to know that our plane is outfitted with foot switches so you can generally (if not a midget) keep working the keyboard and mouse while talking. Granted, Kat is shorter than most and there was never any hope of her reaching the foot switch even with the Recaro seat all the way down and in. Funny, I thought, as I let her know that I was on to her and then lether know that she was clearly too short to ride this ride. Ha ha ha. Then she turned around and punched me as she was wont to do. I happened to know that when I’m occupying the slippy-slidey seat on the bus I use my feet all the time to prevent sliding into the strange passenger next to me when the #401 driver decides to make a statement while turning…or stopping…or starting. How do folks get through life if they can’t reach the floor? Baffling.

X brought back some potent bleu/Roquefort/gorgonzola dolce/goat/chevre cheese from Barcelona that I melded it into some gnocchi for dinner this evening. This cheese was of such import (get it? import…) that she decided it would be best to hand-carry it for the return flight. Think about that for a moment. When you come through customs they always ask you things like “do you have any food with you? Maybe an aged wheel of cheese or some such?” The correct answer, cheese terrorist or not, is “Why, no. I don’t have any cheese and I will thank you to not insinuate that I’m a Democrat.” She decided to play honest and truthed up about the wheel. For those that know X you’ll be perfectly aware of what happened next: her scowl as she stood in a second line reserved for the honest and the dishonest. When she gets to the front of the line, after a group of others that had millions of suitcases to inspect, the customs agent says to her, “Do you have food in your bag?” To which little miss sunshine replies, in a cooperative tone, “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” It did not go well.

my buddy and yours

I know it was only days ago that you were forced to watch some music – listen to some music – but you’re getting another dose, like it or not. It’s another favorite of mine doing a song that apparently doesn’t yet have a title but that’ll probably be on his new CD sometime this year. The three guys in the studio Buddy Miller on guitar, Phil Madeira on the B3, and Don Was on the big bass are a massive historic compilation of talent. With that said, I’m putting it up just you can listen to Buddy sing. Enjoy.

peering behind the curtain

The Sitemeter program that sits on my blog lets me peer into my visitor details that include things like location, referring page, etc. In fact, I can track the endless work locations of the Wondertwins’ cousin as she gets around the state of Vermont. The most interesting aspect of Sitemeter is that I can view the Google search inputs and results that refer the unknown and unwashed to my page; the rest of you that come of your own free will are uninteresting. Here’s a gathering of search queries from the last week or so:

paddle room
I get a lot of these. People have great interest in Paddle Rooms, probably British.

how to drive when pulling a car out of the ditch
I think Christian is simply trying to make himself look better.

slobberbone slippage blogspot
My favorite bar band of all time.

redlands palomino
My favorite UK-based americana band.

polenta paddle, 1985
This is confusing. I can see polenta but the paddle and year entry are very strange.

"drickey" Omaha
Mr. Drickey was my Literary Masterpieces teacher when I was a high school sophomore.

what happens when you give dusclops the reaper cloth
This is Pokemon stuff – this is what happens when you steal vocab from wikipedia.

school paddle haircut
What?

he went to shit and the hogs ate him
Of course he did….

padilla chronology
A little politics

disenfranchised voters who can vote because no id
More politics

cake or death reno blog
Cake or Death!

t

construction

You may have noticed the massive layout changes at The Paddle. It's been driven by X regenerating her blogging activities last week and employing the folks over at Vox.com. I tinkered with the site imagining a new home, even managing to import most of my archive, but decided to say at Blogger because I'm more comfortable with the set-up and techniques. What I did realize while tinkering at Vox was that a white background and black text is much easier on the eyes so I've set upon a remedy and new look. All the stuff will be here, and in my desired format, in a few days.

X also let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I can't continue to steal the affairs of her life and incorporate them into my entries...I'm not scared. I take what I take and I do what I do. So there.

my gal bob

X is off at her Oscars party down in Alexandria. It's hosted by a classmate from G'town and there are costume requirements and contests. I gave her my picks for the awards after which she eyed me and said two things.

"You were nowhere close last year." and,

"I can't vote for Daniel Day-Lewis."

Apparently she cares little for Mr. Day-Lewis. I very simply relayed to her that after seeing There Will Be Blood I knew the outcome of this category. If she wants to be crazy she should vote for Juno for Best Picture - I think it will win. [Writer's note: I just missed on animated feature. I picked Persepolis but Ratatouille won. Not much of a surprise - Rat was good but Persepolis is clearly the better movie.] I finally traipsed off to see No Country for Old Men this afternoon and as much as I thought is was cinematic genius I'm sticking with Juno in the upset. The Coen Brothers will always be too much for the Academy and the success of Fargo was as good as it will get for them. No Country was full of the best acting I've seen in years but it'll get snubbed by the Academy - only Javier and the Coens (as directors) will win.

