July 25, 2006
Rainbow flag in Meade, Kansas gives residents the jeebies
Found on Margaret's Blog, and brought to you for your viewing pleasure. I intend to send these Bed & Breakfast owners some love mail.
Read the article and see the video here: Rainbow flag creates controversy.
Here's an extract:
Local resident, Keith Klassen says the flag is a slap in the face to the conservative community of Meade. “To me it's just like running up a Nazi flag in a Jewish neighborhood. I can't walk into that establishment with that flag flying because to me that's saying that I support what the flag stands for and I don't," says Klassen.
Spread the word.
Posted by Bastique at 7:57 PM | Comments (6)
July 20, 2006
Putting off my tattoo
My tattoo, as it stands now.$150 per hour is a considerable amount of money to spend on permanently decorating my body in ink.
Don't get me wrong—the work is most definitely worth it, considering the talent of the artist and the scope and nature of the artwork. It's just that this tattoo is costing me considerably more than I expected when I began initial discussions with the artist. Originally conceived as a present to myself for quitting smoking, the total cost has quite offset any savings I might have incurred by not buying cigarettes.
On the other hand, I have remained a non-smoker, not willing to explain a huge tattoo for which I've publicly announced was a direct result of my quitting smoking. How embarrassing that would have been! Better to stay non-smoking.
The last time I went in, I told him I had $150 on me and we'd stop when that ran out. It worked.
Since when was the art of getting tattooed reserved for the wealthy?
Later: He left a message to let me know he can't take me when we originally planned, asking me to make an earlier appointment. I consider that a certain sign. When I call him back it's to tell him to postpone the work. There will be time and money for it later. Today, I need to spend on other things.
Posted by Bastique at 3:38 PM | Comments (1)
July 17, 2006
Delray Beach Shell Station
Shell Station at 1960 West Atlantic Avenue, Delray Beach:
Attendant: "You can't bring that bike in here!"
There's a comment I'm all to ready for. After all, convenience gas stations have tons of pedestrian traffic, in and out, and my bike could have caused an accident for someone who might not see it in front of them. It might even mark up the floors of the shop. Never mind baby strollers, wheelchairs.
Me: "But you don't have anywhere to lock it up in front."
I'm not kidding about this. This place has eight convenient pumps with three grades, plus diesel; not leaving a lot of room for other encumbrances, like a bike lockup rack. Gasoline convenient stations have become highly specialized, for one single kind of consumer. All the convenience you can muster in one place…if you're buying gasoline.
But there are a lot of people who aren't in cars lounging around outside the gas station. Rough-looking sorts. And it isn't my bike.
"Listen, I just want to tell you that you have to leave it outside."
Listen to nonsense? This man has evidently no concept of the value of things, or more probably is thinking in terms of himself, what he might have to clean up off the floor—or what might happen. Or perhaps I'm just being too impatient, expecting an outcome where nothing is certain.
The female cashier is trying to say something…but I'm not really listening to her.
"If you don't want to cater to bicyclists, I'll go somewhere else!"
Walgreen's, at least, builds stores with bike racks. I shouldn't be surprised at a Shell station without one. I don't like Shell. Shell gasoline is shit. My truck always has problems when I use Shell fuel. Buying something to eat would be the only reason I'd be in here, and…well…
As I'm leaving, I hear the man saying something about the fact that people leave their $30,000 cars running outside. I wouldn't leave a car running outside, but that's irrelevant. Theft of a car is considered a felony. Theft of a bike isn't. Opportunity will easily ignore a running car, complete with GPS navigation, Lojak, and other secure devices, in favor of an unlocked bicycle…a quick $25 to $50 on the street…impossible to trace or recover. Who does this idiot think he is, comparing my bike to a $30,000 car?
I do believe the young lady in front of the register was telling me that I could leave my bike at the front of the store. Maybe I should not have been so hasty in my retribution. Ah well, the damage was done.
