When the rain washes you clean you'll know

A great and terrible storm ripped through here yesterday. I had no power at work for a few hours. I haven't been LOVING work as it is, but with no lights, no A.C., no radio.....dude, you have to focus on the people. No. Power was eventually restored, the workday was done, and I returned to the twisty-laned environs of my suburban tract. All seemed well. Or, all seemed Pleasantville. Then as I cozied in to munch on my big salad and catch up on hours (hours!) of lost internet time, the bottom dropped out. No cable. The fuck? What am I gonna do now? Clean? Read? So I whacked it and then continued devouring the final season of SFU (haven't I been talking about watching that for like a year now?). And promptly fell asleep. So now it's 4:00 am. I've been up for about a half hour. Wanna hear about my dream? There was this huge old house and I may have been living there, but it felt like I was visiting. There were a bunch of people I know there as well. I didn't feel a particularly strong connection to any of them. The house was completely white, but not sleek, contemporary white. More like everything is crappy old so let's whitewash it and hope nobody notices white. It looked kinda cool on the surface, but it was rotting underneath. There were rooms where the floors were all bowed and would give a little under your feet. The wiring was all buzzily haphazard. Oh, and there was this thing where you could slowly, almost imperceptibly, become trapped there and the white would start to fall away and behind it would be this really crappy mall filled with vacant-eyed people grasping at you. Yeah. My dreams? Not so much with the enigma.

Speaking of SFU, here's a lil' exchange between Nathaniel and Nate from that last season. The one I'm finally watching?

Nate: Dad, you have forty more years.
Nathaniel: Yeah, but the next forty fly by much faster. It'll be over before you know it.
Nate: Time flies when you're having fun, huh?
Nathaniel: No. No, time flies when you're pretending to have fun. Time flies when you're pretending to love Brenda and that baby she wants so much. Time flies when you're pretending to know what people mean when they say love. Let's face it, buddy boy, there's two kinds of people in the world. There's you and there's everybody else, and never the twain shall meet.

Gimme that Fünke, that sweet, that nasty, that gushy stuff

A few weeks ago when we started serving PIE here at the Pipedreams Cafe, it was an innocent thing. The reason? I love women. I enjoy them. Especially if she has a fabulous outfit and really good hair and her tinkus is covered, then I enjoy looking at a woman. It was all good-natured fun, right? Til freakgirl came along and started throwing down gauntlets. I swear that girl is always with her lines in the sand, isn't she? Anyway, now the mission, since I choose to accept it, is to come up with some PIE that will have the sparks flying off resident lezzie Jen's fork. You might be thinking I have my work cut out for me, but if you are thinking that, you are sorely mistaken, my friend. Cinchy. Easy peasy. I've tied three appendages behind my back before attempting this trick. So without further ado, I offer you Miss Portia de Rossi Degeneres. I didn't feel a strong need to choose a lesbian, but I figured ::cue Uncle Morty voice:: it don't hurt. Irrespective of that, P.dR. is smokin' hot, albeit in a strange sleepy-eyed what's-with-her-nose way, she's funny as hell, as her turn as Lindsay Bluth on Arrested Development attests, and she's even got the right (meaning: left) political leanings. Oh, and I'm guessing the accent gives Jen as much of a boner as it does me. Go ahead. Just try and tell me she doesn't moisten your sheets, lady.So, I feel confident. I toyed with a few other offerings. I considered Nelly Furtado, but then I remembered it was actually fur taco that Jen is always raving about. Anyway, if I'm wrong, then next week I get served. Served PIE by Jen and we'll get a taste of how a transplanted Ohio dyke rolls. But if I'm right, it'll be more queer faves next week. Someone like Jean Smart. Love! Her!

Yo Mike, check this out, see if this one moves you

Remember the bar mitzvah from last weekend? It turned out to be a lovely service, and quite moving actually. I joked around here about dressing the Torah, but of course I was appropriately reverent. Dude, I'm polite. Nothing like a childhood pervaded with the threat of physical harm to reinforce a behavior. Holla, Dad! My godson did a great job. He rolled through his Torah passage and his Hebrew was the bomb. The rabbi's spiel was the moving part. Can I call it a spiel without totally blowing the polite claim I just made? Anyway, Schwartz hit on a lot of my recent talking points from here at Pipedreams. You know, the ones about having only one life and having to take chances and overcome adversity. Yeah, those. The same ones where when I get going you skim and say blah de blah blah blah in your head? Those. Nice guy. And funny. At the start of the service, I thought I'd like to do Moscovitz (the back-up rabbi), but by the end, I would have been all over Schwartz, no question. Both straight, though, so I was left scoping out the buffet line for a Jew of my very own. I've said it before, and I'll say it again (in the interest of extending a stereotype): they will go down on you for DAYS. Here's a picture of the sanctuary:Lovely, isn't it? If you'll notice, they have a verse in English on the left and Hebrew on the right. I'm not a huge God guy, as you know, but I think a lot of religions could stand to keep it simple, like these words do, and the world would be a happier place: It has been told you what is good and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God. That's it. And that's enough, I imagine.

