Closing Time

Ladies and Gents, RcktRamblings is now closed. Please prepare for your flight to.... NOTE: PLEASE CHANGE YOUR LINKS IF YOU HAVE NOT DONE SO ALREADY!!! The address is http://www.rcktman.com/blog Thanks very much! :-)

Family Secrets Part III

"About six months later", my Mom continued her story, "I heard from Joe again." "He was coming home. His parents, still on the run from the government, were staying in Texas. He was going to stay with his grandparents in Chicago and try to find work, so that he and I could get married as originally planned." Now mind you, my mom was maybe 18 at the time. She had spent all four of her high school years dating this guy, and he proposed before she even graduated. So she, in her then-young mind, had everything already planned out. Of course at the time, the plan was for him to work at his dad's store and maybe take it over someday. Unfortunately, that wasn't the plan anymore. So here he was, without a job, no college education, and about to live with his grandparents (who Mom said were wonderful people)-- all at the sprightly age of 21. Not much of a future there right? Well, tell that to an 18 year old girl with dreams of white picket fences and "Somewhere that's green" in her eyes. That was my Mom in 1962. "Joe moved in with his grandparents and tried to find work-- to no avail." Mom went on. "He'd exhausted all his options. He still wanted to get married, but had reached the end of his rope. So he did the only thing he could do next... he joined the Air Force." Joe decided to enlist and get an education while serving our country. Certainly this was a noble idea. But when he went to enlist, he ran into yet another brick wall. "When he tried to get his birth records, which you need to enlist in the armed forces, he found that there was no record of his birth. Anywhere. He had never seen a birth certificate, and when he went to find one, there wasn't any record of anyone with his name being born on his birthdate." Anywhere. "So Joe contacted his parents. And he found out that the man he thought was his father was not really his father. His mother had him with another man before she even met him." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. His mother had a relationship with another man, and voila, Joe was created. But soon after Joe was born, the guy took off, and she later met the man that Joe believed was his father. And they were married. "Why didn't this guy legally adopt Joe as his own son?" I asked my Mom. "I have no idea," she replied, "They either completely forgot about it and just pretended that this guy was really Joe's dad, or just pleaded ignorance to the whole thing, just in case it wouldn't matter anyway." But it did matter. And now, not only was Joe's life a mess because of what happened with the business, it was a FURTHER mess because he had a father that he never met. So Joe found his real father, got a copy of his birth certificate, changed his last name to match his birth father's name, and married my mother. "We had a really great ceremony," Mom said. "I wore a gown, it was in a church in my hometown, and we had a huge reception. It was my dream wedding, even if it was doomed." Joe's parents didn't attend the wedding, for obvious reasons. But they did send a gift. My mother's $250 that she gave them from her own savings. "After the wedding, we moved onto the base in Indiana," Mom said, "and things quickly started to unravel. I HATED it. There was NOTHING for me to do. I had no friends, no family, and no life. I got a job at a clothing store, and HATED that as well. The people were unfriendly, unwelcoming, and just plain rude." She couldn't remember the name of the base or the city where it was located, but based on my research, it must have been Grissom Air Reserve Base (f/k/a Bunker Hill Air Force Base) in Peru, Indiana. We did make some friends on the base, but I was still very lonely," Mom said. "All we had to do was bowling and movies." "Life with Joe wasn't all I had dreamed it would be," Mom continued, "and in hindsight, looking at all that had happened to him, I can see now why he was the way he was. He had a terrible temper, and would go off about the most ridiculous things." I asked my Mom if he ever hit her, and she said he hadn't. I was glad to hear that. "The last straw for me came pretty quickly though. He'd been unbearable and just a plain crab for weeks. One night, we were bowling with some friends from the base. Joe was a good bowler, and took pride in that fact. Well that night, he didn't bowl such a great game, and he was really upset about it. I told him to just let it go, but he wouldn't. And while we were walking home from the alley, he took his bowling ball and threw it down on top of someone's mailbox." "That was the night I decided I had had enough," Mom said. "All I could think of is, 'Next time it's going to be me,' and I just couldn't let that happen. So I told him that I was miserable here, and I couldn't take it anymore. And furthermore, he was a child, and he needed to grow up. And until he did, I couldn't live with him anymore. So I packed up my things, got on a train, and went home to my parents. And I never went back." They filed for divorce, and it was soon over. In the course of one year, my Mom went from a giddy high school graduate to a truly desperate housewife to a divorcee. Two years later, she met my father while working at Warwick Electronics in Zion, IL. And a couple of years later, they were married. Mom went to nursing school, and just before she had me, she became a nurse, which was her dream. Two children, and forty years later, my parents are still married. It hasn't been perfect, and sometimes I wonder how and why they stayed together, but I'm glad they did. As they get older, I don't think they could really imagine living without each other. I'm glad my Mom told me about this, and I am so incredibly proud of her for taking charge of the situation, standing up for herself, and getting out of what could have been a very volatile situation. She took charge of her own life at a time, and in a situation where many would have held on "just to make things work" or "to see if things would get better." She knew it wouldn't, and that to stay there would be to waste her life. I've said before that my Mom is my hero. And with this story, I believe it even more so. I often wonder how and when they would have told us about my Mom's previous marriage if we hadn't found the pictures. I don't know if my Mom even knew they existed anymore at the time. I remember them vividly. Joe was wearing his dress white outfit, and there were many other recruits dressed up as well. One picture in particular was very familiar when my sister and I were paging through them almost twenty years ago. It was a picture of my Grandma and Grandpa. I remember it so well because it was on display in my Mom's bedroom for as long as I could remember. I never asked my Mom where the picture was taken. It was a great picture though, and I couldn't blame her for saving it. She threw out most of the rest of the pictures after we found them. In a way I wish she hadn't, but I can understand why she did. That part of her life was long gone. It just didn't exist anymore. This was her life now. Mom has no idea whatever happened to Joe. The last time she heard from him was when they officially annulled their marriage so my parents could marry in the church. She has no idea if he is even alive anymore. She knows he remarried as well, and had kids. But that's all she knows. I wonder if he's told his kids about my Mom.

