Bob's Blog

Companion piece

2010-06-06T06:54:00.001-07:00

Ah now I remember! This was a companion piece to the previous post. I had intended to write a whole epic about missed connections and lost chances. This was as far as I got.

Waiting Patiently for Something

The sunshine through the window
is sufficient light
she believes
She’s not into brightness this morning

A sip from her coffee cup
burns her lip
she curses as she sets the mug down
Steam rises out and dissipates

The stereo stands silent
a sentinel at arms
guarding the room
like the Royal Palace

She stands and paces the kitchen floor
remembering some dim conversation
with a stranger at a bar
It doesn’t mean a thing in the daylight

Exit the kitchen
she heads off toward the bedroom
and wonders
“Where’s my white knight?”

She’d mumbles out loud
“I’d even settle
for a black knight
with unburnished armor”

She steps into her small bathing room
kicks off her pink, fuzzy slippers
and starts the water running
Steam rises out and dissipates

Sitting on the porcelain edge
she recites the day’s agenda
“shower, dress, eat,
work, work, work.”
“Smell the roses
by the roadside
on the way home”
She sighs.

Turning off the valves
she recalls his name
It doesn’t matter though
in the light of day

She slips off her robe
and slowly melts into the tub,
sucking balmy air
through her teeth

With her eyes closed
she begins to hum some unrecorded tune
but falls silent
This is no time to sing

© 1988 B. Vincent Hernandez

I wrote this?

2010-06-06T06:44:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I'll come across a poem I don't even remember writing. This is one of them. The formatting didn't transfer when I copied and pasted..but it still works.

Departing a Little Rural Town in the Middle of Nowhere

Packing his bags
the morning is cold
from his mouth, puffs of steam
The trunk of his car
(the red Corvette)
packed neatly
The empty sound of the door closing
fills the frosted air
followed by his sniffle
He looks around
as he sucks air
through his teeth
Silent
the cars are silent
the rows of houses are silent
The highway is silent
the birds are silent
his eyes are silent
Puffs of steam blow out from his mouth
He’ll remember this
to criticize it when he’s lonely
Or to praise it
When romantic nostalgia
fills his senses
With senseless talk
of how the old life was
and how he misses it
He lays the picture face down in his mind
walks to the driver’s side
slides into the seat
which protests his presence
with a chilly remark
and he shuts the door
The engine curses
as it is prodded into consciousness
and then merely gives in
Pebbles mumble among themselves
giving thanks for the man’s departure
“He’s gone at last”

He glances up into the mirror
to see if there’s someone behind
maybe waving farewell
but there’s only silent rows of houses
hollow in their hearts
taking no notice of the sudden void
so he casts his eyes on the long grey road
that will soon grow smooth and lack
with caliche dusted shoulders
He caresses the knob of his radio
but decides against it
because this was no time, no place to sing
The world just yawns
and reminds him of the simple facts
staring at him from the corners of their eyes
There is nothing behind but reality
nothing ahead except for hope and doubt
and nights moping over that face-down photo in his mind
He sucks cold air between his teeth
while the endless black and white ribbon
shifts and curls

© 1987
Bob V. Hernandez

When I started this blog...

2009-10-18T23:32:00.000-07:00

I honestly had no intention of making it a journal of death; despite the subject matter of its namesake poem. Yet, here I am with another death to write about.

I cannot recall exactly how long ago I met Charlie Mezzomo, but never would have done so without the aid of the internet. He was a closeted priest, living in the Chicago area. While there was some sexual attraction, the probability that we would ever meet was low. Still, he was an intelligent man, and not out to convert me. I had to admire that, even if I often found his support of the Church's condemnation of homosexuality both hypocritical and frustrating (much like his die hard support for the Bush administration).

We really bonded, however, after Sunny went into the hospital. Despite the fact that I hate talking on the telephone, I was always able to speak with him. Whenever I needed to talk, he was there to listen...not with platitudes or visions of pearly gates and cherubs, but with the voice of experience and sincere empathy. Charlie and another friend of mine, Bill Moira, both helped me cope with the fact that I was only human, and after Sunny's death...both let me go through the mourning I needed to.

I finally got to meet Charlie when I took a trip to Chicago a couple of years ago. Unfortunately, our foray into Chicago ended with his brand new car getting hit by a car, and us spending a couple of hours at the police station with the woman who hit him. We spent most of the rest of the time at his parish in East Chicago, but it was good to spend a week with the man who helped me through the roughest patch of my life.

We had a bit of a falling out not too long ago. I regret not making more of an effort to reach out again. We played phone tag a few times, but in the end never got a chance for one last conversation.

Charlie's partner, Bruce, got in touch with Tom yesterday, to let him know that Charlie passed away September 21st.

Rest in Peace, Charlie.

From a fellow priest:

On Monday, September 21, the Leave-taking of the Feast of the Universal Exaltation of the Holy, Precious and Life-giving Cross of the Lord, at 9:30 p.m., Very Reverend Archpriest Charles Mezzomo, took leave of the cross of this earthly life and entered the heavenly kingdom. He was my best friend in the priesthood for nearly fifty years. Both he and Fr. Eugene Fulton flew to Montreal to concelebrate my priestly ordination in 1977 at which he lovingly vested me in his own priestly vestments. Both before and since, as countless others, I have been vested in his holy prayers. He was good, kind, firm but gentle, a consummate liturgist and church musician. He was a gifted translator, a sower of vocations, a healing confessor and a fervent practitioner of the art of prayer. He was a prince among priests. He routinely inquired after the well-being of our beloved St. Michael'sRussian Catholic Chapel. As he never abandoned us in his prayers during his brief earthly sojourn, let us not abandon him on his final journey from this place of exile to the heavenly Fatherland: rather let us entreat him to pour forth his prayers on our behalf as now, orphaned and, as it were, halved, we walk this vale of tears alone.

sad discoveries

2009-08-22T21:28:00.000-07:00

I went to visit Sunny's grave today. Milton was going with me, and I thought Sunny's father might like to go along with us, and then perhaps go to dinner. I called the number, and got a message that the number had changed. I called the new number, said who I was, and asked for H.A. The man on the other end told me I had the wrong number. I suspect now, it was probably Grady, Sunny's brother-in-law, an ardent homophobe.

Anyway, it took me a while after arriving at Sunny's grave, but I noticed the lot to the left of his mother's grave was fairly new; though a lush carpet of grass had already grown over it. I suspected then what an internet search later confirmed:

H.A. Hansen

HANSEN
H.A. Hansen entered into rest June 17, 2009 in New Braunfels, Texas at the age of 86. He was born January 4, 1923 in San Antonio to the late Hans Adolph Hansen Sr. & Olga (Grom) Hansen. He was co-owner of Hansen Brothers Rug Cleaner for many years. He was preceded in death by his wife Mamie LaDoye Hansen; son Hans Hansen III, step son Bobby Poer, and step daughter Norma Wynn. Survivors include his daughter Shirley Van Heuverswyn & husband Grady; ten grandchildren; numerous great grandchildren; brother Charles Hansen & wife Pat; sister Barbara Kilian; and a host of other relatives and friends. Visitation will be held from 8:00 a.m. until 1:15 p.m. Tuesday, June 23, 2009 at the funeral home with a graveside service to follow at 1:30 p.m. at Sunset Memorial Park. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Grace Lutheran Church, 504 Avenue E, San Antonio, Texas 78215

I hadn't talked with HA since February or March, so his death was a bit of a suprise. Last I heard, he was healthy and, all told, happy.

What bothered me was not that he had died. He was quite old, after all. What bothered me was that his step-daughter (whose home he was apparently at in New Braunfels), didn't bother to contact me and let me know. I know my phone number was listed on his cell phone. What I fear is that his final days were spent under her holier-than-thou thumb.

Well, in any case, he's at rest now, with his wife and son.

Aloha

2009-07-26T13:13:00.001-07:00

Ah...the 80's!

I was going through some papers today, and found a short story I had written in college, for an assignment to do a first person, postmodern story along the lines of Less than Zero.

Aloha (Saved by Zero) is a fictionalized melange of my year and a half in Hawaii, cut down to 12 1/2 pages (which, if I recall, was actually 2 1/2 pages longer than the assignment allowed for, but I tended to get away with things like that).

Anyway, by the nature of the assignment, a lot of things, real or imagined, still had to be compressed, and ''characters'' consolidated, even though I use real names.

It's not a great piece, but it definitely captures the mood I had at the time. I still find myself chuckling about some parts; and I think the musical references work to make it a much stronger piece than it would have otherwise been.

Warning: don't read this if you're offended by cursing, sex, drugs, violence and/or social criticism.

ALOHA
(Saved by Zero)

We arrived in Honolulu with my mother on New Year's Eve, still wearing the heavy jackets we had donned twelve hours earlier. My father greeted us with a stiff smile. A lei. A hug. That was the most affection he had ever given my sister and me.

He loaded us up into a little silver Datsun. It seemed to be a clone of most other cars on the island.

At a nice restaurant in Waikiki, we ate dinner as a family for the first time in years.

Later, we traipsed around downtown Honolulu. We ended up on Hotel Street where the hookers--some well under age--leaned with bored eroticism against buildings and over doors of silver Datsuns, talking to horny GIs and shabby old men. Teen aged boys rode by in a souped-up VW Super Beetle, shouting ''Sample!" One of the hookers lifted her skirt, revealing a clean-shaven mound. That's when Mom began to shout at my father for his poor planning, and for getting us lost.
***
We made our way into Waipio Valley, a dirty little ghetto where we would stay until our furniture arrived from the mainland.

At the hotel, a placard on the coffee table explained the local lingo. ''Aloha" had the versatility to mean hello, love and goodbye. ''Local" referred to an island native "especially of Polynesian or Asian decent."

"Hauili [howly]: A person not of Polynesian or Asian descent, esp. of Caucasian origin." Honkey.

I turned the radio dial until Genesis' Home by the Sea poured from the speakers.

Scenes of unimportance photos in a frame...

An explosion echoed through the valley. I thought it was a gunshot.

''The fireworks are starting," my sister said calmly as she looked out the window, and I remembered it was New Years.

***

The first day in homeroom,which also happened to be my English class, I found a seat in the back corner. About half of the class wore black T-shirts that read "ALDO NOVA" on front, and ''Life Is Just a Fantasy" in purple script on the back.

The teacher--a round, smiling local--informed me and a punk rock girl who also must have been new, that his name was Al Damasio Bacarse. He prodded us into introducing ourselves.

''My name's Malia'' I'm from Idaho. I like the Dead Kennedies." Malia shrugged. "Not much else to tell."

I introduced myself. "I'm from Texas," I said.

"Yeeeeeee-hah!" someone shouted. The class erupted with laughter. I smiled quietly.

"Does everyone wear cowboy hats there?" someone asked. At first, I was annoyed, but then realized everyone seemed to be earnestly expecting a response.

"Not everyone," I said. " A lot of people, though. I don't."

"You ride horses to school?" Another local asked. The class laughed again. An eraser flew at his head, but he ducked and the eraser went out the open door, onto the grass.

"Stupid!" A huge Samoan girl shouted. "They got buses."

Physical Science followed.

The teacher, Mr. Esperas wore a gray C. Everett Coop style-beard that worked will with his short but powerful build and bald head. He assigned me to the workbench in the back.

A fat Korean with bad acne introduced himself as Noel, and offered me a gummy bear. He pointed to a beautiful Japanese girl sleeping with her head on the table. "That's Michelle. She's here physically eighty percent of the time. Mentally, twenty percent." We both laughed. Michelle's middle finger raised casually and shot out at Noel like a viper.

While I performed the assigned experiment, Michelle scratched "Duran" into the laminated table top, with a 2 floating above the n. Noel torched gummy bears along the sides, with a Bunsen Burner.

Mr. Esperas began to rave. "Goddamnit!" The chaotic babbling that had filled the room since the start of class suddenly ceased. "If you idiots would shut the hell up and listen to the goddamn instructions and read the fucking book, I would have to go through this shit over and over again every goddamned day!" He stormed out of the room. The class roared with applause.

"And I'm hungry like the wooooolf" Michelle sang softly.

"This place blows my mind." I said, and walked out.

Later, I found Malia eating lunch alone. I asked if I could sit by her. "It's a free country," she said. That was my conversation for the day.

***

I took the bus home. Not to the hotel, but to the house in Mililani which we were finally moving into.

Boxes crowded the living room. My little sister was in the large dining area dancing to Like A Virgin. She spun around, and told me that my books were in the box behind me.

I ripped open the box and began fondling my books.

A little girl, about five years old, stood outside, pressing her face against our living room window. I threw my copy of The Stand at her. She ran away, screaming.

A minute later, a carrot-topped boy rode a bike up to our screen door, waved, and rode away without waiting for a response.

"What the hell?" I wondered aloud.

"Neighbors," my sister said, still dancing. "He's Todd. has a sister my age named Lisa. That kid was his step-sister, Jenny. His mom's name is Jan, and his step-dad is Bob." She spun around again.

"Where are my tapes?" I asked.

"Bad news. They lost 'em."

After dinner, I went outside and moped around in the back yard. I noticed there was no fence dividing our yard from the neighbors'. This will cause some problems, I thought. I remembered Robert Frost:

Something there is that doesn't love a wall.

But I loved walls.