Cross one Shell station off of my list of friendly stores.
Posted by Bastique at 7:35 AM
July 16, 2006
Olympus Undone
My last photograph...Tri-Rail leaving Delray BeachOn my way home from work on Friday, I snapped a couple of photographs of the northbound Tri-Rail train as it was leaving Delray Beach and put my camera in my backpack. I then commenced to pose my bag and bike on an empty bench, and took my camera out again. I slid the cover open, expecting my lens to expand, and…no movement.
I had just recharged my battery, and knew the camera had juice—at least as I was taking the previous photographs—but to be certain, I looked again at the images I took. My battery indicator was full, and my images were fine. I slid the cover open again. My lens remained in place.
The Olympus Stylus 300 digital cameras (as well as the rest of the Stylus series) have a mechanism whereby the lens remains tucked into the camera unless the lens cover is completely open. My assumption is that this protects the undoubtedly delicate lens from scratches or cracks.
I have always have some small difficulty with the sensitivity of my lens cover. It only takes a tap and the lens shuts closed, disappearing into its slot more quickly than a gopher escaping from a lawn mower. I remember more than once preparing for the perfect shot only to have my hopes dashed by the sudden disappearance of the lens because my finger slipped.
Carefully bringing my camera home, I unscrewed the lens cover to reveal the mechanisms, barely a quarter inch by quarter inch of little plastic and metal pieces, carefully aligned, and one tiny sliver of plastic—perhaps a half of millimeter wide and five millimeters long—broken loose.
With no practical way to fix it, I grunted in disdain. This camera, which cost me over $300 two years ago, is long outmoded by cameras with eight times the power at the same price. I have sent an email to Olympus complaining that an otherwise perfectly good camera has been brought low by a tiny sliver of plastic.
I will optimistically wait for their response. Perhaps this sort of thing has happened with this model before, and all I have to do is send in for a complete retrofit of the mechanism.
I don't care that the camera is already two years old and can only store 180 images at 2048 by 1572. I've taken a lot of good pictures with it and hope to take many more. Furthermore, It's not like I have another three hundred dollars to drop on a new camera—I still have to buy a new bicycle as well as finish my tattoo, not to mention my endless dental expenses.
So I have faith that Olympus will respond to me and do the right thing. You will all know if they don't.
Posted by Bastique at 10:42 PM | Comments (0)
July 15, 2006
Tooth out!
The page I was handed after my oral surgery(7/13/06) This morning I was unfortunate enough to have had removed my left mandibular second premolar (Tooth number 20 to those in the dental know). The unpleasantness of this experience was compounded by the fact that I have already spent nearly $1,300 on this tooth as of late in a root canal and a crown. One wonders why I hate dental visits so much, and then one realizes as I check out that I've been hit with another $185 bill for the extraction, and then one is satisfied that my apprehension is justified.
I only have myself and the misdeeds of my past to blame. In the first place, adequate dental hygiene habits never appended properly despite the best efforts of my parents. Furthermore, during the worst of my drug addiction I used a substantial amount of crystal meth, traditionally a large contributor to tooth decay.
A card I received on Folsom Street in San FranciscoCrystal methamphetamine, or "Tina", as it is known affectionately by its users, is an enemy that combats the well-being of teeth on numerous fronts: dry mouth from reduction of saliva potentially caused by meth overuse, cracked teeth due to clenching or grinding, general immune suppression associated, and finally poor nutrition and basic hygiene neglect. It's a wonder I have kept the teeth I have.
I have had all four of my wisdom teeth out, but the feelings surrounding the loss of those cannot compare with the removal of this tooth, great price tag notwithstanding. It's a loss for which I have little resolution.
Right now there's nothing but a sad little hole in my underbite. My tongue wants to explore the gap.
Having a tooth missing is certainly a mood depresser.
Posted by Bastique at 10:13 PM | Comments (0)
July 14, 2006
On time!