Added: I can't resist mentioning the post title. From Boyz II Men. Get it. The bar mitzvah. I had to.

As I throw each one of you a kiss

I've been busy as a beaver these past few days, but damned if I can figure out if this dam is really worth building. Instinct (and my teutonic heritage) takes over, though, and I just work, work, work. I do enjoy the structure and the commerce and the service of it all, but I'd rather be doing it someplace like here (my current screen background):You know how I seem quiet and distant sometimes? It's cuz I am. It doesn't mean I love you any less. Or that I'm any less receptive to you putting things in places.

Did he create just me in his image, or every living thing?

I'm not a believer in religion, or God even, but I still find this heartening.

And I'll be your gay friend

This is a note straight from Robbie, fresh from my INBOX, so of course I'm sharing it with you. What's that? Why post it? Ummm....Robbie pic....fresh from my inbox.....der.

Make me feel crazy, make me feel so mean

In honor of the World Cup, I had thought of doing a footballer. There are many pretty and healthy cuts there, but guys, they all look SO YOUNG. I already did that with tennis and the French Open. Instead, I'm going with a guy that I adore who's actually older than me. I shouldn't say "actually". Much of the meat has been prime cut, hasn't it? And damned if this guy doesn't keep getting hotter every year. Just plot the graph of time on x and his hotness on y and that hard line must stand a good 60 degrees. Wait, let me look. Yep. At least 60. Well, this guy has been in a lot of stuff, but he first grabbed my attention with his fabulous turn as Keen Eddie. That show was the BOMB, y'all. Why the hell didn't you watch it? Anyway, his name is Mark Valley (even his name is hot) and he is this Friday's MEAT.He's currently appearing on Boston Legal, which I didn't realize until I did the googling. I've never seen that show. Any good? My parents are hooked on it, but that tells me nothing. They and I share Grey's Anatomy, but precious little else. Mom loves Bill O'Reilly for fuck sake. Back to Mr. Valley. He's kinda strawberry-blonde and a little chiseled and a bit furry and oh so completely edible. I'm salivating. No, seriously, that's not continuing a metaphor or anything. He rings my bell. Pulls my crank. Deloittes my Touche.

I wanna man who's gonna rock me like my backbone was his own

Inspired by the immeasurably hot (and surprisingly dom) Charlie, I decided to share the contents of my (heart?)(401K?)(psych eval?) fridge. Or more specifically, the contents of my grocery sack, which contained the following: Will you heap me with praise or derision? When did I get so fucking SENSIBLE? And TIGHT-ASSED? Does the wine help at all? I blame it on Fitday, which I've gone on and on about, for making me so conscious of my food choices. Also, some blame should be shared with my persistent notion that if I have a really tight chassis, maybe somebody will love it. I mean me. Love me.

'Til you drag your feet to slow the circles down

Riddle me this, Batman: A Buddhist, a lapsed Catholic and an Episcopalian are dressing the Tora at their nephew's bar mitzvah. One is related by blood, one by marriage, and one by half a lifetime of tears and laughter. Which one is the butt pirate? Give up? ME, silly. Isn't it always about ME? I'm heading up to Michigan this weekend to attend my godson's bar mitzvah. At thirteen, he is now a man, y'all. A smallish, hyperactive, annoying man, but a man nonetheless. At the ceremony, yours truly will be "dressing the Tora". I asked the rabbi if that meant I'd get to undress it later, since that sounded kinda hot. I can't decide if he looked confused or disturbed.

On the botanical tip (upon which I've been balancing the last week or so), the fairie circle is back, guys!For the newbies amongst you, this same backyard phenomenon occurred last year. Legend has it that it's the mark left by fairies frolicking in a circular manner in the wee hours. I'm so there tonight. I'll be pitching a tent. Wanna come?

Someone could be looking for a someone like you

If you're a someone like me, you'll be watching (or setting the TiVo for) Live from Lincoln Center on PBS tonight. They are showing The Light in the Piazza at 8:00P EST. Musical theater set in Tuscany? Yeah, I'm there. You can preview a few songs here.

