On behalf of the Light of the World

Martin Luther King, Jr. said "darkness can not drive out darkness only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate only love can do that."

Visit https://www.lighttounite.org/ and spread Light and Love this holiday season. Do good unto the least of your breathen.

Bristol-Myers is donating a dollar to AIDS research every time someone goes to their website and moves the match to the candle and lights it. Please forward this to your friends to spread. It takes a second to raise a dollar.

Merry Briscoemas

Here's a shameless plug to my brother's and sister's-in-law humor and talent:

Christmas in the City

I'm home, watching Sex in the City on TBS. I never really got into it when
it was on HBO. But, it's on and it's funny.

I get thirty, so I go downstairs to get a glass of water. I hear Christmas
Carols be played on a saxaphone.

I prey open the shutters and there on the sidewalk is a man playing his
saxaphone in front of the restaurant across the street.

Ah, Christmas.

Lost Time Follow Up

 

I'm trying to look into why the e-mail-to-blogger function didn't work.  For now, I can't access blogger at home and I can't spend all my time at work blogging.

Lost Time

I'm going to try to make up for lost time. I was working on posting once a day until the end of the year so I would live up to my goal of 100 posts for the year. I got derailed.

The e-mail-to-blogger interface failed for me twice in a row. Once I was just e-mail a quick phone photo of my night out. Maybe it was too big, or maybe blogger couldn't accept my phone as an e-mail addres, or something else. But it failed.

Then I tried to e-mail my little memory about my dad and his giving me a cup of lukewarm water when I was felling bad. That failed.

I did think to go back and post it. However, I haven't yet tried to e-mail post again. That's this attempt. So, cross your fingers and let's see if it works. Thanks.

P.S. It failed.

Comfort when Sick

(this was originally attempted to be posted on Saturday December 2.)

I'm fighting another stomach bug. It's different then last week's; since I'm convinced that last week's was caused by eating some bad leftovers. I don't know why I'm not up to par this week.

I thought about sharing with you the horrible story of needing to use a rest room in the Gallery. (Think Trainspotting.) I decided to share a memory instead.

Whenever I was a kid and I complained of some kind of stomach problem, my dad would always get me a glass of lukewarm water. He tell me that I might not enjoy drinking it, but it will make me feel better for the moment. It always did.

So, I revisited the trick this week, and you know what, the lukewarm water still made me feel better.

So thanks, Dad.

Exhaustion

I'm really a working stiff now. I had a day that was jammed with meeting. I only had about 1.5 hours free to do things, like send out and reply to e-mails. So I stayed late to work on my inbox.

I guess I'm really an adult now.

Time Goes By...

(so slowly...)

Just I quick note today for my blog.

Last night I used the e-mail to blogger feature to post the draft excerpt from Gospel... and I could have sworn that I sent it around 11pm last night. However it didn't post until after midnight this morning.

So, I'm doing a quick test and e-mailing an update to my blog (which counts as a post, right?!) at 11:22pm tonight and see when it hits my blog.

Good night.

The Gospel According to Lucifer (entry 1)

This is a draft from the book idea that I want to write and get published. It's written from Lucifer's point of view. I will explain in a different point why his name is Light-of-Mine. Just know that's what God calls him. The word, mal'ak, is Hebrew for angel as attested in the Old Testament.

***

He knew that it could happen. He knew that any one of us could have gotten
frustrated through not knowing all the details of His plan and any of us could
have slipped. However, it was me.

"Light-of-Mine, I don't want you to think that I am disappointed, that I am
angry with you."
"I know that You aren't," I said respectfully
"However, you changed My plan."
"I didn't know what You wanted to do…"
"It is not your place to know," God interrupted, "Yet since you have gotten
so involved, I need to give you a new charge."
"Yes?"
"You may not enter Heaven like you were able to do before. I need you to
watch over these humans since they now will need help to gain entry."
"I am to give humans entry into Heaven, though I cannot go in."
"No, Light-of-Mine, I need you to watch over these souls, now that they have
been advanced too quickly for their own evolution. For when their energy
separates from their body, most will not be ready for that and they will be in
denial. They will still believe themselves to be corporal, and they cannot get
into Heaven still clinging to thoughts that they are one with their bodies.
Those very thoughts alone will prohibit their entry into Heaven."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to let life happen and watch angels evolve from matter. I
created you and your siblings to know me, love me, and to know and love each
other. Like your fellow mal'iks, humans are part of this Creation. However, I
let them come from the matter I created to fill the void and they are a
procession in the generation of mal'iks. You and your siblings are the end of My
Creation, and the universe we obverse is the beginning."
"These humans were to become angels?"
"They were to evolve eventually into angels."
"They won't now?"
"They won't, without a little intervention. I will watch their process and
when the correct situation shows itself, I will send the proper intervention.
Until then, I need you to watch the souls of the humans who die before then to
ensure that they are safe. Can I get your promise to do that?"
"Yes, my LORD, You can."
"Go, and protect My Creation."
"Praise be to You."

Our agreement had conditions. I was not able to enter Heaven. I had to
promise not to show my radiant display of His glory; I can only appear in a subtle
form. I would watch over Sheol and the souls that entered there until there
came a possibility to move on to Heaven. God could not enter Sheol, and no
creation of God would be removed from Heaven like I was. No other creation of
God would be punished as severely for turning against His plan.

This is the start of my rule of Hell, but not as your kind portrays. The
concept of Hell, as you show it, is used to scare people into believing the
appropriate mores. While there is a state of not being in God's presence, it is
not the bastion of evil torture, fire and brimstone. Sheol is a very personal
experience and it only influenced by you. It is the beginning on your journey
back to Heaven starting at the occurrence of your death.

Souls in Sheol do not want to realize that they are dead. Most blame God for
their existence in this realm. Truly, if you want to blame anyone, it's me.
I altered your evolution and therefore there is more process for you in order
to return to God.

This is what souls need to do in Sheol: come to terms with only being a
spiritual entity. Some souls are haunted by their darkest fears. Some souls can
perceive the corporal world and still try to interact within it. Sometimes
souls can, but it is only minor and that frustrates them even more. However, the
soul that is ready to contemplate that concept of eternity and the freedom of
only being energy continues to evolution from human into mal'ik. It is still
a process, but only accepting completely and totally this new existence can
one have the hope of leaving the Sheol.

Hook a Sistah Up

Oh, youtube, I give thanks for your gift of viral marketing.

So my dear friend has cooked her first thanksgiving meal, and videotaped it as proof. (You're so smart, Nikki.) Any table that has Yellow Tail and Grey Goose is ok by me. (Though, I would have gotten a Pinot Grigio.)



Enjoy my friend's foray into being all adult and shit.

Musing on how traditions get to be

I'm sitting at my computer, again, after a good breakfast of Spiced Wafers, Craisins and black coffee, wondering what to type. This is a tough exercise -- almost as tough as lunges -- which reminds me: my hand is heaps better and I should return to the gym.

I have Craisins in my pantry because I needed them for a recipe for Thanksgiving. This recipe has become a holiday tradition in my family, and almost in spite of itself. As one of the culinarily talented members of the family, I was asked to cook a dish for Thanksgiving as soon as I got apologies for still sitting at the kids table. Year after year, I would try some fusion spins on holiday favorites: sweet potato pie, colconnon (Irish mashed potatoes with cabbage or kale) and sweet potato gnocchi. They were never hits with the family, but they were half gone by the end of dinner and I got to take the remainder home as leftovers.