Earlier in the day I told X that she should dress as Cate Blanchett doing Bob Dylan for the big party. When I came home later in the day - after watching No Country - I saw the wardrobe on the bed that screamed Dylan. We went to Target for some Rayban knockoffs and she set her hair in tight curlers for the full effect. When she walked out earlier this evening she was a crazy dead-ringer for Cate as Dylan. Of course, she claimed it as independent thought...

Here's a library story whilst waiting for better award categories on the blogs. X went to pick up a book that she'd reserved online. (For those that are unawares, the Arlington County Libraries are greatly advanced - you reserve on-line and pick-up the book at the counter after notification via e-mail.) Anyway, X tries to pick up her book (without her actual library card but through the use of her Virginia driver's license) which is reserved under a name similar to Haute-Coutere yet not listed under Haute-Coutere. So she offers the Sunday library lady this "I think my name might be under HauteCoutere in your computer...without the hyphen." This draws a TSA glance and terrorist checklist withdrawal. She's told they are only suppose to use actual names from identification cards - how could Haute-Coutere be the same as HauteCoutere. Maybe Mr. HauteCoutere (Christine HauteCoutere!) is tapping into the Arlington County Library awaiting (and stealing!!!!) a book hold on some crappy English mystery novel. The insanity of it all.

I seem to have missed best Supporting Actress - but since I totally dig Tilda Swinton I'm okay with it. I'm signing off for the evening.

Love to all.

t.

coffee, crows, and comics

The weather was a blanket of fog and the setting in of a sleety, snowy mix on Friday so I decided to take the Ballston-place skyways from the Metro to the Mall. As one might expect, there are many a Starbucks about the commuter center of Ballston. What I realized as I entered building number one is that a man had just left that Starbucks and was heading back up to his office in building number two, the National Science Foundation (NSF) - which is across the first skyway. I immediately wondered what the difference in travel might be from the NSF to this, the first Starbucks and the second Starbucks across the second skyway in the mall. I backtracked to the door and began a pace count: 127 paces from coffee to the NSF door. At that point I started over and stopped, mid-crosswalk when I hit my second 127 paces. It ends up that unless you jaywalk and sneak through some bushes it's an extra 94 paces to the further Starbucks. I plan further research because I suspect there's a backdoor out of the NSF that might lead to some sciencers actually using the further (but closer...) Starbucks. I don't even like Starbucks, if you're getting that impression, it's all merely a crazy man with his iPod thinking too much.

Here's you're biannual (or semi-annual) Old Crow Medicine Show video link. This is from last summer when they performed on Austin City Limits - you get a wonderful version of Wagon Wheel with good camera work and no crazy crowd screaming over the lyrics.

I stumbled into a part of D.C. this morning that I hadn't been through with any extensive walking before - it's a revitalization in progress area around 14th St. NW and S St. A few of the anchors in the area are the Black Cat music club, Arena Stage, and Cafe Saint-Ex. A number of boutique shops and other locally-owned businesses are beginning to populate that three or four block stretch of 14th St. I had headed down to find a comic book shop, Big Monkey Comics, so I could buy some more graphic novels or comics for G. He seems to be pretty happy reading fantasy and adventure stories and graphic novels are a great way to keep everyone's interest. The guy manning the till knew just what I was looking for - most of the novels are marketed to a much older audience - and we spoke at length about the popularity of genre. It was exactly the kind of customer service you hope for but rarely encounter.

I came home after a stop at Eastern Market only to find that Corey had taken the WonderTwins to a jewelry shop. I've no idea exactly what he might have been thinking; maybe there was a frying pan to the head or a trail of bacon. How would one get roped into that mission? I also brought home two bunches of mint because X has purchased an old crazy silver tea set and wants to make Moroccan mint tea. When I told her I'd nabbed some mint she clapped her hands like a baby seal but suddenly stopped,"We'll need gunpowder green tea to do it right," she said. My thoughts exactly...


t

...or are you just happy to see me?

I hear that the Virginia legislature passed a law that allows citizens with concealed weapon permits to carry their concealed guns into restaurants with the proviso that they don’t consume alcohol. Here are a few excerpts from the Richmond paper:

Delegates who favored the bill said current law allows a person to carry a handgun into a restaurant or bar if the weapon is not concealed and to drink until the restaurant cuts the person off.