***

I stood at the bus stop in the early morning, Venus still shining brightly in the sky.

I shivered despite the light Members Only jacket I wore. Todd flirted with some curly-haired blonde girl. She tried to ignore him. A short, skinny local lit up a joint and handed it to a tall black guy who looked as if he'd been perpetually stoned for years. I shook my head.

"Eh, brah, you like beef?" The local asked me, angrily.

"Do I like beef?

"Ya. You like beef or what?" He said and swing at me. I stepped back, but his knuckles dug into my stomach. I stood there, confused. Militant vegetarian?

The kid's black friend shoved him lightly. "Chil, brah."

On the bus, I finally introduced myself to Todd. "What's this 'beef' shit?" I asked.

"'Beef is Pidgin for 'fight.'"

"Pidgin?"

"The way the locals talk."

"Oh." I said.

"You play poker?" he asked. i nodded. "Room 1260. Lunch. We play there every day.'' Then, after a long pause, he said "There's a SADD party tonight. This chick I know told me to bring people. Wanna go?"

"Sure," I said.

***

The party took place in a park, about a mile from our house. A bunch of chairs, mostly empty sat around a grill. Two girls sat next to each other, with a bottle of Popov. I'd seen one of them in English class. Slim. Pretty. Short brown hair and large plastic earrings. Her name was Dawn.

The other girl was a bit plump. She wore a cab driver's cap, and an Ozzy Osborn T-shirt. Cute face (the girl, not Ozzy). She told me she was Jody from California, and to please excuse her because she was, like, totally wasted. She said she was the president of SADD, and there were more people here, but they left when she broke out the vodka. Pussies. And did I know how to barbecue, since I was from Texas, because the burgers were taking too long. And here, have a drink.

"Why don't you make vodka burgers?" I joked.

Jody's face lit up with a smile. Before I could stop her, she grabbed the vodka and poured it onto the grill. flames licked up to the bottle. Jody screamed and fell backward over a lawn chair.

"Christ!" Todd shouted.

Jody began to laugh wildly,. and then the rest of us did too. I went to help her up. She pulled me to the ground and straddled me.

***

"You think I could get AIDS?" I asked Todd the next day, as she walked to Jody's house. Somehow I wound up with her cabbie's hat and I only remembered her name because it was written inside. I figured I should take it back to her.

"You didn't fuck her. You just frenched her."

"I know, but body fluids, you know. Spit."

"Ya. you were sucking it up, weren't you? I can't believe you didn't fuck her."

"I might have if she hadn't barfed on me."

Todd started laughing.

"Can you get AIDS from barf?

Jody's father wasn't happy to see us, but he let us in anyway. I noticed a print of The Last Supper in the alcove, and, just above it, a family portrait. Just Jody, her parents, and a little boy.
"Which one of you is Todd?" Jody's father asked . I pointed to Todd. "Jody said you provided the beer?

"Yes sir," Todd said without a pause, with the proper tone of remorsefulness.

"I don't appreciate that. this was supposed to be a Students Against Drunk Driving party and you're chugging Budweisers?"

Todd hung his head, a show of shame for a sin never committed. No one said anything for a minute.

"I wanted to return her hat, " I said at last.

The father looked me over. "You don't look like a queer," he said.

I blushed so deeply, I broke a sweat. Todd smiled covertly.

Jody's father stepped aside. "You can talk to her, but she's not going anywhere. She's in enough trouble already.''

***

Todd told me he was going up to the school to play poker with the custodians.
I went back home.

My little sister and Lisa were in the living room dancing to Like a Surgeon by Weird Al Yankovic. They spun around. "Your tapes are here," my sister said.

Jenny had her face up against our window again. We now had curtains I could close, but I threw my left Nike at her instead. She ran away screaming.

The box with my tapes and already been opened. I took one out, shut off the radio ("Hey!" my sister and her friend whined in unison) and cued the tape. All She Wants to Do is Dance played:

Crazy people walkin' 'round with guns in their hands...

The girls resumed dancing happily.

***

Mr. Barcarse passed out instructions. Write a speech. Get into groups of three. Critique each others work. Due in one week.

I saw Dawn and Malia pull their desks together, and a paler-than-milk boy walking toward them. "Hello, Dawn." I smiled.

"Howdy! " she said, pushing a chair toward me.

The pale kid walked quietly away.

I looked at Malia. "Hello."

"Hi," she said. "Sitting here?"

Dawn wanted to do a pro-abortion speech. "Not pro-choice. Pro-abortion. The world's too crowded, don't you think?"

Malia wanted to do hers on the ''unfair depiction pf punk rockers in the move, The Class of 1984."

I said I was going to do mine on "Gorbachev: An American Hero."

"Cool," Malia said. The she said "Oh hey! Did you hear about Epseras?" She made a gun with her hand and clicked it at her temple.

He blew his mind.

***

Todd and Dicker went to the restroom to make a deal. Dicker came back alone. "Todd wants you" he said to me.

I got up, taking my five dollar ante out of the pot. "Fuck off!" Big john balked. I gave him the finger and walked off.

Todd handed me a joint. I took a few drags and held them. "Don't feel anything yet," I told him.

"You gotta build up your levels," he said.

Heading back to the poker room, we ran into Jody. She told us she was going to the beach with
Dawn and did we wanna go? We did.

We went.

We smoked Todd's dime bag (except for Dawn) and drank guava juice with Popov. We christened the drink a "wrench." Jody had a tape with nothing but Suicide Solution on both sides. We listened to it for hours.

Todd began diving off the rocks. Dawn became scared and angry, begging him to stop. He didn't. Dawn started to cry.

Jody lifted her head from between my thighs. "What's with Dawn?"

I sighed. "She's dating Todd."

After a while, Jody went back down.

***

For the next few months it went like this:
Todd and I would go to Dawn's and then to Jody's. We would listen to the radio or watch MTV, which always fascinated me as I didn't have cable at my house. Todd, Jody and myself would get stoned. The four of us would decide whether to go school or to Shark's Cove or Haunauma Bay or Waikiki, or to just stay home.

We usually went to school.

Sometimes I would stumble into homeroom late with my arm around Dawn. Mr. Barcarse would shake his head, while Malia would whisper to me that she had some really good acid, if I was interested. "No, babe," I'd say.

Sometimes, Mr. Barcarse would tell me to stay after class, and when most everyone was gone (Malia and Dawn usually hung around, waiting fo rme) he would tell me to get myself together because I really was one of his brightest students, even stoned. He would say that I had talent. That he liked my Gorby speech and my short stories. There was always a sadness in his round, brown face when he said these things.

And I wondered why he gave a damn.

***

Jody disappeared on May Day.

She was supposed to meet us at the school-sponsored May Fair carnival. It was a huge event, with a Ferris Wheel, the Dreadnought, and the Hurricane. Pretty amazing, considering the school district still used textbooks from the sixties, claiming it couldn't afford new ones. Jody never showed up.

Danny, her ten-year-old brother, found me by the bandstand.

"Jody stole some money and bought a ticket back to Bakersfield."
I looked at him, doubting. "Stole money from where."
"My dad," he said.
I laughed. "She did? She told me she would! When was the last time you saw her?
"Last night. I think she had a suitcase."
"Tell your folks?
"No! She'd kill me! They'd kill her!"
I sighed and stroked the back of his head. "Alright. Thanks."

Danny hung around until the band finished a cover of The Fixx's Saved by Zero"

Someday, maybe (saved by zero)
I'll be more together...

then asked me if I could score some bud for him. I gave him a five and pointed him in Dicker's direction.

Todd stole his step-father's car and we drove to the airport. We tried to page Jody on the courtesy phone which, in retropsect, was a completely stupid idea.

Late that night, Jody showed up at my door with a lanky, long-haired guy. "This is my boyfriend," she said--to me. "Harold." She said she'd dated Harold a long time in Bakersfield, and maybe they would get married.

It didn't really make me angry. I was relieved that I had an excuse not to put up with her anymore. Harold was actually a nice guy. Easy going with an understated humour. I never felt any spite toward him, though i couldn't stand to talk to Jody after that night.

***

I was out in the back yard, smoking my fourth cigarette. Inside, my parents were drunk on rum and cokes, dancing to Little Joe Y La Familia records. My sister sat on the stone wall surrounding the garden, crying.

Todd strode across the fenceless divide. He took a cigarette from me and smoked. "We're leaving" he said.

"Shit." I said. I understood why my sister was crying. "I don't know anyone else here."

Todd shrugged. "Dawn. Dicker. Big John. Jody."

"Fuck Jody" I said. Todd looked down. "I don't know anyone else. Dawn maybe. Not really. Why so sudden?" I asked.

"Lisa came home drunk. Mom thinks this is a bad environment now.

I laughed. "No shit."

"What?"

"Look around. Everyone's drunk or stoned. You, me, your folks included. Schools are crap. People can't even speak English!"

Todd shrugged.

"Why?" I demanded.

Todd took a long drag on the cigarette. "Some people see things and ask 'Why?' I see things and say 'Because.'" he smiled goofily.

"Thank you, Mr. Kennedy," I said, then walked inside.

***

The school year ended. I collected autographs from a few acquaintances on an old gym shirt, including one girl I'd just met that day. "Have fun fucking around or whatever," she wrote.
I got Mr. Barcarse to sign my shirt, too. "Come see me when you're famous!" he wrote. He was smiling, but that sadness still filled his eyes. "You'll get your life together," he assured me.

"Someday. Maybe." Saved by zero.

"But not by staying here," he said.

Two days later, I smoked one last joint with Todd. Dawn and Lisa and my little sister drank wrenches with us, while the Talking heads sang Road to Nowhere. Jody and Harold came to say good-bye to Todd. I talked about music with Harold. Jody kept staring sharply at me, but I wouldn't look at her. That seemed to piss her off.

It got dark. Dawn and Todd screwed int he back of his father's car, with the Cars' Heartbeat City as their soundtrack. Lisa and my little sister complained that the songs weren't very danceable. They were appeased when the music changed to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, but they kept breaking out in tears.

The next day, Todd and Lisa left for Pensicola.

***

"Come here and let me talk at you," my father said not long afterward. They were discussing
sending my sister and I back to Texas with Mom.

I had left the radio on in my room. Sunset Grill wafted into the living room

But someday, girl, we're gonna get in that car and get out of here..

while tears rolled down my little sister's cheeks. She kept covering her ears to block out my father's monotonous river of half-finished sentences.

Mom asked me what I thought. I shrugged. "Don't you ever have an opnion?" she snapped.

"It doesn't matter what I think. You're going to do whatever anyway."

"What if you'd never been born?" My father asked, irritated. "What's your opinion on that?"

I got pissed. "Then I wouldn't be here to complain about it!"

He said I should see a psychiatrist. In Texas.

We landed at DFW on July 4, 1984. The twangy Texas accent of the woman announcing flights made me laugh. Everytime I heard a Texan talk, I laughed harder on the inside. I couldn't stop. Not when the Independence Day festival began at Prichard Stadium in Fort Hood. The hillarity was only exasperated by the PA system playing Kim Carne's Crazy in the Night. I couldn't stop even when the song was cut short by the National Anthem. Not even when the explosions overhead shook the world beneath my feet.

People talking without speaking

2009-03-31T23:06:00.000-07:00

I sent a poem to my mother the other day. She said she cried when she read it, as she felt someone finally understood what she experienced.

My mother, you see, has been partially deaf most of her life.

Going Deaf

No matter how she tilts her head to hear
she sees the irritation in their eyes.
She knows how they can read a small rejection,
a little judgment, in every What did you say?
So now she doesn't say What? or Come again?
She lets the syllables settle, hoping they form
some sort of shape that she might recognize.
When they don't, she smiles with everyone else,
and then whoever was talking turns to her
and says, "Break wooden coffee, don't you know?"
She pulls all she can focus into the face
to know if she ought to nod or shake her head.
In that long space her brain talks to itself.
The person may turn away as an act of mercy,
leaving her there in a room full of understanding
with nothing to cover her, neither sound nor silence.

copyright (c)1995 by Miller Williams

As I've begun to lose my own hearing, I can somewhat relate to the poem as well. I told my mother, it's a shame poetry does not have a wider audience. I think this poem would inform many people who regularly communicate (or try to) with those who struggle to hear. Maybe posting it here will in a small way help.

My mother once told me

2009-03-01T12:15:00.001-08:00

that I had no personality.

Today, while procrastinating putting the new house in order, I took a series of very unscientific personality quizzes:

Here's the results:

Mental Age: 43 Years Old
Regardless of how old your body is, up in your head, you're paying mortgages and complaining about back pain. That's great that you're so mature, but remember: it's okay to cut loose and act young every once in a while. Do your wild side a favor and stay up past 10:00 one night this week.

Personality: The Thinker
You're smart, and you know what? You totally know it. You value brains above almost anything else, which is pretty good. (Better than valuing, say, booties). But you also tend to get cocky about your own intelligence. Keep up with the intellectual pursuits, but don't be afraid to be wrong every once in a while. Seriously - stupidity can be cute!

Naughty Sexy
Hey, there's nothing sexier than being a sex-crazed beast. Any hotties on your radar better lock their doors at night, or you'll be on 'em like a Rotweiller on a milkbone. We'll give you this: you're direct. Others may go for romance, but you figure, what's the point? Might as well cut out the middle man and go straight for the prize. And you've got a point. Knowing what you want -- and getting it -- is pretty darn hot. It wouldn't be the end of the world, though, if you threw a little romance into your routine. You know, wrap yourself in a cloud of mystery. Or at least wrap yourself in a bathrobe. Yikes!

