Happy National Coming Out Day!

Enough is enough already. Let's do this!

Peace,
Roo

11. The Media Can Legally Lie – Top 25 of 2005

Here. Right here.

I read this article way back when. At the time, I could really just give a crap. I watched Fox, I didn’t really like CNN, just watched whomever had the better soundbite.

Then I read this.

And realized that the news, as a whole, is a farce. Basically, the article says that Fox News is entertainment and doesn’t have to report anything and can say what they want.

Sure, anyone can. They did it when they sues for fraudulent information. They were, like, “No, we’re just entertainment-so we can be fictional.”

I’ve told several of my friends who are conservative about this. They screamed at me as it was a liberal plot to keep them from getting news.

Maybe? Didn’t look at it that way.

So I elected to just not watch the news, outside of the weather (I do live in Florida, after all) and traffic.

And entertainment. E! News daily is more accurate AND has beautiful people that can make a sentence.  I also listen to my friends, liberal and conservative alike.  NPR has yet to really hurt me; Daily Show and Colbert are always high on my list.

My two cents.

Peace,

Roo

11. The Media Can Legally Lie – Top 25 of 2005

An anti-LGBT Oregon business shuts doors following state’s recent tough stance against discrimination | THE GUERRILLA ANGEL REPORT by Lexie Cannes

I have some thoughts on this, folks, no surprise there. You can hate who you want, but if you’re going to play in the public sandbox, you’re not allowed to discriminate, period. Let’s see how this holds up, shall we?

I’m mean, after this incident, on a lark, several advocacy groups called them as anti-Christian situations to just see if they would serve them. One group of women called them as a bunch of witches, a coven, and they were having a Satanic ritual.

Nope. No problem. They’ll have their cake ready early so that they could have it by sundown.

But not the gays.

I think of the owner of Marriott who is devout in his Christianity but follows anti-discirmination laws to a tee. He’s said his faith is against homosexuality, but that it is a private issue for him and he would never turn away gays and lesbians from his doorstep. In fact, you’ve never seen him make a donation to anti-gay causes. If he does, it must be in secret. But that’s the way it should work. My friend had a devout doctor who even said, “that wouldn’t be professional.”

So? They’ve closed their doors. It’s probably because no one wants to give them business.

Imagine the scenario if they had just made another fucking cake?

Peace,

Bardy

An anti-LGBT Oregon business shuts doors following state’s recent tough stance against discrimination | THE GUERRILLA ANGEL REPORT by Lexie Cannes

Opinion: Sochi Olympics

I have been meaning to write for days about this, and do to a recent spat of the “blues” with the loss of a family member, I find myself home today. I should be at the gym, I normally would be. However, I’m home. Blue. Depressed.

So that’ll tint my opinion today, but this discussion has been going on in my circles recently. It’s reached a national level.

Russia is anti-gay. Like America, the country doesn’t take too kindly to change. They’ve always been this way; we’ve always been this way. It happens that a few people, homophobes tend to be vocal and wealthy. They can use gay rights issues as a firey point to rile the masses and have done so there in Moscow.

It’s sad. Gays being beaten on the streets (like here, as a matter of fact). But, unlike here, we have many avenues to lash back and defend ourselves. The whole thing in Russia, making a law to outlaw “gay propaganda” leaves itself open to interpretation and can be used to police innocent peoples.

Kinda like they used terrorism here in the states.

Ahem. I digress.

But time and again, such laws are used to also distract from dirty dealings and a faulty system.

Again, just like here.

I HATE using Hitler’s Germany as a comparison, but, hear me out. I think of how Hitler hosted the Berlin Olympics. He wanted to showcase his “Master Race.”

Then Jesse Owens won. And Hitler refused to attend the Medal Ceremony.

I don’t think we can change the opinions of a massively homophobic society of another country; we’re having a hard enough time changing it here (again, speaking about how resistant this country is to “change”).  But here’s my take on this situation.

No. Don’t boycott the Olympics.

This doesn’t garner favor with my circles, but here’s the thing, if I may. I lived right next door to the Olympic Training Center. You have no idea how much these people invest in events. Literally sacrificing concepts of “life” that you and I take for granted. They live and breathe one sport all the time. See a movie? Maybe in the twenty minutes between calorie counting, eating, and driving over to the weight room. Chat with friends? Sure, But they have to still get their 7.34 hours of sleep, so make it quick.

I will not take away their reason for living. I cannot do that.

No. Don’t move the Olympics.

Sorry, that city, not the country invested everyone to get these things ready. There is no way another location can be picked.

Fuck the Olympic Committee. They’re assholes.

Yes. I said that. The IOC are a buncha schmucks who think their shit doesn’t stink, frankly. They sued, successfully because they had a shitload of MONEY (yet again), to make the Gay Olympics change their name to the Gay Games. They said it was a copyright infringement.

Asswipes.

They were fine with the Hermit Crab Olympics. They were okay with the Olympics of Yo-Yos.  But those gays? No. Can’t use the name.

So we’re dealing with an already homophobic schmucktards.

They said they’ll support Russia if they arrest anyone, since everyone should respect their home countries laws. So? If Germany is killing Jews, screw that noise, you can’t say anything.

What can we do?

I encourage our American counterparts to do something that is, truly American. Stand up to bullies. I think of the “Black Power” protests during the Mexico Olympics. We should stand by our Americans who are marginalized. We should go over there and just be.

If we get arrested? Watch Americans support Americans. Watch how we’ll howl and escalate the situation and show that this is not appropriate. NBC should report, nightly, how our gay and lesbian Americans are being treated and compare it to Russia’s idiocy. No, don’t cancel the news. Use it like Fox uses it emphasize the conservative side of things. Let media send the message.