About 6 years ago, my aunt Florence was hosting Thanksgiving. She asks those of us who cook to bring a dish. My mom was assigned green beans, my other aunt -- her sweet potatoes, and so on. I was asked to bring a desert. I thought to myself that if I made anything that I'd have half of it to take home with me.

I believe that I was watching the Food Network and some show on cooking with cheese. The desert dish was Cranberry-Ricotta Tarts with toasted Almond Crust. Wow, I thought. I was salivating while watching the show. I'm not a big cheesecake fan but I knew that I would love this dish. The tarts are shallow and just flavored with enough dried cranberries and a small amount of ricotta. And Lord knows, I love nuts. I went online to get the recipe (and it's a good thing that I did, because I have not seen it online since.)

I got the ingredients and headed to my folks house the night before to cook. My folks were excited to hear about this recipe and I said "You know that they never take a liking to what I make, we should have a lot to take home." The house smelled warmed with vanilla and almond in the air. The dish looked great.

Now, I took the recipe and played with it slightly, because of that I just call it a Cranberry Ricotta Torte. Also, I avoid calling dishes names that sounds like an ingredient list. I like some of the tastes and flavors to be a surprise.

We all arrive at my Aunt's and we settle into dinner prep and TV-watching. After an hour, the turkey was carved and we eat. Mom's green bean dish was great, as were my aunt's sweet potatoes and everything else on the table. The younger generation cleared the dishes, the men washed and dried and my aunt set up the dessert buffet.

There was pumpkin pie, mincemeat pie, apple pie, cookies, Jubilee roll (from Friendly's) and my cranberry ricotta torte. We dug in. Coffee was on and we were getting second cups. The meal was over. The second wave of clean up ensued. This time, the plates for dessert were paper and the silverware went in the dishwasher. It was time to pack up and leave.

My aunt calls to me: "There's only a small piece of your torte left, I'd like to have it for breakfast tomorrow." How could I say No? I looked and there was only a small piece left. My family actually ate something that I brought and enjoyed it.

Since then I cannot show up for a Holiday Season dinner without the torte. Actually, I don't have to show up, but the dessert does.

A day in the life of a self-mandated blogger.

I'm feeling the pressure here to write 35... err now 34... more blog entries from now to the end of the year.

I've been sitting at my computer, trying to think of something to jot down. Nothing really is coming to me.

I was going to go on about how under the weather I feel. I have a headache and stomach pains. It affected my sleep last night. I woke up about five times in the middle of the night, but I stayed in bed until 10! Though, I had some vivid, crazy dreams when I was asleep, but I don't remember them. Now, I still feel like crap.

Then I thought that I would put up some brainstorming for my book up -- some notes that I worked on for the angel Gabriel, my favorite of all the angels. How some lore believes that Gabriel is truly a female angel, based on the biblical account of the Announciation. The angel appears in Mary's room -- the angel doesn't walk in or knock, Gabriel appears. In the account, Mary is without fear on seeing Gabriel. Now if I were 14 year old girl, I would be scared shitless if a strange man popped into my room. Yet, Mary was without fear. Sure, one could argue that Mary was full of Grace, blah, blah, blah, and God gave her the strength to be calm. But I personally like the idea that one of God's archangels is a woman.

I didn't have plans to sleep all day, but I ended up doing that. I was going to take a little joyride with a Philly Car Share car. However, that was not to be. I went online and secured a reservation for a Scion at 21th and Chestnut for 2:00 pm. I thought that I'd take a car for a few hours, take along some CDs and drive around the city like I used to do years ago when I actually owned a car. Ten of 2, I pack up my bag with music and I head to the corner of 21th and Chestnut. From Sansom, I look up and think, I don't see any Scions there. I walk to the end of the block and plainly there are no cars in any of the three Philly Car Share parking spots. I am saddened. So I call Philly Car Share to report that they are no cars and cancel my reservation. I should double check, but I might be additionally compensated for that.

I'm hydrating and vitamin I-ing because I'm supposed to hang with our favorite little angry tank tonight. I don't have to drink, but it would be nice to be social this weekend.

Only 30 days to Christmas! I think I'm asking for a new bed from Santa.

Blogging via e-mail and the end of the year

Ok, I’ve started this blog in January 2006 to help we me write. So I’m going to try to end the year with 100 posts. That’s not too bad – it’s about a post every 3-4 days. Well, here’s the rub. I currently have 65 posts. I will need 35 more until the end of the year to get my goal. That means, I have to blog ever day until New Year’s Eve until I reach my goal (and I can only miss two days.)

So to remedy that, I’m testing out the Mail-to-Blogger Address feature on my blog. I set up an address by which I should be able to post to your blog via email. This ought to be good!

Wish me luck.

Now I find I've changed my mind... I never felt so happy

(Confessions Tour, part 2)

After hanging from the cross, Madonna continued to turn up the political commentary with the Sorry (Remix) interlude. In the video remix of the song, she spliced images of Condi Rice, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, Bush, Nixon, Kim Jong-il, war and starving kids in Africa all the while repeating the phrase "don’t say you’re sorry." The montage ended with the phrase "The Audience is Listening.” Needless to say, this was edited out of the NBC airing.

The scrim came up and a black and white stylized cityscape was in the background. Madonna, in a tight black, glammed up and feather-collared outfit, donned an electric guitar with a strap saying I heart NY. She rocked out to I Love New York and replaced the line "If you don't like my attitude, then you can f-off// Just go to Texas, isn't that where they golf?" with "If you don’t like my attitude, then you can fuck off//Just go to Texas and suck George Bush’s cock." Not poet laureate material, but it got a big cheer from the audience. The next song was one of my eternal favorites: Ray of Light. She delivered that song home! Playing on her guitar, she and her male dancers performed some fancy moves to the song, all in front of a spiraling milky-way.

Stripping out of her glam and feathers, Madonna stand on the stage and belts out her song, Let It Will Be. She struts, parades, gyrates and throws herself all over the stage all the while captivating her audience. In a smartmove, she sits down to rest and sings Drowned World/Substitute For Love. There's nothing going on in the background -- it's just a spotlight on her, her band light up and lights from the stage shining down. This number was about her voice, the words and the song. See how good it was:


To end this set, Yitzhak Sinwani joined Madonna on the stage for Paradise (Not For Me), as linked in this blog entry of mine. Since "Music" was released, I have loved Paradise and was excited to see it being used as an interlude during the "Drowned World Tour." Now, it was spectualar to hear it live with Yemenite lyrics to replace the original French ones.

Staring at the blank page before me

It's not original... and I've had a few things stuck in my head: songs...

I've had a few dates with this fellow, and he always reminds that I can't have a book to publish if I don't write anything. He speaks from experience -- he's working on a musical and I've heard the demo. It's amazing to see/hear creation in the middle of the creative process. It's refined, but still raw. It will be worked on more, but the crux of its emotion is there. There's one song that's truly amazing. The music is complicated left hand for the piano yet gently moving and the lyrics hit those emotions that we've all felt. When it's big, you'll know it! It's that good.

It's been so long that I've tried to write that I haven't had any paper or a notebook with me, like I used to.

So under his goading, I have been making more of a point to writing. Usually I jot a few paragraphs when I make the point to do: a hour at the computer when I'm at my folks, on a train ride home, ideas on a napkin... then I type them up.

I'm writing ideas for The Gospel According to Lucifer and How I Broke My Heart: A Travelogue.