O joy of joys! Tri-Rail is on time on this merry day. After he had read last Friday's post, a friend of mine mentioned that I would probably serve my readers as well as derive my own benefits by pointing out the many advantages I've inherited by commuting by light rail rather than driving into the office on a daily basis.
First and foremost is hours of relaxed peace I spend riding each week, wherein I've been able to renew my romance with the quill and ink, otherwise known as my writing fancy. It is no secret how much I love crafting words from the whorls of chaos churning in my mind every day. There is a kind of "self-help" power in making entertaining or provocative commentary.
The Tri-Rail looks turned round when it's heading northbound.
This one is leaving the stationThere is also a mental muscle involved in writing, one that gets weak and flimsy when not in use—but when exercised on a daily basis, the muscle grows strong and dexterous, able to masterfully ignite effervescent prose from even the most desolate of environs.
Secondly is the stress relief of putting all my power on an immense, constantly moving locomotive when local traffic reports every morning provide an endless barrage of accidents, fender-benders, and roadway debris causing backups for miles and miles filled with psychotic rush hour drivers high on the carbon monoxide fumes of countless cars.
There is little to compare with the feeling one gets looking out the east window of the rapidly progressing train and seeing I-95 looking like a parking lot.
Next on the list is the daily exercise I have been getting from riding a bicycle between the station and work (and many mornings between home and the station). I sit in front of a computer screen all day at the office and much of my evenings at home. I need to have some sort of routine to prevent the onset of my impending forties, and bicycling happens to be the perfect daily aerobic workout.
Finally, the Tri-Rail provides a never-ending supply of entertainment from comedic announcers to sleeping security guards…and certainly not the least of which are the other passengers—a cross-section of South Florida society. Whether riding for convenience, economic necessity or ecological conservation, there is no end to the flow of personalities to be found on every Tri-Rail train.
I've recently become part of a subclass of Tri-Rail riders, the "rider-bicyclists". Out of necessity, we become familiar to one another. Bicycle storage stations on the trains come in pairs, and one often finds oneself doing a sort of dance with other bicyclists in order to insure that "next-one-off-the-train" is the bicycle on the outside.
There is one female rider-bicyclist, who, judging by her garb must work as a hygienist or nurse's assistant, that only rides for one train stop, but being the friendly and outgoing individual that she is, smiling and starting conversations, has become an easily recognized rider. Recently she asked what it was I was writing in my notebook every day.
In so many ways, the train is the better option by far. I wish they were more frequent and had a better on time ratio. Perhaps they'd attract more riders and be able to provide even better services.
But no more bicyclists…please. We need the space we get!
Posted by Bastique at 4:53 PM | Comments (1)
July 13, 2006
Lavender Writes presents an Open Mic Reading
Lavender Writes, an organization in which I serve on the board, is having an open mic reading at Borders Books and Music in Fort Lauderdale, on Saturday, July 29 at 8 p.m.
Writers of all stripes and conventions are invited to read their best work at this Lavender Writes event. Both published and unpublished writers are welcome to take the microphone during the evening. Everyone who enjoys good writing is invited to attend. This is a free event, Mc'd by Lavender Writes President, Mauro Montoya.
Anyone who wishes to read can sign up in advance, and if you post a comment to this blog using your email address, I'll get you the information. Audience members need only show up. After the reading, writers and audience members are invited to mingle over coffee and dessert at the Borders Cafe.
Borders is located at 2240 East Sunrise Boulevard, Fort Lauderdale and their phone number is 954-566-6335.
Posted by Bastique at 10:02 PM | Comments (1)
July 12, 2006
Powerful energies
I have been informed by powers greater than myself that if only I am able to harness the power of my frustration and rage, I will be able to create wonders in wonders.
The 8 of wands from the
Cosmic Tribe Tarot Deck, © Stevee PostmanI have not, however, been provided the means to harness these powerful energies, although the information is an important start.