McDonalds can still sponsor it, but they should still voice, loudly, “we do not CONDONE this.”

That’s what I think.

Take Russia to task by being vocal.

And then let our borders open to those seeking asylum from Russian tyranny.

Peace,

Roo

Anti-gay law confuses Sochi-bound athletes

MOVIES THAT SCARED THE HECK OUT OF ME

Movie stuff. My favorite crap to write about. As we know, Rahrah and I have been doing these 'lists' for some time now, usually movie related. So? This challenge was:

MOVIES THAT SCARED THE HECK OUT OF ME

Now the rules for this? It didn't necessarily have to be a horror movie. But it couldn't be Glitter or The Room. 

I suppose Birdemic might count.

But it had to be something that moved this audience member towards fear. Again, by no means, does this communicate that move was good or bad. Trust me on that. So? Here's a few titles. I elected not to numerate them this time--so they are all on equal standing.

Movies that scared the hell out of me

Bowling for Columbine/Sicko!--Yes, you get a twofer, right off the bat. Here's the thing about these movies. I hate the news, frankly. I think they are a lead-in to commercials. And, so, they only report on things that keep you interested, or, in the face of Fox, to make you vote a certain way. I tuned out. The internet makes things a bit more interesting, since I can pick and choose my news. But that means I miss things, if I'm not looking directly at the items of concern. Living in Colorado, of course, I knew all about Columbine. But I saw the whole debate about guns for the first time as a clearer picture. 

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't necessarily agree with Mr. Moore. I believe him to be a bit of an extremist. But his movie opened my mind. Wereas he does illustrate the problem of gun violence, he has a weird way of handling it. 

And scared the hell out of me. I had not seen the screaming masses in the name of guns before that point. I mean, I always knew that this was a hot topic, but the ease that people were getting guns and using them was too much. And to look at the United State culture in terms of their love of violence and shunning of anything connected with love, I started to form my opinion.

No, I didn't agree with Mr. Moore. But I also don't agree with everyone else. 

Sicko was the same. Did I mention, both of these movies are comedies? I was shocked of the cases they selected. 

It helped me understand the issues some Americans face. And even if a fraction of what was said was true-then there needs to be a change. 

Silence of the Lambs--I had a blessed college career. I not only managed a movie theater, I was able to write the reviews for the local paper the night before. I was able to watch the movie at midnight and get the review out by morning's printing. It was a rough gig, don't get me wrong, but sometimes the whole experience was glorious. 

South Dakota that year was very, very cold and windy at night. I invited my buddy to watch this little flick I had threaded up and, well, at midnight, we watched this thriller, alone, in a completely empty mall in a completely empty theater.  There was no one around. And when those credits ended and the film fell silent. We were freaked out. 

There were serial killers out there. I had even read the book and I was still freaked out. A good performance is a good performance and Doctor Lector took the perverbial cake. Our jaws went slack. 

These creatures existed. 

And we were scared. I remember getting into my bug to drive back to the dorms and the computer lab and looking into the backseat. 

Do you know how small a bug car is? And we took the energy to check the back seat.

Yes, we were that scared. 

Invasion of the Body Snatchers and their Various Reproductions:  Okay, in the seventies, my babysitter and my brother took me to see this movie's remake, with Donald Sutherland and Leonard Nimoy. They had seen me already reading Stephen King and various nonfiction ghost stories. Surely, I could handle such a movie, right?

Changed my life. If there's something that we learned from Star Trek is that science fiction is the best way to present allegory. With similarities to our own world, we can finally see what it is that shocks us and compels us and makes us do what we will do. 

And it can also show us the worst case scenario. 

What if we invaded by something that looks exactly like us. 

It scared the shit out of me. The way the reeds of the seeds would reach out, touch you, get a sample of your DNA and...puft, replace you. Horrific.

I screamed, but, well, I did watch it all the way to that truly horrific ending.

Disaster Movies:  I'm not sure what it is about these movies. I've become callous, a product of age and experience. There's very little you could show me on the screen these days that'll get me freak out. 

But last night (July 29th), I flipped out. ANd it was no movie. A propane factory exploded and I could see the mushroom clouds and hear the booms repeatedly. 

My brain, trained by a nervous-nelly of an ethnic mother, immediately assumed the worst. The End Times had arrived. I took quick stock of my surroundings and all I needed to escape for the impending evacuation. 

There was no need. But I was half-awake, so give me some Boy-Scout credit here. 

But that feeling is repeated every time I see a disaster movie. Even as recently as the movie 2012, I have elected not to go to any of these kinds of movies any more. There's something emotionally involved. I handled "Twister" okay...but, even then, I have to really get it into my head that they are fake. It's just that, with disaster movies, there's a reality there I appreciate from all my time on Earth. Tornadoes, earthquakes, floods have actually happened. Alien attacks?

No so much.

You saw how I reacted to that explosion. I could not breathe deeply and realize I was safe. Instead, my mother, always assuming the worst, took control and there went my night's sleep.

Poltergeist:  It was the pizza Aunt Pam ordered that did me in. Aunt Kathy had treated me to this horror flick. Well written, smooth as glass, America had received its first, true ghost story. It moved forward to every single trope we would have heard, but presented in such a smart way, we didn't mind and were pleasantly surprised. 

But it was the pizza. It has red sauce. And then I went to Aunt Pam's with Aunt Kathy's right after the movie for dinner. 

She and I sat there and stared. It hit us. We were scared. 