I'm still alive!

Hi all I'm still alive. I just got back from a wonderful vacation up north in Eagle River, WI. I'll tell more later, since I have to run to work at the moment. And yes, I will conclude my mom's story (and yes, it IS true. Only the names were changed to protect the innocent (or guilty)). Oh and pictures of the trip I took will be shown as well. Lots of fun stuff. Just around the riverbend.

Family Secrets Part II

My mother was an original Desperate Housewife. "I never told you this?" my Mom asked me. It was late Saturday night, and we had just shared a late-night snack. "No," I responded. "You told us his name and that you had lived in Indiana with him, but nothing more than that." "Well then," she said. "Here goes." "I met Joe* in high school," she started. "I was a freshman and he was a senior. Sandy (my mom's best friend) was in my class, and David (Sandy's future husband) was in his class. Sandy and David were already dating, so they introduced me to him. We would double-date all the time, all throughout that year and after he and David graduated." (*All names have been changed.) "His parents owned an electronics store in town," she continued. Mom's hometown was a small village in northern Illinois. In the '50s and early '60s it was still quite small. Everyone knew everyone-- and everyone's business. It still retains a lot of that small-town charm, even today, although it has grown much larger in population since. My grandmother was a schoolteacher, and my grandfather sold Pontiacs at the local dealership. They were well-respected and well-liked in the community. "Joe worked at his dad's shop through high school and afterward. They sold TV's and Hi-Fi's, and other electronic items, and did repairs on-site. They had a good business, but Joe's dad was never a very good businessman. He was the type of guy that would forgive a lot of people's bills or give things away if they couldn't afford them. It made him very popular, but in the end, he found himself in financial trouble. Joe would tell me that they had trouble paying the bills fairly often, and many times had to borrow money to cover things." "I can't remember if we were engaged before I graduated high school or not," Mom continued, "but I think we must have been, because I remember him asking me for some money once to cover some debts. So I took $250 out of my savings account and gave it to him. My mother nearly KILLED me, and in hindsight I'm surprised she didn't. 'You'll never get that money back!' she cried. 'The whole town knows they're not good for anything when it comes to money!'" Grandma was right. In fact, Mom said, the town was beginning to talk about Joe's family and the news spread like wildfire. Business dropped off quickly, and Joe would tell my mother that they were getting very scared. "I would pass by their store on the way home from school," Mom continued, "and stop in and say hi. So one day I made my way over there, and found the doors locked. When I looked in the window, there was nothing-- and nobody-- inside. I remember thinking to myself, 'Oh boy, what's going on now?' and headed home. When I called their house, I got a recording saying the line was disconnected. So I tried the answering service (which was one lady in town that took messages for all the businesses in town-- that's how small the town was back then), and she told me, 'Oh honey, didn't you hear? They left town in the middle of the night last night-- took off without a trace!' Now my mom was frantic. Her fiance was gone, with his family, without any indication of where they had gone. As news spread through the town, it surfaced that the family had owed a great deal of money to both customers and the government, and fled to avoid being arrested. About a month later, she got a phone call. It was Joe. "I'm OK, and so is the family. We are in Texas. I can't say much more in case your line is being tapped, but I will get in touch with you soon." And the line went dead, and he was gone. But the mystery behind Mom's first fiance was only just beginning to unravel... to be continued.

Family Secrets

My mom calls me a snoop. And she's right for the most part, although it's never for a malicious reason. I was in my parents' basement last night looking for pictures from my father's side of the family. I found them, but I found something else that caught my eye. It was a garbage bag that hadn't been tied shut yet. Inside this bag were remnants of fabric. Fabric that my mother used to sew shirts for me and my sister when we were very young. I recognized them instantly, so I bent down to take a closer look. As I looked through the bag, however, I found much more than I bargained for. As I dug deeper, I found mementos... cards from my mother to my father, from my father to my mother, and from relatives from when my sister was born. And then I found letters. Love letters. Pages and pages of love letters from my mother to my father, and a few from my father to my mother (he never was much for writing letters, so it didn't surprise me that there were fewer on his end.) I didn't read them all, but one in particular caught my interest and I read it back to front. In the letter, my mother told my father that she understood why his family was having trouble accepting her. She didn't blame them, for she had made some mistakes in her past that they feared she would make again if she married him. She wrote about meeting his parents for the first time, and how she was so afraid that my grandparents' next door neighbor had to encourage her to knock on their front door. She wrote how she understood why he respected them so much, because she could tell they were loving and good people, and that she hoped she could convince them that she was good for their son. There was a lot more in the letter but the point was that my mother was madly in love with my father, and he was crazy about her too. And they did get married, and are still married today. But the controversy behind these letters is that my mother had been married before. The truth about this came out to my sister and I back in 1985, as my parents and we were cleaning out my Grandma's apartment while she was on her deathbed. My sister and I were charged with packing things up in her kitchen, and my sister found a photo album in her hutch. The photos were of a wedding. My mother's wedding. But the groom was definitely not our father. My sister-- only 11 years old at the time -- brought the pictures to my mother, who immediately started crying. She sat us down and told us that she had been married before. My sister was hurt and shocked, but I wasn't. I knew about this already-- although I didn't really know what it all meant. About five years earlier, I had found my mother's divorce papers while cleaning her writing desk in the living room. (The snoop strikes again!) I wasn't looking for anything, but while I was cleaning, something popped out and there they were. The thing is, at the time, I didn't understand fully what it was about. I was only 9 or 10 at the time. But I remember seeing my mother's name on these documents, but with a completely different last name. I also remember seeing my parents get married by my uncle when I was 5 years old. I didn't understand it at the time, but they had never been married in the church until then. They had been married at the Justice of the Peace. And the reason I was watching my parents get married in 1976 was that her previous marriage had been annulled in the church, so they were cleared to marry. As my mother told us the story, it suddenly all became clear to me what I found and what I knew. It was as if all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit and made sense, and I could make out the picture depicted in the pieces. So as I sat talking to my mom on Saturday night, I asked her to tell me all about her previous marriage and why it didn't work out. We knew names and general dates, but we never knew why it happened, or why it ended. So my mom told me the story.... to be continued.