Remember me to one who lives there

I promised to share more of the fruits of this fruit's labours. Here's the pretty yarrow which blooms in my front garden. Not a fruit, I know. He's a herb, I think. Like parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, hence the post title. The honeysuckle and the dogwood tree that share his space are so big that they don't let Mr. Achillea millefolium get enough sun anymore, but moving him is more work, and fuck me if I don't have enough of that already. Meanwhile, he's a sunny yellow, isn't he?

Never trust a big butt and smile

I'm working in my roses this afternoon and though I've never been afflicted before, I think I may be a victim of the ivy, poison variety. I'm not sure yet, but I've got a blotchy area on my leg that has a burning sensation to it. Go ahead and run with that sentence, if you must. I do have sensitive skin (it's a trait often coupled with light hair and blue eyes), so it may just be from kneeling in the flower bed. Still, until I'm sure, there will be no touching the schmeckel without surgical gloving first. I sometimes go a whole weekend doing that anyway, so as precautions go, no biggie.

Fever 'til you sizzle, what a lovely way to burn

I love the Tonys. I know. You're plotzing. I wasn't familiar with most of the award winning plays this year, but that machts nicht. It's my favorite award show because it really seems to mean something to all the winners. Everyone is exuberant. The acceptance speeches are invariably hilarious and often literate and usually gay. Plus, there's lots of same-sexy couples in the audience. This year I was especially charmed by one of the presenters. She's Sara Ramirez and she's this week's PIE. Note: click on her link and you'll be cue up her singing Fever. Yuuuuummm. I didn't see her in Spamalot, and though she's made a lot of tv appearances, I wasn't aware of her until her turn as George's orthopedic surgeon love interest, Callie, on Grey's Anatomy. She's great in that. Simultaneously brash and vulnerable. You know, real. And, dudes, she's a Tony winner.I googled her after the awards this year and it only took a few minutes for me to become an acolyte. She's gorgeous and smart and can sing her ass off. Oh, if you've never checked out the Spamalot site, it's a hoot!

The earth stopped cold at dawn

Tick tock, y'all. I posted this now, but I was sehr close to making Stephen Hawking this week's MEAT. Rockstar hot.

As for me, I'm content with the view

I've been kinda quiet the last few days. I'll just say it. The birthday was a drag. I was embracing the self-pity. I worked my ass off for five hours on Saturday morning. Hellish. One of those mornings where everything and everyone is a struggle. I followed that with a good workout. Release the poison and all that. I cleaned up and went shopping. Baby needs a new suit. Sorely. It was a long frustrating day of that, but it finally paid off. I found something I loved. Modern cut that hit me right all over. Like it was made for me. Bespoke at off the rack prices. Mmmmm, I wanna put it on now and just peekaboo parts for you. No? You haven't even seen the goods yet. So the suit was a good thing, but it was my birthday and I was home by 10:00 pm in my jimjams watching the two last episodes of QAF (so I can FINALLY get to SFU, Maddie!).

Sunday morning rolled around, as it so often does, and I was watching Nadal and Federer duke it out on the terre batu in Paris. Hours and hours of lawn work followed. Then I finished the reread of Wicked. I can finally start Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, my summer read. Which is so LAST summer, I know. Then the Tonys, which were delightful, I thought, if for nothing else than Alfre Woodard's bosom (it looked better LIVE). Seriously, I felt bad that she was done so wrong by the folks at Desperate Housewives, but at the end of the day, she's got a stunning rack, y'all. Oh, and each is really gross separately, but I'd totally make a drippy deli sandwich with Alan Cumming and Cyndi Lauper as a couple. And the guy from Avenue Q was a hoot, but then I've had a thing for queer muppets for as LONG as I can remember. And am I the last one to know that Cynthia Nixon has an uber-butch gf? Some say Bonaduce-esque, but I'm racking my brain to remember the name of that other red-haired pie-faced child star? Tell me!*

Where was I? Oh yeah, tennis and the Tonys should be so good that they don't even need a third to make a hat trick, but still I sighed. I swear to Bob I was this close to ordering some of those personal checks that have sad clowns on them. I know. I couldn't even snap pictures of the blooms from my garden last night. It was all rain and gloom by the time I thought of it. But THEN, today, I came home to these fellas, far prettier than anything I could grow.Hell, I don't even know what half of them are. Tres exotique. The picture doesn't do them justice. They're from a sweet, sweet man, a sly one, who knew just what I could use and when I could use it. A skill I admire to no end (and indeed, seek out) in others. It's not castles and kings, people, it's the little things.
some Tony picture links via D-Listed

ADDED: Ah, sweet relief! I finally remembered the child star-- *Mason Reese. Dead on.