Okay, maybe not scared, but we were grossed out to no end. 

So the movie carried beyond the screen. 

Running With the Devil:  First of two television movies I'm going to mention here. Now, picture this. I'm an adult now and, well, since I've read the full pantheon of Clive Barker titles, I'm pretty good at handling scary things that are hurled at me. As an elementary kid? I didn't ahve the repetiore to fight back 

And was wonderfully traumatized by the experiences my brother hurled at me. I was able to keep my cool, but this movie truly effected me on a new level. If you've never heard of it, it's the tale of a group in an RV that encounter a ritual Satanic ritual they interrupt. They're hunted, they get away, and...

...and, I have to give you a spoiler for this explanation to work. 

They get caught. And the movie ends. 

There's no ending. 

This is the first time, ever I had encounted an open ended tale. It scared the shit out of me more than the ritual that flew into the beginning of this movie. 

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark:    Another television program. And, like the others, it stretched beyond the small four corners of a piece of furniture. We had a small door just like that, leading to a crawlspace beyond the living room. I knew this. When watching this movie, again, as a kid, I saw, suddenly that ANYTHING had the ability to create a decent scare moment. What lies beyond that small door. WHo made that phone call? Where did that email come from? 

Why do people vote for the GOP? 

Stories are born from such moments. In this case, so was horror.

Dawn of the Dead:  I had watched Night of the Living Dead and was creeped out, but the ending was really clear, really obvious and really cut and dried. I was good, like reading a very full novel.  

But then there was a sequel that dragged me further into the zombie quaqmire. Now I was scared. I suppose, in some respects, this is tied to the disaster movie, but the pain is increased by the mere fact are former humans banging at the double doors. Will the doors hold?

Now I am going to go out on a limb here and point out something that is extremely private. But, being queer, I saw that movie and noticed that not only would I be fighting for my life, there wasn't a single other gay person in that environment. The feeling of isolation would have been magnified. 

But also, there's the ability to think fast. I don't think fast. When the biters arrive, I'll die. Or I'll caught dead rescuing my dog. This isn't good at all, I hate to say. 

And the shit got scary.

Peace,

Roo

Is America a Christian Nation? - YouTube

I so wanna put this on my FB page, because I get tired of the people at work arguing this point-I even had one coworker saying that I was misquoting Thomas Jefferson, he’d never say that! 

http://youtu.be/kxKA4JBesB4

Is America a Christian Nation? - YouTube

Anti-Gay Group Posts Their DOMA & Prop 8 Reactions Before SCOTUS Has Ruled | Pam's House Blend

There’s a bit of humor here. Did you really read this or just guess at what they’re going to say?

I mean, really. 

Peace,

Roo

Anti-Gay Group Posts Their DOMA & Prop 8 Reactions Before SCOTUS Has Ruled | Pam's House Blend

On Death and Dying...

Author's Note: I'm publishing this now, after some consternation. I have many friends who are devout, and I respect that and them so much, I was a bit scared to post this. But, if I am to accept them and their differences of belief, it should also go this way as well--they'll respect my process and thinking. So, after some wait, there y'all go. Penelope is doing much better-if just a bit tired. 

As my dear dog hangs in the balance, yes, I have some deep thoughts I have to attend to. I'm posting this on my main boards, for I feel it is a discussion many have had before me. And, perhaps, long after we have departed. I'm thinking this will end up a discussion about life and death, I'm sad to say, and my views at this very moment. I will say, having now been married, very happily, for so long, my whole concept of life and death has changed. 

And this moment, as my corgi's life hangs before me, I find it might be time to re-evaluate some parts of it.

When I saw the movie The Invention of Lying, it was the first time I understood atheism. The film is about a man who lives in a world without fiction, where no one has the abilty to lie, and he comes to the sad conclusion that his mother is dying. He elects to invent an afterlife at her bedside, to ease the pain of both himself and her. The film is a comedy, if you can believe that, with terrific moments about the need for lying.  For example, a blind date he goes on has his paramour speaking truthfully in front of him--about he wasn't going to get laid any time soon. As the story progress, humor drops a bit as he begins to show the audience that organized religion is a construct of the human imagination. 

Makes sense coming from an atheist. 

I bring this movie up because I've been listening to much about atheism lately. No, I don't plan on accepting the fact that evidence is truly on their side. But the recent screaming by religions about my small, inconsequential, family tells me volumes. The President makes a plan so everyone get money for health care. Churches run hospitals, but are bothered by this.  Churches go to Haiti to give aid by handing out Bibles. Huh? Where's the food? Yes, many churches do give, but, strangely, they seem to decry the weirdiest of things. Churches waddling into the gun debate and personal choice. Churches telling people their kids won't get into heaven unless they date the opposite gender.

The list goes on and on. 

And it made me cold to religion.  

It's why I prefer my Buddhism and my Taoism, to any Christian church, I'm sad to say. And with every protest (a church protesting...can you believe it???), I get a bit more distant.

But I have not joined the ranks of the atheists either.  Perhaps "agnostic" is my term, but I hate that label too. I just like to think of myself as "Roo." Let the chips fall where they may.

I have need of faith when my dog lie dying and I lay on the wooden floor next to her. I was not ready to let her go into that good night. I thought, suddenly, about faith. Like a child, suddenly needing the parents' input when trouble arrived, not when things were going well, perhaps. I thought about the tales of the soul and how the church has actively said that dogs don't have one--so they don't have to picket outside of the Humane Society.  

So, where was my religion now? Was my dog to maybe to head to heaven? She's been good. She's been loved and has loved back.