Unsafe

This morning, I read about the London train/bus attacks. Last week, I read about a man being shot in the block directly behind mine. Also last week, there was all the story about the Idaho family whose mother, son and mother's boyfriend were killed, and the youngest son and daughter who were missing. Luckily they found the daughter, but the little boy is presumed dead. A few months ago, a judge's family was killed in her home -- only a few blocks away from me. Sometimes I just don't feel safe here. Or anywhere. And it scares me. I have to go to work now... and I am not so sure I want to take the El. It sucks feeling unsafe in my own city.

Happy Blogoversary To Me!

It's coming. And I can hardly believe it. I really can't. My one-year blogoversary is coming. On July 8, 2004, I started RcktRamblings. And a year later, I'm still here. Yep, I can't believe it. In the course of one year, I have met incredible people, shared my innermost thoughts, and told some long-winded stories. I've opened up chapters of my life that I've kept hidden, and vented about issues that frustrate me. And I've loved every minute of it. I wasn't really sure what RcktRamblings would become when I first started out. I jumped into blogging rather quickly after reading Jake's blog. (I guess Jake would be considered my "Blog Daddy," but don't tell him that.) It reminded me of my old online Journal, and I thought to myself, "Hell, if he can do it, so can I." And so I did. I've tried everything -- pix of hot guys, poetry, complete utter nonsense, going on about daily or weekly activities, and ranting about political issues. I've done the blogging every day thing, and I've done the blogging whenever I wanted to thing. I've even changed the look of the blog once, and am still working on a complete overhaul for the future. But at the end of the first year, I have realized that my blog is just that-- MY blog. It's my place to share, vent, blather on, laugh, or cry. It's essentially another part of the whole me. It's helped me through some tough times, and it's been a good friend when I needed it. I'm doing this for myself. The fact that I've had readers along the way is just icing on the cake WITH cherries to top it off. So thank you to those who have regularly stopped by, and thank you to those who drop in occasionally. I may not get 25+ comments after every posting. I may not have 50,000 hits. (although nearly 20,000 is nothing to whine about if you ask me.) I may not have the answers to all of life's questions, and I may not even have anything interesting to say every day or every week. But I'm glad I'm here, I'm glad YOU are here, and I'm so glad to have made this journey. So here's to another year. Salut!

Breaktime Over!

