Getting Smashed in Charlotte

I am writing tonight from Jacksonville, Florida. One more night and I'm home! Hurrah! Now, getting back to my vacation, I woke up in Charlotte last Monday morning, my last night there, to find that my passenger window had been smashed in. What was stolen? Michael's three-year-old radar detector which I only briefly used to get from Columbia to Charlotte and had foolishly left out in plain view. A shopping bag containing a shoebox with shoes and a couple new pair of dress socks. The shoes in the shoebox? An old pair--I wore the ones I had just bought into the hotel. I guess I should have brought it all in. I want to say that both the Holiday Inn Woodlawn and the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department were both extremely helpful in following up. Not that I recovered anything, but I certainly felt better afterward. It seems that Progressive has a $500 deductible for broken windows and it only cost $200 to fix. Incedentally, I rode back to Columbia with an open window, because I didn't want to wait around in Charlotte anymore and there's a window shop across the street from where my mother works, that was very helpful. The company is called Astro Glass and I wish I could remember the name of the lady that made sure I had the window as soon as I got there. And special wonderful thanks to Mom who was so helpful in paying for it. She only asked that I hooked up her new wireless keyboard and mouse so they both work. Easiest $200 I ever made! I ♥ you, Mom! As far as the smash-and-grabber goes--while I certainly feel violated, I can only wish that they got what they needed to get them through another day. Unfortunately, while I don't know what is the going rate for three-year-old radar detectors at the fencer, it can't possibly be enough to buy a decent amount of crack or heroin. And the one positive side-effect? I not only drove close to the speed limit the remainder of my vacation! Funny how fast you still get places without speeding. Funny how relaxed you are getting there without all the anxiety associated with speeding. No worries about passing slow cars, no agonizing trying to cut off other drivers who are trying to speed too. Every time someone passed me on the left, I just turned my head and smiled.

Disturbed Down South

I’m leaving South Carolina this morning with no small amount of trouble on my mind. Seems one of my parents gave my blog URL to a relative, who found the content of my blog appalling on several counts. I believe the word “pornographic” was used in describing the content to my parent. I’m not writing this to imply that this relative is ignorant. Marsha (not her real name) is a very intelligent and capable woman. She does, however, live a somewhat sheltered life, with little exposure to the world at large save what she sees on television or reads in the newspapers. I’ve heard on more than one occasion that there are a lot of bad people out there who do bad things. I have lived a very different life and have a much different perspective of the world around me. I first believe that all people are human beings worthy of love and compassion, no matter their past or their inclination, be it drug addict, or diseased or pagan or Christian, Republican or Democrat or Muslim or Jew, whatever color or whatever mix of colors. It is not up to me to judge how other people live their lives or discover their beliefs. This openness has earned me a slap on the face from time to time, but never any permanent damage or life-altering repercussions. Yes, there one or two persons who have screwed me over time and time again--and I have allowed them to remain at a distance, but I am willing to offer someone like that another chance if they but ask for it. This belief system has earned me a circle of friends and support on whom I can depend. I might be lonely from time to time in my life but I will never be alone, and I know that anything I would ever need, all I would have to do is ask. If someone is unable to do something for me, either they’ll usually make an effort to find someone who will, or I can make another telephone call to someone who will. There are a lot of people out there who do bad things. In fact, there are very few people who don’t do some kind of bad thing or another. Jesus Christ taught his followers first and foremost to treat each other as we would wish to be treated, yet I constantly see people with Jesus Fish tags on their cars who cut people off on the road, yell at their children in public and make it a point to vote to deny personal liberties to others that they themselves have. Maybe the content of my blog is a tad too broad. I would like to think that it not be to racy for my niece, who is about to turn twelve years old. I doubt she would have any interest in reading it, nor do I have any interest in writing for the interest of children; however, if I should make my lowest common denominator that a 12-year-old would be able to read it, then perhaps that’s where I need to aim. Unlike Marsha, my sister has been reading my blog on a regular basis, and continues to read it in spite of my broad subject matter. She has mentioned that she wouldn’t let her children see it, which is something I expected, but when faced with it, does get me thinking about subject matter appropriate for a twelve-year-old. Since I don’t discuss violence very much, that leaves strong language and sex. Strong language is easy--I can forget the future post entitled F**K Bush. But sex is a different matter altogether, and where I have to really consider things carefully. If I am to write about my life and what matters to me, being a self-acknowledged sex addict makes it difficult to leave out that part of it entirely. But where do I draw the line? Drugs are another matter altogether. You will never see me glorifying drugs or drug use here. I think drugs are bad for us and nobody needs them. But everyone doesn’t feel the same way I do, and I’m not going to spend time proselytizing about the hazards of drugs. When I describe the bad effects of drugs, I use my own experiences and the experiences of those that I witness. But again, my drug addiction, however distant I am from it, is a significant part of my history and my life--and if you want to understand me, and why I write the way I do, you have to know about my drug addiction. And to all my other friends in NA, this is where 3½ years is far more important and significant than 120 days. My relapse was on amyl nitrite, aka poppers, a sort-of-legal, short-term effect, not generally addictive substance that many people don‘t even consider a relapse. I do, on the other hand, but for my blog and my family, my credibility is something to be considered, and the fact that I haven’t put alcohol or any illegal substance in my body goes a long way toward explaining my dedication to being clean and remaining clean. In meetings, June 28, 2004 is my clean date, whereas March 17, 2001 is my sobriety date. Maybe I won’t be celebrating that last one at meetings, but it was a significant, life-altering event that I will nevertheless acknowledge. Nobody can or will take it away from me except me, if I choose to put any other substance into my body. And you’ll read about it here. Prison and prison reform are also very important topics. I believe that Marsha comes from the thought school that everyone that’s in there belongs there, and even if their not guilty of the crime that put them their, they’re guilty of something--and there’s no reform and people come out worse when they leave then when they went in, so it’s best to just keep them there. Having met reformed criminals and being very close to someone who’s in there right now, I believe she couldn’t be further from the truth. Most people come out of prison with no desire to go back. We are a country with a higher percentage of our population in prison than any where else in the world. This doesn’t tell me that we’ve got better policing, it tells me that we’re doing nothing to teach our citizens better ways to live. The rule of “just say ‘no’” doesn’t work. I’m 37 years old and can barely control my impulses, and I’m on medication and have years of therapy, not to mention a constant spiritual contact with my higher power. How can I judge anyone else who can’t afford therapy or medication, and who knows all about religion but nothing about spirituality? I don’t know where I’m taking this blog in the future. I haven't even mentioned in this post my feelings about AIDS, the Death Penalty, or Politics. But I don’t think that a 12-year old would have a problem reading this piece, and maybe by my niece’s birthday, I’ll be writing so that a mother with good common sense, like my sister, would have no problem allowing her twelve-year-old to read it. You can be certain I will find out if I'm not!