If there is a heaven, she deserved it. I did not, however, deserve this pain of loving her more than myself. I could not lose her. As I held her in the dark, I wished, so strongly, that the afterlife was real...not for me or my pain. But for her. She deserved all the pleasures that a good dog had earned in being who she was. She deserved to play for infinite seasons, to eat snacks with abandon and to love all how gave her praises. She did not deserve suffering. 

 

Sidenote:  I have heard that dogs and cats stay alive to ease our sufferings, only releasing themselves from mortal bonds when the strain is too much--further the belief that, maybe, just maybe, they have a soul...and we don't.  She should not have stayed for me or my husOtter.

I became that character in the movie, in sense.

But now, as I think about it....no.  I don't buy religion and their trappings.  

I do believe that there is more. 

The need for faith, and a place to direct our vicious hope, is unavoidable. If we are allowed to love, as part of our basal set of emotions, along with crying and fear, then we have to a reason for it. Being in a loving relationship has long been proven to help us live longer, the love of a pet can prolong our life must longer than without. 

Maybe that's faith.

A place to put our hopes, like a thumbtack on a corkboard. 

Such deep thoughts are the result of the possible demise of my little furry friend, Penelope, the crazed corgi. She started having issues about a week ago; it has progressed to the point where she's pooping on herself and is unable to function healthily. We've begun to run low on cash, and, like the national situation with insurance, the decisions are escalting a bit more and more and the resources are milked dry. I am forced to face the fact that I may not be able to change the trajedectory she is currently on. 

The pain is emotional, but my brain is reading it as physical. I cannot function with any kind of producivity. 

So I'll write. The irony is not wasted. 

But since that little movie, I have been questioning my faith. I feel I've perhaps turned my back on certain aspects. I keep wishing to claim this is some kind of cosmic punishment, some kind of creature in the sky is pointing its finger at me and my small family as a divine retribution for not trying hard enough to heal people. 

Or is it my dog is simply sick and too old to solve her issues?

And will either path give me a moment to breathe?

An interesting situation has developed too, between someone I admire and myself. See, well, he's an atheist. A darn loud one to. He decries religion on my many facets. I sometimes engage him; most of the time, I allow him all the comforts of freedom of speech. Here's the tic. 

He asked me to be his reference on several job applications and resumes. Me? Even he has called me and casually mentioned that I'm probably too religious for him, being I meditated daily. Still, he asked me this, this most private and important things? Even when he disses my causality of faith? 

Or maybe, and this is my greatest hope, that there is room for both of us on this plane of existence. 

And, in the end, I hope there is a tiny, small heaven, consisting of all the dogs have passed on to a Rainbow Bridge. Tails waggin'. If such a place exists, then, of course, I want go there.

Peace, 

Roo

Exodus International to Shut Down | Exodus International

Fuckers.

I mean, really. This? Okay, I’m glad they FINALLY closed down and sent those people who really just need to meet me and my friends for lunch out to the hinterlands.

They:

*)  basically created a sin

*)  profited from it

*)  created self-loathing that will stick in the craw of the throat of anyone who attended such things

*)  bought several yachts and used some of the cash their little church earned to buy votes to keep themselves open.

Apologies? Sure. We’ll accept them. I’m fine with that. But where’s the reparations? It’s like making a Jewish ghetto and then saying, “whoops,” and walking away. The government doesn’t do anything to help those poor men and women? No one sues the shit out of them?

And people say we’re not discriminated against.

I mean, seriously.

It’s like these fuckers, who insist that they’re being discriminated against. They have NO IDEA.  And I’m not saying that because I’m queer. No. I’m saying that because my parents are Jewish. I used to sit and chat with my mother’s friend who’d wear long sleeves to hide the tattoo the Nazis placed on her lower arm to mark her as such. I’m saying that because I’ve seen people break into cars at the synagogue to steal and defecate in them during High Holy Days. I work with the Deaf where people have conversations, teasing them, right in front of them.  And myself. I’m still not out at all places I work at because of off handed comments and fear of reprisals. I can still get fired.

But I’ll be dang sure I know every single church of my coworkers here in the Deep South.

This video has to be seen. I believe it’s emphasized for comedy, to be sure, but these people are out there.

Exodus International to Shut Down | Exodus International

Peace,

Roo

Has it been so long?

I did crash and burn, didn’t I?

Sorry about that.

I have a simple sentence. The dog got sick.

And it changed my life. I have an impending post about it (she lived, but something about my little family changed tremendously). 

But I’m slowly getting back into eating, exercising and, yes, authoring. Today’s whining?

This group. They refused a cake to a gay wedding “out of principal” for the Bible. Yet were more than willing to make them for divorce parties (frowned upon in the Good Book), out-of-wedlock infants (frowned upon also), and solstice parties (witches are a big no-no…in their defense, if they’re that stupid to begin with, they might not have understood the meaning of the term “coven.”).

But a buncha idiots. I’m not an atheist yet, but they’re pushing my buttons. Hard.

Thanks for your patience. Peace.

Roo

http://www.wweek.com/portland/article-20698-the_cake_wars.html

J is Jaspar

Jaspar slapped his palm with his fetter, the Hickory. He has used it on the girls, so long ago, but it still felt new. Was that blood on the tip? On the edge there? He realized then, he lost focus and looked back at the men that had been delievered to him. On the new furniture.

Had they NO shame. They didn't scream. Further proof they had no penance. They were so far from God, they couldn't even cry out to Him.

They deserved to die. They were an abomination. The Bible said so.

There was that feeling again. The Son did not turn on those who laid waste to him. So perfect.

