I was on the subway the other day and I caught a glimpse of myself in the window and I thought “Holy Christ, I dress like a 12 yr old boy!” I was wearing a pair of CAT hightops, white socks peeking out up over top, a pair of black Tough Duck work pants, and a white t-shirt with a sketch of a robot in black and white. I thought about this for a moment and wondered what I would look like if I was watched by a hidden camera like on “What Not To Wear” and have it played back for me. Then I began to wonder just what kind of collective damage a show like that does. Making all of us—humanity, exceedingly self concious about what we as a people look like. I took that thought to the extreme of people dressing exactly alike and not doing anything out of the status quo. Then I thought…I dont really care what people think of the way I dress…I generally think today’s fashions look like some poor Nike-slave sewed up some jeans, sat in bleach and rolled around in mud for the benefit of Missy and Madonna. If you want worn jeans, why not go to Goodwill? Am I getting old and bitter? Anyway. Im not about to go out and buy new clothes. I like my robot t-shirts.

My cat nearly escaped my back yard gulag, or Pussylag 17 as Mike calls it. She discovered how to climb a bush. Of course the fat sister, Lady Penelope could only meow in encouragement: “Meow! Go! Go get help!!” God I love my girls.

The Olsen Twins will be able to do porn legally soon… I cant wait till those whores are on Playboy.

Speaking of whores, I miss Mike… I keep on finding his pic on alt.bears.binaries.whack.off.pics.bears.did.I.mention.bears?moderated. Yeah I cruise newsgroups. Thats so ’94. I digress…Mike did these pics a few years back for a photographer’s site…someone raided it I guess or he released them himself. Who can say? Again…Im rambling. The point is I feel weird finding these pics when Im cruising for porn. Its an ego boost (I slept with that!) and a Jealous Italian curse at the same time. When we were together, i was always jealous of him. He had the personality and the charm and he would attract the guys around him like flies around a dirty Le Chateau bolero jacket covered in marinated steak blood. You get the picture…He was the happy open one in our relationship. I miss his laughter. I could make him laugh easy…which I loved about him. I could pick my nose and he would laugh. I think our relationship was based on humour: we met by me posting an idiot pic on my chat profile…wait…I’ll get it…Here it is…me in a dress goofing like an idiot in front of a Hello Kitty doll. I was the only pic like that in gay.com’s bear room. He messaged me instantly. I wont go into the details of our break up and weird reconnection but we’re in this greyzone relationship thing where I may or may not be moving out to Vancouver next year. We’re meeting up in Calgary next month. I cant wait. Like I said, he made me happy when he was laughing.

Bad day on the moon… Work sucks. Every time it seems like the bar is getting popular or is rocking and everyone is happy, someone or something comes along and tears that happygolucky feeling down. Today’s little roadbump of dissapointment was the insurance company dropping our policy due to an accident a couple months back. I feel somewhat involved because the accident was on my watch and the insurance company used the website I maintain for the bar as an excuse to cancel the policy. Now, I know it’s not my fault. There were similar “crisco arm wrestling” contests all last year before I showed up to do promo for the bar, so it was just a matter of time before something like a broken arm was going to happen on stage. Sheesh. And the website didn’t have anything explicit on it other than a few S/M demos with a slave tied up. Oh and the odd cock with marbles stuff into it, but other than that…nothing extremely dangerous like other bars that do stuff like mud wrestling or arm wrestling. I just feel like my work has been twisted around to nail the bar. So I do feel a bit responsible. You know? There are other rumours about why this is all happening (typical Gay Village chatter that accompanies bad news…just making it blow up to EXTREMELY bad news) and some of the staff are crying “discrimination against the leather community!” before all this can be sorted out by lawyers. Crap…this whole thing is pretty hard to explain as I only know what I was told to do…take down the bar’s website. my baby! My reason for getting up in the morning! My extra skim milk in my earl grey tea…my zuggarat!

If I look at this positively, I can say I now have a month to redesign the site. Sheesh.