Raising Family in Redneck Land

10.26.2004 On Sunday afternoon, I drove to an undisclosed location to visit my Sis, Susan, her husband Dennis and the kids, Heather, Nicholas and Jack. Whereas my younger brother underwent this bizarre mutation into Perfect-Father-and-Husband, Susan the mother is very much like Susan the sister.

Heather, Jack (front,
left), Nick (big head, right),
Me (too tall, back)

Well, she doesn't dress her sons up like little girls for her own personal entertainment like she did with her younger brothers once--at least not that I know of. But her household is a nice normal household full of kids arguing with each other, telling on each other, begging their parents to let them do things, parents telling them "No." In my short visit, Heather, who will soon be age twelve, pretty much was Little Miss responsible, while Nicholas and Jack kept doing things to get in trouble. I'm not saying that Heather wasn't being responsible, but she is taking to the role much like my sister once did. Time will tell if she gets away with as much as my sister once did...those teenage years are coming quick. Now, I know that my sister is reading this and saying sarcastically, "Well, thanks, Cary..." But even though I've described the chaos I experienced that is typical with any large family, I want to point out that my sister's kids are highly intelligent, generally tidy, and friendly and engaging. I really do wish I spent more time with them. I was somewhat tired from so much driving and not enough sleep--and Susan's (and Chris's) kids are the closest I'm ever going to get of kids of my own. I have been in my own head a lot lately, and watching Nascar with Susan and Dennis seemed relaxing enough. The kids all did their own things, Nicholas went out riding, Jack played on the computer, and Heather...well, right after dinner Heather went up to her room to do whatever it is that pre-teen girls do after dinner. For anyone who believes that a gene for homosexuality couldn't possibly be passed because it would "obviously" run itself out, I offer to explain my own personal theory. When describing "large family" I mean any with 3 or more children. I come from a large family and both of my parents come from large families. While I don't have any knowledge of the history of homosexuality on either side, I can say that both sides were highly religious several generations back, and it is hugely likely that anyone with homosexual tendencies would marry in spite of it. I'm sure the homosexuality tendency gene (I'll call it H+) is generally passed along with another "subversion" gene, one which I, personally, did not inherit, but my siblings did (H-). Anyway... getting back to my point, and why a family with the H+ gene would be profited by that genes presence rather than subverted. Maybe the H+/H- gene combo indicates hyperfertility. In a crowded environment, sociologically speaking, unmarried siblings are more able to lend support to the progeny of their hyperfertile siblings, thus providing a further boost for the gene line. My family has not only more of generation 3 than other families in the tribe but also healthier and stronger generation 3 as a result of generation 2's added assistance. What happens with a family member with the H- but no H+? Well, because the H- gene requires the H+ gene to be active, then that person has normal fertility levels and does not have the advantage that the hyperfertile siblings carry. This would also explain why they've had a hard time finding the H+ gene, because so many heterosexuals carry it as well. Okay... so what happens when people with the H+ gene and no H- gene go against thier biological program and have kids? I'll let someone else answer that one. But I think I'm really on to something here.

Sharing in Charlotte

10.25.2004 The week before I left for Columbia, I found out my friend Chris Zimmerman was going to be in Charlotte for the Together in Leather event, as well as a number of other people who are part of an extended family: Lee, JP, Russ, Billy, Lady D, Vi, this particular list is ever growing. Chris suffered the lost of his partner, Bill, whom I wrote about in Tribute to Bill Brewer earlier this month. While I didn't actually participate in the event as a whole, I spent some time with some people there who meant a great deal to me, especially Chris. I'm committed to not allowing our connection to deteriorate again. Chris, together with Lee and a wonderful dyke named Gwen held a seminar entitled "When the Collar Comes off" dedicated to sharing stories, lessons in coping, and finding closure when a relationship that has any type of dominance and submission comes ends, or changes. There was not a dry eye in the room at the end. It was meant for me to be there that weekend, and in that room. I'm not going to get into individual's private details or explain the intricacies of the relationship that Michael and I had. Michael held a definite role in our relationship, outside of sex, in which the trust eroded due to our drug use and the dominance ended when he became imprisoned. In some ways the roles are reversed because he has to rely entirely on my decisions while I am out here, like when I send him money, books, or letters; who I have to contact on his behalf, selling stocks, or decisions about the house. I am willing to swear that Bill Brewer, wherever or whatever he is right now, made it possible for me to find out about the weekend and Chris's presence in Charlotte. Chris needs to know that he has my love and support. I need to know about his, and others', like Lee. I also needed to participate in that seminar, and meet Gwen, with whom I spent some quality time later on. I have no intention of letting these ties fall away.

Reunion in Columbia

10.24.2004 On Saturday came the big Brookland-Cayce Class of 1984 Reunion. Wow… it was totally freaking. The hardest part was remembering who I was supposed to know versus who I actually knew. There were, however, many faces I did recognize.

Me, Mitch McGee and Sandy Stoeffler
I guess I'm mugging...

I don’t have a lot of memories from high school. Why I could remember people and not any particular events is beyond me. I remember dreading to go into class in fear of being made fun of… but I can’t remember who it was that was doing the taunting. I know I stayed very much to myself. When someone didn’t recognize me, I’d explain that I had really light blond hair, longer, I was skinny as a rail and I read comic books in class. Then they’d figure it out. Finally, someone pulled the 1984 yearbook out and there was my Senior class picture in the Junior section (I had failed tenth grade English and didn’t make it up until the summer after my senior year). THEN, people recognized me. Including people I really didn’t remember myself. I think that ultimately more people remembered me than I remembered. My biggest fear was that people were going to look old. There was a lot of gray hair but not too much looking old. I looked very different than high school. Some other people looked identical. Some people said that other people who looked the same looked different. And I broke my smoking ban by having four cigarettes during the course of the evening. Bad Cary.