It's bigger than you, and you are not me

Upon encountering this religious tract on the urinal at Target did I:

A: Ignore the Glory Be and continue focusing on my Glory Hole fantasy.

B: Turn to the stockboy at the next stall and say, "I've got something interesting here for you to look at."

C: Become overwhelmed with the power of the Spirit and get saved mid-piss (which would SCREAM for a golden shower baptism, wouldn't it?).

D: Toss the Jesus papers in the can as I walked out to buy froufrou personal care products, organic coffee, high-tech underwear, and accent pillows.

Oh Lord, make me pure, but not yet

Happy Birthday to ME! I can say that, right? It's tomorrow, but feel free to shower me with gifts and sentiments today, y'all.

There's just one thing I'm looking for and he don't wear a dress

Who's up for some big black sex cop? Anyone? Maybe on rye with a nice kosher dill on the side? ::smacks lips:: I could hardly stand the wait for the Season 5 DVD of Six Feet Under and now it's been sitting on my shelf for a month unwatched. 'Til now. I'm delving in and to honor that, Mathew St. Charles is the MEAT. Keith was teh hotness, wasn't he? I tend to be a giver, but guys, Officer Keith Charles could pound me like a piece of veal. TMI?

Put one foot in front of the other

Tomorrow is Haircut Day and once again, not a moment too soon. Salon me and don't be shy about it. Bitch. I have a question for you. Who gets a pedicure? Stop laughing. Guys get pedicures. Don't they? It's sandal season! It's not like I'm gonna get polished. So should I? My feet aren't nasty or anything. In fact, they're kinda nice. I have that wide calf to thin ankle ratio that I admire in others. So what will they do exactly if I were to get the pedi? I have some callouses from running. Debride? Will they be alternately rough and easy with me, like they can read my desires? So should I? I'm being serious, and I might actually take your advice, though who the fuck knows. You did talk me out of the man capris.

PS How bad does Blogger suck this week?

But the hours they creep, the pattern repeats

Even Baby Jane's charms have their limits it seems. I'm a bit out of sorts again. Apparently, I'm not the only one. You know what might help? PIE. It is Wednesday, after all. We need something to grease our way into the weekend and I make my crust with lard. Country boy, remember? So we have Julianne Moore.With that hair and those lips, she's gotta be cherry, right? Julianne is gorgeous. She's all porcelain luminosity but I can always sense the dirty humanity undercutting it. Delicious. Doesn't hurt that she was in the movie adaptations of two favorite books: The Hours and A Map of the World. If you haven't read both of those, rectify that at your earliest convenience. Wonderful, both. And impossibly sad, both. The title lyric, from a Dashboard Confessional song that is also impossibly sad, recalls The Hours for me. Oh shit. This was supposed to be a pick-me-up, wasn't it? Oh well, sometimes you just have to embrace the melancholy.I've said it before, but Good Lord if those are really her kids, just kill me now. Or make me straight, cuz I wanna be her baby daddy.

Long stemmed things of beauty

 When I promise you mo' blooms from the mo's garden, I deliver. These are Oriental poppies just outside my little sunroom. Most of their lives they look like weeds, but now is when they put on a gaudy, short-lived display of pretty. See how I paired them with the bamboo chimes? Don't you think the Asian motif gives my backdoor some pop? 

Some things I cannot change, but 'til I try I'll never know

You know how I've been talking about that half-marathon for weeks now? I've been training and obsessing about it since my friend Allison talked me into running it while we were vacationing in Canada over Easter. I even ran 11 miles in oppressive heat a few weeks ago to make sure I was ready. Well, we didn't run, kids. Allison (aka The Instigator) was sick. So, I had a choice. Get up at 5:30 am to drive forty minutes into Ann Arbor, get on a bus for the 13 mile ride to Dexter, then run 13.1 miles by myself. In the rain. Prevailing temp: 50 F. Or, I could crawl back into bed and take care of me. I chose the latter. Well, to be precise, I took care of me first, then I climbed back into bed. Oh well. I've done a half-dozen or so half-marathons, and I'm sure I'll do one again sometime. Upside is, I'm now in great shape for the upcoming 5K-10K season. I'll run one next weekend. If I run well and get a medal, I'm running out of novel places to hang it, though.Silver lining of that cloudy start was seeing Wicked. I'll Tarantino this and start from the end. When the final curtain fell, my friend Debby and I turned to each other and said, "We're seeing that again!" Loved it, y'all. As I've mentioned previously, Debby and I shared the book ten years ago while on vacation together. We had simultaneous Son of a Witch-gasms last winter, too. This play veered wildly from the book, which I'd feared, but that ended up being one of the best things about it. When the play diverged, it did so fabulously. It actually mirrors the classic L. Frank Baum tale more closely than the Wicked book does. And they injected a lot more comedy. I, of course, love the music. I've been listening to it for months, ever since we bought the tickets. As one does. If you're at all a musical theater queen, run, don't walk, to your nearest venue and check this green goodness out. If you want, you can come with Miss Debby and I on our next jaunt. We've narrowed it down to New York, Toronto or Chicago.