So the power thing…yeah… Lots of inconvenienced people. Not me. It was business as usual. It was cool to see the dead street cars placed every two blocks, sort of reminded me of that Canadian move “Last Night”.

So about this homeless guy I have the hots for:

I ride the streetcar pretty much every day and I pass by a temp hard labour agency on Queen and Sherbourne. He’s there as early as 8am to 10am-ish. He’s just over 6ft, with a sandy blond goatee. He always wears jeans (which fit well), has a napsack and a baseball cap. Some days he sits, some he’s standing leaning against a storefront doorway, his crotch nicely buntched up. He’s rough. But a good rough. I find this whole thing weird…I wonder what it would be like to find out someone likes me from afar. Id probably be all shy and withdrawn and shit. One day I got enough balls to cycle by him and he didnt even notice…no suprise there. Ive made up an entire imaginary home life for him and tacked on this bizzare bi male fantasy where he experiments with me. What can I say? The streetcar is boring.

I spent the most part of my day trying to get rid of that blasted msblast.exe virus off the work computer. Oddly enough it was Norton Antivirus that wouldn’t let me delete the file off the computer. Weird. It makes me wonder what kind of stupid fat fuck thinks its cool to make a destructive program and release it into the world. Man’s fate to destroy itself, I guess.

I had a good chat with the owner of North Bound Leather. I was impressed with his attitude and manner. No wonder he has one of the best leather stores in North America. We mostly gossiped about the leather community and how it needs to be more cohesive now that big circuit parties are on the down slide. I so want to work in his office…at the end of the meeting, his secretary came in and said “they” needed the 2001 receipts. She looks at me and makes a face: “We’re being audited.” “Oh,” I said. “Yeah,” she says, “Later we’ll all be like this.” and bends over to show me her ass. Classy leather shop!

Tomorrow I will talk about the secret love I have for a homeless guy…

11:42PM

I forgot…I wanted to add my favorite sexual innuendo lines from Star Wars:

“You came in that thing? You’re braver than I thought!” Princess Lea
“You’re all clear kid, now let’s blow this thing and go home!” Han Solo
“Look at the size of that thing!” Wedge

The Mr Toolbox Bear contest was so dreadful I left half way through. The microphone was hooked up to a crappy speaker and combined with the M/C’s accent I couldnt understand a word he was saying. And Hamilton Terry was there.

Let me qualify some things here: I work in a leather bar doing promotions/website/ads and I have limited contact with customers (not as much as the bartenders). For the most part I like our clientelle but as always in group dynamics, theres always someone who rubs your fur the wrong way. Terry is one of them. I find him annoying. He opens his mouth and its all I can do to keep myself from walking away or yelling at him to shut up. You know the type… it doesnt matter how nice they are to you or how shitty they are…their personality is your nemesis-personality. Your anti-matter personality. Thankfully he lives in Hamilton so he’s not in often. Anyway he was there last night talking all the way through the first part of the contest while I was trying to listen to what was being said on stage, which was a chore due to their crappy p.a. system.

I guess I was expecting more from the night. I got nothing. I had a dream this morning that I was back at my first job out of Media school. But I was so ignored/forgotten that I could walk into any boardroom and sit in on things without anyone questioning my presence. I went back to my desk and found it a dumping ground for old computers, manuals, my cubicle fodder, and…insult to injury…my chair was gone. At that point, OldGrannyShakes, the lady in the office who would complain about everything came up to my cube and told me to avoid the Ham. She felt sick since lunch. Which was weird because we didnt have a cafeteria. Then Lady Penelope woke me.