Bad Tooth on the way to Columbia

Have you missed me? Running all over the south can be exhausting, especially during the election season. It’s important to note that I’ve been dealing with a rather difficult issue with my teeth. Years of drug-use combined with no dental insurance make for some pretty nasty conditions inside of my mouth. I have a prescription for Advil 800mg, the “not-fun” painkiller. It has been working. Mind you, the addict part of me would much rather be making an excuse to use Oxycontin to do something about my pain, but I've been addicted to Alcohol, Cocaine and Crystal Meth and I probably don't want to complete the big square with the Opiate family. As I'm catching up, rather than confuse you by posting these in earlier dates I'm going to put actual dates here and date the posts when I actually post them. 10.23.2004 Did you know that a company called DenTek makes a “temporary filling” product called Tempanol? I was in so much pain before I left Florida it somehow managed to help me get through the night at my brother’s house, on the way, despite the presence of an almost-three year old nephew named Jacob and my six-month old niece Molly who has not yet learned to sleep all the way through the night. Combine aching tooth, baby, and two curious felines and we have a night of fitful sleep. The couch was quite comfortable. My younger brother and his wife have a nice house and some really cool kids. I am really grateful he let me stay the night with him and so happy to finally meet my niece. Jacob wasn't really sure about me and didn't seem to want me around. “Are you leaving yet?” was the typical response. Wait until he starts getting Uncle Cary's birthday presents...then he won't be so ready to see me go. The kid is a Capricorn, like me. Our family doesn't have a lot of Cappies, my beloved Grandfather, Jack Spigner, was a Capricorn and my cousin Craig, with whom I have often vied for the official title of Black Sheep of the Family, is a Capricorn. Let us hope that Jacob has higher ambition--and turns out more like his great-grandfather. He is, after all, a Christmas Eve baby.

Vacation

This is it, the big one. I'm heading up north to the Deep South. First stop, Savannah, Georgia, where I get to meet my niece, Molly for the first time. You may remember her from the popular post: Movie About my Nephew. On Saturday, I head up to the great state of South Carolina, to visit my mother and attend the Brookland Cayce Class of '84 Reunion. Immediately as soon as possible afterwards, I drive up to Charlotte to see my friend Chris, the partner mentioned in Tribute to Bill Brewer. He and a few other good friends will be attending an event known as Together in Leather. I will be leaving my leather at home. On Sunday, down to Rock Hill to see my Sister... with her three wonderful children, Heather, Nicholas, and Jack. Susan turns 42 on Wednesday. The next few days will be spent at Mom's. I hope to get some posting done while I'm up there, but who knows? I won't be back home, however, until Hallowe'en. Happy October!

Who knows...

I said I was voting Brown and Socialist, but I was personally so offended by the latest "John Kerry and the liberals in congress" ad that I think George Bush deserves not only to be pushed out of the white house, but dipped in hot oil, slow burned, chopped into pieces while he still lived, sewed back together and thrown into a pen of hungry boars to be torn apart once more. Kerry could get lucky on this one.

Abortion rises under Bush

Before I share my statistics, let me share my own point of view. I’m a proponent of life, in all cases. I’ve grappled with the issue of abortion and morality, struggled with my own, normally liberal point of view, and yet I still come to the conclusion that abortion constitutes the ending of a life, no matter what the case. Some people can whitewash it however they see fit, claiming that an embryo or a fetus really doesn’t feel anything until so-and-so amount of time, but from everything I’ve read, seen, heard and understood, we still don’t know the answer. Therefore I have to go under the assumption that life begins when life begins, which is at conception. That being said, however, abortion is ultimately impossible to end. So many people believe so many different things that nobody can truly stop every pregnant teenager or unwed woman from choosing to end her pregnancy when she sees fit. Make abortion illegal and you have a world of illegal abortions, with the mess that goes along with it. In order to combat abortion, you have to work on the reasons behind it. Spend money on the clinics so that they can offer their clients counseling and alternative solutions and you have reduced the figure somewhat. But the certain way to combat the abortion numbers is to get rid of the reasons women get abortions. Nationally, the abortion rate per 1,000 women age 15 to 44 decreased from 27 in 1990 to 21 in 2000. During Clinton’s administration, the unemployment rate also dropped. Employed men are far more likely to marry the mother’s of their unborn children. Wed mothers are substantially less likely to end their pregnancies. Unfortunately, the CDC waits several years to release national figures, so the only figures we have are by state, but the information is quite interesting. In Michigan, the abortion rate dropped from 16.3 in 1990 to 12.4 in 2000, but increased to 13.8 by 2003. In Kentucky, the total number of abortions went from 3764 in 1990 to 3502 in 2000, but substantially increased to 3621 in 2003. There is a definite correlation between unemployment rates and abortion rates. While there is no guarantee that these figures will translate throughout the nation, it does underscore a disturbing trend, and one that should be presented to the most ardent pro-lifers. It also serves to remind us, as a community, that we can only reduce women’s necessity to end pregnancy by reducing the underlying reasons. Reduce unemployment, reduce poverty, and improve sex education. And we all know that these are three things that the current administration has no interest in doing.

Freedom at last?

I sat in prayer and meditation this afternoon, trying to figure out what next to do in my day. In mere seconds, the answer came all too clear. Call the Insurance Commission... Going back to my 37½th birthday, you'll note that I wrote a letter to United Healthcare Appeals department pleading with them to pay my coverage. Guess what! nearly four months later and no response. Well, several weeks ago, someone suggested I try the insurance commission, but I knew that I would have to write a long letter explaining every detail... How much time do I get to spend on this??? There is a ray of light shining through this dark tunnel of dispair. I went to My Florida dot Com and found the information for the former Insurance Commission, now known as the Department of Financial Services. If the State of Florida can get this taken care of, then I'm on my way. It's really funny, but Tom Gallagher has always been my token Republican on a generally Democratic voting record. I've always voted for him just to say I don't just vote party lines. If I can get this thing finally out of my hair, he may have my vote for life. Even if he runs for governor when the most very evil Jeb Bush's time is up in 2006.