My frustration is greatest when I cannot think, usually, very early in mornings, not long after I have awakened. The day hasn't kicked in and my internal mechanisms have not yet booted up. I will be trying to get a message through, my mind completely out-of-synch with my body and mouth, and a word will utterly vanish from my vocabulary.
This type of loss generates an immense frustration that I cannot immediately escape. The frustration becomes anger when my schedule is knocked completely out-of-whack by my continued attempts to grasp at language that eludes me. I become dysfunction personified, spouting regretful epitaphs at everyone around, an incensed, unlovable pariah. All for want of a single word.
How do I harness that frustration? How do I even know while I'm in the midst of it? One morning recently offered an opportunity, but I was in too much of a hurry to maintain my schedule that I couldn't even begin to think about it.
Eventually I have my pen and paper in hand, bringing the remembrance of the frustration into a controlled environment, but the frustration has long left me. If those powers greater than myself have more information about what I am to do, it escapes me.
Posted by Bastique at 8:55 PM | Comments (2)
July 11, 2006
my neverending trip dot com
The day is soon approaching where, if I wanted, I could leave South Florida behind, buy a travel trailer, and work from anywhere in the Continental United States with a clear view of the southern sky.
How I'd love to compose my missives right on the road, upload photographs of only a moment before. I'd even have a streaming 24-hour-a-day Cary-road-cam, for the viewing pleasure of anyone around the nation.
I'd create a Java applet that people can load right onto their own personal page, answering the burning question on everyone's mind, "Where is Cary now?" You'd be able to click the little updating graphic to be linked to a full page map of North America where GPS positioning will indicate my position with a little icon, anywhere, any time of day or night.
The wonderful thing about being a rolling stone in today's world is that I'll be able to telecommute from everywhere, at any time, day or night. After all, what do I do for a living that can't be done digitally, instant upload, job done? Imagine the stress relief from being able to put in a full 9 to 5 day in my underwear, munching on donuts with a splendid view of Mount Rushmore or the Grand Canyon.
I'll need, of course, some corporate sponsors. What will it be worth to them to advertise on a website, consisting of 24-hour a day me, likely to have tens of thousands of visits a day?
And the whole thing wouldn't be complete without merchandising… Tee-shirts, coffee mugs, Cary bobbleheads—bumper stickers proclaiming, "My other car is Cary's Neverending Trip dot com!"
You would drop a five for one of those, wouldn't you?
Posted by Bastique at 8:20 PM | Comments (0)
July 10, 2006
Cuban refugee died in mad dash to freedom in America.
Cuban refugees arriving in crowded boats during 1980's Mariel Boatlift crisis.You have to love how some people get on the television to justify unconscionable actions. One of the big stories in South Florida this weekend was about how a refugee speedboat filled with Cuban expatriots drove Coast Guard authorities on a wild goose chase across twenty eight miles of the Straits of Florida, resulting in the death of refugee Amay Machado Gonzalez from blunt trauma to the head and the injury of four others. Give our CBS affiliate some small bit of credit for allowing the Coast Guard and INS some freedom to express the authorities' point of view in the matter.
For once, my feelings go out to the government. Channel 4 interviewed a "representative" for the refugees' families who claimed that the boat was not a smuggling operation but paid for by the families of the refugees. He also expressed that the refugees had legitimate asylum because if those that brought children went back, they would lose their children to the Castro regime based on apparent new laws put forth by Castro.
In not asking two crucial questions of the Cuban-refugee-representative, WFOR fell short:
1. If the "rescue operation" was legitimately sanctioned, why did the expensive speedboat, laden as it was with 31 migrants, try to escape from the authorities? (In the latest news, the smugglers say they 'wanted to stop, but the refugees forced them to try to escape the Coast Guard.)
2. How do you expect our government to consider asylum based on persecution you wouldn't be facing unless you managed to try for escape?