I'm still here.. I just needed a little break. So what's been up? Let's go back and see, shall we? (Cue time-travel music. Oooh. Nice dissolve.) Last Friday Opening night for CGMC's "World Tour" show. It's hot outside. Thank goodness for air conditioning in the theater. Of course, with 100+ guys in the theater and in the dressing rooms at the same time, no amount of air conditioning in the world can help. So we suffer. It is art, after all. Opening night's crowd is rather sparse. Which is somewhat understandable. There are half-a-million things to do during Pride weekend. The only bummer is that of those half-a-million things, not enough people chose to do our thing. Oh well, we still had a great time, and the show was a lot of fun. Saturday Night number two -- and closing night. All too soon, the show is over. This was one of our most ambitious shows, and certainly the most ambitious show we've ever done for a Pride show (which has a much shorter preparation time than any other show.) Usually Pride shows involve bringing a chorus from another city in to sing with us, but this time we went it alone-- and with costumes, scene changes, and props to boot. I'm kind of hoping our director never does this again-- for the simple reason that there just isn't enough time to put all those pieces together and make them work. We pulled it off, but just barely. Saturday Night It's party time! The show is over, so we head over to Fizz Bar & Grill, only steps away from the Athenaeum, where our show took place. What a great location for a party! It was roomy, air conditioned, and the food and drink were aplenty. It was great to celebrate the end of a long and fun year. I love the chorus, and I love doing the shows, but when we are done for a year, it's a VERY good feeling. Sunday Morning Pride Parade Sunday! Whoo hoo! I dragged my butt out of bed, not because I was drunk from the night before (I wasn't), but because I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep. But as the old cliche goes, there's no rest for the wicked. And when it comes to the Gay High Holy Days, rest is not an option. I hopped a cab (no way I was driving) and made my way to our friend Adam's apartment. Adam is a new addition to our circle of friends, by way of Pete (a/k/a Cute New Chorus Boy). He just got a spiffy new pad right on Halsted Street. What better place to view the parade? CGMC didn't have a float this year, and while Windy City did, I opted to watch it this year. There was no better place if you ask me. It was perfect. We were positioned right at the beginning, so the participants weren't tired yet, and everything moved by at a very nice pace. And we were indoors, so we didn't suffer from heatstroke. Which meant I could drink! (I don't drink in the heat. It just wipes me out.) The parade was nice. There were some really creative floats, and then there were a few headscratchers. Most of them came from the suburbs. Naturally. And of course, there was no shortage of hot men to view. If they weren't on the floats, they were walking the streets. And I had a bird's-eye view. Nice. After the last float drifted by, a few of us made our way through the crowd and went to our friends Steve and Keith's house for a barbecue. So Pride Sunday was spent with friends. Just the way it should be. In recent memory, I'd have to say it was one of the best Pride celebrations I've taken part in. Sunday Night I got home from the party at about 7:00. I immediately turned on the TV. A very important show was coming on and I wanted to be ready. Yes, it was "The Next Food Network Star!" Now under normal circumstances, I probably wouldn't have cared less about this show, but these were not normal circumstances. I know not one, but two of the contestants. Dan and Steve were the only team in the competition. And that makes perfect sense since they're partners in more ways than one-- life and business. They operate The Hearty Boys Catering and just opened HB Restaurant right in the heart of Boystown. I've known them for almost as long as I've been in Chicago. Dan was a member of the chorus when I joined. Well Dan and Steve WON! They'll be hosting their own show on the Food Network this fall. I'm so happy for them... and on Pride day to boot. Now that's something to be proud about! Tuesday Night As it happens in life, we make friends, and sometimes we say goodbye to them, too. Tuesday night, we said "Ciao" to one of our dearest friends, Arnie. Arnie joined the chorus a few years after I did, but he made his presence known right from the start. With a rambunctious nature, and a laugh that could be heard for miles, Arnie was the life of any party he was invited to-- and he was invited to many. But he also has the warmest heart, and the kindest nature of any person I have ever known. Arnie is leaving us to travel abroad. He has joined the Peace Corps and intends to teach English. Arnie has moved many times. He's lived on just about every coast and has traveled to many points in the world, but in Chicago he found a family that loves him very dearly. And we do. Those of us closest to Arnie know that he will return to us very soon, but knowing that he won't be living here for a while makes us all very sad. So we threw a huge going-away bash for him at Sidetrack, where all of his friends could gather and pay tribute to such a wonderful person. As you can see from the photos, Arnie is very much loved. So that pretty much sums up my week. This weekend, many of the friends you see in these pictures will be taking a trip to Saugatuck to go camping. Pray that the weather -- heat and rain both -- stay away for a few days. But even if they don't, I'll be surrounded by my closest friends. That's what I call a holiday.

Bringing In The Sheaves

I have to confess an addiction. OK it's really not an addiction... more like an obsession. No wait, it's an addiction. It has to be. After all, I can't go a day without it in some form. It's not caffeine. That's just a given anyway. I need that to live. It's not smoking. I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. No, this is a television program. Survivor? Never seen it. Amazing Race? See my answer for Survivor. Little House On The Prairie? Bingo. I'll wait for you to stop choking on whatever you were eating or drinking. Better? Good. I'll continue. So yeah... Little House on the Prairie. Laura Ingalls and family. Walnut Grove. Michael Landon. That's the one. I always liked the show as a kid, and watched every Monday night on NBC in the 1970s as the Ingalls family dealt with everyday issues for a family in the 1870s-- drought, crops, chickens, money, the Olesons, church, school, mean kids, Indians, crooks, births, deaths, and of course, ending every day with a valuable lesson from Pa and Ma. I've read every Laura Ingalls Wilder book from cover to cover more times than any other book, ever. I still enjoy reading them today. The stories and the characters are just as enjoyable now as they were when I was in grade school. But the TV show holds an extra special place in my heart. Who could forget snobby busybody Mrs. Oleson rejecting Ma Ingalls' eggs at the Mercantile because they were brown, and "brown eggs get 4 cents less than white eggs." Or Mr. Edwards's jolly laugh and his theme song, "Ol' Dan Tucker." Or the lovely Miss Beadle teaching school, then the kooky but sweet Miss Wilder, then Laura herself after she became Mrs. Wilder. Or the adorably dopey Willie Oleson standing in the corner countless times at school. And then there's Nellie Oleson... wonderful, bitchy, bratty Nellie.... and the endless ways she schemed to get her way against Laura. Mary going blind. Laura meeting "Manly" for the first time and carving their initials in a tree. The horrific fire at the Blind School that killed the wonderful Alice Garvey and Mary's baby son. Carrie having a dream and meeting her "twin" (the character actually was played by twins). I have a lot of memories of this show, and they've been enhanced because I now watch the show every day on the Hallmark Channel. They used to show two episodes every day from 9-11am, but now they also show two MORE episodes from 2-4pm... so that's FOUR episodes of "Little House" that my DVR records for me. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. So yeah, I'm addicted. And it probably scares some of you, and probably makes you concerned for my sanity, but I don't care. So what if the show is schamltzy. And so what if it doesn't exactly follow the books word-for-word. And who cares that it took on a life of its own for Michael Landon to tell his own stories... I don't. The show is fun-- at times hilariously funny, and at times devestatingly sad. Just like life. And as for Hot Toddy's notion of Little House trading cards... I sense a business venture in our future. I'd bet the Nellie Oleson card alone would make us some big bucks.

