Midnight Musings

Somewhere, there is a Universe where beards have magical powers and all the different beards have different powers. They wouldn't be like normal beards you could grow, but rather wear like you would wear a hat. One day you might wear the Beard of Storms and another the Wind Whiskers. Something to think about.

There is another Universe where Moms run the world and all of the superheroes and supervillians in this world are also Moms. We'll call it the Mommiverse.

In this week's issue, the Mother (pronounced like the insect, the moth, +er) goes up against Behemom and Mombie! No one ever pronounces the Mother's name correctly and it's a running joke for her entire professional life.

In the Mommiverse, there are lima beans with every meal; bed time is 7:30PM, even in the Summer when the Sun is still out; and all the moms communicate using a made-up language, possibly based on Italian, but maybe not. Meatballs always have yellow raisins in them and will be served with a sauce made from grape jelly and chili sauce; don't ask any questions!

It is 11:39PM and I want to call this entry "Midnight Musings" so I will write until midnight for authenticity's sake.

On an ocean world, deep below the surface, a massive system of gears and clockwork tick away unbeknownst to the island dwellers above. One night, an alien craft arrives and contaminates the seas, causing sudden and horrible mutations in the sealife. The island inhabitants are terrorized by aquatic abominations while the kind and telepathic whales of the emerald waters try to fight the aberration and protect the ancient machine that created their world. Will they purify the Great Sea and save the surface dwellers while protecting their secret?

I need a snack. Bad.

My baby made me tuna salad with jalapeno hummus and avocado instead of mayo and some other secret ingredients (celery). Put that on some toast. Mm mm, bitch. The New York Times called it "[a] tuna tour de force."

Fin-sational. Two flippers up. We were stuffed to the gills. Somebody stop me.

Goodnight now. Sleeps are upon me, you sweet bacons.

the Community is Suffering

A note left in the suggestion box at my job:

"I protest the discontinuation of frozen onion rings. I come here to buy a steak and onion rings. If no onion rings, no steak!"

This is maybe a week after a woman demanding organic rotisserie chickens with herbs said without the aforementioned chickens "the community is suffering". This is obviously a person that has never experienced suffering or doesn't know the meaning of the word.

These are the same people that characterize the absence of their favorite flavor of Halo Top as an "outrage". Human trafficking is an outrage. An out-of-stock Salted Caramel gelato is a minor inconvenience, at best.

Retail is more challenging than people think. It takes every fiber of my willpower to hold my tongue sometimes.

I wake up at 6AM and lay in bed wondering if this is really my life or if I woke up in someone else's body. There is a paper plate with corn chip fragments on it and a glob of congealed cheese dip. No, it's definitely my body.

I hit snooze until I can't hit it anymore. Perhaps a meteor will hit Earth today and I won't have to go in. I turn on the TV while I brush my teeth. A mattress ad comes on Hulu, and it says I spend approximately a third of my life in bed. I wonder how much of my life I spend at work, but the thought is too depressing so I start to run the shower.

First the cleanser, then the exfoliator, then the trance. I close my eyes as the hot water runs over my body. Other than bed, this is my favorite place to be. I scrub my body with a whipped soap that smells like an oatmeal cookie and for a moment I feel good. I realize that time dissolves when I'm in here with my fancy soaps and my scented oils and soon I have to leave the comforting warmth of the hard water. Toner, serum, moisturizer. I look better than when I woke up, but I still feel the same. I smile in the mirror, practicing for later when I'll have to do this over and over again even though I don't mean it once.

Things are sure to get better. I just need to be patient. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep smiling.

Tomorrow is another day.

Sweet and spicy, just like grandma...

I know a thing or two about grandmas. You might say I'm a grandma expert.

Hello, my name is David, and I'm a Male Grandma. I feel better already.

My special abilities are thoughtful gifts and soup. I am beloved of animals and babies. I know my way around a garage sale. I strongly believe that food solves most problems. I require hugs to maintain my magic. Grandma Magic.

What does any of this have to do with the McDonald's commercials other than repeated and deliberate use of the word "grandma"? I won't answer that or any of your other questions, Becky.

I've often been described as motherly. At first, I was insulted by this. My latent masculinity programming would automatically go on the offense. Motherly? Excuse you? The Masculinity Protocol doesn't allow for comparisons to any female characteristic, least of all that of a mother. As I grew and matured, I came to realize that being compared to a mother wasn't an insult. The people that were saying it were people close to me, so their intent was not to ridicule or emasculate me. I'm caring and empathetic like a mother. A compliment. Never been good at taking those. Where was I going with this?

I notice when people get haircuts. This startles some people, especially men. To the straight male mind, when I say "Hey! You got a haircut. Looks good." that translates to "Yo, lemme get that dick".