Instead, the news focused on the death and the Coast Guard's repeated claims that they had nothing to do with her death (Monroe County Medical Examiner said it was consistent with her striking the boat) despite the fact that the Coast Guard fired gunshot repeatedly in the direction of the boat (not injuring anyone with it).
Sometimes the knee-jerk reaction of self-proclaimed "advocate" organizations goes beyond rationale. Expect the Cuban community in South Florida to be up in arms about the "mistreatment" of refugees by the governmental authorities.
Don't be too surprised to hear it become a campaign hot topic in the coming days. I'm looking forward to hear Katherine Harris proclaim loudly that the Coast Guard persecutes Cuban refugees and Senator Bill Nelson therefore hates Cubans. And don’t be too surprised if a large number of the Spanish-speaking population in Miami Dade County believe her.
Posted by Bastique at 8:00 PM
July 7, 2006
Late again!
This morning's Tri-Rail was fifteen minutes behind schedule, making it the third time the train has been significantly late this week. Our light-rail system suffers from severe dysfunction. Tri-Rail shares tracks with CSX, as well as Amtrak, neither of which seems to be able to maintain a schedule with any degree of regularity.
This train, heading in the other direction, was late too.But this event is really no more that what should be expected from a metropolitan area that only considers mass transit with an afterthought.
My difficulties with Tri-Rail started last month on June 19 when I bought a monthly pass. The vending machine presents me with a pass that reads JUN 06. The monthly pass is good for a calendar month. I attempted to contact Tri-Rail and was put off twice that week. Only a week later was I able to speak with the individual in charge of ticket refunds. The answer?
"You should have sent that ticket back right away!"
Ah, bureaucracy!
Waiting for the delayed train, I decide to purchase a beverage from the vending machine in the station. As I watch another regular rider walk from the machine frustrated, I attempt to offer it my dollar. It seems the power to the machine is off. The elevator and escalator are non-functional as well.
Nobody has shown up today at the Cypress Creek station to turn on the power.
Posted by Bastique at 8:15 AM | Comments (0)
July 5, 2006
39½ (part 2)
Inasmuch as the home in which Michael H. and I live is concerned, we finally, as of the end of June, have a new roof on our house. If your long-term memory is good, you'll remember that our home took a noticeable beating during last October's Hurricane Wilma.
Our brand new roof
So, after…
- three months to receive an insurance check,
- one month to get a roofing estimate,
- three months for the roofer to get our paperwork through some ridiculous hold-up in the City involving the flat portion of our roof and wind estimates,
- another month to see our old roof come off and for the city inspector to show up,
- two weeks before the new shingles to arrive, and
- another two weeks,
our roof is finally up. Now all that's left is for the ceiling in our Florida room and our garage to be repaired.
I don't speak much on the topic, but never fear, my HIV hasn't magically disappeared. As of my last regular checkup a week ago, I have a good healthy 364 T-Cells and a viral load of "undetectable." The T-Cells figure is important, because it's a remarkable increase over my previous count of 270 and the highest level it's been in about 7 or 8 years. My lowest was in July of 2004…and I wrote about it.
I wonder if my health with improve as well, or if my "life-saving" HIV medications will have a negative impact on my medical outlook.
Of course, I can always look to the cards… yes, as if to confound rational thinkers and religious zealots alike, I have taken to reading Tarot cards. Believe what you will about them, for myself I can see patterns emerging around me and anyone in my life, that are reflected in the cards that I deal. This new belief is a large consideration for me because the change in thought that I experienced in order to have faith in my interpretations was immense. To admit it to the sophisticated audience that I expect reads my blog is somewhat humbling. I fear what I believe most of you think about such things as Tarot and astrology, and I have no desire to have you think less of me as a result. Therefore, consider that I may still be the bright, brutally honest individual that I hope you've always believed me to be, and just accept that my insight and experience may be slightly different from yours.