Betty Hill dies at 85

I really didn't know who she was until I watched the short-lived series Dark Skies, but after that, I read about her in several different places. Betty Hill, sometimes known as "The Grandmother of UFOlogy" was, with her husband, the first widely-publicized UFO abduction. She died yesterday at the age of 85 years old, nearly thirty years after her husbands death in February of 1976. For those of us who like to read the paranoid ramblings on the net, Barney and Betty Hill are an important in the subtopic of alien abduction history. Very notable is that the fact that they were an interracial couple, and because of that they made diligent effort not to be noticed by people. Betty Hill will be missed. Read all about her here: Betty Hill Passes away at Age 85. Here's another interesting Dark Skies page: Dark Skies

Distant friend

Here is a portion of a conversation regarding a party I attended Saturday night:

FtLaudWolf: Last night at *****’s party my friend: r they any fun without chemicals FtLaudWolf: Well, I was high last time, and I'd say I had more fun this time. my friend: see if you'd learn to be somewhat conservative with chemicals and use moderation you would'nd be running to las olas all the time

Okay, you are probably wondering why I’m talking to this guy in the first place… I mean Mike and I met him while we were in the throes of our addiction, and he was Party Central then. We always had crystal, he always had k (ketamine); and we always had a good time with him. He always left before the drama began. I'm sure you can guess that chemicals means drugs, primarly crystal meth, aka "Tina". I'll explain what "las olas" means in a second. I always had a special bond with this fellow and even now, I still feel close to him although I’ve managed to stay away from him physically. I would certainly love to see him on my side of the fence, but given how the effects of his drug use seem to be moderate that is so unlikely. If he’s telling me the truth about things, then he seems to have perfect control. But he’s not currently in Lauderdale. Last time he lived here, he said the partying was too much and he had to move away to get control. When he mentions “las olas” he means the gay twelve-step clubhouse on Las Olas Boulevard, where they hold a number of the meetings where I go. It’s funny, because I don’t really talk much about my recovery to him, I have a codependent need to maintain my relationship so the topic of the twelve steps is off limits, even though he feels more than free to talk about his partying. I may have mentioned Las Olas to him at one point…if I did, I’m surprised he remembers—or maybe he’s heard about the place from someone else with whom he partied/parties. But luckily, all I have to do is take a look at my part in the situation to realize that I might be acting just a little crazy. So why am I talking to this guy? I find it sweet in a sick way that he makes a comment to encourage me to learn how to be “conservative” in my drug use, even after I told him that I had more fun. Yes, codependency forgets that he’s been doing his share of partying this weekend, and is missing a portion of his faculties, instead telling my ego that he likes me enough to want me to join his side of the tracks again. Nobody else out there wants me like that! Of course that could be the chemicals in him speaking. So in a nutshell, we have a big relationship issue. I want him to take some time off of the drugs to spend time with me, even if just for dinner. That opportunity hasn’t come up yet, although he says he goes months without partying…at least when he’s up north. Fort Lauderdale apparently is more of a difficulty, but he believes himself up to the challenge, this time. In other words, he’s going to try the same thing and expect different results. I don’t know if that dinner will ever happen. That leaves the other option, my learning to “moderate” my drug use to spend time with him. If you think that’s reasonable, then take a look at this page, and maybe you’ll understand my side: Who, What, How, and Why. Using is not an option for me, if I want to live. Once I put that first drug in my body, I yield my will and my life to it. This is a fight I’ve fought and don’t ever want to fight again. It took me four years to get back to the rooms the last time I believed I had control over my using, and most of that time spent realizing I didn’t. I could be where Michael is today…or worse; because if he didn’t have me on the outside getting money together for good attorneys, his sentence may not have been quite as lenient as it was. And I doubt they’d allow us to share cells. Or I could be dead. My t-cells dropped significantly before I got clean. I went from being virally positive to having AIDS by definition. Thankfully, it was just because of numbers and not by any sort of opportunistic infection, but that could be very different should my timing have been any different. To my friend, for whom I’ve given my blog address—maybe this will explain things better. You haven’t mentioned to me if you read this, so I feel a little freer talking about it. But even if you do, maybe you’ll hear what I really want to say to you, but can’t. I very much love you, my friend, and hope we can be true friends, once more.

Saturday

On Saturday, the new Stephen R. Donaldson Novel came in. The Runes of the Earth is the first book of the long-awaited continuation of the Thomas Covenant series in which I fell in love in High School. That means that the last book (Book three of the SECOND Chronicles) was about twenty years ago. Amazon has it listed at number 47 in sales rank. That's pretty darn good for a fantasy author. I probably read 100 pages on Saturday. I had lunch with a few guys I didn't know, just to meet one of them. An interesting first date, to say the least, but I'd like to think there will be a second. I'll honor the sensibilities and leave Saturday night to the imagination. I acted out on the sex addiction. I did not use drugs, however. I got home about 2:00 am.

Friday

Where have I been, you may ask yourself? On Friday, I had a busy day. I had to take Will to the Airport for a trip to visit his sister in Boston. Getting him there by 9:00am started off my day. My contact at the company for whom I write on-hold marketing scripts was going on vacation, so I got caught up with one batch, and took a load of scripts from another batch and took a nap. Then, Lavender Writes co-sponsored an event with the Broward County Library, and since Karen was involved, and the other board member is in Canada, I felt a need to be there. We had a nice turn out for some author readings. After that, I hit a 10:00pm candlelight meeting and sat with friends afterwards. I got home about Midnight.

