|
contours provocations
journal - 2002-1006 - sun 1900 Duos and Twins; Coke in a Box; Dinner in the Library When last I wrote I signed off by mumbling something about trying to watch "Push, Nevada." And indeed I did watch. But I can't say I'm anymore enlightened. But I'll keep watch. Did I mention that "The Amazing Race 3" started Wednesday night? As before, a number of duos attempt to be the first to reach one or more locations. And in most programs, the last ones to arrive are eliminated. Each of the first two series had pairs consisting of two gay guys. In the first, the two were partners; in the second, friends. There's a different twist this season. A Southern Baptist father and his openly gay son. Certainly a first. Since the "true" Southern Baptists are well known for their intolerance, the father must be a remarkable individual. There's also a pair of older brothers: one straight, one gay. However, in terms of eye candy, my sights are set on a pair of twins who happen to be models. Some of the nice folks at Television without Pity were able to uncover a very erotic photo of the pair. Someone said you could bounce pennies of their asses. Ah, the mind boggles. And I've read elsewhere that one "has a surprise to reveal." I managed to spend an incredible amount of time on Saturday doing chores. Lunch at the sushi bar of the Japanese place reading "The New Yorker." A stop at the post office to drop off some letters and check on the box. A jaunt to Walmart for cat food, mousse, paper towels, and sponges. And I'm convinced the items were as far away as possible from each other. Back home I drove. Lugged everything inside. Stored left and right. Then gathered clothes for the laundry. Grabbed a pile of shirts. Bleach and detergent. Lug! Lug! Lug! To the car I go. Around the block and up the hill. Lug! Lug! Lug! Just as I'd filled the washers, I realized I forgotten something. A quick drive home. Grabbed a spread. Back. Wash! Wash! Wash! Drop off the shirts. Pick up shirts leaving me with an empty wallet. To the ATM. Nab a couple of 20s. Stop at the SuperStop for a coke. Slip back to the laundry. Then home. Hang! Hang! Hang! Sort! Sort! Sort! Fold! Fold! Fold! At the SuperStop the coke spigot spewed forth water. So the clerk said she'd replace it. I was thinking in terms of large metal canisters. But instead she brought out a flat cardboard box. Opened one end, and pulled out a plastic coupling. Then she opened a cabinet and connected it to a hose. Voila! Coke! Around 4, I called my firefly friend. I figured he should be awake. I thought it would be a good evening to have din din since it has been a couple of months. A seven he pulled up in the drive, the motion detector lights clicked on, and the cats scampered. I opened the door and there he stood with slicked back hair, tight button fly jeans and a stud in the left ear. We wheeled away and headed for Hops. But it was packed. Our next option was Lagers. Which I think has been here about a year, but I've never been there. I was thinking it would have a Tex-Mex interior. But surprise, surpise, it was like the library in a Jules Verne novel. The whole back wall was a bookcase filled with actual books. Above the bookcases appeared to be the start of several brick arches encrusted with vines. Hanging from the ceiling was a small early-20th century plane and a minature hot air balloon. Around the walls were shelves holding everything from a giant wooden cat to a totem pole. We sat in a black quilted leather booth and gabbed about CDs, books, TV and the state of existence. And if truth be told there was a certain amount of discrete guy watching. Through appetizer, salad, entree, dessert, beer and tea, we flowed. He said he needed to go to the bathroom. I told him to behave. We nibbled some more. And finally drifted toward the door. And home again. PAX!
|