How Will You Die?
Really Bad Shrimp. You''re not an aggressive person, and you've got a lot of good stuff going for you. None of that's gonna save you from your careless eating habits.

All in all, pretty accurate. :/

Home Sweet Home

2009-02-03T22:33:00.001-08:00

What a whirlwind couple of weeks. We gave up on the idea of having our home built; as the builder could not get financing in this economic climate. However, our financing was fine, and prices were falling with all the homes glutting the market. Interest rates were dropping too, thanks to the financial industry's indiscretions.

That said, we were still having trouble finding 1-story homes with a plan that fit our needs. We found one beautiful home in Buda, but by the time we made the offer, they had already accepted another. Milton, frustrated, told our realtor to go ahead and start looking at 2 stories, with the Master Bedroom down. While we were waiting on him, we drove around the neighborhood (the same one the house we lost out on was in, as it turns out), and found an open house going on. I was immediately struck by the beauty of the outside. Then I went in, and was amazed by the space. However, the backyard sloped fairly steeply to the left. It would have been a pain to mow.

Lo and behold, the house just two doors down the exact same house...on a level lot...and available! I convinced Milton that he would be happier beign able to access the entire home, than to have a home he could only see half of on a regular basis.

The home was built by Lennar, which had a really poor reputation due to some problems with an entire subdivision in Hutto. However, the quality appeared to be good here.

The original listing price on the house was over $180,000. When we looked, it was $154,000. After we got approval, we told them we wanted to close in 2 weeks. They knocked another 3K off for closing by that Friday instead, so they could clear it off their books by the end of the month.

Now, the hard part...packing!

Here are a few photos of the house.

America wins

2008-11-05T01:07:00.000-08:00

Thank you everyone who voted.

Even though Texas went to McCain, I was amazed by how slim the margin was. Of course, it seems there are still plenty of very scary states; namely Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Oklahoma and Alabama.

Vampire Putin

2008-06-24T07:45:00.000-07:00

Dream the morning of 6/24/06.

It is a warm summer's day. I look out over my back yard, through a tall chain link fence, and see the woman who lives behind us watering her lawn. She is a short, older woman, with blonde hair. I know she is water her lawn in defiance of a water conservation ordinance. But then I realize it's not her entire lawn she is dousing...merely a particular plant in the middle of it, over what appears to be a very large grave.

A crowd begins to gather, both inside and outside her yard. The woman begins yelling about her right to water. Then, the enforcers show up. They are not police men. They are men in black suits; but look more like businessmen than government agents. They begin pushing the crowd away. One wraps his arm around the woman's neck and tries to pull her away. I begin yelling, ''Assault! You're assaulting her! I am a witness!''

Soon, the crowd is fighting back, and drives the enforcers off.

The grave has been trampled, and is now a deep, open pit. The fence separating our yards has been pulled down.

The woman raises her arms in victory, and goes back into her house.

Night falls quickly.

I walk to the grave and peer inside, and see a man fighting his way out of the soggy soil. I pull him out. It is a vampire, but he does not threaten me.

A film crew arrives, and a director begins setting up a shot. Now, my house is no longer behind the woman's. It is a long patch of unlighted, empty land, and in the distance a building that may be a small school. I am told to go back into the shadows, and walk toward the light, while the vampire stalks me.

I do as I'm told, although I don't quite trust the vampire. I sweat with fear. I notice the earth here, by the far building, is also wet soil. I want to be on the grass that lies between.

I make it back to the area lit up by lights. Soon, the vampire jumps into the frame and roars. The director yells, ''Cut!"

The scene is over. Time to move to a new location. I change into clean shoes, and get into the passenger seat of the old white station wagon I used to drive. One of my coworkers, Floyd, is driving. We arrive at a building. Film extras standing around outside.

Floyd comments on my tennis shoes. I tell him they are the 3rd pair the film company has had to buy me for this production. As I tell him this, my old friend Alfredo comes up. I greet him, but he is standoffish. He climbs into the back seat, and asks about pulling it down, to make extra room. "Go ahead," I say, "we're not carrying any film equipment this time."

The next thing I recall, I am sitting at a diner, with the vampire and another coworker, Rachel. It isn't until now that I realize the vampire is Russian president, Vladmir Putin.

On the table, I have two metal plates I picked up during filming. I am not sure what the purpose was in the film, or why I have them. But on closer inspection, I realize there are very vivid, full-color holograms printed on them.

I tell Putin that I am going to cut these into ornaments, and give them to him and his wife as anniversary presents.

"That's right," Rachel says. "You were married in space."

Putin nods.

I look closer at the holograms. One is of a Russian spacecraft. The other, a map of a continent...most closely resembling Europe, although none of the names were familiar. There were a series of numbers moving across the map, but they were all backwards.

I asked Putin what the numbers meant. He explained that they were taken from a book that showed "residual radioactivity" tables; in essence the numbers on each country showed their age via carbon dating. I knew this didn't make sense, that Putin was lying, but decided I was going to make he and his wife the ornaments anyway.

This is when the alarm went off and woke me up.

Sixth Anniversary

2008-06-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about Sunny all week. Saturday would mark our sixth anniversary.

I dreamed about him vividly, and disturbingly, last night.

He had come home from the hospital after his bypass surgery, but had severe neurological damage. There was a black and blue car that was built like a buggy, only larger, and he got excited when he saw it and wanted to go for a ride. We did, but we had an accident, and he died.

I woke up, and when I went back to sleep, I had the same dream again. I don't know what that means, but perhaps the message is that I was destined to lose him no matter what.

In other news, Milton goes in for an angiogram Tuesday. He has a blockage in his heart. It's been causing him to have very low energy lately. This will be his third one. Wish him luck.

Apples and Corn; Purple Mountain's Majesty

2008-03-15T12:33:00.000-07:00

My dream last night seemed, at the time, coherent, but I can't for the life of me figure out how all the pieces that I remember fit together.

One of the pieces I recall involves Milton and I at a farmer's market which, for some reason, was illegal. There was a tree with apples as big as a person's head, and corn growing at the top of those trees. Milton got some of the corn, but was haggling over prices. I told him to pay a quarter an ear, but somehow he wound up paying $16.34 for a small bag full. I was angry at him for paying too much. One thing, I've noticed that many of my dreams involve specific numbers. Never anything that appears to have any real significance though.

While I was waiting for Milton to pay, I went into another part of the market. There were machines there, much like the espresso/latte machines in gas stations, but they were filled with black olives in juice. The sign on the machine read ''Sample Purple Mountain's Majesty." So I did.

That was actually the latter part of the dream, which is probably why I recall it most clearly.

Early, there was one haunting scene involving a woman in a large room, surrounded by a number of large, blue, glowing art pieces. At first, I couldn't figure out what they were. When she moved her body into the middle of one, I figured out they were outlines of people. The form she was in was a nun, or perhaps the Virgin Mary.

Later, I was having dinner while I rewrote monologue from a court scene on a pink slip of paper. I cannot remember any of the words now, but the actor playing the scene was performing it as I wrote, starting over every time I made a change.

Dreamer

2008-02-19T07:02:00.000-08:00

Rather than letting this blog sit idle, I've decided to start logging my dreams. I'll leave the interpretation up to others.

In last night's dream:

I remember being in a sort of game show where I knew all the answers, but I kept hitting the wrong buttons. I cannot remember any of the specific questions, however I do remember that it wasn't just about prizes. Getting things wrong led to dire consequences.

Symbols of note, the numbers 9, 95, and the color yellow (there was a yellow tile on the floor, and yellow cabinets).

George Takei (Sulu from Star Trek) also had cameo, and was carrying a sword and hawking his autobiography.

38

2007-12-13T18:14:00.000-08:00

Today is my 38th birthday. It's been quite a while since I've written anything here. I have a few creative notions on the vine, but the ideas I've been nurturing aren't ripe for the picking yet. They are fragile and green, and should I grab at them now, they would only rot away, never reaching their full flavor, never serving their purpose to nourish a mind and propagate.

Today, I recieved the gift of good poetry. Not my own, but that of Linda Gregg, a New Yorker whose existence I was previously oblivious to, and to whom my own existence likely remains unkown.

Her poem Elegance appeared in the American Life in Poetry column that I recieve via email. It is one of the few in the year or so that I have recieved the column that has moved me to pass the seed along, to propagate in a world drowning in poems about feelings and thoughts, where rhyming verse about love and derisive dissonance have flooded out voices that deserve to be heard. (Wait, I write about love and derision!)

Elegance

All that is uncared for.
Left alone in the stillness
in that pure silence married
to the stillness of nature.
A door off its hinges,
shade and shadows in an empty room.
Leaks for light. Raw where
the tin roof rusted through.
The rustle of weeds in their
different kinds of air in the mornings,
year after year.
A pecan tree, and the house
made out of mud bricks. Accurate
and unexpected beauty, rattling
and singing. If not to the sun,
then to nothing and to no one.

Leftovers

2007-02-16T21:44:00.000-08:00

Last week, Nations Entertainment Group launched production on its second feature, Leftovers. I was brought on as a crew administrator, which technically isn't a position, but it was great to be asked back to work on the project.

The first two locations we shot were beautiul places. First was a surgeon's home in Seguine, bedecked with the finest architectural detail I've ever seen in a home. Even the brass plates on the door hinges had engravings. The doctor's bathroom is literally bigger than my bedroom, with a clean, cool look. If only we didn't have to lug all the equipment upstairs to shoot! The house is near a river, which apparently floods pretty severely, so the main house is about 15 feet above ground.

The second place we shot was a music studio. Outside, the building itself is unsigned, square and plain; the ironwork bars surround the curved patio outside the front door only hint at the lavishness inside. It's not so much the interior building itself that is special, but the personality of the decor. Big sofas in the studio control rooms, patches of South American-inspired artworks on the walls broken up by modern oil paintings, and a Botero (albeit only a copy) in the lunch room (which is bigger than my kitchen and dining room combined.

Rudolfo, our sound man, was sick, and wore a mask all weekend to keep his germs from spreading to the rest of us. Very considerate. He was a trooper, despite the fact that day one ran from 6:30am to midnight. I warned the crew that it would; but I suppose they didn't believe me. The scenes were in the kitchen, with lots of shiny surfaces, complex movements, and a number of necessary cutaways.

Day two wasn't as long, but that was only because we were on a deadline. We only had the studio from 7am to 5pm. Despite that, we were there shooting until six. That created quite a bit of tension between our DP, Russ, and our Director, Robin. Robin is from the school that it's easier to just do something than to ask permission. She doesn't like confrontation. Russ doesn't like to inconvenience anyone, especially people who are not asking anything in return for our borrowing their space and time, and he doesn't like to burn any bridges.

Kevin Nations has been, in addition to sound crew duties, providing the craft services. He's done quite a job. Nobody can complain about not being well fed on the set.

In addition to Russ, Robin, Kevin, and Rudolfo, Mark, who worked with us on Water's Edge, is back again. Eric, who Russ says he has a lot of admiration for as a filmmaker, is with us also. Larry didn't show up this past weekend, so I don't know if he's going to next weekend. Then there's 'The other Kevin,' our production assistant. I haven't gotten a chance to really get to know everyone else on the set yet, but I know Erin (continuity) is very, very shy; and Ezme (makeup) seems very friendly and dedicated.

The cast seems to be strong, but hadn't really gelled on day one. That might need a complete reshoot (with lots more groceries this time around!).
There were concerns about the long days and slow shooting pace. This week I got an email from Robin asking me to check the schedules to see if I thought they were doable, and to try to keep everyone running on time. Sounds like a Production Manager credit to me.

It also sounds like I'll be swamped; since Milton is closing on his new house in Kyle on the 28th also, and we'll be moving not only from his condo; but also moving most of my things out of Tom's trailer. Of course, moving from Tom's isn't as pressing, as I'm still renting from him. Probably will for some time.

Better sleep every chance I get.

Cowards muffling political discourse

2006-09-29T09:13:00.000-07:00

Texas Governor Rick Perry and the Belo Corporation have conspired to keep the public from seeing how the Governor stands up (or fails to) against his challengers.

For decades, a consortium of media publishers has hosted the gubernatorial debates. Those companies are Austin-based public television station, KLRU, Texas monthly magazine, and Dallas station WFAA, owned by Belo.

Last month, the group announced plans to broadcast the debate on October 5th. At the time, Governor Perry's campaign said he would participate. Perry later backed out, and made a back-room deal with Belo. Under that deal, the debate would be held on Friday, October 6th. This may sound like no big deal, but it is the eve of the big "Red River Shootout" (now renamed the "Red River Rivalry" by AT&T nee SBC). For those not from Texas or Oklahoma, or those who have better things to do with their time than watch some college kids chase a ball around, this is the biggest game of the year for the University of Texas. Football being what it is in Texas, this means a good chunk of voters will be watching pre-game coverage or tailgating, rather than watching the debate.