So back to the unoriginal: Outside the songs from musicals in my head, I also hear in my mind's ear Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten" -- poppy, but appropriate. I'm posting this lyrics.

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

So I need to take more leaps and become less unwritten.

Wearily remembering Napa

It’s 7:30am at JFK airport. The crowd, for the most part, looks tired. People are clutching their Starbucks, iced or hot, and mindlessly look ahead. I just stare at this screen, hoping to tell all the stories of my trip.

Before I left for college, my family took a vacation to San Francisco and Los Angeles. It was 1991. I remember going through the Napa Valley wineries and being very frustrated about not being allowed to sample the wine. Seriously, no teenager is going to care about the fermentation process if he can’t sip the results. Rita chided me for being a snot, and I retorted that this was a family vacation, let’s do something that the kids want to do. (This is the vacation when I begged to walk around the Golden Gate Bridge and everyone balked. I had to wait until 2000 before I got to do that.) I remember that this scene between my mother and me happened at the Christian Brothers Winery. This tour was an unusually long one, with interesting information, from what I remember, but I was just pissed off at our countries alcohol laws.

Well, 15 years later, I got to head up into wine country and was legally able to drink. We made reservations for Greystone at the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) for Thursday night. After the punch buggy gauntlet was dropped, Hilary got in a good number of slugs while I navigated, and 2 hours later we found our Chateau Hotel to check in. We had rooms across the hall from each other, and Hilary and I claimed the one room at the party lounge. She gleefully jumped from one bed to the other, as she does.

We all change into Bay Area finery – jeans and nice shirts, and head out to the restaurant. The sun was setting over CA-29 and the sky was pink, purple, cobalt and blackening. We pull into the parking lot, and Brigid asks me if I know what the CIA was prior. I looked and it had a distinctive religious look to it. “I don’t know, Bree, a monastery?” She responses, “Close. It’s the old Christian Brothers.” Vengeance is mine! Ha, ha, ha! After 15 years from my minor tantrum, I now can walk into the place and order me up a meal and some wine.

We marveled at the meal. We started with the chef’s selection for an appetizers – the highlights being the figs stopped with honey-sweetened goat cheese and a butternut squash soup. I faux pas-ed when I tried to get my demitasse of soup; it slipped from my hand and the rich buttery sweet warm liquid infused with nutmeg, coriander and cinnamon bubbled up out of its container as I dropped it sending the pumpkin colored liquid all over myself, my plate and my glass of Pinot Blanc. Our server quickly gave me a napkin to clean up, replaced the tray of soups and served each of us our on cup. Hilary pointed and laughed.

We did a wine flight with dinner and mine was called Pinot, Pinot, Pinot, comprised of a Pinot Blanc, Pinot Gris and a Pinot Noir from the Napa and Sonoma area. J winery was the source of the Pinot Gris that I went head over heals for. Luckily, I found it in the Castro Wine Shop later in the visit.

We ended our meal with a chocolate soufflé with Grand Marnier crème sauce. To die for, and so rich that the four of us could not finish it! We returned to our Chateau to strategize our winery tour after our spa visit to Calistoga. This was all in anticipation for our visit to French Laundry.

Getting the Band Back Together

After spending an afternoon in San Francisco, it was time to rendezvous with my friends. I walked from the Castro to the Mission on 18th street to get to my final destination of 16th and Mission to take the BART.

I’ve walked up and down 18th Street many times. When Denise lived on Harrison and I would visit her, we’d usually end up walking between the Mission and the Castro via that road. So it was all very familiar – comfortable.

I saw the J-Church line as I crossed Church Street (of course) and immediately in front of my eyes, I saw a huge group of people and volunteers with simple stop signs stopping traffic. It was the Mission High School standing on the steps of the school to take class pictures. I just found it very touching. I had big smile on my face from that moment on.

Traveling does that to me. It makes me giddy, excited and very happy. I love to explore, even if it’s some place that I’ve been before. Until yesterday, I didn’t know that there were any barbers in the Castro, nor did I ever notice the taquería where I got a chorizo breakfast burrito. (I’m still waiting until Sunday or Monday to get my El Farilito’s burrito!)

Back in the Mission and walking from 18th to 16th, I spied the thrift store where Denise and I shopped to find Halloween costumes. (It’s a must to do Halloween in the Castro, if you love Halloween.) It was a more real version of a city – more a mix of Latin cultures. Mexicans, Guatemalans, Puetroriqueños, etc. are the pulse of this area of town.

I hopped on the BART to the airport to meet the others. We were all excited to see each other. It’s been just a high.

We squished into Brigid’s Jetta and took off down the 101 to the San Mateo Bridge since the traffic was horrible. After circumventing the 80 parking lot, we were on our way to Napa Valley.

The ride was a fit of laughter after I unleashed a punch buggy monster, named Hilary. I saw a VW Beetle painted like a cow and the gauntlet was dropped.

It’s a nice juxtaposition: all of us traveling to Napa to eat at French Laundry and three of us, playing punch buggy on and off. Brigid, of course, didn’t play.

Ah, eavesdropping and pensive on my Songline!

I made it. After feeling like I was going to be trapped on the tarmac in Philadelphia and just making my connecting in MSP. (Thank you, Northwest Airlines, my luggage DID make it.)

Brigid and I were excitedly texting and calling each other all through out the day. We jumped for joy when she picked me up at the airport. We just couldn't stop patting
each other saying "I’m/you’re here." I've had a BIG ASS SMILE on my face!

We wisked down the 101 in her Jetta, and I mused about my Songline. Then, I saw a sign for Belmont. My cousins live there. I got to e-mail them…

I’m in the Castro Country Club for the free Wifi (well, I bought a coffee) and I love being able to listen in on the conversation. People are unabashedly willing to say all most anything with a total stranger in the room. I feel sort of Jane Goodall-ish.

(a mobile phone conversation) “You’re still with that crackhead, are you?.... What else does he do for you?”

“I never write the word, alcohol, I always right ETOH.”

“Just because I don’t have lesions all over my face doesn’t mean I’m not sick.”

“When did you get so pornographic at 74 years old?”

“I was trying to think if I should FedEx all my wigs there…”

“I’m kind of excited to turn 30. I’ve been looking forward to turning 30 since I was 16.”

It’s like an aural voyeurs’ wet dream.

It’s always an interesting slice of life.

Brigid dropped me at the Caltrain station as she left for Stanford, and I trained to Milbrae and transferred to the BART. I was smiling the entire time. I had important plans this morning!

I got out at the Powell station and headed for Mission Street. I ended up walking past the San Francisco Chronicle building. I hadn’t ever noticed it before. It looks like what a newspaper building should look like. I ended up in the financial area to get me a cup of Peet's Coffee – my favorite coffee. Someone I know hooked me up with that lovely liquid a few years back, and I'm still endebted! (I subtly mentioned this in an email to said someone and he got the refernce.)

Important plan A was done.

I took the F Market (important plan B) from the financial district down to the Castro to get a haircut and try to plan out my day today. I googled “free wifi in San Francisco” and got a lead of the Castro Country Club. It’s a misnomer, but it’s still a good space. It’s a social place for gay men to meet without alcohol. There are a lot of friends of Bill W here. Good for them. However, I got to hear some of quotes from above, it’s great fodder.

I guess I shouldn’t mention my trip to Napa, eh?

I’m here because I wanted to have a base in the city to figure out what I wanted to do today, but the life that’s unfolding right in front of me is too real to walk away from.

Joie de vivre

Outside of the wonderful things that happened in 2005, two men made my life hell that year. This is a story about the one whom I have yet to allude to on this blog.

