Vacations, Vacations

So much has happened in the last few weeks, I don't know where to start. Partner and I just got back from a trip back East to Ptown. Actually, I was on the Cape for a few days before he arrived; I was driving up to Kingston to help paint the exterior of my sister's house. I lost two days because of rain, but I used the second of those to paint a bathroom that she'd wanted done for a long time. Because I have no fear of being on ladders, she really wanted me to paint the highest peaks, while my dad (and later Partner) agreed to paint the lower portions. Eventually, we hope, she and her husband will finish what we couldn't get done.

Partner came in on Friday, spent a night on the Cape with my folks, then he and I drove out to Ptown for Bear Week. We stayed at Tucker Inn on Center St which turned out to be a completely wonderful surprise. That evening they served their guests free appetisers and drinks for a "happy hour" from 4 - 7, something they do every week. We met some nice guys there as well; in fact, everyone who stayed there seemed to instantly become friendly. One of the guys was originally from Portland, so Partner was surprised to see him. It turned out to be a nice weekend.

Monday we drove back to my folks' and my family had a small party for me that night. The next day we drove up to my sister's and painted, then that afternoon Karl, his family, my cousin Ray, his wife, and my cousin Trish and her family came for a nice dinner. All the kids got to run around outside while the adults could have a mini Nantucket-reunion. My brother-in-law was not there (and thus wasn't helping with the painting) because he's on St. Marten's for the month of July working in a piano bar. (My sister and her kids left last Friday to visit him for a couple of weeks - I'd be jealous except tomorrow I'm on my way to Japan!)

The next day Partner and I drove back out to Ptown and stayed for the rest of the week. The Bear run wasn't that great (from our experience, it never is), but during that week we got to see shows by Paula Poundstone, Jimmy James, Varla Jean Merman and Leslie Jordan. All were excellent, but I thought Jimmy had the weaker of the shows. Yes he is an AMAZING singer, but I enjoyed laughing at the other shows more than just listening to his act. (More on the others later...)

We spent Sunday night with the folks and had dinner at a local restaurant. Monday (yesterday) we flew home. It's good to be back. However, tomorrow I fly out to Japan and meet my friend James. We're staying a couple nights in Osaka, then we'll be traveling north eventually to Hokkaido. Should be great, but I most certainly will not get a chance to update this until I return in August...when I'll be 40! No...

Captain, My Captain

It occurred to me that I have a picture of Captain Morgan with the caption "My Captain" (the name of the blog is FirstMate - in case you didn't notice), but I never explained where that came from. I am not THAT much of a lush, despite how it appears.

It all starts with my friend Karl and his mother's time-share on Nantucket. For most of his youth, Karl spent one week in early August on Nantucket with his mom and brother. During high school, Karl invited me and a couple of our best friends to join him that week. It was wonderful. Karl's mom would sleep in the bedroom on the third floor, while the rest of us slept in the bunks on the bottom floor (the middle floor was the kitchen and living room, with one pull-out sofa bed).

The following few years we continued to join him and his mom each summer, culminating in a fateful week when we were all in college. A few of us brought female/girl friends for the week, making the total number of young adults officially too high for that house. Early in the week we were drinking and generally being too loud until finally Karl's mom came downstairs, yelled at us, and told us that we all had to leave the next day. Ouch. (I won't go into the story of how Karl "stole" Pete's friend Jen, and how Pete left on his own without telling anybody.) Without the timeshare, we were effectively banned from the island.

That is, until the following year (or maybe the year after that) when someone got the bright idea of renting a house on the same part of the island as the time-share during that same week. Karl could stay at his mom's (and even host a friend) while the rest of us could have as much fun as we wanted in our own house. Each year someone would arrange to rent a house (usually Pete or my cousin), and each summer we'd have a blast* for that one week.

At some point early on, someone "discovered" Capt. Morgan rum and brought it with them to the island. Soon that became our drink of choice, and the group of us managed to drink more than our fair share. In fact, there exists a picture of some of us standing in front of a fireplace in our house. Along the mantle is lined up most of the booze we consumed that week: two big wine bottles bookended around nine large Capt. Morgan rum bottles - and that wasn't counting the case of Red Stripe beer! Yes, we had our fun.