Read this. Get pissed off. (Part 2)

This adult picture brought to you by... censorship! That's right folks, censorship is alive and well in the 21st century, and websites such as Gay.com (where the above image is from) are forced to "dumb down" their rules on pictures... pictures of members who have paid for this service. As a paying member of Gay.com, this upsets me. So I am posting the information that they have posted on their site about why they have resorted to this measure. So read it, get pissed off, and do something. That's all I'm asking. Changes to our photo policy mandated by the Bush Administration Always on the lookout for hot guys and ways to keep people from having fun, the US Dept. of Justice is taking a break from prosecuting terrorists to do something they think is more important: restricting your right to view and share photos online. All member photos identified as adult on our site are temporarily unavailable for public view, due to the sudden, and unconstitutional, decision by the US Dept. of Justice to place new restrictions on all web sites around the world that do business in the US (I guess nobody ever told them the internet is borderless). Gay.com thinks your adult photos should be sexy, secure, and legally protected, so we've joined with other companies to seek an injunction against this ruling. We're doing everything possible to minimize its impact on you. What does this mean for you? Your civil liberties are under attack by the US government! All photos identified as adult will be temporarily unavailable from public view Members will still be able to view their own adult photos and edit their profiles, but they temporarily won't be able to see anyone else's adult photos Gay.com will begin reviewing all adult photos, and will make them available again for public viewing if they meet our new standards (see below) About these new government regulations The 10th Circuit Court of Appeals has previously found these regulations to be unconstitutional, yet the Bush Administration has chosen to pursue them anyway The new regulations go into effect June 23, 2005 It only applies to "sexually explicit" content, not content that is merely "lascivious" (Hmmm, I don't know what explicit means, but I know it when I see it!) See below for a detailed, and entertaining, explanation of what's "explicit." Your adult photos The good news: most of your photos are OK (including your adult photos) and will be restored once they've been approved by Gay.com, because the dirty boys at the US government only consider certain poses and activities to be "sexually explicit" The bad news: under these regulations Gay.com will no longer be able to accept or display "sexually explicit" photos from its members for either public or private view New standards for "sexually explicit" content on Gay.com • A hand holding or touching genitals, or appearing to grip or stimulate genitals is considered masturbation and is prohibited. • A hand clearly "cupping" or covering genitals for the purposes of keeping them covered is allowable. • A hand inside pants is prohibited as it implies masturbation. • Pictures with more that one person that include nudity are prohibited. • All cartoons are prohibited. • While images of a nude person on all fours is allowable, an image showing the buttocks being held apart by hands would be considered explicit and prohibited. • In the interest of safety, no images of nude children (e.g. a nude baby at the beach with her two dads) will be allowed. • A clothed person posing with their pet is allowed, but a nude person with an animal is prohibited (no more walking your dog in the nude!). • An image of a person in a bondage or fetish outfit is allowed (but please, no polyester!). • Images that depict bondage or S&M "abuse" are prohibited (shockingly, images from Abu Ghraib prison would be censored under the new regulations) • Digital images run through an "illustrator" filter on software would be held to these same standards What is Gay.com doing about the regulation? • We have joined with other companies to legally challenge its enactment • We're fighting for your civil liberties, and oppose undue government interference with individual expression • We're fighting against such regulations because we know they have a disproportionate effect on historically isolated groups, such as the LGBT community Make your voice heard! Contact US elected officials and the Dept. of Justice to tell them you oppose 18 U.S.C. §2257 US Dept. of Justice: www.usdoj.gov/contact-us.html US Senate: www.senate.gov US House of Representatives: www.house.gov Support the Electronic Frontier Foundation in its efforts to defend freedom in the digital world www.eff.org Need help? Call: 1 (866) 313-6373 (Toll-free in the US & Canada)

Read this. Get pissed off.

One of my new favorite bloggers is Knottyboy. He's funny as shit, but sometimes he just rips into something with a vengeance like nothing else I have known. Case in point, today's posting. Read it. And you'll see what I mean. And here I thought I was sick of Tom Cruise? I'm much more sick of this asshole.

Dearest Tom Cruise: Shut the F**k Up!

