Chowder Orgy (a mini rant)

It's one in the morning, and I just finished watching a show on the Food Network about the Great Chowder CookOff, which happens every year somewhere in New England. I love to watch shows about Food Cookoffs and Festivals because you get to see the shining moment of a town which would otherwise go unnoticed. But even then, some of these festivals make the book Charlotte's Web seem glamorous.

But this Chowder CookOff show was different for me, because I had a revelation of sorts. Half way through, while witnessing a man in a lobster costume dance one of the dances from a Charlie Brown cartoon, it had occurred to me that we are all cut from the same freakish cloth, and that no one has a right to judge. I mean, the only difference between a Food Festival and an orgy is that a Strawberry Festival in Tennessee gets it's place on the Community Calendar in the local newspaper. Otherwise they are pretty much the same.

First off, both capitalize on a "deadly sin" A Food Festival goes with Gluttony, while an orgy clings to Lust. If my memory of Sunday School serves, both are equally deadly. Second, you have those that do the serving, and those who take it all in. As far as gay orgies go, the ratio is about the same, with takers outnumbering the givers. Finally, at the end of all the fun, everyone goes home satisfied, and a little sticky. There are other subtle similarities, but they are too numerous to count here.

No one ever said this was going to be Pulizer material, folks. If you want that, read the New Yorker.

William
(wanted in several states for doing something unspeakable with a Chicken Pot Pie)

Man, you can tell I'm tired and I have a lot on my mind

I can't wait until this election year is over.  Of course, the last time I was this fed up, the election went on for weeks longer than it was supposed to, so I should probably keep my damn mouth shut. 

I guess I'm just sick of all of the bullshit, and we all know it's bullshit.  We have just become accustomed to deciding which bullshit we would rather listen to, and agree with.  It doesn't matter who it comes from anymore.  We have people everywhere screaming about who did what dishonest thing, and whether or not we want someone like that in office.  It doesn't matter whether it's for President of the United States, or some Judge, everything they do is dishonest, before and after they are elected.

Anyway, I'm at the point where I don't even want to watch the news.  Of course, watching the Daily Show on Comedy Central can be fun, because they tend to call everyone for what they are.   But even then, it's just a reminder of what buffoons we have running the nation.

In other news, on Thursday I am leaving for Oklahoma City for Mid Continent Alliance, which is a Big Men's Convention (read Catered Orgy) at the Habana Inn, a gay hotel.  I have been to the Habana once before, at Bearidise a couple of years ago.  Really nice place, and the guys are friendly enough.  They have two pools, and the area is fairly secluded.  They even have a couple of gay bars in house, but I haven't really been to either one.

Right next door there is a burger joint which has pretty good food from what I remember.  That's really the only place I ate the whole time I was there, and I"m sure that will happen again this year.  It's never too hard to get a group of guys to shimmy over and wreck the nerves of the poor girl behind the counter.

The weekend should be fun, although I am a little concerned about the drive.  Instead of driving myself, which I usually do, I am riding with some friends of mine who are picking me up on their way from Columbus, OH.  7 big men in one minivan should prove to be the makings of a rejected reality show in and of itself.  Let's face it, even the best of friends will be tested during a 13 hour one way trip across the flat midwest.  Ah well, what doesn't kill you gets you medicated.  Such is life.

Tomorrow, I am running to Indianapolis and carting my Mom to work.  I like the drive and it gets me out of the house, and it gives me some one on one time with Mom, which never happens anymore.  My fault, I know.

Well, I should head off to bed.  I'm tired, and anything I typed from this point on will just be the rambling of a man past his bedtime.  No one wants that.

Song stuck in my head tonight:  "Toxic" by Britney Spears

G'night!

William
(reigning Cootie champion 7 years running)

Body Hair, Guts, And Other Things That Attract Attention

**Originally posted on January 19, 2004 on the Bear Mailing List**

Being Biracial, Big, and Hairy, I have heard my share of inappropriate comments. And those comments come from all sorts, not just "twinks" or as I like to say, the "maturity challenged". I love it when a guy comes up to me in a bar that looks like Conan O'Brian, but trying to sound like P. Diddy. This isn't his normal way of talking, but evidently, he thinks that talking this way will help me understand his words better.

Like some bears, I love to dance. Doesn't mean I can, but I like to try. My only explanation as to *why* I can't dance is because, being biracial, I have black rhythm *and* white rhythm, and they are fighting each other at the helm for control. Not a pretty picture. And if the DJ really knows what he is doing, I'll be out there long enough to work up a good sweat. I don't care if I am surrounded by twinks, my mother, Simon Cowell, and Joan Rivers, my shirt is coming off. I know that when I do this, I am going to hear it from someone. My favorite was, "Ugh, if that queen sweats on me, I'll be that hairy for sure in the morning." I kind of like the thought of my sweat as Rogaine. It kinda has a gay comic book supervillain feel to it.

Now, I'm 6', and about 215lbs with a gut. I'm quite proud of my gut, mostly because if gets me instant respect at the Oriental Grill and Buffet (it's on US31 in Greenwood, Indiana next to Wal-Mart, and I"m there at least once a month). There is a waitress there who, after my 4th trip, playfully patted my belly and said, "You will put us out of business if you keep eating like that." She meant no malice. In fact, I think she was just showing concern because, trip after trip, that MSG adds up. The comments I usually overhear at the bar are things like "gas tank" or "tool shed". I even had a bear tell me, "You know, you would be cute if you would just visit a gym." Not all malicious comments are made from the young and boyish.

So, you know what I do? Instead of punching someone's lights out, or crying into a Slim-fast, I have learned to laugh about it. Hell, I have learned to make my own jokes about it. Hell yeah, I'm a black guy with the ethnicity of Bryant Gumbel. So what if my belly sticks out a bit? One day, I'll have my own portable place to set my drink. Who cares if my dancing resembles a one-man, black Pentecostal revival? With my body hair, and my *extra layers*, if the sun winks out, it will be survival of the thickest. Amen to that and pass me some potatoes. If someone has a problem with it, it has nothing to do with me. If I should feel the need to retaliate, I tell the story to all of my friends, and then we all a laugh about it. At that point, the comment seems trivial, and you can put off seeing a therapist for real issues.

Remember, kids! Pride isn't about being somebody special, pride is about *being* somebody.

Love and hugz to all, bears and non-bears alike!

William
(winner of the "Colon Blow" award at "'Stinky Rip' McCracken's Chili Shack)

My first blog

*brushes off cyber chair and sits down*

Welcome to my blog. I was just surfing the internet this morning, when I came across this site, and I thought Why the hell not?

Anyway, instead of having this huge introduction and stuff, I'm just going to start ranting. You can figure me out from there. On the right, you can find my profile, which has more details about me.

*awkward silence*

Um.....anyway.....I guess that's it for this post. If I haven't turned you off yet, I'm sure you will enjoy my ranting later on.

William
(providing unsolicited opinions since 1974)