Jaspar shook his head. No time for such thoughts. Death was fortold by God. And God was using him as judgement. It's why he was immortal. To kill those.

The Parsonage was his home. He built it; he commanded it. These two young men, kissing, there in the workers' rooms. That was just wrong.

He heard their names in the din. The one was called Mikale. That's a colored name. The other was named Court. No good Christian would call a child that. Even their parents had forsaken them.

It was time for them to be punished.

The one called Mikale reached again for the latchkey and turned it again, with no fear.

Jaspar pulled the Hickory up and slammed it down the boy's head, making contact with his forehead, but the boy just shimmered. Beside his nose, another small cut formed, near where the Hickory axe handle came to a rest.

Reverand Jaspar yelled at them.

They stood up and ignored him, buckled from the little pain he had caused. They ran to the front door.

Jaspar wanted to stop them and found him shifted to the foyer between the stained glass door and the outer door.

He could see the young man struggle with the lock. One of them, blurred by the blown glass, squinted as if he could see Jaspar.

Jaspar had not been seen in years.

He dropped Hickory and bent at the waist to look at the two young men.

They backed up from the door.

I is for Injured Innocents

"I can't believe it was a man, just a guy, standing there!"

"Keith calls him 'Kirkman.' Guess he was the minister that built the place."

Makale shook his head and slouched further down the couch. The movement exposed his stomach as his shirt rolled up the back. Court leaned in and kissed Mikale's stomach and smiled at his face.
Mikale moved his head from side to side and placed his hand under Court's chin, bringing the young man's face to his own. He kissed it briefly. Court moved back to his side of the couch.

"I thought you, you know, wanted to see a ghost. You got you in here."

"I didn't realize it would be that intense. I thought like a flowing white sheet, floating down a distant hallway. 

"A mist. Not an angry dude just standing there in the doorway. It was wild and, I don't know, changed my perspective today."

Court rubbed his chest as if to alleviate heartburn.

"You aren't going straight, are you?"

Mikale laughed as a courtesy. "I think we're safe there. But, well, I hope this doesn't throw you too far back into the closet."

"No, we're good. There's always porn, right?"

"There's always porn, right."

"Do you want me to turn on the television? Or do you want to head out?"

Mikale pondered the comment and smiled. "I'm, well, I'm impressed," he rotated and leaned across Court, lying upon his chest and looking into his close face. "Most guys just want to get it on and get if over. If they didn't see one of the school plays, they'd never see me again. You are willing to risk that? You're willing to risk sending me home and not seeing me again? Just for my own comfort?"

"I did not see anything, but I trust you. I'm here for a week, I gotta watch the dog and the cat. Me? I'd prefer you stay. Heck, maybe I wanted you to crash here overnight, even if its a school night."

Mikale moved upwards.

"No, we don't have to do a thing, I can even sleep on the couch, if you're comfortable. I'd make breakfast. Which is more of a threat, since I'm a shitty cook."

"Whoa. You swimming boys are a worthy group."

"Thanks," Court demurred and looked around the darkening living room as he blushed. "Guess I didn't have it in me."

Mikale moved his hand across Court's midsection.

"Like the ribs or my awesome abs?"

"Neither. Both. There's, it's warm. Here."

"You're leaning on me."

"No, like really warm."

Court had felt it too, but dismissed it with the prize so close.  He moved in for further kissing.

But the pain twinged and pushed harder on his abdomen. 

Mikale looked down and pulled up his mate's shirt. Any other situation, this would have been exciting. 

But the rolled back shirt revealed the culprit. Five cuts, thin, but straight across his chest and stomach. Court pressed his hand down instinctively. 

"Oh fuck."

"Something on my shirt?  I must have cut you, with a button on my shirt or something," Mikale had moved back to the other end of the couch. With a quick tic, he put a hand to his cheek.

Blood came down between his fingers. 

"Let me see!" He peeled Mikale's hand back and looked.

More scratch marks. The lights dimmed slightly and went back to full. 

"Oh shit!"  As he leaned over his friend, he left the sting of another cut forming on his calf, exposed from his shorts.

"We're out of this."

"Let me get the animals."

"On it, I'll get the dog and you find the fucking cat!"

Another stream of blood formed on the back of Mikale's hand as it held his face.

The blood was not profound but in enough amounts to be noticeable n the two victims. Something was hurting them, badly.

Court tried not limp on his now cut calf. The wound was superficial but made him wonder what else the spirits of the house could do to him. He had stayed in the house numerous times prior. Keith never reported a thing of his magnitude. 

"Why is this happening?"

"I don't know, man," he looked out the back window, above the sink. The cat sat coldly, on the crossbeam of the high fence at them. As if the two men were on fire, the creature leaped over the side. The dog was digging nearby, trying to escape the back yard, burrowing to the open forest beyond.

"Fuck the cat, she'll be fine. Let's get the dog!"

They circled to the back door and reached for the deadbolt.

It clicked back into place. Court stopped his hand.

"Did that just lock itself?"

"Yeah. I'm going to go with we're totally screwed here, my fri..." another slight twitch and Court buckled over, but failed to drop.  "Bitch cut me again."

Mikale pressed Court upright and held him and reached for the deadbolt. With a flick, he unlocked it and moved his hand to the doorknob.  

The deadbolt clicked back into place. 

"Aw shit."

"Front door."

They both moved in unison.

H is for Haunted Housesitting....

   

     "That is one seriously big fence."

        "I know," Court responded, "Keith was telling me that the oldest daughter of the preacher who built this place had a tendency to pull all Lady Godiva."

        "Lady Godiva?"

