Duncan's Blog

I grew up at a time where/when same-sex marriage didn't exist. You didn't have to be a flower child who was shacking up with your 'old man' to commune as lovers at the time. Of course, maintaining two residences back then was less expensive than it would be now, but (all things being equal... whatever the heck that means) folks also earned less.
Where am I going with this?
There was an idealistic Spanish major I had met in college who was 7 years 8 months older than I back when I was a freshman. He lived with his dad and went to the same commuter college as I. Yeah... I lived with my parents. When he wasn't in class he would be found shopping for the cheapest cuts of meat at a local butcher or buying Colt 45 in the big bottle. He also toked weed and seemed more interested in getting high (or drunk) than he was in making out. He used the generic term 'getting buzzed'.
He would never disclose his sexuality to anyone and no one had ever asked me why I was 'hanging out' with this older guy with long hair who didn't drive. I was madly in love and could tell no one.
For many years he had pushed me away and even wrote a return to sender on the envelope of one of the letters I had written to him.
Then, one year, I had decided to see if I could get back in touch with him. I sent a letter to him c/o his father. The letter sat there for months and he had spotted it when he came to visit his father. He took me up on my offer to be a friend and he half-heartedly acknowledged the fact that we had parted ways at his will.
He never expressed any interest in being physical with me and I had never made the offer.
He is a retired Spanish teacher, living in Florida, and boasting about how cheap his rent is. He has one savings account (no checking account), drives a KIA that has sand on every surface inside, is probably 35 to 40 pounds overweight, and can't understand why I never eat bottom-feeders from the sea since I am not a declared vegetarian.
He is vigilant about protecting the integrity of his vision; wears trifocals and undergoes procedures to inhibit the effects of macular degeneration. Yet, he has sensory hearing deficit and when I had asked him about it he shrugged. He doesn't believe in audiology and thinks that the discipline is overrun with people who just want to sell hearing aids (which he would not wear). In restaurants he ignores waiters and gets angry that his order was not taken or he gets ticked off when someone is eating something that he didn't see on the menu because it was part of the verbal special of the day.
I am, of course, glad that I had never been asked to share this former boyfriend's life. He has turned into a very self-absorbed elitist and he continues to have tastes and opinions that he deems to be infinitely superior to those who stand on the opposite side of the court.
I choose my travel companions wisely and have learned that if I am uncomfortable with someone for more than one reason, then it is best to limit future contact.
My friends' list diminishes... and I still have yet to have my heart cloven before G*d and these witnesses.

Well, he is more than a friend. He was a former love interest some 45 years ago. I had dreamed of his one day realizing what he had turned away. But, as time went by, he became more and more self-absorbed and arrogant and superior. Some would call him a narcissist. His conversations can sometimes sound like a pedantic challenge and the worst moments that I dread are those when he plays Henry Higgins and tries to guess where someone is from. I have told him that there are some people who (a) may not want to reveal that personal information, or (b) may be concerned that the person asking might work for the government, or (c) may not want to be interrogated for more information than he or she might care to divulge.
The man got a deal on a room in a time share in Key West and he asked me to join in on the 8-hour to get there. I did. He said that he i not all that keen on doing long distance driving. His roadwork on the interstate as horrifying and frightful. He would go at least 20 mph above the speed limit and then get ticked off if someone were to pass him. He would feel compelled to tell me what the other person's speed was (as if it were information of interest or value to me). The weaving and the speeding were horrifying and I know who is going to be behind the wheel for most of the return trip driving.
He feels compelled to invite his lesbian friend to meals. I'm certain that she would probably prefer to spend time with 'her own kind,' but I don't make a thing of it. She had brunch with us the second afternoon that we had arrived. The following day she joined us and invited two of her friends. And tonight she is inviting the same two friends and two more. I, however, am an introvert and don't like crowds and don't warm up to strangers either. I'm the one who sits and smiles and remembers what someone had said 30-60 minutes ago and can repeat it at an appropriate moment at a later time. However, such social grace exhausts the sh*t out of me and I would rather be one-on-one with someone I know.
I have another day with him here and then on Thursday we drive back to his place. I return home on Friday. Am I the only person who finds vacations exhausting? I absolutely hate being outside for any lengthy of time unless I am doing solitary ambulating. And that's best done when it's not so hot. I'd get up relatively early (5:30-6:00) and take a walk. There aren't many places that serve at that hour; at 7:00 am some Cuban restaurants open the grills.
In another 5 days I will be back at work doing the boring rote work that I do best. I will be with my dog and my cat. And I will not be at the mercy of someone else's whims and fancies. Now I remember why I never got married.