My dear (and gorgeous) friend, Nicole, got married this past weekend in Saint Francis Xavier Church in Philadelphia. The ceremony was amazing, presided over by three priests – one of whom was recently ordained a bishop. The music was stunning and I haven’t been to a wonderful wedding like that since... since... since two weeks prior.

I know Nicole through my former job, and those co-workers from there have been a tight-knit group. Therefore a medley of people who were and are still employed in that office were invited.

The reception was held in the Union League, and after their recent renovations there venue was amazing. Rich, dark cherry colored wood and light cream drapes and linens provided an outstanding backdrop for a great time.

Nicole and I, when we worked together, shared the same boss. He made my last few months at my former job intolerable. Though I was not treated like persona non grata, I felt like an abused child.

I got out, and, as many of you know, I’m in a better situation for me.

I had seen him at the church, and I learned that he would be at the reception. I guardedly enjoyed cocktail hour, mingling with friends. At the end of cocktails, he was talking with Melissa and the maître d’ started to ring the chimes. As event planners, Melissa and I have had to ring chimes at many a dinner. I had to crack a joke about that.

I rushed into the conversation and excused myself. I laughed and said “We should go over to her and let her know how to really ring those chimes.” The entire group laughed. Then I acknowledged my former boss standing there and we shook hands. (No, I didn't spit on anyone!) He then introduced his wife. To which I replied, “Oh yes, we’ve met in Paris.” (We did in 2002.)

Everyone who knows of our falling out has asked me if I interacted with him during the wedding. I relate the story.

One person listened and commented, saying, that I live my life just to be able to say one-liners like that.

L'shanah Haba'ah b'London

I'm hatching out a plan to go to London for New Year's Eve. More details to follow.

Can't Take My Eyes Off You

As many of you know, my brother married his love three Saturdays ago. For your reading, I give you my best man toast:

Family, friends and guests, hello and welcome. For the benefit those of you who don't know me, I'm Terry’s brother – Casey. Though is the tradition for the best man to focus on the groom, I would like to take a moment and thank Janice for letting this megalomaniac stand in the spotlight for a few minutes on their wedding day. Also, if I may, Janice, you look stunning.

After the happy couple announced their wedding date, I went to my calendar and wrote in pen: the Lee-Ryan Wedding on September 16, 2006, erasing a rugby match that was scheduled. I had no expectations about the wedding day, except that I would be here – present. My hope was that I would be able in any way to ensure that the joy we all celebrate today becomes the memory that Terry and Janice treasure forever.

When Terry asked me to be his best man, part of me was flattered, part of me was terrified, but mostly I was gloating inwardly because he’s finally admitting something we’ve known all along, that I am, in fact, better than he.

Truly, Terry, I want to thank you for this great honor – being your best man. I also want to thank my parents, Rita and Pat, for the blessing of giving me a little brother. Though, throughout the years, Terry and I both questioned and challenged whether it was a blessing to be related.

I have the privilege of knowing Terry all his life. I recall how excited I was when my folks told me that I was going to be a brother. I was only three, so anything that sounded like good news excited me. I remember getting Terry from the hospital Christmas Eve 1976, and after settling in, how my Grandmom Bradley held him and welled up with pride. He was such a cute baby, (and he’s cute now…) He was such a cute baby, with his three red hairs.

I have experienced my brother growing up, watching his hair come in as little red ringlets and seeing his personality blossom. It’s a shame that I only have a few minutes to give you an insider’s view of Terry’s personality.

Inspired by the wedding party’s formal attire, I’d like to visit some of Terry’s self-expression through clothing: Terry loved Halloween growing up and looking back he never turned down a chance to be costumed even if it wasn’t for the holiday. He’s been the Campbell Soup Girl, a gig which paid him enough to buy a Nintendo; E.T., who handed out M&Ms instead of Reeses’ Pieces; a devil for Halloween, who enjoyed poking his neighborhood friends with his plastic pitchfork; and the reoccurring Terriana Jones, my brother’s incarnation of Indiana Jones, complete with bullwhip.

(Janice and Casey ad lib about Terry’s newly acquired Fedora.)

Terry has also expressed himself as a talented, quizzical mind of his generation. In his younger years, he set off in quest of scientific discovery, with some of his more famous hypotheses being: Can I make an electromagnet with soldering wire, a nail and an electrical outlet? Or, my favorite, will sand dissolve in the gas tank of the lawn mower or will it blow up the machine and kill my brother? As I stand here now, sand did neither.

Can you understand why we wondered if it was a blessing for us to be related?

Through being Terry’s brother and his best man, I have learned far too many funny stories for just one toast, like oatmealing neighbors’ front yards, leaving friends in the trunks of cars and the appearance of places in the back yard where grass won’t grow. More over, though, I continually realize what a special brother I have:

Talented,
Successful,
Smart,
Creative, and
Acerbically witty.

He’s grown up and has fallen in love. Thank you, Helene, for your daughter and thank you for loving her and Terry.

Through out their courtship, Terry has shown me in actions and words how important Janice is to him. He cannot and does not want to see his life without her. In simple eloquence, Terry says about his wife, “Janice makes me happy.”

As a bachelor, I will not try to give marital advice, but I looked to one of my fictional bachelor peers for some general counsel on life. The British Prime Minister in Love Actually puts everything in perspective and gives the audience a little advice and his take on life in a voiceover in the beginning of the movie:

"Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around."

Please join me in raising a glass:

Terry and Janice,

May the love you share today, grow and strengthen to keep you steadfast on the journey ahead.

May the love you share today, ever change as you learn more about living, loving and sharing your lives and loves.

May the love you share today, be boundless as it only improves each day forward.

May you be each others’ rock until all the stars fall from the sky.

Sláinte!

Until you're safe and sound...

I am copying some of Sheryl Crow's lyrics to "Safe and Sound," a song of the 2002 album, C'mon, C'mon.

Ms. Crow performed this song in tribute and memory of those who died on September 11, 2001 at the 2002 MTV Music Video Awards.

In addition, I've added a link to my favorite angry blogger's site for his commentary on the 5th anniversary of the September 11th attacks.

Feel like I could've held on
Feel like I could've let go
Feel like I could've helped you
Feel like I could've changed you
Feel like I could've held you
Feel like I could've hurt you
Feel like I was a stranger
Feel like I was an angel
Feel like I was a hero
Feel like I was a zero
Feel like I could've cured you
Feel like I could've healed you
Feel like I could've touched you
Feel like I could've saved you
Feel like I should've heard you
Feel like I could've moved you
Feel like I could've changed you
Feel like I could've held you
Feel like I could've kept you
Feel like I should've told you
Feel like I could've loved you
Feel like I could've loved you
Feel like I could've loved you
Feel like I could've loved you
Feel like I really loved you

Laissez l'amour rouler!

In the midst of the media maelstrom about the first anniversary of the landfall of Hurricane Katrina in Louisiana, I just wish to stop and to remember all those who died and those whose lives have been uprooted and profoundly impacted by this disaster.

Our government failed us, but the American people didn’t fail New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. There was a major outpouring of love, concern, prayer and money. We can not falter in this.

It’s our responsibility to educate, inform and tell the stories in order to keep us vigilant about never allowing this blatant disregard for human life to happen again.

http://www.redcross.org/

Wander+Lust=

A love of travel.

I saw this on Blankbaby, and I HAD to do this.

Got at b3co.com!

The day we lost Pluto

or (And your little dog, Goofy, too!)