I’m confused on the alcohol aspect of the new bill – or the old bill. Is the legislature concerned about the relationship between guns and alcohol in public places or not? What’s the difference between a concealed gun under my arm and my .44 sitting on the bar in front of me while I slug back Wild Turkey? If my .44 is sitting there, full of bullets and glistening with machismo, and I get irritated about politics or an ACC basketball game, who is going to come over and cut me off? On the other hand, if the gun is concealed then how do they know whether or not they can serve me alcohol?

What I often encounter when packing heat is the endless problem about what to do for lunch. I mean, what if I want some chow but I’ve got my .44 strapped on…what to do? Wait! Harvey has the answer…

Delegate Harvey B. Morgan, R-Gloucester, said the legislation is years overdue. If someone is walking down the street with a legally concealed weapon “and someone says let’s get some lunch, what are you going to do, put it under an ash can?” he asked.

An ash can? I take it Harvey is a smoker and can be found standing outside the Capitol loading dock dragging on a Marlboro. How about this? If you’re “walking down the street” you leave your gun at home. I don’t think you need your magnum when you’re off to Wal-Mart unless, of course, you think there’ll be a need for you to join the militia in a exigent situation in the DVD section.

What I’ve learned while living in Virginia is that this state has an abysmal record on gun law and/or control. It seems that most guns in the District come from Virginia dealers and gun shows that either don’t follow the laws or don’t care. I’m not too hip on what lawmakers down in Richmond might be pondering. Word is that Gov. Kaine will veto the law.


On a lighter note; did everyone see clips of the NBA Slam Dunk contest? I haven’t watched an NBA game for years and I’d long forgotten about the Dunk contest. I don’t think it will ever become what it once was in the days of Wilkens and Jordan but Dwight Howard did everything he could to stun everyone. By the way, Mr. Howard is 6’11” and goes about 285 lbs.

t

i pity the fool

It’s been a week (and some…) since an entry?

Some sleet and snow fell last night and is supposed to return later this evening and into tomorrow AM. Isn’t that a great update on life?

X and her mother spent six days gallivanting around Catalonia Spain and returned safely on Tuesday afternoon. I fetched the weary travelers from Dulles Airport and shepherded them home for a day or two or recovery rest.

There was an interview that occurred somewhere, at some time, last week that involved a very close version of this question-and-answer session:

Panel: So, what kind of hobbies do you enjoy?
Interviewee: I like golf.
Panel: Anything else that interests you?
[pause]
Interviewee: I’m really into UFC, the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

Now, let’s just say that I was a part of the panel for the purposes of reviewing this little nugget of joy. If I was there, and I may or may not have been, the first thing I’m wondering – and asking shortly after my brain stops – is this, “Oh, so you participate in mixed martial arts?” When I define hobby I think about something that is participatory, at a minimum an idea that involves some thought of bodily movement. After the first interview question and answer I would have believed that the interviewee, someone I’ve now dubbed Rampage Jackson, as a member of the great golf-playing segment of our population. Maybe he’s a 15-handicap that enjoys spending his weekend perfecting his short game. After the second question I’d really be impressed because the answer addressed another active and newly interesting hobby – mixed martial arts. Dang! Ol’ Rampage Jackson plays golf on Saturday and then steps into the octagon on Sunday in preparation for his upcoming tussle with Chuck Liddell at UFC 96. That is someone I want in my workplace: golfer and ass kicker. Let’s continue…

Panel: We don’t know much about Ultimate Fighting…sounds interesting.
“Rampage”: Man. I’ll tell you something, I love cable TV.

What? He loves cable TV? That’s a hobby? I can’t believe two things: first, we would fall for the golf and UFC inputs and not think it was actually based on watching those events on TV. Second, who the hell tells an interview panel that they love cable TV (and, apparently, digital video recorders)? I’m keeping that technique in my pocket for any future interviews.

I’m heading into the District this evening for a Steven Breyer get together at the Sixth and I Synagogue. He’s being interviewed by a legal correspondent for The National Review. And let me tell you something, that’s a hobby to pass along during an interview, “I enjoy attending events that peg me as a dork….”

I can live with that.