Mean People

Most mornings when I walk Banjo, I pass by this one house on a corner, where this Jack Russell terrier goes barking through the fence at anyone and anything that passes by. Now, Banjo loves other people and other dogs. He makes it a point to go out of his way to sniff them, smell them, even through fences. The Jack Russell’s fence is close enough to the road that Banjo can easily get to it, but, in the case of this dog, Banjo stays away. This is one mean little doggie. Everything made more sense when the Bush/Cheney 2004 sign appeared right in the corner of these people’s yard. Bush people are, by and large, mean people. There’s a man up on 69th Street—he’s made his two-bedroom ranch style home look like a trailer, and he’s got three dogs, that he walks all at once. He has a big, long white beard and glasses, and looks like he belongs on a mountain in Idaho. And he’s got a Bush sign in his front yard. Furthermore, he’s got a “Veterans against Kerry” sticker in the window of his house. Before I knew his political inclinations, I’d seen him outside. Never a wave or a smile, like so many of our neighbors. Just a mean look in his eye, like he’d as soon spit on you as shake your hand. He’s probably a die-hard member of the NRA as well. These are the people that have only bad things to say about their neighbors, except when they’re speaking to them. These are the people who still want to keep the “undesirable” elements from their neighborhood. These are the people who, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, believe that God created the world in seven days, gays choose their orientation and the death penalty is a deterrent to crime. It has got to be a sense of total selfishness that would encourage someone to support a president who has done nothing but send our nation into the ditches. “I’m voting for Bush because I don’t want the feds to take my money.” “I’m voting for Bush because I want to be able to fire a semi-automatic weapon in the privacy of my own home (in case I get robbed, I can blow the brains out of my burglar).” “I’m voting for Bush because if gay people are allowed to marry, my children might turn gay.” “I’m voting for Bush because he kicked Saddam Hussein’s ass and showed the world not to mess with Americans.” “I’m voting for Bush because I’m from Texas and none of this really makes any difference to me.” “I’m voting for Bush because it’s we Americans against them, and anybody that doesn’t support the president is un-American.” Frankly, I haven’t heard a reason to vote for Bush that wasn’t based on selfishness, entitlement, or apathy. Except possibly for the misconception that Bush was solely responsible for our recovery after 9-11 (which many believe would not have happened had Gore been in the White House), or that he had a valid reason to go into Iraq, and not just to fulfill contracts with huge companies with Executive Branch ties and to put the oil into American (and Saudi) hands. At least Kerry people are generally good natured, and friendly—even if they are voting for a candidate whose only marginally better than the president.

Allamanda, by Michael Williams

Michael Williams’ Allamanda is a perfect sequel to his earlier novel, Arcady. I have a thing about fantasy novels with Family Trees and Maps… I guess it comes from my childhood and JRR Tolkein among others. I love referring back and finding out where the novel is talking about. Allemanda uses both. We find ourselves back at the Arcady mansion, seven years later. The ethereal regions known as “Absenses” are beginning to consume the grounds, turning hemp fields into flat, stony surfaces. In the earlier novel, Solomon is our primary character—Allamanda begins with Solomon being “away, off “touring” the lands. Garrick, his nephew, becomes our protagonist. These books can be hard to understand, and not for the fainthearted fantasy enthusiast. Williams world hearkens back to something more reminiscent of the 18th or 19th century than fantasy’s usual requirement of Dark Age environs and technology. The characters have muskets, and there are machines here and there. There’s also a surprise in the map—but I had to determine where Michael Williams lived before I could figure out what the “ruined cities” were. Then it all fell into place. Except for the mountains on the map. Those didn’t make much sense where they were. Anyway, if you liked Arcady, you’ll like Allamanda…if you hated one, you’ll feel the way about the other. If you want to buy it… go here: Allamanda, by Michael Williams. I can’t guarantee anything will be in stock, but it’s still on their listings! But you can’t get it from me…I sent mine to Michael!

Letter from Club Fed 10-5 (2/2)

Continued from previous day.

On Friday, September 17th, a list of 270 was posted. Those on the list would be returning to Eglin on Saturday to begin the clean-up. Thank my lucky stars, my name was on the list! At 6am Saturday morning, we boarded rental buses (similar to a Greyhound) and began the trip “home.” As the I-10 Bridge east of Pensacola was washed out in the hurricane, we traveled secondary routes and back roads and got a good look at some of the devastation as we made our way through Alabama. Some of the scenes were reminiscent of Andrew in South Florida. Trees, power and phone lines were down everywhere. It was pretty easy to see where the tornados touched down as we’d see a 20-40’ swath of trees snapped off like matchsticks versus those laying on the ground with roots in the air during the hurricane. Some of the destruction was pretty surreal.

We arrived back at the compound and found ourselves knee-deep in branches and leaves. Only a half dozen trees were down but the hurricane force winds really took a toll on leaves. Most of the trees were stripped better than 50%. It was somewhat reminiscent of the fall season, up north. There’s a lot less shade here than there used to be. Cleanup took about 3 days, after which one would have been hard pressed to believe we’d just been through a hurricane. .

The only other item of interest is the fact that the rest of the camp population, about 600 guys, won’t be coming back. Turns out they have been shipped from Yazoo City to about a half dozen other facilities around the southeast. There’s a convoluted political shell game behind that happenstance. Let’s just say that it’s another successful occurrence of the government’s ability to defraud the American Public. I won’t even get started down that path. I’ve seen many instances of fraud for which you or I would definitely be brought up on charges. I’ll save those stories for when I see y’all again. .

There are now, and for the immediate future, 270 inmates on this compound. I’m pretty busy these days. I also expect to start the DAP (Drug Awareness Program) within the next 3 weeks. That will shave 18 months off my sentence, so I expect to be home September/October of next year. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!

Looking forward to hearing from all who can take the time to write!

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You can email Michael at

Letter from Club Fed 10-5 (1/2)

Michael has read your emails and responded!

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10/5/04 Hey all!

First, let me say thanks… many thanks to those of you who read my posting “A day in the life of…” And a special thanks to those who wrote back via Cary’s email.

individual messages here

It’s been hell on earth here since Monday, 9/13. As you’re probably aware, that was 2 days before Ivan was due to hit the Panhandle. It started out as a pretty average day. At about 9:00am, the world fell apart. We were all told to return to our Dorms and pack for evacuation. 18 BOP buses had pulled onto the compound and were waiting for us to board. We were allowed toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, 1 change of underwear and one change of clothing. We dragged our mattresses out of the Dorms and loaded them onto 18-wheelers. At the last minute, we were told to bring bedrolls—1 sheet, 1 blanket and pillow. At this point, we expected we were being evacuated to the bunkers on the Air Force Base. It wasn’t until all 815 of us were boarded that we were told we were going to Yazoo City, Mississippi.

Yazoo City, Miss???

I’d never heard of it before. It’s about 7 hours northwest of Pensacola. There is a Low Security Federal Prison located just outside of the city. In addition, there is a newly built, unfinished and, until we arrived unoccupied Medium Security located in the same area. Talk about culture shock! I know I have written about the relatively bucolic setting at “Club Fed…” Well landscaped, open space, moss-covered oak trees, view of the Gulf of Mexico, complete freedom within the compound… more like a summer camp for wayward boys.