It’s official, the International Astronomical Union (IAU), founded in 1919, has defined (I never had that much time in my life to define something -- most of my identify and define tests were given in the time frame of 40 minutes, slackers.) what a planet is:

A planet is a celestial body that (a) is in orbit around the Sun, (b) has
sufficient mass for its self-gravity to overcome rigid body forces so that it
assumes a hydrostatic equilibrium (nearly round) shape, and (c) has cleared the
neighborhood around its orbit.

According to this definition, Pluto has been demoted from a planet to a dwarf planet.

A dwarf planet is a celestial body that (a) is in orbit around the Sun, (b) has sufficient mass for its self-gravity to overcome rigid body forces so that it assumes a hydrostatic equilibrium (nearly round) shape, (c) has not cleared the neighbourhood around its orbit, and (d) is not a satellite.

Pluto is a dwarf planet by the above definition and is recognized as the prototype of a new category of trans-Neptunian objects. All other objects orbiting the Sun shall be referred to collectively as "Small Solar System Bodies".

This definition was hammered out during two meetings of the IAU, after which Jay Pasachoff of Williams College, was quoted as saying, "I think that today can go down as 'the day we lost Pluto' ".

Does that mean we're going to lose Goofy, too?

http://edition.cnn.com/2006/TECH/space/08/24/pluto.ap/index.html

My Idea of a Songline, part II

One of the things that I wanted to talk about my trip to Syracuse and my traveling on my songline is that I picked up a copy of the Syracuse New Times in order to figure out what social activities exist in Syracuse. It reminded me of the Philly Weekly. While perusing the New Times, I came across Rob Brezsny’s Horoscope column.

For the week of August 10, 2003, he wrote for Pisces:

"Anger or bitterness toward those who have hurt you will block your path to higher ground," said inspirational author Vernon Howard. "You can have anger toward people or you can have freedom from people, but you can't have both." I suggest you make that one of your guiding thoughts in the coming week, Pisces. An undreamed-of burst of liberation is now possible for you if you compel yourself to experiment with radical generosity on the wild frontiers of forgiveness.

The wild frontiers of forgiveness, what? I’m Irish, we grudge. Don’t suggest that I change, damnit. I’m not in a mood to forgive, but I was overwhelmed by emotion this past weekend. It was my deep seeded wanderlust creeping out during the drive. It was my soundtrack that I pulled together from Sting’s Fields of Gold, to Sheryl Crow’s C’mon, C’mon, from Rob Thomas’s Something to Be to Madonna’s Bedtime Stories. It was in enveloped in the religious ritual of the weekend. It was part and parcel of a family function.

During the past year, folks randomly have said "Dude, you’ve got to let it go" and I was offended. I felt that they assumed that I was holding on to my anger as if it were security blanket or a swimmie to keep me afloat. For me anger is a part of the fabric of my being and if you don’t know that about me, you don’t know me. However my emotions vary in tensile strength and some last briefly before they snap or others last longer and worn away with time and actions. Some of my angrier feelings have been weakening and they have frayed. I should at least meet Howard and Brezsny part of the way and slough off the anger emotions that have snaped and clean off the rough edges of the fabric and strength wherever there are holes.

This idea of my songline in the key of E flat minor, this is all about self-discovery which never ends.

I can remove my anger, I just don't have to forgive.

...In priestly black like a murder of crows

I have nothing yet original for this blog, so I quote to express my feelings. My roadtrip to Syracuse to attend Christopher’s, my cousin, vow ceremony (he’s a Jesuit now) was like going for a walkabout: a little religious faith, a little bit of travel and a lot of time to ponder. Having traveled on I-476 and I-81, I can add them into the weave of my songline as part of the line as I listened to following as my song:

If he loved you
Like I love you
I would walk away in shame
I'd move town
I'd change my name

When he watches you
When he counts to buy your soul
On your hand his golden rings
Like he owns a bird that sings

When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

The priest has said my soul's salvation
Is in the balance of the angels
And underneath the wheels of passion
I keep the faith in my fashion
When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

I'm still in love with you
[I'm gonna find a place to live
Give you all I've got to give]
When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

If I could break down these walls
And shout my name at heaven's gate
I'd take these hands
And I'd destroy the dark machineries of fate
Cathedrals are broken
Heaven's no longer above
And hellfire's a promise away
I'd still be saying
I'm still in love

He won't love you
Like I love you
He won't care for you this way
He'll mistreat you if you stay

Come and live with me
We'll have children of our own
I would love you more than life
If you'll come and be my wife
When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

I'm gonna love you more than life
If you will only be my wife
I'm gonna love you more than life
If you will only be my wife
I'm gonna love you night and day
I'm gonna try in every way

[I had a dream last night
I dreamt you were by my side
Walking with me baby
My heart was filled with pride
I had a dream last night]

***

Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice
Him or her I shall follow

Who needs the sun, when the rain's so full of life
Who needs the sky
It's here in your arms I want to be buried
You are my sanctuary

Who needs the sun, when the rain's so full of life
Who needs the sky, when the ground's open wide
It's here in your arms I want to be buried
You are my sanctuary

Who needs a smile, when a tear's so full of love
Who needs a home, with the stars up above
It's here in your heart I want to be carried
You are my sanctuary

Who needs the light, with the darkness in your eyes
Who needs to sleep, with the stars in the sky
It's here in your soul I want to be married
You are my sanctuary

And the earth was void and empty
And darkness was upon the face of the earth

Is all of this pain so necessary
You are my sanctuary

Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice
Him or her I shall follow
As the water follows the moon, silently

Who needs the sun [with fluid steps]
Who needs the sky [around the globe]
Who needs to sleep [I hear your voice]
You are [you are] my sanctuary
You are [you are, you are]
You are [you are] my sanctuary

***

My life is brilliant.

My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Fucking high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.

Ah, You give me beaver!

Beaver jokes are tons more funny when women make them.

A., L., J. and E. are some of my female co-workers and their names have been initialized to protect the innocent and gulty. Here's a neatened transcript of our latest e-mail stream of consciousness. (I have edited some of the details, truncated some sentences, omited a few too absurd non sequiturs and re-ordered some of the text to improve the flow.)

A.: (to me) Have you been making out with your boyfriend wikipedia again?

L.: Wikibeaver

A.: Obvi.

Me: Le duh! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beaver

A.: E. totally loves European beavers.

J.: Seriously, Bob probly thinks I'm wicked retarded b/c I can't stop laughing. He loves Casey's wikipedia find.

E.: That's why I can't get a girlfriend!

L.: Dude, I'm glad my beaver doesn't weigh 55 lbs.

A.: Goddamn, me too.

Me: I'll take my love, heavy on the beaver.

J: Seriously I'm choking...

E.: I would like one about 5'7", 130 pounds with blonde hair and blue eyes!

A.: I'll keep my eyes open!

J.: Okay I'm changing the subject. When are we going to Macy's?

Me: To find a nice beaver pelt?

J.: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Seriously, I need to come up for air. I can't stop laughing!

A.: Beaver's really hot right now.

E.: link to a tee-shirt

A.: BEST. SHIRT. EVER. Let’s get them – they can be our AR team t-shirts! E., maybe you should buy one!

(L.: Now this is some STUPID beaver... link to a video on youtube)

J.: Save a horse, ride a cowboy. Oh and it should be "save a tree, eat a beaver."

L.: Now THAT’S hot – move over KC, we’ve got a new motto.