I dadsplain more than I mansplain. The difference is intent. Dadspaining comes from a place of love and concern. Perhaps you don't know the proper way to remove an engorged tick. Allow me to dadsplain that process to you, as well as the dangers of Lyme Disease. There is an easier way to complete the task you are doing, allow me to give you an unsolicited tutorial on my superior method because I love you. It's not as bad.

I'm working through a lot right now, mentally and emotionally. My Dad passed away on August 10th. I haven't talked much about it. I don't know that I'm going to. I don't know that anything makes any sense. And that's the one thing I know for sure.

Things get weird for me. I'm sure it gets weird for everyone, but I only know from my own perception how weird it gets. Life feels like a movie I'm watching. I feel like a spectator.

Some days, I don't feel anything. I wonder sometimes if my feelings are only the feelings of the people around me and that when I'm by myself I don't really feel anything.

I'm at the beginning of a two week break. I'm not sure what I want to get out of it other than doing some laundry and throwing away a lot of shit. The head-space I'm in right now is uncharted territory for me. Where do I go from here?

I'm trying to keep it sweet and spicy, like grandma. Maybe a little bit more spice than sugar. I want to be a more authentic me, but I'm not sure what that looks like. I don't recognize myself sometimes.

Control is really just the illusion of control. Keep the plates spinning. Figure it out. Don't stop moving.


Day 1. Rest.

Mostly Drivel

Do you ever wake up and wish life was more like a Zoobilee Zoo rerun? I do sometimes. Who wouldn't want Ben Vereen dressed as a leopard narrating their life?

I think about stuff like that all the time. My mind is a virtual wasteland of nostalgia and mottled memories.

* * *

I've been reading through some of my old composition notebooks to see if there is anything worth while. In the middle of a short Resident Evil fanfic, I wrote this: "Sometimes I catch myself pretending I'm a real teenager."

* * *

Did you know:
As a child, I had a one-legged lesbian neighbor that moved to Budapest? True story.

 * * *

Me: Mom?

Mom: [from the living room] What?!

Me: The microwave popcorn didn't work.

Mom: Good! We'll mail it to Orville Redenbacher so he can shove it up his ass!

* * *

Uptown Jackie Red + Midtown Jackie Green = Downtown Jackie Brown

* * *

Can you, in good taste, use a white lighter after Labor Day?

* * *

Put a little lift in your day. Try new caffeinated Kotex.

* * *

Me: Amy, can you pass the salt?

Amy: Uh, Pokémon, what's the magic word?

Me: [pause] Vagina?

Amy: [passes me the salt]

* * *

"There are no more oil-based concealers to conquer." - Alexander the Great

* * *

"In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do."
-from "Divine Songs in Easy Language for the Use of Children", Issac Watts

Inaugural Post, Maiden Voyage, Champagne Bottle Assault

I tend to ramble and generally don't conform to pesky things like sequence. This is done purposely, not to confuse you, dear reader, but rather to break Time down into its basic components...of which there are none.

I'm a scatter-brain. An addle-pate. If I were a Furry, I would be a raccoon.

I'm not sure what this blog is even about. Are you? Why did you come here? We may never know the answers to these questions.

A little bit about me: I'm a cisgender white gay man. I try not to mansplain, but I definitely dadsplain which I don't think is as bad because it means I love you. None of my pants fit right now, so I'm trying to eat more vegetables and less pizza. I'm in a relationship with a sweet man that both delights and enrages me in the same breath. I just had some chia pudding.

I'm also a children's book author, something I never thought I'd be saying. Sure, I wrote a lot when I was young. Mostly sad poems and homoerotic short stories about my classmates, but I probably wasn't alone in that. It wasn't until my 30's that I grabbed an opportunity to participate in a collective writing effort called "The Cardboard Kingdom" organized by gaymous (gay famous, for the laymen) artist and author, Chad Sell. After two years of collaboration, we are looking at a release date of June 5, 2018. Thanks, Knopf!

When most kids were doing normal suburban white people things, I was brewing potions and lip-syncing in the bathroom mirror in my mother's make-up. While my mother was at work, I was choreographing my baby brother, Dylan, to Joan Osborne songs. Pretty standard stuff.

I always wanted to be a writer, but alas, bills needed to be paid and so I was entrenched in retail Purgatory for the better part of  20 years. I learned a lot, mostly how to interface with the general public in an amiable manner.

Some notes on the general public:

1. The General Public is populated mostly by simulated beings whose soul purpose is to inhibit you in one way or another.

2. The General Public cannot be reasoned with and so surrender is usually best.

3. The General Public does not agree with anything you do or say.

4. Happiness and the General Public are mutually exclusive.

5. Avoid the General Public.

My exposure to the General Public is extensive, though in recent years I have receded into a slightly less social paradigm I'm calling "hermit chic". You should try it.

More to come. Mostly drivel.