Yazoo City Medium is P R I S O N in every sense of the word. A 15-foot high fence surrounds the compound. 12 feet outside that fence is another 15’ high fence. Both are topped by rolled razor wire. In between are 6 runs of razor wire stacked in a 3-2-1 formation. There are 3 4-story grey concrete slab buildings which serve as dorms, an A and B side to each building. Each side of the building contains 2 triangular dorms of 2 levels. In other words, there is a mezzanine level, and a 2nd level setup something like a balcony. There are about 30 2-man cells to each level. They measure about 10’ x 7’, with a 12” x 24” window, stainless steel toilet (no seat) and sink.

There was enough room for 2 mattresses (on the floor) side by side with about 8” between. The buildings were unfinished, post-construction, and covered with concrete dust. There was no flooring, no sound baffling, NO TOILET PAPER, and absolutely no ambiance. This became our home for the next 5 days. No TV, no radio, no cards, no books for the first 2 days. It was a spur of the moment evacuation with absolutely no preparation. Having been a guest of the Federal Government for the last 15 months, I really can’t say I was surprised by the lack of preparation. Let it suffice to say that the living conditions left much to be desired!

Continued...

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We're only $45 of our $65 away from those brand new tennis shoes! Keep the money coming! Don't forget, you can also email Michael by sending an email to mike at this website address (leave off the www!)

Contracted

It’s Sunday night and I don’t have anything specific to talk about. We just got done watching Cold Mountain, but I had an idea about getting my crap straight. There was one promise that I made here, that I would blog on a daily basis, and I’ve been pretty straight about keeping up with it, minus a few odd days, such as hurricanes, and on most of those occasions I make up for it by blogging twice the next day. Something about saying something in writing works with me. When I was eight years old, my mother and father drew up a contract that I would never suck my thumb again. For some reason I was willing to try it and I signed my name. I don’t remember what their end of the bargain was—or if they even kept it, but I kept my end. From that day forward, I never stuck my thumb in my mouth unless there was fried chicken grease on it. So, without further ado: Tomorrow I will start my day by walking the dog, and then journal for a half hour. Then, after having a bite to eat and take my meds, I will go straight to work and catch up. I will write twelve scripts, before noon. Then I will make two appointments that I need to make—one of them being a dentist. I will package the book I need to send out, and run errands, and when I return begin work on the website that I have recently contracted. On Tuesday, I will begin to write for myself once more—after journaling, I will spend an hour rewriting one scene for A Mirror’s Shard. I will also commit to working on that sort of creative writing once a day, in the beginning of the day. It’s official. I wrote it. This is my contract. If it works for me, I'll recommend it to other people. Isn’t commitment fun?

From Green to Red

I don’t know how I’m keeping my head about me. I’m not voting for Kerry, but I don’t want Bush to win, so that means Kerry’s got to win. It’s all a big mess. I refuse to vote for Nader, but the Green Party Cobb campaign is telling people not to vote for Cobb in swing states. I can’t vote for Cobb now. I asked our local Green Party stalwarts (who are pushing for Nader, not Cobb) if we had Socialist Party Candidates on the Florida ballot. The answer was “YES”! Walt Brown and Mary Alice Herbert are the Socialist Party candidates for President/Vice President. Contrary to my previous decision to vote for Cobb (and I never got an answer from them to my question) I’ve decided to vote for Brown/Herbert. I had a conversation with a friend yesterday, someone who says he’s a socialist at heart. He’s voting for Kerry, and I respect that decision. I’m a socialist at heart too, but I can’t bring myself to vote for Kerry. I can still hope he wins. If you go by what Electoral-vote.com says, then the undecideds generally go for the challenger two to one, because most of them have already decided they don't like the current guy (else why would they be undecided?), so Kerry will probably win. Here are the links of the day: Socialist Party USA Vote Socialist Site Socialist Party of Florida

and Martha...

Maybe you saw it on the news... if not, you can say you heard it here first...

Maybe you saw it on the news... if not, you can say you heard it here first... Martha Stewart Begins Service of Sentence On October 8, 2004, at approximately 6:15 a.m., Martha Stewart arrived at the Federal Prison Camp, Alderson, West Virginia, for service of her sentence. Stewart was sentenced in the Southern District of New York to a term of 5 months imprisonment for Obstruction of Justice, False Statements; and for Conspiracy to Obstruct Justice, make False Statements, and Commit Perjury. Additionally, she was sentenced to a two-year term of supervised release, five months of which will be served in home confinement. The Federal Prison Camp, Alderson, West Virginia is a minimum-security facility, which houses approximately 1050 inmates. The institution is located in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains, 270 miles southwest of Washington, DC. This memorandum can be found here: Martha Stewart Begins Service of Sentence PS to MDM(XC): I'm sorry I picked such a nice picture of her, but I still like Martha.

Eglin and Ivan

I’ve been getting a lot of hits to my website lately with one variation or another of the following key words: Hurricane Ivan Eglin Federal Prison Camp. If you haven’t heard from your inmate, chances are that he was not returned to the facility after the evacuation. There was some damage to the roofs of the Prison Camp. Now, we know the BOP makes no efforts to contact the inmates’ families and inform them of their loved ones’ whereabouts. But I believe that this is further compounded by the fact that the inmates’ accounts have not been transferred to their new locations, and therefore they have no way of paying for phone calls to tell their loved ones where they are. According to Michael, about one-third of the inmates were returned and the remainder are being distributed among other camps, like Yazoo in Mississippi and Talladega in Alabama. Your best chance to find your loved one, if you haven't yet heard from them is to go to the inmate locator at the BOP here: Inmate Locator. I hope this helps.

Mental Clutter

This has been a particularly ADHD-riddled week for me, and I’m in an especially difficult time at the moment. My medication is working the way it’s supposed to, that is, I’m not having the impulsivity problems (saying inappropriate things for no apparent reason), I can carry on a conversation to some degree of normalcy, and I can sit still for extended periods of time.

I’m distracted by phone calls, mail, and the million other things I’m supposed to be doing over the course of a day, like eBay, chatting with friends, writing this blog...

