Ice; Sacred Trees; "Chance Encounter"; "I Like Guys"; Homo Home Again

The sun was up and about this morning. Long thin sunbeams lit the sky but offered little warmth. My car was caked in frost. Read on to discover why my car was caked in ice.

A brief tirade.

Several years ago, there was a magnificent oak growing on the property next door that shadowed and protected my drive. When it was there I never had problems with frost. In fact, the yard next to mine had holly trees, climbing ivy, lots of beautiful shrubs and flowers. A very attractive yard. Well that was until the owners sold the house and moved.

The new owner came along and decided to trim everything in sight. Including the hedge on my property! She then got rid of the shrubs. Next went the holly. Then she had the oak cut down. She then calls me up wanting to know if she can tear down the fence between our properties so the oak stump can be removed!

Holy Shit Bitch! Finally, the yard is reduced to nothing but butt ugly grass. Not a tree, bush, flower or vine in sight. What next you may ask? SHE FUCKING MOVES! One morning I go out to my car and realize the house is vacant. She'd moved during the night.

What the hell do you do with someone so insensitive to Mother Earth? I'm like a resident of Middle Earth: hollies and oaks are sacred. I would have given anything for a pissed-off ent.

I got the king-size ice scrapper, the one I bought in Dallas during an ice storm, out of my trunk. And proceeded to carefully scratch at the ice. In the process, I discoverd the wipers were frozen to the glass, Finally, I had a mid-size hole in the frost. But my hand were frozen. (Idiot! You've should have gone back inside and gotten your gloves.)

I worked diligently during the morning on the company web site. It's the kind of thing that once the pattern is set, you add the content. The catch is, each piece of content may come from a different source. A fact that few seem to understand.

It has just enough repetition to it that my brain shifts to auto pilot, and I began to think of other things as my fingers fly across the keyboard. Sorta like the actor who makes the grocery list while on stage.

Lunch came and I scooted out the door to my car. It was still chilly. Where I ate was drafty and downright uncomfortable. There is no vestibule; so every time the doors open, the wind roars in.

I did enjoy reading the latest copy of "The Gay & Lesbian Review." The "Review" can be a tad lofty, so I have to pay attention, or I have no idea what I've just read.

One article was about Duane Michals, a photographer who I did not recognize, but whose work I've seen. See "Chance Encounter" at OS GRANDES FOTÓGRAFOS.

"Michals isn't interested, photographically, in the mechanics of sex or its genital apparatus. What intrigues him is the atmosphere and aura of sexual possibility, the building and releasing of erotic tensions, something that is common to all sexual orientations."

I raced through the afternoon, but I did manage to listen to a David Sedaris story at "This American Life." The story is called, "I Like Guys" and tells of his adventures at a summer camp in Greece when he was 13.

When I got home, I noticed a couple of messages on MemoryCall. A friend wanted to meet at a restaurant at 6 for din din. I hurriedly did a couple of cat-related chores. Then grabbed his Christmas present and some wrapping paper. And within a few minutes I held a lovely package in my hands. (As long as you ignore, the tiny rip in the paper and the spot where I switched the bow.)

So here I am again at home, all comfy in old sweat pants and three layers of shirts - short sleeve tee, long sleeve tee, long sleeve sweat.

PAX!