Interestingly enough, the last time a Texas Governor pulled this timing stunt was in the 1998, when incumbent Governor George Bush debated Gary Mauro. By all accounts, Mauro tore bush apart; but since most stations were busy with coverage of the UT-OU game, not many people took notice. We wound up with another Bush term, and he continued driving the state economy into the ground and cutting social services, before going on to do the same to our Nation.

At least in 1998, other stations did have the opportunity to cover the debate. This time around, Belo has restricted broadcast of the debate to Belo stations and websites. This is outrageous. It is customary for media outlets to act as a "pool source" for events where there is limited space, or where intrusion should be kept at a minimum (funerals, court proceedings, debates). The decision means Belo is able to bury any part of the debate that looks bad for Perry.

Perry and Belo are not the only ones who should be chastised.

Carole Keeton Strayhorn, a Republican in Independent clothing, has said this is a two candidate race. What she means is that only she and Perry have enough money to buy the election. She has nothing to gain from having her political history and ideas tested, unless she can blast Perry in the process. That being the case, she pulled out of the October 5th debate when she found out Perry wouldn't be there.

With two candidates gone, KLRU and Texas Monthly canceled the debate. They should have gone ahead with Democrat Chris Bell and Independent Kinky Friedman (and, they should have invited Libertarian James Werner in the first place), and let the absence of Perry and Strayhorn speak for itself.

All other media outlets should be suing Belo for access, and should be publicizing Belo's attempt to monopolize the event.

Furthermore, we are to blame for constantly forgiving the bad behavior and bad decisions of our elected officials, for giving corporations such extensive controls over our political system (not to mention our lives), and for valuing football and other distractions above the future of our state.

To contact Belo, fax them at 214-977-6603, call 214-977-6606, or call Belo's VP for corporate communications, Carey Hendrickson, at 214-977-6626 (fax 214-977-2204).

Night of the Elks

2006-09-23T00:48:00.000-07:00

Tonight was both fun and dissapointing.

Friends from work who belonged to the local Elks lodge invited me out to the lodge for a few drinks after work tonight. My first thought was of a bunch of older men with antlers on their heads. But Blake assured me that they were a pretty laid back bunch, and while many who went there during the day were older, it was a younger crowd at night (not that age really matters to me, as I've generally gotten along better with older people all of my life).

I called a friend of mine whom I've been seeing, to see if he wanted to go along. He didn't answer his phone, so I figured he might not have taken the day off after all, as he said he may not. Tomorrow is his birthday, and I guess he was planning to celebrate. And celebrate he did. I drove by his place on the way to the lodge, and discovered that he had some company. I was disappointed, as I had hoped to spend the weekend with him. He never said he would have company, and he probably didn't have it planned. I can't really be upset, as we are not in any sort of relationship other than dating; nevertheless, I was disappointed.

I went on to the lodge though, and had fun there. There was even a very handsome (but trying very hard to be straight) man there that I chatted with for a while. This is why I didn't want any commitments again anytime soon.

I wasn't even good at monogamy when I had the sweetest man in the world at my side.

I just hope my dear friend had a pleasant night, and I hope he knows how special he is to me even if I am not the marrying kind.

Boycott the Best Buy Bastards

2006-09-08T19:04:00.000-07:00

I bought a laptop at Best Buy a year ago, and was talked into buying a $300, 3-year service plan since it included a free cleaning any time I wanted; and a replacement battery every year.

I took it in today to get the cat hair cleaned out of it, and get the fresh battery. Some rude "Geek Squad" manager named Seth basically laughed in my face; saying the battery would only be replaced if it was holding less than 80 percent of capacity, and that computers weren't covered under the warranty for cleaning since it had moving parts.

I called the customer (no)service number (888-BEST BUY). At first, Hylan (x60203) said the same thing about the battery, but that the cleaning should have been done. Later, he came back and said cleaning was not covered.

I asked why I was lied to when I bought the computer. Of course he said he didn't know. I told him I wanted a full refund on the service plan, since they weren't honoring anything they said they would. He informed me that I could get a PRORATED refund at a local store (apparently, a refund is impossible to do over the phone). I told him I wasn't interested in a prorated refund, pointing out again that they haven't honored any part of the service plan that I was told they would.

He said "We're telling you no." I asked to speak to his supervisor. After about 20 minutes on hold, Eric, who claimed he was Hylan's supervisor picked up and rattled off the same "screw you" information. He also refused to let me speak to HIS supervisor.

I then called the Best Buy in Houston. While the manager (Jacob) said the battery would have to be defective to be replaced (meaning I was outright lied to), he confirmed that the cleaning was included in the service plan at the time I bought it.

My complaints aside, Tom looked into complaints against the company on the Better Business Bureau website. He found almost 170 complaints on warranty issues. They are also being sued over warranty issues by the states of Ohio and Wisconsin.

Buyer beware, especially at Best Buy. I urge anyone who reads this and thinks they are being dishonest, to call the company and let them know that because of their refusal to refund my $299.99, along with their track record of cheating customers, they will not be getting YOUR business any longer.

Anniversary

2006-06-13T00:34:00.000-07:00

Wednesday would have been our 4th anniversary. At least by Sunny's reckoning. He counted our marriage as starting from the day I said I would marry him; not from the day I actually moved to Houston to be with him. When I said yes, it was after we had spent a long weekend together at a Big Men's convention in Oklahoma City. The rest of the world barely existed. He had asked before that, practically from the day we met. I kept telling him no, and even threatened to break up with him if he kept pursuing the matter. I just wasn't ready for another committed relationship. In fact, I had just months before broken up with another guy, because he was also wanting me to move in with him. Sunny had the good sense to back off, and after that weekend in OKC, it was me who told him that I was ready for something more.

What can I say except that I profoundly love him and miss him. I miss the unconditional love he gave me, even if it was tinted with jealously. I miss the songs he would sing to me every day on my cell phone, as he drove to work and I was still at work. I miss his sexy chin, hazel eyes, and contagious smile.

It's odd, I have his pictures everywhere in my room, and some days I don't even notice them; I am in such a hurry to get ready for work, and so tired when I come home. Still, not a single day goes by that I don't think about him...many times.

This year would have been, traditionally, fruit and flowers; Sunny would have loved it. He always loved flowers. He was a romantic through and through.

I'm not even sure how we celebrated the first two. He probably slipped me one of the many cards he gave me, sent me flowers...and I probably didn't even realize what for. The third anniversary, he was in the hospital. He was alert, but not able to speak very well. I only remembered the date, because of an electronic reminder sent to his email. I told him it was our anniversary, and kissed him, and held him. I told him because he would want to know.

I wear his ring, when I can find it. I'm very bad about keeping track of small things. I had one of his ties that I wore a few times as well, until I accidentally put it into the wash. It was a beautiful tie; one thing about Sunny...he knew how to look good when he wanted.

How would life be different now, if he were still here? We probably would have moved to Austin either way. He would have taken a consulting job, which meant he would have been on the road much of the time; surely a stress on our marriage. But he would also be earning enough for us to have a home here; and perhaps enough for me to stop working for TV stations and start building a real career in film production. Would his patience with me ever wear thin? I wasn't the best of husbands, after all. I was selfish and reserve; I never intentionally withheld affection from him, but I've always been one who enjoyed my solitude. Yes, I was there when he needed me the most, but I should have been there more,emotionally, when he could have appreciated it.

He forgave me, I know. And he'd want me to be happy, as difficult as that is. That was his way. That was part of the lesson he was on earth to teach.

To love, to accept, to forgive, and to persevere. And laugh along the way.

Patches Patchinsky Ravelo

2006-05-20T00:30:00.000-07:00

My fuzzy buddy, Patches, passed away today.

I inherited Patches from my sister, Kathryn, when she left for Italy. I can't recall how long ago that was...perhaps 5 or 6 years. He was already an old cat by then, and hefty.

He sure didn't like the hour drive from Lampassas, where I picked him up, to Austin. He cried the whole time.

Tom knew that I was bringing a cat home, so when one came sniffing around the back door, he assumed it was Patches. He opened the door, and the cat came in and walked around a bit. It wasn't until I called him and told him that I was on my way that he realized he had the wrong cat. Eventually, we got Patches there, and he made himself at home pretty quickly. This was at our apartment up in North Austin, where Patches would amuse himself watching the ducks that would come begging for food at our back door. I think he was a little afraid of them actually. Bravery wasn't in his nature.

Days later, his adopted sister, Kitty came to live with us. She was terrified by her new environment and hid under the bed for over a day. Patches, gentle soul that he was, went and laid beside her the whole time.

Eventually, Kitty got acclimated, and became the queen of the domain. Patches didn't mind, as long as he had a bowl full of food and a dish full of water.

It wasn't long before Sunny came and swept me off my feet, and convinced me to move to Houston. The cats went with me, which was hard on Tom because he and Patches were good buddies by then.

Neither of the cats liked the trip to Houston either, and the first apartment that Sunny and I lived in was not conducive to cats who liked to go outside and play.

Things changed after we moved to a better neighborhood, and a ground floor apartment. Kitty loves to roam, and spent many a night on the prowl. Patches rarely left the front porch, but he did love being outside. He would munch on the grass and lick at puddles of water. That's when he started developing his odd drinking habits. It seemed that he liked just about anything better than drinking out of his water bowl.

For a while, it was puddles or a toilet. I eventually broke him of the toilet habit (or at least while I was watching); later on he discovered condensation on water bottles. He loved licking it off. One morning, shortly after Sunny died, Patches saw me gargling with a Dixie cup, and started to beg for a drink. I made the mistake of giving in and putting a cup full of water on the floor for him. From then on, he would wake me up at all hours crying for Dixie cups. I broke him of that habit when we moved back to Austin. No more Dixie cups, but he again fell in love with condensation. Especially from a nice cold soda can. He'd go at it as if it were crack. Later, he found out that Tom sometimes left water in cups on the end table, and I found him with his head down in the cup more than once, lapping away.

Lately though, he had tapered of his licking. I noticed that his litter box was barely used (Kitty had started to go out more, and I assumed she was doing her business elsewhere). He got weak. However, his litter activity picked up again, and he seemed better. In the past few days however, he hadn't even eaten his treats, and wouldn't drink. He got to the point where he could only take a couple of steps at a time, and lost a lot of weight. I knew I had to get him to a vet, but thought it would be ok to wait until his appointment this weekend.

Today, Tom came home from work at about 4, and found Patches lying very still in the laundry room. That's right where he was when I left for work. Tom called me and told me he thought Patches had passed away, and he was upset and didn't know what I wanted to do. I told him he could wrap Patches in a towel if he wanted, and that I would take him out to a field later on. When Tom approached him however, Patches moved.

When I got home, Patches was lying in his litter box. I took him out and cleaned him up, and held him. He put his paw on my cheek as I carried him to Sunny's love seat, where I laid him on my lap and arm. He meowed a little bit now and then, twitched. He moved his front paws when I sang to him the song I often did.
"Patches Patchinski Ravelo...he's mellow."

I told him he was loved, and that he was a beautiful cat.

I know animals, at least dogs and cats, have souls, regardless of what the Catholics say. I told Patches to close his eyes, free his soul, and all his pain would be gone. I told him that Sunny would care for him now. He started drawing sharp breaths, his eyes wide open but blank, and a few minutes later he stopped. I thought I could still feel a slight purr or breathing, but it was just my imagination. Patches was gone.

Tom came out of his room and held me as I cried. He was crying too. We carried him out to a field and laid him behind the trees, with some cat treats for the road.

May your journey continue, Patches.

After Hours

2006-04-15T00:08:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I went out with a group from work for the first time. It's actually the third "going away" party I've been invited to since I've been at the new station, but it's the first I could make. Two interns I've never met before were on their last day here. Gail and Jesse (Jessica). Jessica was obviously hot for Victor, one of our reporters, and was ragging on him about not talking. He is a bit on the shy side. I also found out that one of our sports guys, Jeff, also plays the drums on the side. It might be cool if he and John "Depechkin" Bordelon could hook up while he's down here for a jam session.

Meanwhile, Milton has had his disc injected with Steroids, so that has helped ease his pain some. He says his back troubles are the result of working for years in the oil fields of West Texas...and of trying to lift a 200 lbs safe. He's dreading the possibility of having to have another back surgery.

I like Milton a lot; he's a considerate, determined and sensitive man. I also like John, who is creative and caring; but I just find it impossible to commit to anyone right now.

I spoke to Josh for the first time in about 6 months today, if only for a few moments. He called me at work, and I was busy writing a story that had to get in qucikly. He was on his way out with his girlfriend; i'm not sure if it's the same one he was dating when I last spoke with him. I'll call him later today and find out.

I AM SO SPIDERMAN!

2006-03-28T14:48:00.000-08:00

Spider-Man		60%
Supergirl		60%
Green Lantern		55%
Catwoman		50%
Wonder Woman		45%
Hulk		45%
The Flash		45%
Batman		45%
Iron Man		35%
Superman		35%
Robin		32%

You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

Home Sweet Home

2006-03-20T17:56:00.000-08:00

Day 10. I woke up with a migraine today, probably due to the weather. I think we had a tornado tear through Canyon Lake last n night. The wind was blowing harder than it did in Houston during Hurricane Rita. In any case, I wasn’t able to make the shoot. Russ called later on to say that the weather was great, and they were getting great footage.

I’m home now, and get to sleep in my own bed! Not that it wasn’t nice staying at Russ’ home (pictured here):

Shooting picks up again Friday, but I won’t be back in San Antonio until Saturday, since I’m working.