Dearest Tom Cruise, I want to start this letter by telling you that I've always liked you. As far back as I can remember, I thought you were pretty cool. OK, I had a crush on you. I won't lie. I'll never forget the issue of "Teen Beat" that my sister bought with you on the cover in a tank-top. I about wet myself. Let's face it, Tommy. You've had one heck of a career. Nobody can deny that. You've been a heartthrob teen star, a dashing young man, a swinging single, a devoted husband and father, and then a once-again available divorcee. And yet you've always remained high in the public's admiration. But Tom, you're blowing it. Big time. First of all, let's talk about that monkey act you pulled on Oprah. I mean come on. Beating your chest and swinging your arms like a friggin' chimpanzee. Over what? A girl? Who's half your age... or LESS? What's going on, Tom? Why are you resorting to such foolishness? You're not 20 anymore. You're not even 30. You're in your 40s. 40-something men do not jump on furniture. They don't do backflips. They don't act like 10-year olds. What's gotten into you? OK fine, you love the girl. Great! Good for you. But can't you just sit there like a grown man and say so? Why the antics? Why the acrobatics? We'd believe you if you just tell it to us straight ... er... honestly. And all this Scientology stuff is getting out of hand too. We've been hearing about it for years, but it's starting to get ridiculous. How many brains have you washed in your lifetime? Nicole converted. (But is she still "in"? I wonder.) Now you've got Katie. And now she's "in" too. Oh now I'm not begrudging your right to believe what you want to believe in. This is America after all, and it is, despite what some people want us to believe, a free country. But all this machination is just a little bit too suspicious, Tommy Boy. And now you're engaged? Well what a surprise that was! How long have you been dating her, Tom? A month? Two? How well do you know her, really? Have you met her parents? Do they approve? Well I would be happy for you, Tom, but what I read the other day in the papers, which you know always print the truth, really cinched it for me. You said that you asked her to marry her to quell the rumor mill and put an end to the tabloid witchhunt. Oh Tom. Have you learned nothing in your 42 years? The hunt has just begun. Of course, it may be just mere coincidence that both of you have movies coming out right about now... Katie has that Batman flick and you get to play Orson Welles or something or other in War of the Worlds. Coincidence? Ha. Come on, Tom. You know exactly what you're doing. You're playing this for all it's worth, and you're loving every minute of it. You're getting attention galore, and YOU LOVE IT. It's been kind of quiet on the Cruise front for the last few years, and you just couldn't stand it. Yeah ok, you dated Penelope Cruz for a while, but oh, I don't know, something about the Cruise/Cruz rhymey-rhyme thing probably didn't appeal to you so you nixed that one. Thing is, I just don't buy it, Tom. I really don't. In fact, it's been hard for me to buy in to most of your romances. Yeah I know the rumor mills have been going around for YEARS about your sexuality, but I really don't care about that anymore. If you're gay, fine. If you're straight, fine too. I'm just tired of hearing about you. I'm tired of seeing your face. I'm tired of hearing your shrieky voice. I'm tired of the tabloids salivating over your every move. It's getting old, and I am over it. So Tom, do me a favor and just shut the fuck up. Please. Go away. Get married if you must (again), move to some deserted island, and stay there. I'm done with you. I don't care what you do, I don't care who you date, and I don't care who you "love." If you're so hungry for attention that you have to pull these stunts and make these scenes, then you're more screwed up than I ever thought before. Get help buddy. And get lost. At least Nicole seems to be doing well. Which is good, 'cause I always liked her better anyway. Best of luck. Sincerely, RcktMan Rick

The Ride Home

There were numerous things to talk about today. There was a huge fire in Lakeview that burned down a Dominick's grocery store. There was a ton of sunshine and pleasantly warm temperatures. There's the fact that I am still suffering from some sort of cold or allergies or something that is making everything miserable. And there was the long six-hour rehearsal that I went to for CGMC, which officially kicks off "Hell Week" for our show "World Tour." That's all well and good, but what happened after all of that, during the ride home, trumped all of it. Exhausted after a six-hour day in the sweltering basement hall of the church at which we rehearse, I made my way home. Usually I join some of the boys at North End for a drink, but I was beat, and since I was still not feeling 100% great, I figured it'd be better for me to just relax. Driving north on Broadway Avenue is nothing exciting. There isn't a whole lot to see. It's just the ride home. Nothing special. Traffic was moving along at a perfectly fine clip, and in just a few minutes, I would be safe at home. As I approached Irving Park Road, about ten blocks from the church, I suddenly saw a man dash out from a taco stand at the right side of the street. He seemed to be running away from something, or to something... I couldn't really tell. But instead of stopping at the street and waiting for traffic, he continued, full speed, directly into the street. And that's when it happened. The car in front of me barely had time to stop. In fact, I am almost sure it didn't. The man dashed past the parked cars and directly in front of the car in front of me. Both were going at their full speed, and the reaction was instantaneous. The man was clipped at the arm by the car's driver side mirror. He flipped over two, maybe three times, and landed at the side of the road, crumpled by the fire hydrant. The mirror shattered and sprayed all over the street. Had I been looking down, or off to the side, I would have missed it, but for some reason my eyes watched every waking second of this event. Dumbstruck, I of course shouted "Oh My God!" pulled over and immediately called 911. After giving the fire department all of the information, I turned my car around and parked it. The car that hit the man had pulled over by the intersection. I could see the hood was crumpled and the mirror was gone. The windshield was smashed. The driver and a girl came out of the car. The girl was crying hysterically. She was on the phone, I assume trying to call 911. I told her I had already called. She kept crying and didn't hang up. I walked over to the man on the ground. He was surrounded by his friends and other witnesses. His arm was definitely broken. I was suprised it was even attached to his body. There was blood pooling at the curb. I couldn't look for long. It was gruesome. The police were the first to arrive, then the fire department and the paramedics. I gave my statement to the police as they gingerly tended to the man at the curb. Everyone gave pretty much the same account of the event. The man darted out, the driver didn't see him, and they hit. I couldn't tell if the driver was going too fast, but in hindsight I really believe he was going at about the rate of speed as the rest of the traffic. And then I said to the officer, "If I had been in the driver's position, I wouldn't have seen him either. It just happened so fast." And then it hit me. It could have been me. I could have hit this man. If the timing were just a second off, or if there was nobody in front of me and I was driving just a little bit faster, it could have been me. But thank God it wasn't. The man was responsive, and alert. He's going to be OK, but he's going to be in a LOT of pain. It could have been worse-- MUCH worse. I have never seen anything like this, and I hope to heaven I never will again. As the ambulance took off, the crowd began to disperse. I walked back to my car and took one last look at the car that hit the man. It could have been me. But thank God it wasn't. And then I finished the ride home.