J.: How can I get anything done with all this talk of beaver. WHEN ARE WE GOING TO MACY’S?

L.: Dude – lets go fer lunch one day this week.

J.: Friday?

L.: I’m down.

Me: But will Macy’s have THESE shirts on sale? Have fun on Friday, I’ll be going up to ever-exciting Syracuse.

link to to TELL-YOUR-BOOBS tee shirt

link to SNAKES-ON-A-PLANE tee shirt

J.: I’M TALKIN’ BOUT SNAKES… ON… A PLANE!

L.: I WANT THAT SHIRT!

Afterwards, L. comes running in to see us shouting: I’M TALKIN BOUT BEAVERS ON A PLANE!

Qui Sont Des Anges?

(Confessions Tour, interlude)

A little bit electronica, a little bit chant...



This was a great song in the concert!

Ah, Flavor Flav!

From a commercial for the Flavor of Love 2 on VH1:

A black chickie-poo and a white chickie-poo are talking about dating Flavor Flav.

White chickie-poo: I wanna have dark babies.
Black chickie-poo: There's something wrong with her. You just don't go around sayin' that.

Ah, Rum drinks!

One the 29th, I met my friends, Gerald and Chris, out at Copa Miami for lunch. This conversation remained funny to us a week later:

Chris: A mojito, what's that?
Casey: It's a delicious cocktail of rum, lime juice, mint and simple shyrup.
Gerald: Shyrup?
Casey: That's what I said. Shut it.
Gerald: Look at all the varieties and flavors the mojitos come in.
Casey: Maybe we should get some rum and play with the flavors.
Gerald: Perhaps we should just get one of each from the menu.

Lance only HAS one ball

While I'm sure that many are a buzz about Lance Bass, he's not the Lance I'm talking about.

I was out last night with a friend. During our night of drinking at the Black Sheep (and have the Monty Python's Holy Grail Ail while you're at it) the conversation turned to Floyd Landis and the Tour de France. Most people believe that he did dope, and the only outside chance for an explanation would be that he has testicular cancer. Yet, as of today, that seems more and more remote.

As we all now, our favorite 7-time winner of the Tour de France was diagnosed with testicular cancer (which had metastasized to his brain and lungs) and the current Mennonite winner-for-now is diagnosed with a bad hip. So, we were talking about their health. Hip replacement is not that horrible of a surgery; the recovery from that is faster and better than from a knee replacement.

However fueled by Holy Ail, I went off on Mr. Armstrong. Lance only has one ball! and he dumped Sheryl Crow because she had breast cancer. That fucker!

Then the conversation took a nose dive talking about guys with one ball. I didn’t have anything to contribute to conversation.

Rock and Roller Cola Wars

Everybody’s talking about it…

http://blog.blankbaby.com/blankbaby/2006/07/diet_pepsi_jazz.html

I went into my local bodega… (Ok, the APlus Convenience Stores isn’t a bodega, but using the word, bodega, is so Law and Order) and I saw Diet Pepsi Jazz Black Cherry French Vanilla and Diet Pepsi Jazz Strawberries & Cream. While I am a Coke loyalist, I thought, it’s good to sample the other brand, just to see.

While Coke has Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke, I felt that Pepsi was going against Dr Pepper with these two products. For those who don't know, Dr Pepper has a line of "Fountain Classics" in regular and diet: Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper and Berries & Cream Dr Pepper.

This Jazz line of Pepsi product seems to be a response to Dr Pepper and not Coke.

It's not an exciting blog entry, but they all can't be winners!

Consider this fair warning: Bikers Beware!

In an entry à la ALT, I’m going to bitch about bikers in the city of Philadelphia. No, not motorcycle bikers (those fuckers are very incon-fucking-siderate, too) but I'm talking about those who peddle to and fro.

I am sick and tired of sharing my sidewalks with inconsiderate bikers. Get off the sidewalk and get on the streets, like others like you fought for. There are bike lanes on Walnut and Spruce to get you into and out of West Philadelphia/University City.

I am royally annoyed by bikers having no regard for pedestrians. We're saving money, conserving energy and making the roadways safer, too, damnit. And with even less of an impact on our environment! Yet, we didn't argue and clamor for access to the roads; we just want our sideways safe and free from hazards. I hate having you bikers come up from behind and get annoyed that I am in your way and that you have to get around me. You shouldn't be behind me at all.

Go to the Bicycle Coalition of Greater Philadelphia and take advantage of the hard work that they did for you.

Worried about riding in traffic? Stay the fuck home, walk or take the Bicycle Coalition's new Urban Cycling Course. It's a one-day Saturday workshop to get bikers to feel comfortable on the road and safely riding. There are three classes left: July 29, August 26 and September 23 and they also post the power point presentation for your information.

In this program that you’ll learn that "bicycles are considered vehicles under Pennsylvania laws and must obey all of the rules of the road." (see http://www.bicyclecoalition.org/urban-course.ppt) When’s the last time that a car was allowed to drive on the sidewalk in the city, eh?

So consider this fair warning, I'm going to be that bastard walking to Center City via Walnut Street that's going to tell you to get the fuck off the sidewalk and take Spruce Street home. Don't be angry with me; admit that you're wrong and use the proper path for your vehicle.

Remember, bicyclists and motorists share the road. Bicyclist ain't supposed to be on the sidewalk, bitch!

Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned

(Confessions Tour, part 1)

The concert started an hour late with imagery from Madonna's most recent photo shoot for W - all done in an equestrian theme. A disco ball descended onto the stage bathed under blue and pink lights. It opened and out stepped Madonna then followed by her dancers all dressed in an equestrian cum S&M black outfits. She belted out Future Lovers dancing with the 'horses.' (Many of the songs on the album have riffs from other songs mixed in -- Hung Up has famously ABBA's Gimme, Gimme, Gimme, Sorry has the Jackson 5's Can You Feel It? and Future Lovers has I Feel Love by Donna Summer.) What a great surprise to my ears when she started to sign I Feel Love. (Madonna is not heavy into covers, so this was a great treat.) After the spectacle of her entrance, she sang Get Together on the giant stage with two back up dancers performing in front of red, black and white kaleidoscopic imagery. Though only 5'6" or something like that, she was not lost in the frenzy of the stage. She stood out.

I love Madonna. I admire her chutzpah. I am impressed that she has found ways to cash in on being self-important. If we could do that, we'd love our jobs. So, when I saw on the screens X-ray images, I cracked a big grin. It was Like a Virgin. She sat on a black leather mechanical bull seat that was affixed to be like a carousel horse, got up back on the horse and belted Like a Virgin. She stood on the horse and danced on the poll and brought the house down as addition footage of riders getting thrown off their horse were interspersed with the X-rays of her broken bones. We've seen her nude. We've seen her throat polyps in Truth or Dare. We've now seen her bones. Her singing was great and her antics on the horse tickled the audience.

The last song in her equestrian set was Jump. I've recently noted that I love this song (see I'm trying to be self-referential like that Madonna.) More set pieces were lowered to the stage: an adult version of a jungle gym lowered on the central catwalk as two cage pieces lowered onto the far ends of the left and right catwalks that began at the stage's end. Four of her dancers performed very physical gymnastic dance movements all over the set pieces: climbing up and down, leaping off into somersaults, swinging around like pole dancer and like gymnasts on uneven bars, they jumped into the rhythm of the song.