Day 9

2006-03-19T09:46:00.000-08:00

It has been a bad day. It is pretty ugly outside, with completely overcast skies and lots of sprinkles, scattered thunderstorms are on the way, and all of our shots scheduled are outdoors. I did have cover sets, but one of our main actresses, Sherri, needs to get back to Dallas this afternoon so she can work.

Ashley (aka Amanda) had a car wreck on the way to our location today as well. She is ok, just shaken up, and the car is totalled.

We cancelled the shots we had planned, and are trying to go ahead and get at least two of them done today, which don't involve her. Other than that, Russ was really pissed off when we got back to his house, not because we cancelled today, but because he feels things are pretty disorganized, and he could be using this time to edit his own short.

I don't think we are too disorganized, but not everyone is keeping focus. Last night, Robin and Russ spent an hour shooting someone sleeping. The tension is really high right now.

Anyway, Russ is in a better mood now, and invited me out to dinner with him tonight, to meet up with another filmmaker he says he admires a lot, Richard Bosse. I'd enjoy it, although I think we will be working late. Not into the morning, but too late for dinner.

2006-03-18T17:16:00.000-08:00

Today (Day 8) and yesterday have been amazingly relaxing, in stark contrast to most of our other days.

Thursday, we shot at the clinic where Russ' doctor works, and that went very smoothly. When they were close to wrapping, a group of us headed out with whatever equipment we could, and started to set up at Robin's home for the rest of the shoot.

We shot all of Larry Laverty's (Doc Anderson) scenes, and were planning to do a scene we missed last week with Laura (Courtney) and Matt (Royse). However, Laura had hurt her back the other day, and hasn't been to a doc or taken anything for it, so she was in severe pain and couldn't stay to do the shoot. Still, we didn't finish up until 4:00 am, and everyone was moaning about my decision to go to the school at 8:00 in the morning.

Daybreak came, and I was the first one up...so I started to load up all the equipment into Russ' truck. Since he and Mark were crashed in Robin's living room, that woke them up. Then I called Robin on her cell phone to wake her. We got out to the set at 9:00; imagine what would have happened if I had capitulated and let them have the 10 AM call time they were begging for!

She did show up for today's shoot at the school where Robin works, and she is at this very moment shooting at Russ's house. One of his bedrooms is doubling as hers. For most of the crew, it has been a day of sitting around and doing nothing...which as I said is very relaxing. The actors, Russ, and Robin, and our sound man, Richard, are the only ones allowed in the room. No, it's not a sex scene!

In any case, this was a much needed break.

Here's a few bonus photos for folks reading my blog here instead of on myspace.

Production Stills

2006-03-17T10:51:00.000-08:00

Click HERE for photos from our shoot!

There are (at this writing) four pages worth, so be sure to click the page links under the last row of pictures.

Day 6

2006-03-17T08:57:00.000-08:00

We are now, in theory, halfway done with shooting Water's Edge. Today was a bit frustrating for me; in fact the most frustrating of the shooting days so far.

One of our actors, Larry Laverty, has flown in from California at his own expense. He bunked down at the house we shot at last night; but Russ had to go pick him up, which added an extra hour to his trip. That meant that Mark and I had to find Bandera on our own from Canyon Lake. It turned out to be surprisingly easy.

The Bandera County Sheriff's Department opened up their offices to us, and a cute guy named Kerry was in charge of keeping us in line. I tried to get him in front of the camera, but he was too shy. Anyway, we had Matt (aka Royse) on location to shoot his scene, but didn't have the white van we needed. I saw one at a Baptist church across the street, and Russ and I went to talk to the pastor about using it--but it wouldn't have been available until late afternoon.

Craig (aka Officer Wallace) had to work until 1 o'clock to save his job (he is a construction contractor on the side), so we got in and shot our scene with Jerry (aka County Coroner Gerald) and Sherry (aka Karyn), because it was the only scene wherein all the actors had arrived. While that was in progress, I sent Johnny Quest out to find a white van we could use, and he came through, as always! So, after finishing the shot with Jerry, we did Matt's, which worked out very well. One of the deputies named Lalio, who was also rather cute--and a former film student--acted as our jailer. We finished just as Craig pulled up.

The biggest frustration began after that. Robin did not have a shot breakdown for today, so Russ and I took the initiative and blocked out our next scene. It would have looked great, but Robin insisted that she wanted Karyn plopping down on a curb instead of a bench. She and Russ spent two hours trying to get their blocking figured out.

After they shot the master scene, an air conditioner kicked on, and they were trying wait it out before getting coverage. Before we finished, Kerry told us that he had to lock up the offices in an hour. That sent us scrambling for another location. Once again, it was JQ to the rescue. He convinced the Bandera Chamber of Commerce to stay late and let us use their offices. Even though Patricia Moore of the BCOC said she would be happy to stay as late as necessary, I don't think she realized we would be shooting until 11:30 pm.

Also today, screwed up and didn't tell one of our actresses that we had changed the shoot time from 8am to noon; so she arrived in Bandera (from San Antonio) too early. She was not too upset though, since her mother lives there, so she stopped in for a visit.

Now, if I could just find my notebook that had my script, strip boards, and contact information.

Day 3, 4 and 5

2006-03-16T07:22:00.000-08:00

The past few days of shooting have been long and exhausting.

On day 3, we did our first interior shots. We spent 2 1/2 hours shooting video of Royse (the lead character) sulking in his bedroom; then we moved out to our "Dockett Home Exterior" location too late to shoot the scene that was supposed to be shot during the Magic Hour (that's sundown, when the light is a pretty gold/orange). One of the actors we needed for the other scenes went to the wrong location, though, so We decided to rig up some lights while we were waiting, and try our Magic Hour shot anyway, since we had called Amanda all the way out there. It didn't work out right, and we will have to reshoot it. That alone took another 3 hours. and by the time we were finished, it was 4am and we were all freezing and cranky. We did have another guy show up who was working on another project with Craig (Officer Wallace), who had some helpful lighting suggestions and was willing to pitch in. I can't remember his name off hand.

Day 4--what a night! We shot out at Comal Park, right on the lakeshore. John Quest talked the Army Corp of Engineers, which oversees the park, into giving us carte blanche after the park closed, including being able to set a bonfire, despite the statewide burn ban. We got some nice shots, but Robin wasn't sticking to her plan of going through the same scene all night with different POV's...so we are going to have to reshoot that as well, if she wants to flashback the way she scripted it.

Day 5, after some discussion between Mark, Russ Ansley (our Diirector of Photography) and Myself, we determined that the problems that have been slowing us down are a) too much meandering among the crew between shots; and b) not sticking to the shots we had planned. We pretty much corrected those problems during last night's shoot, and everything stayed on schedule. In fact, we finished 30 minutes before I thought we would. We didn't ever have the smashed vase or broken table that Robin had in the script, but it all looked good from what I could see, and the fight scene was realistic enough to hurt Craig. We now have 2 injured actors. Laura (playing the role of Courtney Dockette) hurt her back at the beach doing push ups between takes, yesterday.

The home we shot at belonged to a friend of Russ', and was a huge 2 story mansion on the lake. The owner, Ian, and his 12 year old son were there while we were shooting, and both had to be up in the morning...but I know we were so loud that we kept them awake. It was nice of Ian not to throw us out.

Russ' wife, Lisa, also came back from a trip to Galveston last night, so not only did we have an extra pair of hands, but Russ says she'll feed us well for the rest of the shoot :)

Water's Ege Day 2

2006-03-12T21:40:00.000-08:00

Things got off to a slow start today. Mark and I followed Russ out to the location; it took about 45 minutes to get there. Once we were there, it took a little while to get set up. Energy was low all around; but picked up after we broke for lunch.

Our lead showed up at 8:30 as scheduled; but it wasn't until 1:00 or so when we finally got to him. He wasn't too upset though, or if he was it didn't show. Our day was set for 9 hours today; and it took 11. More productive than yesterday, but still too slow. We did get some nice shots though. Today wasn't as difficult either, since there was plenty of shade to duck under, and benches to rest on.

Our set was Holmes High School in San Antonio. What a beautiful campus it is! We had a bus load of kids that we had as extras yesterday, but they didn't show up today. Apparently, they were all friends of our location coordinator's son...and he was supposed to tell them all where to be. The only problem was that they went out to party yesterday after the shoot; and the guy ended up dropping his cell phone into a pool, and lost all their numbers. We lucked out though; a volleyball team was practicing at the school today, and their coach allowed them out of practice to be our extras. Half the crew had to be extras as well. I think I can be seen walking through the background in 3 different shirts. We were joking that we could have an extra on the DVD... "Where's Bob."

Tomorrow, I'm driving into San Antonio again to have lunch with Sunny's father, and to visit his gravesite. Then it's off for day 3 of shooting, which is actually at NIGHT this time. It's our first few interior shots, so we'll be playing with the lights for a couple of hours.

Water's Edge Day 1

2006-03-12T21:39:00.000-08:00

Today marked the first day of shooting on Water’s Edge, and it was a difficult one.

At 5:45, Mark (the script supervisor) and I woke up, already 15 minutes behind schedule. We tried to follow Russ out to the location we were shooting at, but he wasn’t quite sure where it was either. We didn’t show up for our 6:30 call time until 6:45. It was 7:30 before we actually shot anything. Every shot took twice as long as I had budgeted for. Our 7 hour shooting day took almost 12 hours.

That’s an entire day spent under the hot, hot sun. We were shooting the Dockett home exteriors, on this trailer lot way out in the middle of nowhere. The owners were very gracious too us, even when we told them they couldn't take their boat out to the lake, because it was already in some of the shots.

It stopped being fun after the first 6 hours. My neck is on fire, and despite drinking 3 bottles of water, I still have grains of salt caking my forehead. Time for a nice cold shower, aspirin, and a trip to the grocery store…then LOTS of sleep.

Tomorrow’s day is scheduled for just under 9 hours. We’ll see.

Saturday

2006-03-04T04:48:00.000-08:00

Another night has bled into day; this one deeper than usual. I haven't been to sleep at all. Not good, considering I'm supposed to have lunch with the Big Men's group today, and a date with Milton.

Anyway, I just posted a poem I wrote way back when I still had things to say, and decided to post some commentary along with it, since I'm sure that taken at face value it would probably upset a lot of readers. (Do I have a lot of readers?) After all the proofreading, corrections, etc; it took about 4 hours. Then, for some reason, I spent about another hour just reading the post over and over again. "Apocalypse" is really one of the most powerful things I've written, in my opinion.

Yesterday, I mowed the lawn; first mow of the year. It went ok with Tom's electric mower, but I hate pulling the cord around. I mowed his lawn once last year, and the grass was so thick, the engine kept dying. This time, I felt bad for mowing over the ant hills. Sure, scientists SAY they have no sense of pain, fear, humiliation...but since they aren't sure how we processes emotion, they can't say for sure. Those buggers work hard building their castles, and having them wiped out every few weeks is probably emotionally devastating...if they have emotions. On the other hand, it'd be inconvenient to try and mow around them. I guess I've just become more open to the possibility since Sunny's death. I keep thinking ever bug I squash could be him living out his Karma. But in Sunny's case, I guess he'd probably come back as something more dignified than an ant or spider or bee. I haven't killed anything else lately.

Apocalypse

2006-03-03T23:50:00.000-08:00

I. Apocrypha

I heard God's voices
canticles of fear
sung by broken zombies
who waited too long
The World
Moves On

"The mice
have eaten all the corn"
seven sopranos sang
Lean, dark-eyed saints
waltzing in the grain
They fell beneath
Fate's harvester
Sing a mournful song
The World
Moves On

Only the spiders, roaches, rats
had worn their weapons well
Their jaws were loath to tell
secrets (I stopped to ask)
But I instead heard
God's voices curse and swear
the secrets are somewhere
beyond
The World
Moves On

II. The Station

A lovely blonde
with no business there
among those creatures of the night
They bought she sold
The air grew stale and old

Those large men
with drunk, red eyes
and feeble women
pretending to be strong,
they all knew--Someday
The World
Moves On

Resting grew exhausting
waiting took too long
Metros kept moving
They could not get on
Sitting gargoyles
craving midnights
that never come
So they bury their fathers
take husbands, wives

Large men speak
of motors and gears
Women wish
for magic in tears
The World
Moves On

III. A Game of Poker

Harold dealt the cards
five to a hand
"Joker's Wild"

"No one cut the deck"
Todd balked

"It doesn't matter"
I said
holding three aces
"You'd have drawn the same.
Fate doesn't cheat,
she's just a cruel bitch."

"I saw a blonde yesterday"
Harold said
"headed to L.A.
Thinks she'll be a star"

I thought of the woman
at the station
in the night

"I was there"
Todd said
"looked like a whore
if you ask me"

I tossed two cards
Todd also
Harold tossed three

Todd said
"If fate don't cheat
let me draw first."