        "We'll wiki it later."

        Mikale pulled the backpack out of the hatchback and slammed the trunk. The clink of the unhindered beer cans made him worry they might be worrying the evening's libations. He felt the bag and informally checked the temperature.

        "You know Keith Tremain? Is that who's house this is? I wondered why his mother was dropping him off every morning at school."

        "Yeah, Mizz Tremain," Court explained, emphasing the 'Z' sound, "didn't want him to change schools in the middle of his senior year, with being on the swim team and all."

        "Ummm. Swim Team."  Mikale rubbed Court's stomach. 

        "Dude, don't, wait until we're inside."        

        "You see people? There's nothing out here." 

        

        The inside of the house had settled some since Court got the grand tour last week.  Keith and his mom had trusted him with taking care of the animals several times before, the two boys were friends since elementary. No one was surprised at all that Court was willing to make the trip all the way out to the new house.

        And Court used the rumor of the house to be haunted to tempt the lead of the school musical for a night out. The ruse was great. Keith had said some weird stuff was happening, but Keith was never any good at texts and emails. If Court wanted more of a story, he had to sit next to Keith.

        Court lacked awareness that Keith suspected that he was dating anyone. The closet Court and Mikale had many layers. Surely, everyone at school knew about the male lead. He was not necessarily flamboyant  a talent one would suspect, but society had opened up to him and he was comfortable enough to be himself in the pressures of high school. 

        The beer was cleaned quickly enough and Court kept the lights low, in part for mood and in part since he was not sure where all the lamp switches were. They were old pieces of work, a press-button system and were just waiting to electrocute the next one.

        Court was not wasted on the details of the house; if this was a haunted place, it had all the trappings. Toile. Thick velvet drapes without pull strings. Furniture built directly into the walls. 

         And a strange attic with some round tower-y thing. 

         It would be fascinating to explore. 

         But Court's life was truly taking a turn for the better. The beer had worked its magic in less than three cans. The two had moved to the upstairs spare bedroom. He respected Keith and his mother enough to stay out of their rooms. The thought was creepy, besides. Boxes piled themselves mostly in this room, the necessities already being emptied out of the others. Here lay those things that held purely sentimental value, that would not be touched until they were remembered that they were needed. 

         Court bowed over Mikale and started to kiss his neck.  They both were new at this, so the pleasure decreased due to a bit of unpreparedness. Mikale but his arms back, supporting himself upright, wondering if they should take off their shirts or something. He wondered if thinking about what to do next was meaning that he was distracted. He wondered if being distracted meant that he was nervous. Was he nervous because they were meeting in secret? Was...

        ...he opened his eyes to glance at his lover's head, now nuzzled into his neck. The soft breath of the both of them was all he could hear and the moment dazzled.

        A man was in the doorway. He wore all black and had high cheekbones, as if he had never eaten any kind of food. He looked beyond the two lovers to something beyond the bed, something the two might have missed in their fumbling ecstasy f the moment. Mikale was taken aback and glanced over his shoulder to see what the stranger was staring at before his brain flipped towards focus. He snapped his head back, simultaneously pressing Court back up.

         "What? Did I do something wrong?"

         "Who the FUCK ARE YOU?"

         Court reeled to an empty doorway. 

         "There's someone in the house!" Mikale stood up and ran for the doorway. Court missed the action and headed out. He thought he heard footsteps and passed Mikale. 

         Mikale reached for Court's sleeve but missed and started to close the door and reach for his phone.

         Court got the nonverbal and looked down the hallway of the upstairs.

         Empty. Shadows. A small table with several shoe boxes. 

         The attic door creaked apart.

         "Aw, fuck. It really is haunted."

         "Get your ass back in here, I'm calling someone."

         "Who?" He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. 

         "Funny," Mikale panted. 

         "Can you even get a signal?"

         Mikale looked down. The battery, three-fourths full prior, was down to one percent. And no signal.

         "What did you see?"

         "Some pervert watching us. It was, not, not, not what I was expecting. I figured they'd wait until sundown. Not when we're getting out game on."

          "It's okay. Just calm down some. We're not alone."

          "Where's the dog barking? Where's the cat?  Aren't you worried about them?"

          "Keith says the cat leaves and the dog?" He walked over to the window. "The dog is, right, ah, there," he pointed, "hiding in the yard."

          "Yeah, ghosts kill romance I guess.  Can we head downstairs for a bit?"

          "Sure," Court opened the door and peeked out. More shadows. He opened it fully and stepped out. 

          Mikale did not follow.  

          "Dude, I'm not a romantic fellow, but I know better than to just leave you there. How about some television?"

          Mikale nodded from the spare bed.

          Court took a deep breath. He had prided himself on not needing the physical necessity of courtship. However, he remembered, others did.

           He put out his hand to hold.

           Mikale was not quite sure what to do with it. 

           Holding hands, they made their way downstairs.

G is for Ghosts

With this week, I'm electing to try a different approach to my blog posts. Wereas, last week, I did all nonfictional thoughts, this week, I'm going to post a story a day. I'm doing short fiction, just seeing if I can keep to a theme for a few days. Enjoy! If you hate it? GOOD! Tell me why....and I'll learn. If you prefer the nonfiction? Excellent...tell me that....



Peace!

      Lydia fidgeted with the lock and wondered if the reason the front door did not close totally was due to abuse from the movers all day or if it was jsut bad before she moved in. She used the key in the lock. The shiny gold key shone from non-use.


She was a new homeowner.


Only, it was an old house.


But new to her and her son.