After what felt to be a short set, we had the first costume change or interlude. Three dancers dance out the horrible secrets of their lives to monologue that they have recorded while the screens played out the imagery of their tales: one's being abused by his father, another's suicide attempt and a thirds hope for belong leading him into a gang and killing someone. No, it wasn't pleasant, happy concert fare, but it's a Madonna concert. It's not a Madonna concert unless she got something that makes you uncomfortable and gets you to think.

The middle Dancer Confession from the suicide attemptee left me with something very uplifting and profound. During her ordeal, she copes and says that she believes in angels and that all of us can be messengers from God. It touched me.

The dancers leave the stage and the screens opened up to show Madonna on a mirror-plated cross with a crown of thorns. The cross is placed upright and she sang Like to Tell. Again she sounded great! I was so excited to see this. I've been waiting to see something like this from her: a crucifixion. She's Madonna, named after the Mary, the Mother of God. Is it blasphemic to emulate Jesus' sacrifice for drama effect? If so, better close down all the high school and community productions of "Jesus Christ Superstar" and "Godspell." For God's sake, her French-Canadian mother gave Madge her own name after the Madonna. And Madge has turned into a pop icon who defined Girl Power way before my darling little Spice Girls (Oh, that Posh is a lucky bitch). So, it's about time that Madonna takes Christian/Catholic imagery and credo by the thorns and use it!

In the background, a counter ticks out of control to 12,000,000. The number of orphans in Africa due to HIV and this number will explode to 20 million in 2010. Quoting from Matthew, the imagery ends with "what you have done to the lest of your brothers, you have done unto Me." Then she plugs two charities: Raising Malawi and The Clinton Foundation. Did you know that? No, too many people were bitching about her hanging from a cross.

She came down from the cross and sang Forbidden Love with two of her male dancers doing performance movements of holding hands-showing affection/not holding hands-showing affection into which Madonna joined.

A man came out on to the stage with a shofar. My jaw dropped. "No, no, no!" I thought, "This isn't, is it? She's really going to do it. I love this song. I didn't think that it would have any commercial appeal, but she's doing it in concert!" The shofar is blown. "Isaac?" I gasped and whispered to Brian. "Yes." He confirmed in just as much of a daze as I was in. This is another song I love and for me it's the verse "Wrestle with your darkness. Angels call your name. Can you hear what they are saying? Will you ever be the same?"

Another heavily vocal song, she and Yitzak sang as a dancer danced like a caged bird. The dancer, covered in a brown cloth, fought in the performance to get out of the cage. Finally, the cage opened up and this dancer is revealed to be a beautiful woman dancing her way to freedom against the backdrop of a hawk flying, searching out in the desert. Heavily with the start of a disco beat Isaac ends into Sorry. Dancers energetically perform as Madonna sings and the song climaxes into the fight scene of boys versus the girls as in the video. After the heavy action, the show calms down as Madge walks down the cat walk to dance on a chair, crooning "You can call me a sinner, you can call me a saint. Celebrate me for who I am, don't like me for what I ain't." Like It or Not reminded me of Bye, Bye, Baby from the "Girlie Show". She impressed us with her voice and the crowd loved it. She and the chair lowered down through the stage, and we knew that the set donned the Religious set was over and the second costume change/interlude was about to begin.

And Life's Gonna Drop You

"And life's gonna drop you down like the limbs of a tree
It sways and it swings and it bends until it makes you see"

These lyrics remind me of a hymn we sang in grade school, called Hosea. It's one of those songs (Hosea and not Jump) that I want at my funeral. The irony being that I already want 2 Madonna songs and Hosea is really a hymn.

But I digress. I'm less then 24 hours away from a Madonna concert on her "Confessions Tour." As you can expect, I am excited. I've been doing my best to avoid the reviews; I don't want to know too much. However, it's been noteworthy enough for me to know about the crucifixion set up for Live to Tell and Like a Virgin performed to the backdrop of her X-rays from falling off a horse. (Brilliant, how effing self-referential is that?! Look at me, dancing in front of MY X-rays. Self-indulgent! But I'm jealous that she did it first.)

Back to the lyrics from Jump, they have been striking a cord with me lately. I just don't know yet what I've been so stubborn about and what I need to do before snapping.

Maybe that's the soul searching I need to do now. What am I too stoic, rigid and unforgiving about? How will I change it?

One thing's for sure, that the Madonna concert will be one of my topics of conversations for the next 2 weeks. Then I can focus on self-actualization.

347

Of course, when I got the room 347 at my hotel in Cambridge, I should have known that it was a good sign (with 3 and 7 being my lucky numbers.)

My group of co-workers ended up going to Jacques Carabet on Broadway at Piedmont. It's a gay bar that does karaoke on Tuesday nights - it's also known for it's female impersonators day in and day out. From the other gay folks that we encounted at our conference, Jacques didn't sound like it was going to be busy. But isn't that how we like our karaoke bars?

Immediately, I called Melissa and asked her if she remembered the time that I took her and a few other co-workers to a drag show in San Francisco. I took them to the Tranny Shack at the Stud (on a Tuesday night) and we were there for what we hoped was a good drag show, and it was, albeit it was a drag king contest. It's not everyday that you get to take your co-workers to a drag show, and it's not everyday that you can drag the office to a gay and lesbian karaoke bar.

We took like ducks to water. It was a blast. Co-workers combatted their fears of performing in front of others and others, like Lisa and I, just performed for the crowd. There now is video of me doing Ray of Light, and I told my co-worker who captured it on camera that if it ends up on youtube.com, she owes me lunch.

Happy Bloomsday!

For those of you who have read Ulysses, you will understand my well wishes. For those who haven't, learn more from wikipedia: Bloomsday.

Madras

I saw a cute squeaky-clean fair-skinned auburn-haired blue-eyed student walking the other day. If the OED had full-color pictures, he'd be there under preppy. Complete with the madras shorts.

That's when my horror set in. Madras! There's something just so scary to me about that many different colored plaids in one place. It must be from growing up in the 70's with Garanimals.

(This example is a very calm sample of madras. The Penn fellow I saw had yellows, robin blues, roses and light greens: like an easter egg was dressing for a tropical summer.)

I'll stick to my solid colored shorts, thanks.

The Rugby I

or (my emotional recollections of the 2006 Mark Kendall Bingham Memorial Tournament.)

picture courtesy of the San Francisco Fog

I lost myself in the weekend. I felt myself not just being this physical entity of a specific volume. I was 700 different people. There was no line between single and plural. I did my best. I played my heart out. I fought. I tackled. I drove that maul. I won my hooks. I outjumped my competition. I scored a try. I fell hard. I failed to stop the other team. I hightackled. I had a penalty against me. I had my hands in the ruck. I broke my collarbone. I bruised my thighs. I limped afterward. I lost to the Convicts and I won against the Fog.

It's not easy to explain how one feels as part of sometime much bigger than himself. How do you capture the sensation of the opposite of the pluralis majestatis, the royal we? How can one find a way to use singular pronoun as a way to refer to the entire group!? That was the feeling of this weekend.

After being eliminated for running for the Bowl by Boston, it didn't matter. It wasn't terminal. The Gryphons' hope for the bowl ended, but something happened. We fought a great game. Ironsides came back and told us that they felt that they were fighting for their lives in the match against us. It was a penalty kick – a simple 3 point penalty kick that ended the match. It was the only score.

We had a consolation match with Austin (cum San Diego.) At first, the game sucked. We were sloppy and tired, and Austin was matching it. They scored first and missed the conversion. We answered and missed our conversion. End of the first half.