I nodded
He drew

I drew both Jokers
"The next Monroe"
I said

IV. The House of Dreams
(Rat Infested Hellhole)

I saw
Melies' dream
Buster Keaton, Mary Pickford
Gene Kelly, Julie Andrews

I saw
Cary Grant, Orson Welles
Marilyn Monroe, Lauren Bacall

Shot down
by Edward G. Robinson

I saw
John Wayne
Harrison Ford
Billy Bob Thornton
crooked heroes
with hearts of gold

And I saw
the rage
of old war battles
the terror of aliens
bloody axes
chainsaws
knives

(on video)

The World
Moves On

V. Death by Convenience

The River chokes
on empty bottles
sandwich wrappers
cardboard boxes
cigarette butts and
styrofoam cups

Jack, the cherub,
and I sit in his truck
on the bank
during lunch

We discuss the weather
and whether
it is hotter this year than last
and hotter last than in the past

Are the winters colder,
or Old Man Winter merely older?
Is the world to burn?
The earth to freeze?
Both perhaps?
Holocaust, and nuclear night
All in all
who'll be left to say who's right?

"If these," Jack queries,
"are our dying days,
what's worth saving that we should save?"

I crush a soda can
and fling it into the cluttered woods
"All" I say

Jack's gentle hand
grasps my knee
"Better you go on than me."

I love him now
his sacrifice
and if these are our dying days
why should that be so hard to say?

Because silence is convenient
and convenience--
convenience is a thing to die for

Jack turns the key
His truck coughs on gas
"Times up," he says
and roars away

VI. The Rainstorm

God said to take my umbrella
Harold laughed
I took it anyway

Sun cooked the flesh
moving along the streets
tucked away in three-piece suits
shorts, shirts, tennis shoes

Heat baked
girls on skates
and ugly children--
bastards of the night
who can no longer
melt into the shadows
Stragglers sweat and shiver
in alleys which smell
of urine and alcohol
Psychotic vets harping
"If you haven't got a ha'penny
God Fuck You!"

I whacked 'em left and right
with my umbrella

And then the rains fell

Drops of fire from heaven
scorching the earth clean
But things went too far
and the only survivors--
Me with my umbrella
and the spiders
who spun their own

Even now
The World
Moves On

VII. Apocalypse

I feast on sand and spider webs
listen to rat-souls speak
of how they meant to sacrifice
the frightened and the weak
to slay the past--paschal lamb--
upon the altar of unsure fate

My teeth have grown sharp
my face gone furry
I killed my brother
a thousand times each day
now it's spiders
that I slay

I have seen in long, dark dreams
a silo full of souls
where every man born to die
cries in litanies of accusation
"Why why why?"

The earth but mud
beneath my feet
while God chants in voices
the names of the dead
and the lies they told

God clothes me
in his loneliness
confesses all his sins
of poker, movies, plastic bags
of cornfields, mice, and men

God and I
have said and done
everything we can
leave this world to spider webs
infinities of sand

No Exit

2006-02-20T14:13:00.000-08:00

It looks like I'm going back into news production again. One of my former supervisors called me up Friday, saying he had a position for a news producer open. It's for a 24-hour news channel. I had done a similiar gig before in Houston, and my experiences there were not all that keen; but the situation at that particular news room is well known in news circles, and it has since been shut down.

In any case, I had an interview today at the local station, and it was great. 3 hours of frank talk about the things that peeved me working in Houston, and about needing an opportunity to change career direction and work on the promotions side of things. I left feeling really great about going back to work there, and can tell this newsroom is not so dysfunctional as their late sister station.

Meanwhile, I am still working on the feature shooting out in San Antonio. We had our second meeting Sunday and did a script read-through. I was bumped up from production manager to assistant director. SWEET! :)

I want a casting credit too, since I found 2 of the actors. One was Jerry Turman, a great guy I worked with long ago on Restaurant of the Damned; a 3 minute short I did in film school. When I contacted his agent, I mentioned this, and Jerry gave me a call saying he was game for the role of the coroner. The other actor is Dale Dudley, a radio jock who does acting on the side. He said he'd be up for the role of the dead father. No speaking lines for him.

Other than the job prospects, and the film, not a lot is going on. My bank account is nearly empty; I hope I get the job.

Water's Edge

2006-02-05T03:41:00.000-08:00

The Lake has become Water's Edge Ok, most people have no idea what that means. I'll explain.

I had taken on production manager duties for an indie Digital Video movie called, at the time, The Lake. Yesterday, we decided to change that to Water's Edge for marketing purposes. The director/writer, Robin Nations, felt that The Lake sounded too much like a monster movie title. She really wanted something to emphasize the small town feel of the movie's setting, but in the end it was decided that fans of waterskiing would rather watch something with a more exciting title. After all, Footloose probably wouldn't have been such a hit if it had been titled Podunk or Bible Belt Blues, no matter how hot the girls (and boys) thought Kevin Bacon was.

In any case, I re-broke down the script. The script supervisor's (Mark) breakdown was good, but left out some details I wanted in my stripboard. I can't afford the outrageously expensive Movie Magic Scheduling software, and even some of lesser known programs are beyond my budget right now (read: my cupboard is bare), so I had to use MS excel to create a strip board. Man, it's hell trying to sort and move rows and columns in that program; and despite my efforts, I couldn't figure out a way to generate call sheets with it. Does anyone have any tips, or know of some really cheap scheduling (under $100) software?

Yesterday's production meeting was the first time the crew had gotten together. There's Robin, of course, who has done a lot of film work for the Short Ends project, which really sounds like something I should be into, given my deadline-oriented mindset. Her husband Kevin will be a camera assistant and has access to all sorts of nice things through his job, including post-production equipment.

Russ is the Director of Photography, and has worked with Robin and Mark before. His background is actually in art, and he did some copy writing for HEB. I need to learn everything I can from him, as I've never worked with digital video before.

Our location scout, John, is more than a location scout. He reminds me of my friend Joshua. He's a people person, and can get his hands on just about anything. John is also a bit of a genius, I think, as he dabbles in Theoretical Physics for fun, and holds a few patents. He also has done work on Maverick and Ford Fairlane.

The location coordinator Chris has been making backyard movies since he was a kid, and seems extremely determined to make a real go of it in film. I wish I had that commitment when I was his age. Instead, I was too worried about paying the rent.

Mark, the script supervisor, is just very quiet and observant. I used to be like him. I'm more outspoken these days.

Anyway, it seems like a really great, motivated group. I hope this movie goes places (like Sundance).

And Suddenly...

2006-01-23T16:17:00.000-08:00

I find myself unemployed again. I was laid off Thursday, after just a little more than a week of working. SO, the job hunt begins again. The good news is that I will probably be working on a short film in March. Bad news, it doesn't pay. Actually, it's deferred payment, which means I would only get paid if the film makes a profit; and that is unlikely.

My knees hurt

2006-01-17T01:33:00.000-08:00

Well, I have been working for a little over a week now; a temporary position processing orders for UT football championship merchandise. May I just say, it's no wonder everyone's broke, when they spend ungodly amounts on trinkets. Granted, some things may actually be useful, like the clothing or wallets; but why in God's name do you need a UT dog collar, a UT tape measure, or 10 cheap, plastic UT "stadium cups?" Some people are spending over $300 dollars on this stuff. Must be nice to have the money to blow. Oh well, it's paying my rent for now.

The only down sides are that I'm working 6 days a week, I'm again working nights, and I'm on my feet about 7 hours a day. I haven't had a job that required that much standing/walking in over 10 years now. It's hell on my feet and knees, and I sure could use a good back massage. It's only temporary though. Hopefully come February, I will get some work on film crews.

In other news...
My insulin pump broke last Wednesday. I dropped it on the floor, like I have 100 times before; only this time the motor stopped working. I was pretty annoyed, as I no longer have health insurance, and I didn't think the pump was still under warranty. It turns out, I had a 4 year warranty, instead of 3 year, so Animas is sending me a new one. YAY. It has been hell living without it. I've been giving myself insulin shots before (most) meals, but my blood sugar still shoots up between them and while sleeping, without the constant dosing.

I had a very vivid dream about Sunny yesterday morning. I knew that he had died, but there he was with me, holding my hand, kissing me, and just generally being the loving man he was. It was nice. Then things turned weird, and we ended up in a monastery. It turned out the one I thought was Sunny was actually some sort of alien shapeshifter that the Catholics were hunting down. I wish I'd awaken before the dream became so wild. Still, maybe in death we all become shapeshifters. That could be rather fun. I hope Sunny is enjoying his afterlife.

Auld Lang Syne

2006-01-04T03:19:00.000-08:00

It's 2006. For days I've been thinking about summing up the past year; but there isn't much to it.

It began with Sunny in the hospital. I don't remember if he was lucid at the time or not. Probably, since it was four months after he was transferred to kindred. It was probably a hopeful time; I just really can't remember anymore. The days, weeks, months all blended together into one great tragedy by the time he passed away, in July...just a month shy of his 51st birthday.

After that, I decided I couldn't stand the news business anymore, and quit my job, moved to Austin. I am happier here. Thank to Tom, I'm not homeless. To him, I wish him health and happiness in the year ahead.

I also met John...who helped me keep my head together as I was preparing for the move. He's a wonderful, sweet man, and we found each other at a critical time in each of our lives. In just a short time, I've come to really care for him. I hope he can put his artistic talents to greater use; and to find his voice as a musician during this year.

Before Sunny's death, I also reconnected with a couple of old friends, including Alfredo, whom I'd known since Kindergarden. I'm glad my coming out didn't scare him away. To you, I wish you good luck getting back into your children's lives, and much happiness with your new love.

I also found out that one of my former coworkers, Dilia, had been killed in an highway accident. She was always so warm and happy. My sympathies to her family.

That was the year that was; but the traditional song of the season, Auld Lang Syne, again has me wondering what has become of people I knew long ago.

Anthony Lyons, a friend from childhood, who had drifted away and then become a good friend again during high school. I haven't seen you since Joshua's wedding; and I suppose that's because that's the first time you ever knew I was gay. You saw me dancing with Tom. I suppose I should have told you earlier; but as we were both from a military town, the "don't ask, don't tell" policy seemed to be working up until then.

Matthew Starling, from grade school. We were so close at one time, we even frequently had the same thoughts at the same time. You moved to Houston, if I recall, and I cried when you did. You were my best friend. What became of you?

Cameron Bilidoux and Richard Miller, you both barely knew me in high school, and probably don't even recall who I am now, but I thought both of you were gorgeous. If only I'd had the balls back then to tell you so.

Jenny Sansbury--I suspect you had a crush on me, at least until I got drunk and threw up all over your stereo and you had to drag me home. I liked you a lot, but naturally it wasn't a sexual attraction for me. I admired your intelligence and spunk. I know you had a successful newspaper career, but where are you now?

Aviva R. from After Hours; I recently saw that you are working for google or yahoo. Congrats.

Harley Jebbins, you are one of the best writers I ever met. I hope you're still scribblin'.

Yes sir, Yes sir, 8 Bags Full

2005-12-30T00:51:00.000-08:00

I'm STILL in the process of moving if you can believe that. I spent the past two days packing up more stuff that I should have packed long ago, and had the movers bring (pantry items, jackets, a crock pot and a stereo, dishes). I also did a lot of vacuuming, and washed one of my blankets about 3 times trying to get all the cat fur off of it.

I dropped off another bagfull of Sunny's clothes to a charity; I wish I could find a place that just GIVES AWAY donated items, rather than sell them. What's that about? The truly needy can't afford to buy clothes, no matter how cheap they're going for...and places like Goodwill aren't really that inexpensive anymore; you can get new clothes at Ross or Burlington Coat Factory for nearly the same price now. So where do the homeless or otherwise destitute go when they need new clothes? I also dropped off a set of mixing bowls, a frying pan, and a box of crayons; I hope they give that to some kid, instead of trying to sell it.

In all, I think I've also thrown away about 8 large trash bags full of useless stuff. It's amazing what we collect. I'm sure some of the things I carried back to Austin were useless too; but sentimental; or items that let me believe someday I will have a nice home of my own, the sort that Sunny and I always dreamed of.

I did find a couple of treasures though. Two books in the bookshelf belonged to Sunny. In one, about self esteem for gay people, Sunny had written comments and highlighted sections throughout. Patti, his ex-wife, had told me before that Sunny had been a completely different person when he was younger. Sunny had also talked about some of his wild and reckless days. I think reading this book was a real turning point for him, because the parts that he notated were about putting a stop to self-deprecating and self-destructive behaviors. He never got over the self-deprecation though; as anyone who reads the comments he left on this blog would see. The other book was "A Return To Love." On his blog, he listed that as the last book he read (although before he died, I know he had also read parts of Bill Clinton and John Kerry's biographies).

I also found a few treasures of my own; things I'd written long, long ago and forgotten. My frame of mind was so different back then. I think I was feeling spiritually abandoned, and definitely was struggling with my sexual identity at the time...although I refer to that in my writings only in the vaguest terms, and sometimes even tried to hide my homosexuality. I'll publish some of those items here in the future.

Oh yeah, I also discovered that we had 5 canisters of powdered chocolate (various brands and flavors), and half a carton of Abuelita Mexican chocolate (which I love). We really didn't drink chocolate very often...I wonder why we had all that? I brought it all with me though. I'm going to get fat(ter) drinking it all.

Peace of Mind

2005-12-20T08:49:00.000-08:00

I'm moved in to Tom's mobile home in Austin; sort of. All the big stuff, and much of the little stuff (including Kitty and Patches) is here. I still have some things I need to go back to Houston and either sell or bring.