No, what’s going on is the stuff the medicine doesn’t seem to help with. Keeping my mind focused on things that don’t particularly interest me. Like work. What I am doing for money right now involves writing scripts for voice on hold for companies who don’t want to keep their callers bored while they’re on hold. Since I get paid by the piece, the more pieces I produce the more I get paid. On a good day I can whack out what I need to produce a living income in four or five hours. Now, think about it. I have the opportunity to make everything I need to make in a week in twenty-five hours, on my schedule and in my home. This is pretty easy stuff, right? Of course, the scripts are repetitive—each one little different from the last. And I’m working from my computer, with Internet browsers open, because I have to get details for these companies from their websites. And I’m distracted by phone calls, mail, and the million other things I’m supposed to be doing over the course of a day, like eBay, chatting with friends, write this blog... Or my 11-year old Persian cat, Joplin, dragging his ass across the floor to get the shit off of it because he’s got arthritis in his back legs and his fur picks up whatever he deposits in the litterbox, and since because of the pain he doesn’t like to walk around very often he makes sure he does it close to where he rests, which is right under my desk… It’s so easy to blame my parents for not providing me the coping skills I need to make it through these times, or Michael for being so idiotic and get in such bad trouble that he has to be confined at a prison camp for 2+ years, or society in general for not recognizing that enough of us have special conditions that there needs to be some sort of help available. But blame is never a solution. It’s not my Mom’s, or my Dad’s or Michael’s responsibility to see that I meet my obligations today—it’s mine, and if there’s going to be a solution, it has to start with me. I need a coach. I need someone to help me learn to prioritize on a daily basis. I need someone to help me learn to schedule my time effectively. I need someone to stand over my shoulder from time to time and make sure that sticking to that schedule. I have a letter to write to the Florida Insurance Commission telling them how United Healthcare has completely ignored my correspondence with them and that they need to take it to the next level. I have a time-share that I can’t afford and that I have to finally sell, some way or another. I have credit card bills to consolidate. I have auto insurance to pay, or to see if I can’t get my bills lowered. I have a home to organize and clean up. I have a book to edit. Any volunteers?

miasma malaise

Will and I left the 7:30 meeting and went to Publix. On the way inside, we got into a discussion on the difference between malaise and miasma. While we were shopping I began to feel a malaise. Right now, even after I took five 20mg ibuprofen tablets, I am too achy to write very much. I’ve got a fever of 99.4. Other people that I know have been having low-grade illnesses. Maybe a general miasma is lingering over Fort Lauderdale.

Watch Farscape

in just twelve short days, the [long- awaited] first night of a two-night miniseries airs on the Sci-Fi network.

The title of this post pretty much says it all. On March 21, 2003, Michael, I and countless Farscape fans watched the final episode of the critically acclaimed sci-fi series on the Sci-Fi Channel. After John Crichton and Aeryn Sun got blasted to bits by an unknown alien the words that appeared before them were not: “The End,” but “To Be Continued.” It was a cruelty, an error in the storyline, that was never wrapped up before the series was canceled. In truth, the writers had already begun a fifth season, but despite the outrage from the fans and the disappointment of the cast and crew, there would be no subsequent episodes. The rest of the year would be miserable. Michael began his prison sentence on April 18. My electric bill would skyrocket. And there would be no hope of seeing Farscape ever again. Then, on November 18, 2003, the first rumors that there would be a mini-series began to surface. Now, in just twelve short days, the first night of a two-night miniseries airs on the Sci-Fi network. The wait is over, and we’re finally at “continued.” I can finally find out what happens with John and Aeryn, and if the powerful Luxan, Kar D’Argo can rekindle the romantic fires with the sexually free Nebari, Chiana. I can’t wait to see how the rest of the crew has grown and changed, like the biozoid Sikozu and hippy healer Utu-Noranti Pralatong. If the imperious Rigel’s hearts have grown further, or whether he’s even more a selfish little Hynerian we’ve learned to love and love to hate. Have Pilot and Moya grown, having finally mourned the passing of Moya’s doomed-from-birth son, Talyn. And there is Scorpius, beloved, sexually ambiguous, both hideously ugly and disturbingly sexy, evil and determined; all the while John Crichton’s worst nightmare and only salvation. I would be negligent not to encourage others to tune in to the Sci-Fi Network on October 17, 2004, and October 18, 2004, to watch the miniseries. Any future of the characters and the production are contingent on the viewing audience. So, I urge all my readers to not only pledge to remain home and watch that miniseries on those nights, but also to tell every one of their friends that it’s going to be on. This story has got to keep going… it’s the best in the genre. Stop by the people who brought the show back to life: The Save Farscape Campaign.

Tina Tweaked

In checking my website’s stat log today, I found that someone had reached my site by Googling the term “tweaked Tina”. For those of you not in the know, Tina is a euphemism for crystal methamphetamine, and tweaked is a commonly used term for someone who is strung out on Tina. When I backtracked and did the same, I found that although Bastique was the eleventh site on the list, I was actually only the third site that had any relevance with “Tina” in the above referenced context. The particular blog entry that the reader accessed through Google was dated August 23 and can be found here: Trying Times of Tina. To save you the trouble, the other two were as follows: # 4. Dear Crystal Meth a “Help Column” found in a 1999 special issue of the Montana Native American student newspaper AIRO Reporter entitled “CRANK on the REZ.” It seems that meth use was already on the rise in Indian Reservations in Montana in the final years of the 20th Century. #5 Reconsidering the War on Tina, a February 2004 article in DC’s Washington Blade, describing one man dealing with the growing methamphetamine addiction among his friends in Los Angeles’s gay community but accepting those “who are ‘responsible’ users.” At least it’s how I read it.

The crystal meth epidemic is horrifying, and I feel sad every time I find out about someone who can’t quit...there’s quite a lot about crystal meth on the internet, but you have to know how to find it.

While I’m pleased that someone may have gleaned some valuable information on my site, I’m disappointed that any of the more relevant sites didn’t come up before mine, such as Crystal Meth Anonymous (information for those who may realize they have a problem) or even Tweaker.org (information for those who may not). Although I certainly have substantial experience in addiction to crystal meth and drug addiction in general, and have a wealth of knowledge about the subject; there are certainly more comprehensive sites out there. I’ve just mentioned two of them. Another one is Life or Meth. The crystal meth epidemic is horrifying, and I feel sad every time I find out about someone who can’t quit, how every aspect of some people’s lives involve Tina in one way or another. I remember when I couldn’t get off of the ride, where I had to be buzzing in order to even make it through the day. People with a problem need to be able to find the resources whenever they search for them. Maybe somebody might read something that will make a difference in his or her life. There’s quite a lot about crystal meth on the internet, but you have to know how to find it. Finally, to the persistent partier…If you invite someone who doesn’t like to party over to your house for a “date”, and you tell that person that you have been partying, but it won’t be a problem, please make sure that you put all paraphernalia and drugs someplace away. This means not under the computer keyboard or up on the little shelf over the sink. While your effort may be commendable, it’s only a half-measure. Try to give this job as much thought as you put into your lighting, music selection and the elaborate Rube Goldbergesque sex contraptions that you’ve created just for these special moments. Your guest will be quite grateful and might even come back again.