The second half was aggressive. We were making penalties left and right due to aggression. Bam, Austin scored and again missed the conversion. Yet again, we answered that try and missed our conversion. 10 all. We had just recovered from losing one of our players to the sin bin for a yellow card.

Minutes to go and the drive was on. It was a nail-biter and we kept inching (or should I say centimetering since rugby pitches are measured in meters?) to Austin's try line due to their penalties. Our veteran players all got off the bench and were sent into the game.

"DRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!"

"DRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!"

"DRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!"

Our teammates and fan were hollering at us and cheering us on. This noice was deafening and a surreal silence came over when you're in the middle of fight for it all. The referee blew his whistle and snapped us back to reality.

"What? Why did the ref blow the whistle?"

"Penalty to Gryphons."

Fire. Passion. Want. Desire. Means to an End.

Q taps the ball and speeds towards Austin’s try zone – a very risky move. The usual move would have been to kick for points since we were meters from the goal. But Q's a tough little f*cker. He had been thrown around, picked up, tossed, kicked, scratched and abused. Damnit, he was going to make it over the try line. Damnit, the Gryphons were going to make it over the try line.

In a pile of sore muscles and sweat, aching joints and heap of adrenaline, the ball was controlledly placed in the try zone. Gryphons 15, Lonestars 10.

Unfortunately, we missed the conversion. As the kick was deemed no good, final whistle blew. It was finished.

There's sometime so beautiful, magical, divine when you stop and the adrenaline and passion engulf you. "Something is ending and something begins."

We release in cheers, hollers, screams, whoots, slaps on the ass, kisses on the mouth, hugs, smiles, "Thank yous" and tears. We live for this: living life to the best of our ability. This joy is overwhelming and can not be embodied in the frame of only one adult male. It's subtle and obvious. The thrill and glory of competition hung over the pitch thick and shined brightly. We hugged each other and clung on more than just for life, but for honor, for pride and for our greater betterment. We are all one.

We sloughed off an old skin on that pitch and a chapter in each of our lives ended. Some of us felt a feeling of belonging, some a feeling of surprise, some - complishment and others - success. Some of us these feelings just for the very first time. Never-the-less, we transformed into better men and we were more than the sum of our individuals.

(And, oh yea, some of us bitches got our pictures on Gawker.com - Did I just call us bitches? I need to limit my time with Malcolm and Martino.)

The far ends of the earth

Antipodes.

In geography, the antipodes (from Greek αντι- [anti-] "opposed" and πους [pous] "foot") of any place on Earth is that point which is diametrically opposite to it. These two antipodal points are connected to each other by a straight line which passes through the very center of the earth.

In Britain, "the Antipodes" is often used to refer to Australia and New Zealand (and "Antipodeans" for their inhabitants), despite the fact that neither Australia nor New Zealand actually overlap the antipodal points of Britain. However there are as far away from the London as any land mass on the earth can be.

So, for example, one can draw a line starting from Perth, Australia, through the center of the earth and burst through the crust in the middle of Hamilton, Bermuda.

Other antipodal points include:
Auckland, New Zealand and Gibraltar
Buenos Aires, Argentina and Shanghai, China
Madrid, Spain and Wellington, New Zealand

I've been to Shanghai, so I ought to go to Buenos Aires. I've transfered planes in Auckland (which is the further point south I've ever been on the globe) and I have always had the bug up to see Gibraltar. It's just another far flung dream I have to hit these stops.

If you want to know more about antipodes, see this antipodes calculator and wikipedia's antipodes map.

Something is ending And something begins

I realize//That nobody wins. Something is ending//And something begins.

Nothing really matters.

Nothing Really Matters, Frozen and Isaac are in heavy rotation on my Chinese mp3 player. I've been starting my day off with Isaac for months now and I've been just letting my mind fill in visuals to Nothing... and Frozen as I wind down from the day. I have a lot of soul searching to do.

To use a term that Carrie Fisher uses, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's Alumni Weekend at Penn -- my first as an Associate Director of Classes and Reunions. That means that it's my first reunion (four classes) in my delevopment career that I've been in charge of running. This seems to be going without a hitch. Sure there are things. My 20th reunion class (Hi, Jake!) doubled its attendance in a matter of weeks -- it exploded. We planned for 125 and we're getting over 250! That's easy. One class has a seminar with a School VIP and we're worried about it since the numbers aren't as high as we'd like them to be. That's a piece of cake. I'm waiting for real-world equivalent of the dream where I attend a party naked. I'm not seeing warning tremors for the Boxing Day tsumani.

Back to soul searching, I'm contacting an advisor at Penn's Master of Liberal Arts program to talk about getting the next level of degree. This ties all in with my recent trip to Trinidad. As you may know, I had a bitch of a time getting to Port of Spain. Through my damn stupidity, I missed my connection at IAH for POS. (I didn't know that I was looking at the arrivals board for my POS flight's gate. My flight to Trinidad was schedule to take off at 1:15 as the flight from there landed at 1:15. To add to it, the arriving flight was delayed and I just assumed that my flight to Trini was going to be late.) I spent a day in Humble, TX; I did my research. It was a $44 cab, one way to downtown Houston from where I was. I was at an Econolounge that was 21 miles outside of H-town. I went to the local mall and hit the Barnes and Noble to look at the Houston and Texas Lonely Planet and other guide books, but I couldn't divine if I could get a bus from where I was into downtown. Also most of the people whom I asked, albeit very charming, polite and sweet, looked at me oddly when I suggested riding a bus versus driving.

Finally, on April 21, I am hurtling southeast across the Carrib Sea. I land, clear customs, get my bag that had arrived a day before me and take a taxi to the "upside-down" Hilton. My cab driver was South East Indian and told me that I had to drive in the front seat. I laughed. I always laugh or giggle when I get into a car built for driving on the left side of the road, because I feel like I should be driving but alas I'm not.

I ask him to reconfirm the cost of the fare in TTs, about TT$130. He then asked if I had any US$ I wanted to exchange. I didn't since I always like to hit the local ATM when I hit a new country. We get on the main road from the airport and he turns on the radio. It's the dance hit station. Oh, you know where THIS is going?!? Yea, the prior song is ending and then I hear an alarm clock... a haunting refrain of "Time goes by... so slowly"... and a borrowed ABBA riff. It was Hung Up, and I knew I'd be fine.

My driver asks me if this is disorientating being on the left side of the road for the first time. I said that it wasn't since I've driven a manual car in Ireland. I told him that it's always fun for me to be driving on the other side of the road. I think that it quieted him down, and he asked me about Ireland and Philadelphia. During a pause in our conversation, I started thinking about those places where I've been that do drive on the left: Ireland, United Kingdom, Japan, Australia, Singapore and I realized that I tend not to notice it (unless I'm crossing the street.) Even then, it just feels right. I was getting a little nostaglic.

Bam, in that moment, I saw a big silo covered with an advertisement for Milo. Ah! It's Nestlé's Ovaltine. This chocolate malt drink is forever forged in my mind with the idea of former British colonies. I saw ads for it in Singapore. I drank a good lot of it during my time in Oz.

There was something that took hold -- I'm going to be an ex pat, and I will end up living in a former British colony (or FBC as me and Rosie joke.) Sure, I'm aiming for Australia, but Trinidad, Belize, Ireland, Turks and Caicos, etc. would be fine.

How am I going to fulfill this pipe dream? I'm going to get my MLA and hone my development skills, because as world universities start moving to a US structured Development and Alumni Relations services schema, I'll be an important factor in that trend.

Something is ending and something begins.