Luckily, that huge bed that Sunny loved so much, and the huge dresser that came with it, fit. I really wanted that dresser, because the top has a mirror, and six corner shelves along the side of the mirrors for knick-knacks (or small photos). I may even be able to get both night stands to fit. Maybe even 3!

The moving company was great. I used Peace of Mind Movers. I had submitted for a quote, and they were the first to get back with me; the only ones who gave me an estimate outright, and they just seemed to be the friendliest. Everything worked out great. They knew what they were doing, and the owner, John, was one of the movers. They even used mapquest to find my apartment and Tom's place.

The only thing really lacking at Tom's is closet space; so I need to find a way to expand that. Looks like I'll be folding most of my clothes instead of hanging them. The bookshelf fit niftily right outside the computer room; and with some organization, I may even be able to fit the computer desk in here; although Tom is thinking of moving his computer into his room; since his laptop is about dead.

I'm going down to a temp agency to register later today, and will apply at GSD&M too. I'm holding off on applying at news stations as a last resort, and retail as a next to last resort.

I'm so happy just to be in Austin. John seems so unhappy in Houma. I hope he finds his way out of there soon. His music is really good, and he's just a great guy. If Houma is the hell he says it is, he doesn't belong there.

"Life will give you the deadliest stings
Shocking angels out of their wings
As the halos descend into the world below
and the devil knows it makes a good show"
-John "Depechekin" Bordelon

Packing, John, Disposable Cookware, A Big Boy Recliner

2005-12-16T14:27:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here with a whopping headache (probably from allergies). It hurts too much to pack. Packing isn't coming along very well. I'm trying not to combine things I won't need until I have a place of my own, with things that I need or want to use at Tom's.

It's also hard to decide which of Sunny's things to toss out. I found one of his notebooks from work. It has no useful information, but it's one of the few examples I have of his beautiful handwriting. How can I throw that out? Most of our correspondence was via email. Thankfully, I still have a lot of it saved on my old hard drive. I need to burn it to a CD.

My friend John got some bad news yesterday. He found out his grandmother, whom he's been caring for, has been hospitalized. It's only a toe infection, but there's always the chance she could lose it, and there's no telling how she'll react to that. John's afraid she'll become even more dependent on him. Not only could that have an emotional toll on both of them, but it might keep him from spending the time on his music that he needs to. Hopefully it won't. Hopefully this will be a positive turning point in his life, somehow. In any case, he had to rush back to Louisiana, cutting short his Texas trip. Keep him in your prayers, chants, thoughts or what have you.

I'm hungry, and want some oatmeal, but I've already packed up my pots and pans. When will they invent disposable cookware? Yeah, that's all we need littering our landscape and destroying our environment. "Convenience--convenience is a thing to die for."

I had two very different retail experiences this week.

First was CarMax. I had to unload my Buick, which Sunny had been driving. It's in great shape, despite the fact that I crashed it once, and also rear-ended someone. I wasn't sure if it had any frame damage. Luckily it didn't. Anyway, I took it to CarMax, hoping to get at least what I owe for it. Kelly Blue Book's website says the trade in value is only $2,000 or so; and the 3rd party sales price was listed just below what my payoff is. I walked in, and they greeted me right at the door. I introduced myself, and told him I only wanted to sell my car. The Sales rep asked me a few questions about it and then showed me to his office to fill out the information on it. I was impressed that he actually remembered my name to type it into the computer. He went out to mark the car (they use little numbered cones) for the mechanic to check it out. When it was all done (which only took about 30 minutes),he made me an offer of $4,000. I know I may have been able to get more than that from a private person, but I don't have the time and don't want the hassle. The only drawback was that they didn't have a courtesy car, so I have to see if I can get a ride. If not, I guess I'll be taking the 2 hour bus trip home.

The other experience was with Gallery Furniture. It's a huge furniture warehouse in Houston. I bought a big man's recliner from them in July 2003 for Sunny's birthday. It's broken 3 times since then, but I had an at-home repair plan on it. Last week, I called them to come fix it. They told me that Friday was the soonest they could come, but couldn't tell me what time until Thursday. I waited all day Thursday for a call, and they never called...So I called them about 4:30. They said they don't make out the schedules until between 5 and 9. I called them back at ten o'clock, because they still hadn't called. They said the store was closed and everyone in that dept. Had left. They showed up at my door this morning, and the guy said he couldn't fix it, because they didn't have the right part. The part... A bolt that had broken. What B.S.! Anyway, I spent about 30 minutes on the phone with them, and all I got was a $10 refund for the remaining time on my service plan...And one broken chair with a bolt that apparently can't be replaced before Monday.

In sum...sometimes it's the big corporations that are the good guys, and the independent dealers that are the sleezeballs.

Home

2005-12-06T06:45:00.000-08:00

I've been in Austin since Friday night. It's been so nice. This is HOME. Green trees everywhere, Town Lake, Barton Springs, Zilker Park. Threadgill's and Chuy's and Kirby Lane. The skyline at night. Fresh air. Good friends.

I brought my friend John down here with me. He has been amazed by it all. We took some really great photos, too. John's from Louisiana, but I found him in Galveston while he was staying with his Aunt. He's a bit nuts (apparently something in that Houma, Louisiana water since all his friends seem nuts too) but he's also intelligent, warm, and creative (goes with nuts?). We've known each other less than a month, and have already grown close. I think that strange finger of God is at work again. Not to make us lovers, like with Tom or Sunny; but so that we can both rise out of the depression and rut we both are in. We were both at a point where we needed to know there was more to life than what we were living. Both had suffered a loss; mine by Sunny's death, and his by the disappearance of his boyfriend. He's had a lover die in his past as well, so he can understand what I'm going through. Who knows where the friendship will go? I never plan relationships, they just take me by storm.

Today, we're taking some furniture from Tom's trailer to the dump, so that I have room for some of mine (which is in better shape). After that, it's off to San Antonio to visit Sunny's grave. They finally put a headstone on it. And then; it's off to Houston again to pack up and move.

And then to find work.

The Last Day

2005-12-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

Today was my final day at work. I have been a news producer for the past 7 years or so. In that time, the industry has gone to hell in a handbasket.

First of all, about half of all news producers hired these days hold film and television degrees, not journalism degrees. That trend began some time ago; due to the fact that news channels don't want to pay their off camera employees very much; so they began making producers out of cameramen and video editors.
That's not to say that cameramen and editors can't be good producers. I think I was, for as much as I was permitted to be; but not everyone (even some "journalist") have ethical standards.

Another trend leading news channels in a downward spiral, is their massive dependence on corporate america. At my now former station, we were required to call our station manager before running any story that would negatively reflect upon anyone who bought ads during the news. Our manager claims she would never require us to ignore a story; but she wants to notify advertisers so that they can drop the ads (and get a refund). If that keeps up enough, or if a large enough advertiser threatens to pull their ads permanently... that policy of not asking us to drop a story could easily change.

Except for local stories, most of the information and video that we use comes from corporate entities; particularly CNN (Time Warner) and Fox (Newscorp). And of course both of those have particular political biases; and both are subject to influence of the U.S. government. Fox is often a willing White House bitch. Despite Fox's claims (and many politicians, as well) that CNN leans left; they also are more than willing to "play by the rules" set up by the government regarding what they will and will not reveal.

Political bias is also a problem on the set. Anchors and reporters infuse their own beliefs into stories. A story about the phenomena of husbands "coming out of the closet," turns into a one-sided tale of the wife done wrong. The story about the catholic priest in Italy who tells his congration that condoms are OK, because he sees a rising tide of HIV infections, has the anchor tossing out an unscripted "of course condoms don't prevent AIDS," despite CDC figures showing that they are more than 98% effective. And then; that anchor refuses to correct herself; and the management tells the producer "you'll have to agree to disagree;" because of course, facts aren't really facts at all. In a story about Texas' constitutional ammendment to ban same-sex marriage; that very same anchor deletes all references to the fact that the bill would also outlaw civil unions, and forbid any state or local governmental entity from recognizing even legal same-sex marriages or civil unions performed in other states. Again, she is never asked to tell the whole truth.

The folks watching at home are partially to blame too. Especially those with Nielson meters. Apparently the truth isn't particularly popular with America, either. We producers are blasted for using the word "invasion," regarding the U.S. invasion of Iraq. You get upset when we mention race in descriptions of criminals, so our news director forbids doing so unless we have the fine details to go along with it. Even then, every black-skinned person is an "African American," regardless of whether they are American or not. Even the subject of a news story gets to define how they will be presented. Hurricane Katrina victims are "evacuees," not refugees; even though the displaced victims of every other hurricane and tsunami before that were refugees... whether they had to leave their home country or not. I'm all for English being a living language; but it should be an accurate language as well. And news should be free of politically motivated coloring (or decoloring).

So, that's one big reason for me leaving my job. But, I was planning a move anyway. I have been wanting to move back to Austin ever since Sunny passed away, so now I'm doing it. Now I plunge into job insecurity. I am hoping to land some film work, but it's been years since I've worked in a production office. Even longer since I gripped (which one's a baby mole again?). I just figured that as long as I'm producing half-truths and entertainment, I might as well get paid like an entertainment producer. Hopefully someone is willing to pay me while I relearn the business.

Wish me Luck!

One Green Balloon 11/14/05

2005-11-20T12:54:00.000-08:00

Your note to Sunny
wished him well
in the Afterlife

You asked, "Did I do enough? Did I do it right?"

And let go

One Green Balloon
carried the note (folded
and folded and folded)
up, up, away
into the cloudy sky

Mr. Lightsy danced with his wife
and Peggy sobbed as her husband moped away

But you smiled, hands in your pocket
as you watched Sunny skitter away
almost gleefully
into a patch of blue between the puffs of cloud
shrinking into a period
on God's eternal note.

He was free at last
and your heart was at peace.

Sexiest Man Alive

2005-11-17T13:22:00.000-08:00

I've seen the sexiest man alive naked!

No, I'm not talking about Sunny...although if People Magazine had any taste, they would hand that title to a chubby man. Instead, they named Matthew McConaughey.

Nevertheless, it adds fresh currency to one of my many brushes with fame. The tale of how I spent a week in a hotel with McConaughey, and saw his bongos up close and personal, now becomes "I've seen the sexiest man alive naked!" The explanation mark is only for effect mind you. While I'm sure plenty of people find him attractive--and he is a handsome guy--he is not my cup of tea.

Matthew and I were in a screenwriting class together at UT. His script was something about how a frat boy is unfairly accused of racism. Imagine that. Mine was a Simpsons spec, "Legend of Bartman."

In any case, we both wound up attending a UT Alumnus seminar in Los Angeles, and roomed together. He was an OK guy. I am the shy, quiet type; and back then probably a little too uptight for McConaughey, who would be a breakout star the following year, and who liked to smoke a little pot, drink, and walk around the room naked while he brushed his teeth. Would he have done it if he knew that I am gay? Probably. I get the feeling he just likes showing off his bod. What actor doesn't like an audience?

That's it. That's all there is. It certainly isn't as interesting as Austin PD hauling him in for playing his bongos naked, and smoking a little pot. Not salacious enough for the Enquirer; but a little piece of trivia for some future Trivial Pursuit...The Matthew McConaughey Edition.

Now. about that Sexiest Man Alive title, when will People put John Goodman on that cover? Paul Guilfoyle? Paul Sorvino? And when will I get to see any one of them naked?

5:01 AM

2005-11-05T02:09:00.000-08:00

Actually, it's 3:57...but anyone who gets the 5:01 reference gets a cookie. I'm up late, for a Friday. Someone told me tonight that I needed to get out of the house and go out on the town to get over my depression. And do what? Drink? I'm already a weepy drunk as it is. I don't know why I get so emotional. Perhaps because, until Sunny's death became inevitable, I was always so stoic the rest of the time.

Friday was one of the worst days I've had since Sunny died. It didn't help that I was actually ill; I believe I poisoned myself with some barbecued chicken. So here I was, neck aching (which it has been doing for weeks...a side effect of sitting in Sunny's oversized recliner), queasy stomach leading to several episodes of vomiting, highly depressed (despite antidepressants), and without cable. Or any TV for that matter.

Time Warner finally cut off our cable after about 4 months on non-payment. It was in Sunny's name. I am not too concerned; although I do need to figure out where to return the cable boxes. Anyway, I can't pick up any UHF or VHF signals here. I had just gotten into all the new sci-fi shows too. Oh well.

I should read; I should write; I should study; I should take care of Sunny's taxes and call his family. I don't do any of it though. I sit here staring at the computer, at inspid online conversations; watching my illegal music downloads progress, or playing spiderman videogames. What a waste of life. It's not what I promised Sunny I would do with it. I promised him I would use my creative skills to make a difference. I just can't motivate myself to do it. In the group grief counseling session I've been going to, the counselor (I haven't even bothered to learn her name...does that mean I'm not into it?) tells us to be gentle with ourselves. "If you feel like doing nothing but sleeping all day," She says,"then do it." Sometimes that makes sense. Othertimes, I think I just need a good kick in the ass. I can't focus though; can't do it on my own.

Publicly baring my weakness like this had damn well do someone some good. I have to make a difference in this world, even on some small scale.