Tribute to Bill Brewer

Last month saw the death of a friend of both Michael and myself, that of Williiam (“Bill”) Dellinger Brewer, Jr., of Wilmington, North Carolina. He had been fighting a long battle illnesses, and had finally succumbed on September 3rd. I’d known Bill for about eight years, and still had not known much of the things I read in his obituary, at Star News Online. I knew that had served in the military, but was unaware that he was a US Army Chaplain’s assistant or that he came from a military family. In fact, it’s hard for me to explain just how I knew Bill without explaining my relationship with his long-time partner, Christian (Chris) Zimmerman. In those days, I only knew Bill as “Daddy Bill” because it was his partner, “Boy” Chris that I first met. In March of 1996, we were part of the formation of the new Southeast Conference of Clubs, an organization designed “to promote brotherhood, sisterhood, and camaraderie among member clubs” in the southeastern United States, among other things. Part of this meant attendance at each other’s events, like annual “runs”, banquets, and other events, for example, the yearly Panther Prowl, held in Atlanta by the Panther L/L.

After I got clean, the only leather- oriented events in which I felt comfortable involved Bill. I looked up to Bill as a source of both recovery and spirituality.

It wasn’t long before Chris went from being "Scribe" to becoming the President and I wound up the Treasurer of the SECC, so we were frequently at each other’s events, constantly on the phone with one another, and sent emails galore to each other. Our families became close, and Michael stayed with Bill and Chris several times while doing business up in Wilmington. After I got clean, the only leather events in which I felt comfortable involved Bill, who had been sober for some years. I looked up to Bill a source of both recovery and spirituality. When Menamore (Chris and Bill’s home club) held their annual event in Wilmington in 2003, I gravitated toward Bill as often as I could, grateful for his support and wisdom. On the Sunday night after the event, Bill and I spent some quality time together, watching the season premiere of HBO’s Six Feet Under. Bill and I bonded that weekend, but I’m sorry to say that it was the last time I would see him. Sadly, I allowed myself to become distant from Chris; who had become busy with his own life concerns. I never seemed to be able to get a response when I called or emailed him. Bill Brewer touched the lives of a number of different people, many of whom I call my friends. He will always have a special place to me, and I can look at his photographs today and know that the warmth in his eyes in the images still exists, wherever he is; and that he’s watching us—Chris, me, and the rest of those that he loved.

Guardians of the Keep, by Carol Berg

Carol Berg has done it again. I happened by chance upon her first novel Transformation, about the time that it was published, and was enraptured by her work from the very start. Guardians of the Keep marks the second book in her second series, and true to her form, Berg enchants the reader. In Guardians of the Keep, Berg makes a departure from her usual single-person format by placing us in the heads of various other characters in the book, alternating the heroine from Son of Avonar, Lady Seriana of Comigor, with her resurrected and memory-challenged husband, Karon, as well as a new character, the young Duke of Comigor, her nephew Gerick. First person narration from multiple characters is something that has always been discouraged in creative writing courses in which I've attended. It generally creates confusion and distances us from the characters. Berg somehow manages to harness the unusual format and rather than detracting from the novel it enriches it.

I devoured this novel in just seven days, despite my reading it only at night before bed and occasionally during afternoon breaks from work.

There are surprises in store. I pride myself on being able to pick up on nuances early, and with the revelations that take place, I don't feel as if I've been led on a merry chase by the author. Conversely, I don't feel as if the obvious is sitting there, in the reader's face, just waiting for a character to pick up on it. I realize the surprises only pages before the characters do, which is how it should be. I devoured this novel in just seven days, despite my reading it only at night before bed and occasionally during afternoon breaks from work. I could not put it down, even after 2:00 am. Guardians of the Keep is a definite must for the fantasy enthusiast. If you haven’t read Son of Avonar, then pick that up first. You can purchase either novel by clicking the following (these links take you off my site): Son of Avonar (The Bridge of D'Arnath, Book 1) Guardians Of The Keep (The Bridge of D'Arnath, Book 2)

The Six Date Sex Rules

The writing bug did not hit me today. I have to keep hoping some morning I’ll simply be inspired to take out my drafts of A Mirror’s Shard and start working it again. Maybe tomorrow morning.

I have a higher opinion of sex...I prefer sex with men who are already connected to me on some level.

I had a nice date with a friend tonight. That’s all, a date. Who’s to say it won’t become something else? I’d like to do it again. I’m just not used to going out with someone to dinner and then a quick hug and a quick closed-mouth kiss and then going your separate ways. He has had a six-date rule, and although I don't know how firm he's going to stick to it, this was only a first. I don’t know what it says about me, but I don’t see a problem having sex with friends. I mean, people in recovery like to fantasize about dating, and then work on getting to know someone before they have sex; although it’s rare that this actually occurs. Me, if I’ve got friends that I find attractive as well, what’s wrong with getting together and sharing a deeper level of friendship. I find sex is better when the party of the first part is already intimately acquainted with the party of the second part. Some people will say something about sex ruining the friendship. Well, if there was unconditional love to begin with, then sex isn’t going to change that. Maybe this is simplistic, but I have a higher opinion of sex than I once did, and I much prefer experiencing sex with men who are already connected to me on some level. I haven’t had sex in several months, because for ninety days, I wanted to make sure I was prioritizing my life properly. That period of celibacy has been over nearly a week, and I still haven’t had sex, even though I was pretty sure I’d be making up for lost time by now. Maybe it’s because I want to really connect with someone beforehand. I don’t want to hook up with some guy from the Internet, even if I do know him, and head right over to their house to do the nasty. I want to plan it, possibly after dinner and a movie. Maybe not even gave sex until after the third, fourth…sixth date? That doesn’t sound like me, though. Maybe my date rubbed off on me a bit tonight. I’ll have to get together with him again. Five more dates to go...