Instead of relying on whatever glassware might be available in the house, we brought our own plastic cups; rather than go through a ton of them, we decided to label the cups and reuse them. Since we were on an island, and since the Capt. was our drink of choice, someone got the idea of labeling his cup with a nautically-themed nickname. We had a Skipper, a Navigator, a Pirate, a Cap'n (I didn't like that one - I felt there should be only one Captain, no matter how you abbreviated it) and a few others that I can't fully recall. I, of course, was the First Mate. In addition to the nicknames, we also started developing a lingo that went along with the drinking. When we started to drink (or when we first started to feel the drink), we said we had "set sail" with the Capt. If you got a bit sick, we might say that you were experiencing rough waters. If you sailed on another ship (drank something else) and got sick, we might say that the Capt. forced you to walk the plank or that you got keel-hauled. And on and on.

Up until recently, I was still consuming my fair share of Capt's rum. Unfortunately my acupuncturist and I decided that I should try giving up alcohol for awhile and see how that affects me. So far, all I can say is that I want back on the ship! I wasn't made to be a land-lubber...

* As always, I can say that I was never truly happy the whole time I was there. One problem was that my friends were into smoking cigars at night, so everyone would gather on the deck and chat. I didn't like sitting in the cold, nor did I like breathing in the cigar smoke, so I often sat in the house alone. Another problem was that my friends liked to play golf, so they would get up early, play a round, then come back in the late morning. This wasn't so bad for me since I enjoyed sleeping late, but it still made me feel a little apart. Finally, for most/all of those years, my friends didn't know I was gay (or bisexual, since I often had girlfriends during those years), so I felt like I was living a lie with them. They were quickly becoming yuppies, while I felt I couldn't relate.

There's Always a Bigger Fish

Partner and I did work on the yard - and I did trim those hellacious laurels - but we did it all during the weekend.  Finished with a dump run on Sunday, so we can say the task was complete.  Partner also built a platform for three flower pots in the front yard, and today I put down bricks along our walkway.  Things are starting to come together.

At least, in the yard.   Partner and I have been going through a bit of a rough patch lately, although we seem to be coming out of it.  There's no actual arguing or anything, just a fairly cold, forced atmosphere.  It probably all started with me a week ago, when I went through one of my "jags" after playing with his nipples and getting rejected.  I was cold with him, then when I was over it he was cold with me.  The weekend helped warm things up, and that's what I expect will continue to happen.  If not, he goes away on a business trip for a week next week, so I assume 'absence will make the heart grow fonder.'  Honestly, I don't expect anything to come from this; I guess I'm just taking note as sort of an historical record.

Switching gears: in Star Wars I there's a scene when the Jedi and Jar Jar are in a craft underwater, and a large creature tries to eat them.  Instead, a bigger fish eats that one, only to be swallowed by an even larger creature.  Looking out the window, the Jedi (played by Leam Neeson) said, "There's always a bigger fish."

I think that, besides being one of the best lines from that otherwise-lame movie, this line is a wonderful philosophy to live by.  No matter how great we think we are, there's always someone greater.  Or faster.  Or stronger.  Or in better shape.  

Or - as I've come to find out recently - more obsessed.

In previous posts I mentioned my history with and love for This is Spinal Tap.  What I don't think I mentioned was the fat guy that was seated front row center at the most recent concert.  He sang every lyric to every song (at least every time I looked over at him), he carried something which looked like Spinal Tap paraphanalia that he wanted the guys to sign (they didn't), and at the end of the show he waited for the roadies to give him the set list.  While I think having the set list would be neat...really, what's he going to do with it?  I'm just not that obsessed.

Unfortunately, my not being obsessed with - well, with anything, really - means that I've missed out on some limited-edition offers around my favorite things.  In the last month I learned that Cameron Crowe released a vinyl LP edition of the Harold & Maude soundtrack, complete with extra goodies.  I would LOVE to own that, but it was released in very limited numbers last year, so all copies are gone.  How did people even find out about it?  I guess if I were more obsessed, I would track my favorite things every day online, join chat groups about them, make comments on sites like imdb, and scour the web in search for the latest deals.

But no, I just can't do it.  As much as I love my favorite movies, TV shows and music, I just can't get myself worked up enough to compete with the "ultimate fans."  I guess I'll have to be satisfied with loving them in my own quiet, individual way.