T.

queen of sandwich

My darling had a little adventure while walking to the Metro yesterday with her sister. She then spent Tuesday night in the hospital haranguing any variety of medical professionals and being tested for everything under the sun, and eventually strong-arming them into releasing her posthaste in the morning. She is fine - she went to school mere hours after discharge. I was very worried when I finally got word from WonderTwin #2 while working the polls yesterday. (The “finally” applies to me not answering my calls while at the polling place not as a reflection of Kt’s considerate behavior in calling…she was wonderful.) Anyway, no need to get into too much detail about the fainting spell, but it is enlightening, funny, and it makes everything seem a little less worrisome when we take at good, long look at testimony put forth concerning the breakfast sandwich, known as the “sandwich” for the remainder of the entry, that was witness to the event.

Kt had made sandwiches for the WTwins to nosh while walking to the Metro – a job often, but not always, fulfilled by yours truly. As X felt the light-headedness coming on whilst walking, talking, and eating, she decided the best thing to do, not the first thing but the best thing (the first being to start kneeling down), was to hand her sandwich to #2 for safekeeping. Based on what I’ve been able to jigsaw together she said something like “I think I might faint…hold my sandwich.” Two areas require consideration: Twin #1’s mindset and Twin #2’s mindset. What X really wanted was to ensure her sandwich’s safety because she was damn well going to want that sandwich when the situation, fainting, and lying about the pavement was resolved. She didn’t hand Kt the sandwich so she could simply throw it away – for shame. What Kt was thinking was that the sandwich could be thrown to the side of the road as her sister fainted to the pavement – I know what you're thinking and how amazed you are.... a sandwich/faint comparison and importance equation – but in that is how you come to understand the Twins. As things sorted and the EMTs loaded her into the wagon, and after Kt had given loving and superior assistance to her sister, she was immediately accosted by the most obvious statement from the newly revived: Where the hell is my sandwich? I’m hungry.

And there it is.

P.S. All laughter about only the sandwich situation is allowed and approved by sandwich fainter.

a little help

I didn’t quite spend enough time on the High 5 in my last entry so I’ll back up and fill in the story. The High 5 project was “the greatest construction feat” (or something like that) in the history of Dallas. It’s a major interchange where US 75 and I-635 meet and it’s a five-level jobber that streamlinesd traffic through what used to be a pretty jammed-up area.

Here’s a before picture:


Here are a few after shots – believe me, the upper road is impressive when you’re heading over at 120+ feet:





They love their traffic and roads down in DFW.

T.

ma! get outta my room!

My brother down Dallas way reminded me of my desire to cover condom shoppes (old-timey vocabulary) and the proliferation, if you will, throughout the strip (ha ha) malls of the City of Dallas and/or Dallas County. My most recent visit was filled with neon signs calling out for big, medium, and small…condoms. I have never seen a condom store – though I imagine missing areas or cities in Europe that offer this strip mall service. My first thought is that Dallas wants nothing more than to control the usage and application of condoms. As background, and those who’ve been to Dallas can vouch for me, they have the most ludicrous law(s) concerning drinking; and nothing goes with drinking better than condoms. The first is the somewhat rudimentary ‘state liquor’ store jackassery. Iowa does it, Minnesota does it – and I find them to be progressive...if that means anything. You can buy beer and wine in groceries but you don’t dare touch the hard stuff. It’s a completely perverse and tax-laden economy – not only will I take your money because you want a shot of Maker’s Mark (and who doesn’t?) but I’ll hit you up for overtaxation and governmental control. I’d almost think the Democrats and big government were involved. Funny enough, it’s the conservative, save you from yourself, taxing governments that run this sham. And now I’ve got to deal with condoms? Even though I can't find the city code I know in my heart, deep down in my soul, that Tom "*(^%#@" DeLay is behind this teenage mentality. Anyone named DeLay should...nevermind. The second bit of junk is the ‘private club’ mentality – you can’t drink in the City of Dallas (and any number of smaller cities within an hour of the Big D) unless you are a “member” of the club. This entails you paying $1 to fill out a form that signifies you are a 'member' of the ‘club’ that actually covers ALL of Dallas. Think about this. If I pay my $1 once, and carry the crappy little card around with me everywhere I go, then I can drink for a whole year via spymaster use of golden $1 card. NOBODY carries that thing around all year – you throw it in the garbage. The next time out…you pay another dollar. You can laugh at me for not being diligent enough to carry around my dry cleaning receipt but the fact is I’ll just pay the money to shut them up. It’s like "free returns”….nobody uses them. It’s the process that's gunked up – not me.

So…I’ve paid my dollar at TGI Friday’s, I’ve stopped at the State Liquor Store for some Wild Turkey, and now I’m thinking I’ve got my date right where I want her. All I need are a few…condoms. I can’t actually finish the story because it’s too stupid to imagine myself buying some Strawberry-flavored from Tom DeLay.