Getting a second wind means having more energy after having been tired. I found it on a list of English language idioms. https://www.ef.edu/english-resources/english-idioms/ ... It's a funny phrase. Actually, I think most sentences that deal with wind are ripe for the picking. I remember those days of being a young(er) nursing student and I'd have to describe a patient's condition. "Singultus noted," "Complains of pain from flatus five out of ten," or "Sinewy flatulence as evidenced by vigorous and forceful muscle contractions as well as enough hash marks to play tick-tack-toe in the patient's diaper."
There are some parts of the body that people never stop talking about and other parts that are mentioned in hushed whispers. Folks will talk about their eyes or their skin or their hair or their nails as if they were preparing for surgery. But have gastro-intestinal complaints or burning of the genitalia and the fervor of explanation is not quite on a congruent level.
I'd love to continue on this thread, but I've got to take the dog for a mani-pedi and I need to hop in the douche first.

There are many things that I have discovered late(r) in life. That's not to say that I didn't previously know about these things, but rather these things were not incorporated into my daily life experience or consciousness. Tea, for example, was something that we had in the house, but months could go by without consuming any. The same goes for rice.
When I decided to change my eating habits to loose weight and to make healthier eating choices, I was selective about my carbohydrates. They were going to be significantly scaled down in mass and/or volume, so I wanted to maximize their consumption by choosing a higher quality. Pasta is from Italy. Sorry, but it's a bias that isn't going away any time soon. And pasta is made from semolina. Period. Now I could have pasta made of corn or chick peas if someone else is making it. But for me... it's the genuine article from the Boot. And don't get me started on 'zoodles'.
Rice, however, is a different story. I only cook the white long grain variety. I try to find grains that are made in the USA and that are not genetically altered. Organic certification is also essential. Why bother spending money on grain that's been sprayed with toxins? I found the perfect recipe for 18 minute stove-top rice and once the water boils, the rice is added, and the heat is reduced, one need only let the rice rest for five minutes before consuming it.
I know there are many varieties of rice out there... brown, black, arborito, sweet, jasmine, etc., but long grain white seems to be the American standard for Americans who consume it. When I was growing up on the east coast, Carolina was the brand of choice. On the west coast, I have not found any particular brand to which I am committed. I usually get store brands or loose rice from the bin at the health food store. I always say NO to GOYA, but that is for political reasons and nothing more.
Rice is the additive to most of the soups that I consume. I also eat it with eggs in the morning (accompanied by beans). It can be served with a tiny amount of sweet butter. I generally steam it to warm it up rather than put it in the microwave. Microwaved reheated rice tends to get hard and crunchy. And who wants that? I use a stove top egg poacher sometimes; one metal cup for the beans, one for the rice, and one for the soon-to-be-poached egg.
One day I think I might have the medical examiner open me when it's time to harvest the organs and pass them around for recycling. He/they/it/she will look at the tissue and the organs and say, "My, my, my! I have seen cadavers in my day, but this one appears to be one of the healthiest for its age. Everything is pink. There are no cysts, no bumps, no lumps, no masses. Everything is so well-hydrated. And I can't find a trace of any animal fat anywhere. This man cooked with steamed filtered water and consumed extra virgin olive oil of a superior quality I could not even begin to imagine. Whoever receives these organs is in for a surprise and a treat. They are as healthy an organically-gestated newborn's!"
I'm sure there are user groups or listservs that are dedicated to rice. I work with Asian healthcare professionals and that grain is always in their lunchbox.
Today is Friday. It's also pay day. I have tuna, crackers, rice, lentil stew, and fresh fruit in my tote sac. What could be finer?

Bohemian: the 19th-century historical and literary convention or motif that places the milieu of young metropolitan artists and intellectuals in a context of poverty, hunger, appreciation of friendship, idealization of art and contempt for money.
Please don't think of me like this at all. I never understood the allure of the starving artist and I have never thought that through hunger comes greater art. In my youth, I used to say, "Sparsamkeit ist tugendhaft, aber arm zu sein ist scheiße." (Thrift is a virtue, but being poor is sh*t!)
Half of my family (the part on my biological father's side) may have lived in or traveled through Bohemia. It saddens me at times when I think of regions that were once famous and no longer exist other than in the names of animal breeds (i.e., Dalmatians, Pomeranians, Abyssinian).
And even though all of my grandparents had lived in countries that later fell under communist rule, none of them had contempt for money.