LOWes Sucks...and not in the good way!

BearTown 14 was this past weekend. Partner and I enjoyed ourselves and thought the events came off (mostly) without a hitch, but much of it seemed almost too professionally produced. Call it "IBR Jr." One of the biggest problems with the weekend was the bus that they hired. In the past we used a local school bus company, and our friend (and Bears member) Johnny (who works for that company) always volunteered to be our main driver for the whole weekend. This year the committee went with another company, totally excluding that company and our friend. On top of that, the drivers didn't always know where they were going, and I heard one story where a driver got snippy with a guest when he (the driver) was informed that he didn't go where he was supposed to. Johnny never would've done that.


Partner and I just got back from LOWes after buying a small table for our deck. When we got it home, I noticed that the box was sealed with a lot of packing tape, which I told Partner was a "bad sign." Sure enough, after spending 10 minutes putting it together, I realized that one of the parts was defective. I tried fixing it, but then I concluded that, if I broke it, we wouldn't be able to return it, so I stopped. Two things really piss me off about this whole event: 1) the last item I bought at LOWes was also defective and needed returning; and 2) the table looked like it was returned to the store as defective, then the store turned around, repackaged it and tried selling it again. True, I can't be sure about this last part, but the box had at least been opened before, and I can just imagine someone at the store deciding to resell it in the hopes that the next sucker/buyer would try to fix it rather than return it. That really ticks me off, and I don't plan on shopping there again if I can at all help it. (Of course, I hated Amazon at one point and still shopped from them, so who knows?)


I've been on a yard-work kick lately, planting flowers and edging the lawn with bark mulch. I was going to trim some of the laurel hedges around the house, but this experience with the table has taken the wind out of my sails. Now I just want to sit and sulk. Actually, venting like this has been helpful, so maybe I'll get up and do something productive after all...

Sneakin' Out into Obscurity

Last night I went to see Sneakin' Out at the Dirty Duck in downtown Portland. As always, they were brilliant. They leave tomorrow on a short tour opening for Pink Martini, so I told my friends back East to try and see them if possible. I have a feeling that none of them will, but at least I tried.

Before I get back to S.O., I have something to get off my chest. When I say "my friends back east," what I mean is an online posting board that we all belong to. Weird thing is, every time I post something - whether it's D&D related or not - I see that very few people respond and/or even look at what I write. When someone else posts, I swear that there are always more 'views' and replies. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I get the feeling that some people see my name attached to a post and then don't bother to read it. I feel - upset is too strong a word - put off by my friends' lack of attention. Poor me.

ANYWAY, Sneakin' Out is a three-piece instrumental group from Portland, and they are absolutely amazing at what they do. With just a mandolin, acoustic bass guitar, and various percussion instruments (no drum kit per se, but the percussionist plays bongos, xylophones, cymbals and even a typewriter), the band can recreate or interpret songs from any genre. They have two cd's of original material, but every time I see them (usually at the Duck) they play covers from groups like the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath and Ozzy Ozbourne, Deep Purple, Joe Jackson, (a disco group whose name escapes me) and many, many classical pieces - often all woven together. I often think listening to them play would make a great music trivia game: try to name all the different songs and groups that they cover. Only the best could win.

Before the show started, the mandolin player, Dave, got on the mic and asked everyone there to give a round of applause for someone sitting to his left. Everyone clapped. Then, Dave pointed to another person and asked for more clapping. We did. Pretty soon it became clear that he was going around the room and asking for applause by/for everyone. Since there weren't that many people (35?), and since he knew a lot of people there, Dave often named the person he was pointing to ("Give it up for Bob and Mark!"). When he got to me, he got stuck - didn't know my name at all. Typical. I wouldn't have been so surprised except that he and I had just had a conversation outside before the show started, and...oh yeah, we had sex!

A word about the Dirty Duck. This is a dive bar in the truest sense of the word; believe me, it lives up to its name. When I first moved to Portland almost 5 years ago, it was the home bar for the Oregon Bears. We had a couple events there each month, and the last event of the BearTown weekend was held there (which was, incidently, the first time I'd heard/seen Sneakin' Out). At one event, I looked up at the paneled column I was standing next to and saw a couple of cockroaches descending the wall towards me. Yecch. Also, the men's bathroom is notorious for its smell of urine. No matter what they tried to do (if anything), about halfway through any event the acrid smell of urine would waft up out of the urinal and into the bar. Last night when I got there, I could swear that I smelled vomit. Since no one else seemed to mind too much, I wasn't sure if it was me. Sure enough, later in the evening I smelled piss - and I was at the opposite side of the bar near an open door!