So at work today, three guys came onto me. Which made me wonder where the hell these guys were a few years back when I weighed 180. Now at 210, I seem to be a beefy guy magnet. Not that Im buff or anything but guys do seem to appreciate a gut. Im generalizing but hey, its my blog. So these three guys were not bad but two were coupled in an open relationship. It was clear that one was more into me than the other and I hate that. They didnt come right out and offer a threesome but it was on the table, as it were, and I would have cringed back like Anna Nicole Smith at a vegan food fair if they had offered. I hate threesomes. Threesomes are twosomes with one guy dissapointed. Its a rare thing for both partners to be into the same guy. I digress. So Im fat, Im being hit on by lonely coupled bears and I dont have any epiphany to relate. It was, however a great ego boots. Now I’m asking myself if I should go enter the Toolbox’s Mr Box Bear contest. Imagine the political hell if I did…

Hello. I’m not good at introductions. I generally do the cop out thing and say “Introduce yourselves” when I have to do 2 or more people standing about. So mumble under your breath your name and say Hi.

Okay so this is my first blog. I haven’t a real exciting life. I collect robots and I run another site called Dead Robot, which I should update much more often than I like. I’m a culture vulture and will use any excuse to watch tv or bad sci fi at any given moment. I think that’s all I’m gonna reveal right now…if you read on you will get the gist of who I am. If you click on the stuff at the side you will be dissapointed. I’ve hacked this site from my boss. Its mine now. I own it. Me. Not him. Mine.

Have you played with the Google Start Up page? All the blocks of text can be dragged and dropped wherever you want. Easier to use than My Yahoo! Friendly! Clean!

I fear my job as web page designer will be obsolete in a year’s time if this takes off. It won’t matter how long I suffer over page balance (like we use to do over fonts and font sizes) because some inbalanced dink will do what they want with the pages they view.

But damn if it ain’t cool! I can see all my Gmail incomings!

Google needs to let RSS feeds to be added to it but soon…soon…

I’m back from camping with only 3 bugbites on my right arm (for some odd reason). I have pictures and will try to get them up tonight. We had a great time with the usual crowd and it was great to see the Point guys putting up that great big tent blimp hangar structure for wedding/parties/anything as well as upgrades to the pool. Now to make more showers…

I do have one story to relate: Last year, there was a guy so far gone drunk at the social tent gatherings he was dubbed “Stumbalina” due to his mode of stumbling transport through the crowd. The first party of the weekend in the new Blimp Hangar, Stumbalina was there, doing his thing through the crowd, mumbling drunk disjointed come-on lines.

Sharkboy and I leave to fall asleep in our tent in the quiet wooded section we love to rent (its away from the seasonal party people hence it’s 99% quiet). At about 3am, I’m nudged awake by Sharkboy with “There’s someone outside the tent!”

Outside, about 2 feet away from our tent door, eerily standing right in front of the nearly full moon creating a silloette with a misty halo, is Stumbalina. Swaying slightly.

Immediately the entire Blair Witch movie replays in my mind and I’m awake. I am freaked out. Sharkboy yells “Can you go away, please?”

“Muh lookn fr my tent,” I think he says.

“This ain’t it,” Sharkboy shoots back.

Stumbalina stumbles (duh) away loudly into the night. I’m still sitting bold upright. I’m certainly not going to be able to sleep.

Ten minutes later I can hear him kicking up underbrush near our car/cooler/food area, with no real direction in his movements. I am up out of the warm arms of Sharkboy and with a large, heavy flashlight in hand I am out of the tent and advancing on Stumbalina, who hasn’t drunkenly registered that someone is coming at him. I hit him with the powerful beam from the flashlight.

His reaction to the light was exactly like that scene from the 50’s War of the Worlds when Dr. Clayton Forrester shines his flashlight on the Martian: eEEEeeeeeEEE!!! His hands come up over his face, which is contorted like I sprayed him with ice cold water. “Buddy… where is your tent?” I ask calmly (Sharkboy says I was calm. I wanted to sink the flashlight into his face – years of being a bouncer at the Black Eagle kicks in when dealing with drunks).

“mulglgalgg …Eight!” Meaning he was in lot #8.

“Over there,” I point with the flashlight. He slowly turns and follows the beam.

Stumbalina stumbles into the night.

About 5 minutes later we hear a zipper and a thump.

The next day we see Stumbalina drinking gallons of water. He won’t make eye contact with us.