Fantasy Soon to be Reality! (?)

It's looking like my fantasy of a new home for my ramblings is taking steps closer to reality! Thanks to Feisty Girl and Scott-O-Rama, and possibly a few others who may be recruited (I know who you are!), things are progressing! It may not look EXACTLY like what you see to the right... but it will hopefully look somewhat like it. I've just about abandoned the WordPress idea though. I can't seem to find anyone that knows how to set up a template, and when I tried to do it myself, the results were disastrous to say the least. So I think we're just going to start all over again and see what comes up. In the meantime, RcktRamblings is what it is, and will stay that way for a while. And if you are handy with coding sites like this, and want to help out, do drop me a line and let me know. Your help would be most greatly appreciated!

Why I hate to answer the phone

***RING*** Me: Hello? Annoying Sales Guy: Hello, is this Richard Ayelyeo? Me: Aiello, yes. Annoying Sales Guy: How do I pronounce it? Me: (louder) AIELLO.... (pronouncing) I-L-O. Annoying Sales Guy: Oh I'm sorry Mr. Aylelo, I'm calling from Vonage phone service, have you heard of us? Me: Yes, I have, but I am not interested, thank you. Annoying Sales Guy: Well sir, I am calling today to offer you.... Me: I'm sorry, but I already said I am not interested.... Annoying Sales Guy: $24.95 a month, sir. Me: Look, I've told you twice already.... Annoying Sales Guy: You have to admit that's a great.... Me: (sternly) Listen, sir, I have told you more than enough times that I am not interested, and I am not going to change my mind. Please do not call me again! ***CLICK*** I've gotta get on that "Do Not Call" list once and for all.

Michael Jackson - Not Guilty

I can't say I'm shocked. But I am disappointed. Yeah, ok, innocent until proven guilty. I know. But still... how could he not have done any of those things? I'll say this much... don't expect him to be touring the world or moonwalking anytime soon. That is, of course, unless his back miraculously heals. Which you know it will. Tomorrow. Ah, yes... the wonder of the American justice system.

The Verdict is Coming! The Verdict is Coming!

....so if he's guilty, is the smoke black or white?

Flashbacks

Even though I try not to anymore, I found myself sitting here just now, wondering what to write about. I've come to the conclusion as of late that if I ever have that feeling, I'm simply not going to write. There isn't any reason why I MUST post something every single day of the week. There is no rule that says this is so. So why force myself? It isn't worth the strained effort, and the end result is usually not worth reading anyway. So I closed the "Compose" window and started reading some blogs. I started with Joe.My.God., who, I must confess, I haven't read for a while. It's funny how blogging goes in cycles-- both in terms of writing and reading. I have a long list of "blogs I read," yet I am embarrassed to say that I haven't read many of them in quite some time. It's not intentional, and I feel badly about that. So I was reading Joe.My.God. and he was telling a story about clubs and people in the early to mid-90's, and I was reminded of the days and the times when I first came out, drenching myself in too much cheesy cologne, driving from Kenosha to Chicago, and hitting the clubs. This past Monday, I attended a special event that was co-hosted by my Chorus and the cast of Wicked. It was a "Broadway Cares" event to raise funds for various HIV/AIDS charities as well as the Chorus. I, along with 11 other members of the Chorus, was chosen to sing a few numbers for the crowd in a show that also featured members of the "Wicked" cast. It was a great event, tons of fun, and it raised a heck of a lot of money for all the groups. Attending this event was an old friend... someone I haven't seen in a couple of years, but I have known for well over ten years. We were AOL chat buddies, bar pals, and even roommates for the first year that I lived in the city. Seeing him brought back a flood of memories. When I first met him, I had a huge crush on him. Which wasn't uncommon, as everyone seemed to develop a crush on him the first time they met him. He was fun-loving, carefree and a bit naieve in those days, having fairly recently come out. His windswept hair and icy green eyes laughed about as much as he himself did-- which was almost all of the time. My crush on him almost ruined our friendship. I remember vividly a party where I became insanely jealous when he disappeared with another friend of mine for a few hours. I wanted so desperately to disappear with him myself, but never had the courage to make it happen. But eventually, I got over my obsession with him, and somehow we became friends. We'd talk on the phone, chat on AOL, go out to bars, and just have a great time. Then he moved to Philadelphia. I was sad to see him go, but glad that we could at least keep in touch via Email. When he returned to Chicago a couple years later, we started hanging out again. He got an apartment in Boystown, which became my crashing spot after many a night on the town. We became closer friends in those years, and I was glad that my crazy antics from a few years prior hadn't ruined our friendship. When I got the job that would move me to Chicago, he brought up the possibility of being roommates. So we did the roommate thing for a year. That whole story is told in the "Old Journal" which you can start reading here. I won't go into all that again. So he and I had a close bond for many years, and had a great time together. But in recent years, as we both moved on with our own lives, we drifted apart. And even though, as many people do, we tried to keep in touch... we just didn't. But seeing him again at the event was really great. We caught up on things, and shared a couple drinks. I'm thinking we should do dinner sometime and just reconnect. It'd be great to have an old friend back in my life.