She'll tease you, she'll unease you

I had the mean reds yesterday. My version is a little different from Holly's. I don't have the unnamed fear so much as the unnamed irritation. Yeah, you get me. Since there's no Tiffany's in rural Ohio, my remedy is a little different from Holly's as well. I watch What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?It's rare when that doesn't do the trick, and last night was no exception, but I have plenty more jewels in my bag just in case. Get the feeling I'm in need of an emotional rescue? Anyway, from the scowl of a fresh-faced girl Blanche to the wrinkly, heavily mascaraed climactic scene, this movie is a pure delight. I loved it as a young boy way before I fully understood what "gay" was. Turns out it's Gay Icon Level: Cher. Bad hair, bad makeup, fabulously bad (good?) acting and atrocious writing. What's not to love? Oh, and speaking of gay icons, when I did the Google Image search for Baby Jane stills, I laughed and laughed* when this photo showed up:*Max (tm)

It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing

Sometimes one is desirous of a slab of something. A juicy cut plated to please the carnivorous aesthete. Other times it's preferable to graze. A little of this, a little of that. Well that's what you're getting today. Oh, don't you worry, you'll get your meat, but it'll be a variety of thinly cut and mouthwateringly delicious morsels. Not prime rib. Think tapas.That's Spain, sure, but my focus has actually been on Paris this week as I've been watching the French Open. The boys of tennis have been on my mind. It's FRIDAY. They are your MEAT. Bon appetit!

I'm hung up, I'm hung up on you

As I've mentioned, I'm running a race this weekend. A half-marathon. For those more inclined to the sedentary, that's 13.1 miles. This morning I felt like I needed to get my competitive juices flowing by checking out the medal I won in that 5K a few weeks ago. Well, it was morning and other juices were already flowing, as they are wont to do. I was inspired to honor Bodhi's request to hang the medal, not around my neck as I did previously, but elsewhere. Just when you thought I couldn't get cheesier or skeevier, think again sucka! Wish me well on finishing 13.1 miles on those tired legs. Well, the two depicted are tired and the third is decidely not. Look, no hands! And yes, I'm really that hairy. Gross? I mean I know the picture is gross, but the hair?

You gotta look within yourself, not a scripture

Pat Robertson participates in a human rainbow flag. You may have seen this already, but I had to link it in case you haven't. It's too delicious to miss. Also, it continues some recent themes, as noted here, and with singular eloquence, here.

link via Queerty

They say time heals everything, but I'm still waiting

You guys, I am LOVING the Dixie Chicks this week. Thanks to recommendations from freakgirl and Charlie (and kinda after the fact, Duane), I downloaded their new joint Taking The Long Way. I'm not a lover of traditional country music, and this isn't that. It's more Southern Fried Rock. That's a thing, right? It's got a 70's vibe to it. CCR, maybe? The Eagles! Rick Rubin produces and lately he seems to be getting some good stuff out of unexpected places (Johnny Cash, Neil Diamond). The Chicks were on Larry King last night (Aside to Larry: Self-aggrandizing never looked good on you, but couple it with doddering? No.), and I just love, love, love how unapologetic they are. Just as I hoped they'd be. Natalie Maines said she has no regrets. She spoke her mind freely. That's kind of bedrock stuff, Constitution-wise, isn't it? Politics aside, the music is really good. Consider this me giving you the thumb up.

Oh, and a belated congrats to Natalie Maines for hooking Pasdar. Nice.
Added: The album entered the Billboard charts at #1, selling 525, 829 copies. Good for them.

Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage

....Or a maze. If you haven't checked out Jen's Joint yet, now would be a good time to do so. Her post today will take you a few minutes to read. I'll dare to suggest those moments will be among the most useful you'll spend all day.

Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel

My clematis, he blooms. And he blooms only for you.