A college classmate of Sunny's sent me a very touching email today. He says he barely knew Sunny, but that Sunny had made such a huge impact on his life; helping him get through his oddball college years. He wrote about how Sunny made everyone laugh, and how Sunny made a point to include him in everything, and to just say "hello," which this man was grateful for, being an apparent pariah. He says he couldn't imagine surviving those years without Sunny being part of them. It touched me to know how much Sunny meant to him; and he probably never knew it. I'm sure he touched many other lives in the same way. We should all hope to do the same.

In anycase, I am feeling somewhat better this early morning; and I hope today is a brighter day. I'm sure it will be if I sleep through it.

Guilt

2005-09-03T16:54:00.000-07:00

You were dying
and I could not save you
You were afraid
and I could not
stay to hold you
I selfishly slipped away
and then so did you

Words...like sand on a beach

2005-08-07T08:29:00.000-07:00

How many of the bestselling books today will even be a memory 100 years from now? So much is written, and so little worth hearing is said. It hasn't always been this way. Centuries ago, tales were told mainly in the oral tradition. The masses were illiterate (and although many are today, most people have at least some functional literacy). They could remember the tales told and sung to them; and passed them on. Once the mass production of books began, people thought they could keep the wisdom stored between the pages, and not in their minds and hearts.


The Sentence


Here I mark my words.
I condemn them to neglect.
I sentence them to exile
in the land of forgotten texts
     FOR LIFE!


Though they exist here
    among the dusty tomes
    of fragile leaves
they are only corpses of ink
doomed to eternal rest.


No angel, no demon
shall ever raise the dead
syllables mashed beneath white sheets
bleeding ideas
onto unthinking shelves.


They turn to dust
joining dust
in musky attics
or sink beneath
their fathers and brothers
in library vaults
and rare book stores.


"you must have them here.
It's why you exist!”


Sweaty clerks
and librarians
wipe their glasses clean:
          "Who again?
          I don't understand you."


"In the dawn
when dreams disown me…"


With narrow eyes,
trembling hands,
shaking heads:
          "No.
          You must have dreamed those words.”


                 ©1990 B. Vincent Hernandez

A poem from the past

2005-07-26T20:07:00.000-07:00

I wrote this poem many years ago; but in the last year, it became even more significant in my life.

It scares me sometimes
I may not be strong enough
to always love you,
to always shield you
from all the madness,
anger and scorn.

It scares me
when I cradle you in my arms
and look into those beautiful,
loving eyes,
your sweet face,
and I don't have all the answers.

My heart reaches out
to stroke your soft cheek.
My soul reaches out
to caress your body.

You--my friend, my love
my dearest joy--
I am afraid of failing you.
How can I be your hero
when I need you so much?

My Beloved

2005-07-20T19:44:00.000-07:00

My beloved Sunny passed away this week.

He fought for 11 long months, trying to recover from his gastric bypass surgery. In pain every day, he still held out hope until the last days. He still gave us his beautiful smile nearly every day. He still was my comfort when I was at my breaking point.

In death, he will continue to be my strength.

May he enjoy all the rewards heaven has to offer.

Connotation VS Denotation

2004-07-10T19:09:00.000-07:00

"You cannot redefine a timeless institution. Marriage is what it is"

Those words are published on the Alliance Defense Fund website. The group is to the right wing what the ACLU is to liberals. It funds lawsuits and court battles intended, in general, to curtail civil rights with the goal of ensuring that the civil and criminal justice systems are in fact unjust, weighted in favor of a Christian world view. Who gets to define that Christian world view is ostensibly the world body of Christians. However, just as in politics (or other faiths, for that matter) it is the extremists who in fact determine the Christian Agenda. If only that phrase sent as many chills down the spine of the American public as the phrase, "the gay agenda."

The "you cannot redefine" argument has also been quoted by nearly every lawmaker opposed to legalized same-sex marriages, including the illegitimate president. Mr. Bush is fond of inventing and misusing words, as we all know, but wasn't it his administration that also redefined "torture" and "prisoner of war?" Oh...his secretary of defense, Mr. Rumsfeld also prefers the more obscure, arcane definition of "slog."

Several years ago, even G. Gordon Liddy, one of the more intelligent, if a bit quirky, social conservatives currently living within our nation's borders, used the "definition defense." When I heard him quote the Oxford (or was it Webster's) English Dictionary definition of "husband" to justify his bigotry, I just sadly shook my head. Mr. Liddy, perhaps more than Mr. Rumsfeld, Mr. Bush and the leaders of ADF, understands that English is a living language, and definitions change with time and usage. Simply by using "marriage" to mean a union of either a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, we (the people) redefine marriage. Currently, it has already taken on such connotations. Denotation will follow in a matter of years, particularly with the liberal way Webster has added new terms in the last decade. I mean liberal in its denotative sense, of course, meaning "generous", as well as "not bound by authoritarianism, orthodoxy, or traditional forms." *

Mr. Bush also said, "is weakened if it is treated as a strictly legal contract, because it loses its cultural, religious and natural roots." Hmm...what a very problematic statement! Mr. Bush knows of course, that state and federal marriages are in fact just legal contracts. Religion has no legitimate role in the debate (although in reality it is the primary reason for not allowing same-sex marriage), as we are free to practice or not practice any religion we choose. Choice...now that's another subject altogether, for another blog entry. However, that does bring us to the matter of "natural." Mr. Bush and most other homophobes seem to not know, or perhaps they just discount, the fact that homosexuality is pervasive in nature. Take for instance, the The New York Aquarium's gay (and monogamous) penguin couple, Wendell and Cass. Or, Central Park Zoo's gay penguins, Silo and Roy, who also have a foster child. Read their stories here. The Jerusalem Zoo has gay vultures. Jane Goodall documented bisexuality frequently among her chimps. Scientists have studied rams that only mate with other rams (take that, Dodge!) Even that bastion of conservatism, BYU, found in studies involving rats, that sexual orientation can be determined biologically. The examples and scientific studies go on and on. So, when Mr. Bush says "natural roots," he is not even connotatively correct (feign shock here, please). Homosexuality both has roots in nature (i.e., genetics, hormone chemistry, brain development) and frequently occurs in nature.

The failure among conservatives with higher brain function to acknowledge homosexuality's place in nature has lead to some tragic results, and not only for humans. Many homosexuals have been beaten to death simply because of their orientation; but a year or so ago, we also ran a story about a guy who beat his dog's skull in, because he thought the dog was gay.

Of course, the "definition defense" isn't the only justification bigots use to oppose same-sex marriage. For instance, Texas State Representative Suzanna Hupp, who told me she had many gay friends, also told me the cost of providing benefits for same-sex partners would devastate our economy. Missy...Republican tax-breaks for the rich have already destroyed our economy, not to mention our public education system. Some poor Polyanna in California was caught on tape saying, "if we allow gay marriage, soon there won't be anyone left for regular marriage." I guess she's one of the many women who thinks she "saved" her husband from homosexuality. The ADF, quoted atop this blog posting, the shrub, and the legions of other bigots have said that permitting gay marriage would deprive children of having both a mother and a father. Ahem. My husband's daughter (notice I redefined husband just then) still has both a mother and a father. Furthermore, if it weren't for all the bigotry through the years, many of those gay dads would have never gotten married and had children in the first place. I can't speak for the lesbians out there, but I suspect many are in fem/butch pairs that could probably offer any child all the benefits that a male/female household would. If Mr. Bush and the ADF were implying that only heterosexual, married couples should be allowed to adopt (a standard not currently in place in any state that I'm aware of), do they really feel that all those orphaned children rejected by such ideal couples are better off not having any parents at all?

Any argument against legalized same-sex marriage can be picked apart. Of course Washington, D.C. is a place that derives its power from your fear and from the inherent bigotry of the masses, rather than logic. All we can do is use the power of our words to defeat the false prophets...and to turn their own words against them.

Craving For Wild

2004-07-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

but my bones are welded
into painful phrases
my skin is not
as it would choose itself to be.

My wings! My jaws!
Where are my paws?
But I forget—

this round face is not
merely a reflection
upon the water.

This disfigurement
is the verdict of nature.

My brain strugles to be wild and rabid
but my mind is far too tame

I want blood
to drip between my fangs
squeezed from a dinner in the dirt

I want water
fresh and unfiltered

I want to feel
unending hunger
driving me on

© 1991
B. Vincent Hernandez

ghost

2004-07-05T07:32:00.000-07:00

What ghost
just drifted by
with barely a nod,
hardly a sigh?

My lover has gone missing.
Once robust and laughing,
I did not notice him
slip into gaunt ghastly silence
and from there,
to translucence.

One night before bed,
as I stood for a shave,
looking behind me
I noticed his gaze
and in less than a whisper
he lip-synched “goodnight.”
Then he vanished
forever from sight.

It has not been so many years
but I pack a century of frustration
in the hammer of my fist.
I am alone now,
with only sorrow to hold.

© 2001
B. Vincent Hernandez

DAWNING

2004-07-05T07:28:00.000-07:00

In early dawn
when dreams disown me;
once the ashes of the crucible
have lost their glow…

Darkness still grips the air
wanting, like most of us,
only to survive.
Hours, not years, mark the tempo for its time.

There are things on earth
that live for fewer hours
and haven’t the time
for dreams, or lies.

If I were such a creature
I would move with greater conviction;
but I am a maggot of a different nature,
claiming transformation.

The ‘morphasis,
I testify,
is catalyzed not by effort,
but by time.

Still, an aging larvae,
I count the minutes
while clinging, with the darkness,
to the dawn.

Think of Phlebas,
you the Tired and the Burdened,
who floats lifeless in the waters
that fed his life force year to year.

My buoyancy
is of a lesser nature,
floated on the leisure
of those ashes when they glow.

© 1998
B. Vincent Hernandez

Music

2004-05-17T13:53:00.000-07:00

Not only do I not write as much as I did, I rarely listen to music anymore.

I used to have music playing all the time. The music we choose to listen to not only represents the way we feel at a certain point in time, it also affects those feelings and the actions we take because of them. It's such a joy when you run across a song that encapsules how you feel, even if what you feel at the time is far from joy.

20 Seconds Or It's Free

2004-05-17T13:28:00.000-07:00

Sunny, hoping to revitalize my critically ill writing bug, gave me a notebook about a month ago, and asked me two write something in it every day. I've yet to write anything down, although I've thought of quite a bit to write.

I am a procrastinator of major proportions.

My inability to write these days however goes beyond that.

Number one, as a news producer I waste so much of my energy condensing detailed explanations of the events occurring here in Houston, and throughout the world, into 20 second blurbs. That's network TV news for you. Brevity has become a habit in my writing. It always has been in my speech. I've always hated talking, but writing used to be such a release. Now, it's just another quick service for the customer, like one-hour photo and 30 minute pizza delivery...only faster, and less appreciated.

Number Two...I am no longer around a creative crowd. Sunny and I know very few people here in Houston, and even fewer who we'd call friends. That very much limits the exchange of ideas going on.

Third, sheer exhaustion. With the schedule that I keep, I barely get enough sleep, not to mention maintain enough energy to write.

Fourth...addiction. To computers, to food, to sex. All these take time away from productivity. I know I should do something about these. I won't go to a therapist, because I think most are more interested in manipulating you than helping you.

I am glad that Sunny started his Blog. It gives me something to feed off of, creatively. Sunny himself is a very creative person, and has started on a semi-autobiographical novel. He's had a life worth reading about, believe me. Anyway, that leads to the question...why don't we talk about the things he writes about, and that I don't write about? I think we need to turn off that damned TV more often.

The Dying Of The Light

2004-05-11T08:01:00.000-07:00

Welcome. This Blog is not dedicated to Dylan Thomas, he just happens to be a favorite poet of mine. Actually, he ranks far behind Robert Frost and Carl Sandburg, but "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" is a stunning piece of work.

For those of you unfamiliar:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bob's Blog

Companion piece

I wrote this?

When I started this blog...

sad discoveries

Anyway, it took me a while after arriving at Sunny's grave, but I noticed the lot to the left of his mother's grave was fairly new; though a lush carpet of grass had already grown over it. I suspected then what an internet search later confirmed:

H.A. Hansen

I hadn't talked with HA since February or March, so his death was a bit of a suprise. Last I heard, he was healthy and, all told, happy.

Well, in any case, he's at rest now, with his wife and son.

Aloha

People talking without speaking

My mother once told me

Home Sweet Home

America wins

Vampire Putin

Sixth Anniversary

Apples and Corn; Purple Mountain's Majesty

Dreamer

38

Leftovers

Cowards muffling political discourse

Night of the Elks

Boycott the Best Buy Bastards

Anniversary

Patches Patchinsky Ravelo

After Hours

I *AM SO* SPIDERMAN!

Home Sweet Home

Day 9

Production Stills

Day 6

Day 3, 4 and 5

Water's Ege Day 2

Water's Edge Day 1

Saturday

Apocalypse

No Exit

Water's Edge

And Suddenly...

My knees hurt

Auld Lang Syne

Yes sir, Yes sir, 8 Bags Full

Peace of Mind

Packing, John, Disposable Cookware, A Big Boy Recliner

Home

The Last Day

One Green Balloon 11/14/05

Sexiest Man Alive

5:01 AM

Guilt

Words...like sand on a beach

A poem from the past

My Beloved

Connotation VS Denotation

Craving For Wild

ghost

DAWNING

Music

20 Seconds Or It's Free

The Dying Of The Light

I AM SO SPIDERMAN!