A few statistics:
This is Coco Kitty - our Siamese cat, grooming.
As of my 39 and one halfth birthday, there are one dog (Banjo), one cat (Coco), and four birds living in these four walls along with Michael H. and me (and Mike D. on weekends).
My familial bonds include:- A grandmother, age 84, widowed and living in the Columbia, South Carolina area,
- A father, age 65, remarried recently and living just north of Boston,
- A mother, 63, married for something like 18 years to my stepfather and living in the Columbia area,
- A sister, 43, married with three kids:
- A daughter, 13
- A son, 12 (next week)
- A son, 7.
- A brother, 42, married and newly a father of one daughter, living in the Frederick Maryland area,
- A brother, 37 (this month), married with two children:
- A son, 5
- A daughter, 3
- A brother, 25, in the Atlanta area.
That's my semi-annual update. Now I can start counting down to my 40th birthday.
Posted by Bastique at 6:10 PM | Comments (0)
39½
June 28 was my official "half-birthday", making this missive more than a few days late.
I wanted to take the opportunity, as I've done semi-annually in the past (see 37½ and 38), to present a glimpse into the state of affairs of my life as it presently stands.
Me at thirty-nine point fiveUntil recently, I worked at a nearby Internet marketing company; however, things began to deteriorate at the office with more people departing for greener pastures. I decided to take up a standing offer and work for a similar group in Delray Beach.
This has afforded me the opportunity of commuting via light rail—and presenting me with the opportunity of doing more writing. (This missive was constructed partially during a stop and power failure on the Tri-Rail).
Michael H. and I are "no more," at least as a couple, but we continue to maintain an amicable cohabitation in our canalside ranch-style home in beautiful, peaceful Palm Aire Village, Fort Lauderdale. It seemed that his incarceration and our extended separation was more than our already strained relationship could bear.
However, it happened, Michael and I both agreed it was better to develop a charitable friendship than to continue fostering resentments and frustrations trying to rekindle a romance that had passed its time.
As quickly as one door slides to a close, another one opens and allows the passage of a crisp, cool, fresh ocean breeze. Suddenly someone reenter into my life. Mike D., who, although I've known him for over ten years, has only now awakened some part of me that I didn't even know existed. He returned to Fort Lauderdale In January, and almost immediately, my life has been irrevocably transformed.
For once in my life I can finally say I am taking care of my needs, putting myself and my mental, physical and spiritual health first, above everything else.
More to come.
Posted by Bastique at 8:00 AM | Comments (1)
July 3, 2006
Cayce
During a week (6/26/2006 - 7/2/2006) of murky gray, one bright, shining event shone through to tilt the balance from mundane to terrific. My older brother and his wife, after years of hopes and sad disappointments, have introduced into the world their first beautiful child, a daughter named Cayce.
Thralls of angelic choruses sings, "Hallelujah, hosannah on high, Cayce is born!" This radiant, heavenly music continues for quite a few moments while I ponder the significance of this glorious event.
Named Cayce: While I forget if there is any particular reason for this name other than it is beautiful, I am somewhat able to express the significance of her name.
Firstly, what most people will likely identify with the name is the well-known psychic Edgar Cayce—leading one to consider that this child may be headed for great and wonderful things.
The second important fact is that my family has close ties with the small city of Cayce, South Carolina. Our paternal grandparents had a home in Cayce, and many a Thanksgiving Day in South Carolina was spent at their home. It was where my grandmother lived after my grandfather's death when I was a baby until she died in 1999.
The city lends its name to Brookland-Cayce High School, where my and aunt both graduated. I went there for over two years and my older brother supposedly attended the school for a brief period of time.
In any case, Cayce is the first of her name in my family, and yet, it will probably not be the last. Of those of you who drink, I bid you drink a toast to the birth of Cayce! May she live a long healthy life and make her parents proud.
Posted by Bastique at 8:52 PM