At one point, the new manager James came over to talk with another guy sitting next to me. Without a glance in my direction, James put his back to me and started chatting. I wouldn't have minded so much except that: a) I really wanted to (over)hear what he was saying but couldn't because he was facing away, and b) just the night before James personally gave an award to Partner for being such a great supporter of the community. After that, you'd think I'd earn at least a nod in my direction! I keep trying to tell Partner: without him there, I am persona non grata in this town.

Breaks

Once again there was a nice break since the last time I posted. In that time, the Congress has seen fit to address gun control (sort of) by including a gun provision in a bill that had NOTHING TO DO WITH guns in any way. Yet another reason why I don't like/trust the government. If someone does get shot in a national forest, I hope they (or their surviving family) sue each and every politician who voted for that law. That would make 'em think twice...maybe.

Anyway, there was a break since last posting in part because Partner and I went to San Francisco and Paradise, CA for six days. Luckily I had heard the long-standing fact that SF weather in the summer can be very cold, so I dressed for it. I almost felt sorry for the other tourists in shorts and light clothes who were shivering under the fog-filled sky. One little kid in a restaurant said it was supposed to be warm, to which the surly waitress replied, "Why, because it's California? In San Francisco it's cold in the summer!" That'll teach him.

The Friday night before we left for our trip, we were at a bar talking to a friend. I told him how I had given up alcohol for a few weeks and was trying to stay on a diet that had me eating foods specifically beneficial for my blood type. I told him I was blood type A. With a drink in his hand, Partner said he was blood type AA.

Later in that same conversation, the friend and I got on to the subject of how we dislike people who can't laugh at themselves. (I don't trust or like people who don't use self-deprecating humor. Is their self-esteem so delicate that they can't see any humor in what they do? I'd feel sorry for them except that I'm usually running in the other direction.) My friend said, "People who can't laugh at themselves are the only ones not in on the joke." Brilliant!

Cure for America II

I'm a big fan of common-sense solutions for what seem to be really devisive issues. Take, for example, gun control.

Right up front I have to say that I am not a hunter, nor did I grow up with a gun in my house. However, I do consider myself somewhat of a libertarian, and I don't think of guns as evil; I believe they are made to kill, but I also believe they serve a purpose for hunting and home defense. With that in mind, I'm all for the ban on all handguns and automatic weapons.

That might sound like a purely Leftist statement to someone who is a member of the NRA and thinks this country would be better off if everyone carried a firearm, but I think it's just a pragmatic solution to a terrible problem. In this country, people die from shootings every day (and if I weren't so lazy, I'd probably do a google search and get some statistics), and in fact, most small cities have more gun-related deaths in a couple of months than the UK has in a year. It IS a problem, and if the victims were rich white kids instead of poor blacks, then I'm sure there'd be more of an outcry (ok, now I am sounding like a Lefty).

Anyway, if we want to keep weapons for hunting and defense, then there's no need for handguns (which are inaccurate) or automatic weapons (designed to kill many people very quickly). Shotguns and rifles can do just fine for both, since rifles are more accurate, and neither activity requires a gun that must be concealed. Handguns are basically designed to be concealable and shot in very close quarters at fairly close distances - designed, in fact, to be perfect for crime.

In fact, if we take those same qualities to an extreme, we can see why handguns are bad. Imagine if a gunmaker came out with a gun that was about the size of a wallet (very concealable), was very inaccurate after four feet (absolutely NO good for hunting), and was powerful enough to blow a hole through plexiglass. Most people (especially police!) would probably want to ban that gun because it was absolutely perfect for crime - like robbing banks - without serving any other practical purpose. Yet, normal handguns have those very same qualities, just not as powerful. Do we have to wait until the technology improves to the point where that imaginary gun is possible?

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OK, after writing all that I realize that I'm probably not stating my case in the most articulate manner, and I have more points to make about the practical difficulties of banning guns. However, I'm a bit tired and distracted, so I'm going to stop here...