Tiredness dug through her. Normally, her happiness of getting out of the rental would have appeased her more than focusing on the possibly broken deadbolt. She would be sore for days from the lifting and unpacking.


Frustration was mounting. And she did not need it.


She flicked the switch and noticed how old it truly was. The gold coloring had tarnished and did match the newly cut key. With a shrug she headed to the back of the house. She put down the keys next to her purse on the nook. She made a mental note to place key-bowl at the exact end of the long expanse of the counter, to make sure she never lost them again. Still, by the money was always a good second.


Keith had already dug out the laptop and had it switched to some annoying pop tunes on the kitchen counter. He was already bent over in the fridge, looking for food. The food was the same from the apartment, just moved in by herself not an hour before, from the cooler. He knew the contents. She did not know what could have stalled the decision making process when looking on the shelves.


"I thought you were going to use the shower? I made sure your had a shower curtain for your bathroom."


"I know, I know, but the growing man in me needed a snack."


He held up a pack of string cheese.


"There's apples over there."


"Yeah, but cheese heals, Mom. Cheese heals."


"You're silly. Get moving. Maybe I'll order us a pizza."


"No wifi yet."


"Where's teh music from?"


"Just downloads."


"Oh, okay, I can use the old fashioned method."


He looked concerned.


"Smoke signals?"


"The phone?"


"Oh. That."


"You have your father's lack of humor."


She knew she shouldn't have said it, after it had left her mouth.


Keith smirked and pulled his head back.


It had been a year since her husband had passed. But his history had not been erased from his sudden departure. She thought about him daily, usually at the most inopportune moments. She caught herself losing composure at the local supermarket. She burst into tears when his favorite songs came over the satellite radio in his little car.


She had made a promise to herself in honor of her son. Not to mention her deceased husband's name to her son during this move to the house. Not to aggravate her son any more than she had to with a new school and missing his friends. Keith was mature enough, but every little bit helped.


"Sorry, guess I had a lot on my mind, rigth?"


"Go down to your room. I'll give them a ring and get you"


"And..."


"And....I know what you like. They'll probably just repeat our usual order."



_________________________________________________________________________________

      She was too tired to be bothered. She walked to the top of the basement steps and yelled down to her teenager.

"All the drivers are busy at Tony's. I'm going to just run to the store and pick something up! What do you want?"

She could hear the drum of water from her son's old-new apartment in the basement. In fact, it was a selling point. Most of the house was from 1911, but someone put in an apartment in the basement. She doubted he would use the kitchenette, but the privacy of keeping a growing youth out of her hair worked.

It was also the only place with a working shower.

So far.

"WHAT?????"

"I'm going to run to the store and pick something up! Do you want something specific?"

"WHAT????"

The water did not turn off. She thought about spending further energy going down the steps, but knew that the eating machine that doubled as her son would probably eat whatever she could get regardless. She closed the door and headed back to the nook to get her keys and her purse.

The purse had been knocked over.

She imagined it must be her personal haze, a moment where she was so focused, she missed the details. She must have messed it up when she went for her phone.

But she thought she picked up the phone from the counter. Ten feet away.

The haze must have been pretty deep.

She fumbled up the collapsed side of the gray bag to where she did remember she placed her keys.

They were not there.

They were gone. A brief glance, coupled with a deep squat that popped both rotting knees, under the table.

Nothing.

The dog and cat where at her sister in law's house.

She looked to where the phone was.

Nothing. She heard the water turn off in the basement.

And a ping of the key chain coming to rest against the bevy of keys from her work.

The noise was louder than it should have been, as if someone purposely wanted her to her. It was not real, not like a normal sound that she encountered so much in her life. She left the kitchen with a hard right and glanced back to the front door. The sun had begun to set for the evening, a full day's work going to rest. The shadows desceded across the hall, but the only lamp had yet to be plugged in, still waiting atop drab boxes. She flicked the push button switch, another turn-of-the-century hold over and zero response was retorted. She moved to the door where her tired eyes could decypher a tan pile.

Her keys were in a heap, resting on the fold between the wooden floor and the scaled, white door.

The basement door opened slightly. Her son poked his head out. He was holding onto the door knob with one hand, his other held a large beach towel around his waist. Another mismatched towel was draped over his head, leaving the impression of a disheveled monk, arising from the basement.

"What did you say? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Hey, did you throw my keys at the door on your way down the steps?"

"No. Why would I do that?"

"Exactly. Why would you do that?" She pondered, then,"Look, going to run to the store of the deli, you want anything?"
"Anything is great-just bring home some pop."

"Soda," she stepped out the door.

"Pop."

"Soda!" She closed the door behind her. Keith went back down stairs to find his suitcase of clothes.

          

        

F is for Fame

F is for Fame

I had an interesting conversation with a coworker about something we had both seen on E News Daily the day prior. I harangue her daily about her reliance on Faux (Fox) News; I was shocked to see that watched something related to entertainment, and not something the continued to mention that the Earth was flat and that anyone with free thought should be shot for their nonviolence.

But we had both watched E! News Daily.

And, strangely, they still play entertainment news and it's in their name, unlike MTV which has nothing to do with music any more.

And she tends to harangue me back-if y’all know me, I don’t really like to sit and watch television. It depresses me and makes me think that there’s killer bees everywhere and that if I don’t vote, I’ll have to where a chastity belt for the rest of my known existence.

I am in the Deep South, after all.

She surprised me; I surprised her. And we both agreed. Gerard Butler is hot, talented and should be more famous.

I may hate commercial television, but with my ongoing existence as a cineaste, I do like my entertainment news when I remember to tune it.