The other thing you get in the DFW metroplex is road talk. I’ve tested the waters with the MedTech in the Hosptial thusly: Is the High-5 done?

“Dang if it ain’t done!”

I headed to the DFW tourism office and snatched me up a few postcards showing the High-5. Here’s a link to the Flickr photoset of the High-5…it's over 1,100 pictures and I KNOW it isn't some contractor...it's the damn High-5!!!

I got through the damn High-5 in 26 minutes today. I used to be stuck in the pile of pig slop for 67 minutes….”

Here’s a shot at the Superdelegate issue from an insider. Any Super-Ds who jump now – for both sides – should be barred. They're there for a reason. Sorry, that was a politics jump.

Here’s my chant: Nebraska, Louisiana, Washington, Maine, Maryland, D.C., and Virginia…

T.

P.S. I apologize to all the mothers for my condom talk. It's the High-5!

run kick step run

In my desire to give dap to those commuters who go above-and-beyond the call of commuting duty, I submit the following event. It occurred at the Dunn Loring Metro station yesterday morning as I was heading towards the up-and-away elevators. The D.C.-bound train was already fully in the station as a woman was running down the escalator, full of eternal hope. She must have been about half-way down, just out of my view, when I suddenly spy a black, low-heeled, slip-on shoe flying through the atmosphere of Metro platform. It tumbled to a stop about 15 feet beyond the end of the elevator. Fortunately, that area of the platform was nearly empty since the running crowd was already a ways ahead of her. The period of time between the appearance of the flying jutti and the appearance of the shoe-kicker was barely long enough for one to sort out what was happening. She bounded down the trailing third of steps, appearing to hop off three or four sets from the end, skipped towards the shoe, twisted her right foot just so, and slipped the mischievous item back on while still at a full trot. I didn’t turn to see if she made the train, I heard the telltale ding-ding of doors closing, but if all’s right in the World she made it.

Former Governor (former Senator, former Representative) George Allen is on the WAMU Politics Hour this afternoon. Exactly how anyone believed that he could actually be President is frightening. In fact, his spewing of the party line concerning the War on Terror, activist judges, and all the other junk that flows from his portion of his party is comical. I’m sure there are tons like him in the Senate but I’m thankful he’s moronic enough to have dug his own grave last Summer.

If only my neighborhood had nicknames as great the newly indicted Gambino Family…

T.

operatic jungle

Over the weekend the WonderTwins nattered through a color conversation while nibbling on fruit and nuts and swinging about the jungle canopy. Being a jungle bear, I simply rolled my eyes, nudged the other sane animals, and laughed at the unrecognizable language. The folk over in #1 decided to fancy up their dining and living rooms with shelves, fancy paints, and sunshine. The dining room has already been painted and the chatter on Sunday was about color palettes for the living room…oh, baby! WonderTwin #2 opened the auction with a color visual: a scarf. This scarf appeared to us on the jungle floor as something we’d call green. There was much worry between the Twins as to the greenness of said scarf, particularly when that green might be applied to walls. Twin #1 blurted out that the color might be too “sage-y” or “minty” and might appear washed out – maybe a jade would be more appropriate. “Oh, interesting…” intones Twin #2 as she takes another bite of mango and swings off to another vine. Who knew the depths of green, especially in the jungle? I began to ponder my own rods and cones and pictured that maybe a sea green, Islamic green, celadon, or a nice harlequin might explode the design plan to grandness. Instead, I just threw a busted coconut shell up into the branches to scare off the primates and then ran off to the lagoon for a swim.

Super Tuesday seemed to decide little. All the campaigns will rain down on Virginia, Maryland, and D.C. beginning today. I think Obama is stronger in the Potomac/Chesapeake area than Clinton and with an essential deadhead I’m expecting a goodly turnout at the new voting precinct that I’m charged with for the first time next Tuesday. The Virginia primary is open, every voter can choose which ballot they would like (Republican or Democrat) regardless of registered party (Virginia doesn’t register by party) or inclination. That may make a big difference as ‘republicans’ and ‘democrats’ may swap ballots in order to avoid candidates they can’t stomach.

X has booked opera tickets and a hotel in Manhattan for La Boheme in April. I tipped her to the performance of “Angela Gheorghiu, who sings Mimì at the Met…” She loves Ms. Gheorghiu so we’re heading up in mid-April. I’ve never been to NYC so a two-night, one-night tip will be exciting.

Hey to all.

T.