I have the right, I believe, since I watch such a decent amount of it, to call Mr. Butler, “Gerard.”  When Elizabeth Taylor, people noticed I called her “Beth.”

Like I had fucking coffee with her last week.

If I only had!

So, when it comes to fame, I probably should clarify:  my definition is a bit different than getting money for not working and people exposing their breasts at you and asking you to sign them.

However, that would be kinda cool, in its own right too.

What I mean by fame? That your name is so well known that you have several Facebook fan pages that fill up. That your name goes above Tom Cruise’s to get people to go it. That you can appear at the Oscars and not have to have previously won an award.

However, you do have to be somewhat pretty on the carpet. Sorry. If I’m buying your tickets, I need massively eye candy (or, as I like to say “eye-crack”) or massively talented.

I get upset when I see what audiences like and don’t like. It astounds me of the stupidity of the masses. But, then again, Bush was elected. People went and said, “yes, he represents my values. He’ll make me appear stupid.”

And people like the Kardasians are still drawing people to watch their senseless drivel.

I know this business, this entertainment crap

.

And I am surprised by who isn’t more popular some times. I mean, jaw-droppingly, surprised. I’ve seen talents that make me want to hit the average Joe for not liking them.

I also want to strike people for being conservative, but I digress.

I’ve even kept names on my Evernote app on my phone. I’ll be sitting there, fingers all greasy from popcorn, having just watched such a movie and I’ll want to smack myself as to why the other 100 rows are empty behind me.

And, no, I hadn’t farted.

Like at some of these names:

Benjamin Bratt-Every time I see this man on screen, I cannot take my eyes off of him. Here’s the thing, however, he’s hot, yes, to be sure. But, for example, he was in “LA Mission,” playing an ex-chicano gang member, and, well, he gave me the skivvies. I switched to a Law and Order, and he’s playing a cop. Totally different characters, and he held his own, but, well, here’s the thing—there was a physicality that I noticed. He was a piece of meat, violent man; but with compassion. The cop in Law and Order, so by-the-book, you start to dislike him. Why isn’t this man more famous (by my hideously narrow-mined definition?)

Jim Carrey-Mr Kaching? Yes, this many talks out his asshole and makes a billion. So what the fuck am I talking about? He’s famous, yes, I get that. However, I’ve noticed this is a highly underestimated performer. I saw him in the Majestic and he was awesome! He doesn’t have to do comedy. But people only like him in with the ha-ha’s. And that’s wrong. He deserves to be seen as the actor he really is. The comedy got him in the door. He can, however, actually act.

Sutton Foster-My issue with this young lady is that she’s a total theater baby. She has stage presence out the wazoo. I bet, even if you’ve never seen her perform, she walks into a coffeehouse, and her sheer personality is stronger than the java in the pot. She’s on a stupid little family show called “Bunheads,” and she’s not over the top, but, stuck in a stupid premise—but her conviction is so good, we buy it and want to take the journey with her. I can only imagine what she would be like in mainstream cinema. I love this woman. We need to see her more!

Ryan Reynolds-Okay, here’s another one where my perception of fame is different from yours. He has already opened movies as the lead performer. But his humorous reputation and his abs arrive on the screen before anyone takes the time to see-this is a likable ersonality who deserves more than being second fiddle to Sandra Bullock.  The biceps alone mean he is being cast as action heroes, coupling with the wise cracks from his comedic strengths. But I honestly see him like Jim Carrey. He can handle much more serious scripts. Where are they? Who is willing to take the risk and cast him?  He has Harrison Ford written all over him.

Alan Ruck—Poor Mr. Ruck!  I saw him in Ferris Beuller’s Day Off and noticed him more than the lead. In fact, he kinda looks like my husOtter. So, maybe this is just a crush I have. But he even played a captain in a Star Trek movie.  He is always playing second

fiddle to some other big name, but my eyes always gravitate towards him. You know what, fuck it, I have a crush on him. I’ll just move on and forget I said anything.

Channing Tatum—He’s becoming more and more a household name, but there’s a reason he kept his moniker off of the deplorable “G.I.Joe Retaliation.”  He is moving onto bigger things, and he only appears in the sequel due to contractual obligations. But seeing him make the fairly standard “Magic Mike” last summer into something slightly deeper tells me there’s a better performer under those steely blues. He reminds me, for some odd reason, of Paul Newman. I would love to see him do a remake of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with Scarlett Johansen (she recently appeared in it on B’Way).  His star, it seems, is about to break free. He suffers from the Too Beautiful Syndrome. Too many Hollywood types are cast due to their looks. As soon as they get ugly, they get an award and/or recognition. You want evidence? Halle Berry in Monster’s Ball; Nicole Kidman in The Hours; George Clooney in Syriana; Charlize Theron in Monster; Jennifer Laurence in Silver Linings Playbook.

Jimmy Smits—Alright, I have to bring my mother into this one. She cried, for a freakin’ week when Jimmy’s character died on NYPD Blue. She was afraid that she was going to have to go into therapy. Smits was a replacement when the lead bowed out and totally took over. Smits has dominated television and every time I see his handsome face, I want to take a journey with him as well. But, we never see him in movies. Or, better, good movies. Sure, he was in the Star Wars prequels, and, luckily, those were so bad that everyone looks good next to Hayden Christensen.  But he had, what, four lines? How is this possible? He’s terrifically authoritative and  that was evident in the West Wing, when he ran for president. But…Jimmy…my mother’s dying here. You have to get back on a screen somewhere!

Alright, I have a good twenty more names, but, for now, I think I’ve made my point.

We need to see more of these people, period.

Peace!

Roo