It's not sweat... I'm GLOWING

It's hot. I'm not just saying that because it's been cold up until a few days ago. It's just plain hot. As in heat and humidity. As in sweat. Lots of sweat. Yep... summer has arrived early in Chicago. And my apartment, which is outfitted with two air conditioning units, is sweltering. Oh sure, they'd be doing a great job... if they COULD do the job they were supposed to be doing. One of my A/C units is a monster thing that saps enough energy to cause the second coming of the eastern seaboard blackouts of 2003. I had to run downstairs four times yesterday to switch one of my measley 15 amp circuits back on because it kept tripping it. When I moved in here, I had only the smaller unit, which I kept in my bedroom. It worked great, but the rest of the place was uninhabitable. I don't think I used my living room until winter arrived. Last spring, I purchased the larger unit, and put it in the living room. But when I started using both of the units, I realized that I had to move one of them, because they were both on the same circuit, and would trip the circuit as soon as I turned them both on. So I took the small one out of my bedroom and moved it to the dining room which adjoins it. This seemed to work OK last summer, but my bedroom never got very cool. And I like it cool. VERY cool. So this year, when they installed my new windows, I switched the units-- the smaller one went in the living room, and the larger one went in the dining room/office. I figured this would work great-- the big unit could easily cool both the dining room/office and my bedroom, and the smaller one would cool the living room. Wrong. I seemed to forget that the circuit being used in the dining room/office also operates everything in the kitchen (including the refrigerator) and my computer (which as you can imagine is just chock full of stuff that saps electricity). So when things heat up, and big mama starts wanting to cool things down, trip goes the circuit. So I've moved the small unit back into my bedroom, and the big one is just kind of sitting here. Doing nothing. And my apartment is hot. VERY hot. All this makes me ponder this bit of trivia... if you have a three-floor apartment building, and are outfitting said three-floor apartment building with electricity (as well you should, in this day and age), would you put the higher-amp circuits on the bottom floors, which don't get nearly as hot in the summertime and therefore don't require as much electricity to keep cool, or put them on the top floor apartments? Apparently, my landlord wasn't thinking about this when she (or he, whoever does the electrical work in this joint) put 20-amp circuits in all the 1st and 2nd floor apartments, but 15-amp circuits in all the 3rd floor apartments. Now, I will admit, I know nothing about electricity. In fact, I had to browse Google just to understand what the hell I was talking about in the above paragraph. (What did we ever do before Google?) But I do know that you need higher-capacity circuits in order to run things that need more power. Believe me. I know this. Because I've run down into that nasty, dusty, spider-infested basement more times than I care to remember in the last three years to turn my power back on. And I'm getting sick of it. I've asked my landlord to upgrade my circuits many times, but nothing has been done. Is there any way (short of bribery and/or begging) that I can make her do it? Or do I just have to suffer until I move (which, since I just signed a new lease in May, isn't anytime soon.) It's gonna be a looooong summer, folks.

Lactivists

This fun article was posted on the news section of my Firm's intranet today. And I had to laugh. It contains what I believe will be the best new word of the year. I wanna be a lactivist too. And on another note... do they really pay these people to talk about this stuff? I want their job.

Nursing moms protest 'The View' comments NEW YORK, June 7 (UPI) -- About 150 "lactivists" nursed their babies outside ABC's New York City studios to protest comments made by the women of "The View." Barbara Walters had said she and a companion felt awkward sitting next to a nursing mother on an airplane, the New York Daily News said. "It made me very nervous," Walters said on the May 17 show. "She didn't cover the baby with a blanket. It made us uncomfortable." Co-host Elisabeth Hasselbeck, who is nursing her daughter, Grace, said she was "uncomfortable breast-feeding in general." Then the hosts appeared to celebrate when Hasselbeck said her daughter had her first bottle of formula, sparking nurse-in protests in four cities, the Daily News said. Women protesting in New York Monday said they feared the comments may keep some mothers from nursing and some even demanded an on-air apology. Walters said she was surprised by all the fuss and said all the hosts of "The View" support breast-feeding.

I Have Been Changed For Good

I'm flying high, defying gravity tonight. That's right... I saw "Wicked" tonight. And I loved it. Every. Single. Moment.

So call me a dork, call me a musical junkie, call me a gayboy, call me whatever you want. I loved it and I am not ashamed to say it. Everyone's entitled to their opinions, right? Right.

I never got to see Wicked in New York... in fact, I have never seen a Broadway show ON Broadway. (It's time I change that, don't you think?)

But fortunately for me, Chicago has a pretty decent stream of Broadway-bound shows that premiere here, as well as well-known Broadway hits, such as "Wicked," that play either short or extended runs here.

We're really lucky with "Wicked," because after this current cast, which is a touring production based on the Broadway show, we are going to get our own, permanent cast (starring, interestingly enough, Ana Gasteyer from "Saturday Night Live" as Elphaba) that is going to say for an open run. Needless to say, the city is abuzz.

The current cast is not represented on the poster displayed here... that, of course, is the original Broadway cast that everyone knows. But this cast was really superb. Stephanie J. Block (Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West) was simply outstanding. She easily gives Idina Menzel a run for her money. And Kendra Kassebaum (Galinda/Glinda) was also fantastic, maybe not as vocally strong as Kristin Chenowith, but every ounce as perky and entertaining. Other strong performers were David Garrison as the Wizard, who you may remember playing Steve, Marcy's first husband on "Married, With Children;" Barbara Tirrell, who was the understudy for Carol Kane in the role of Madame Morrible, and Jenna Leigh Green as Nessarose.

My only disappointment was with Fiyero, played by Derrick Williams. He was a little cardboard in his presence, and at times I wasn't happy with his voice... but when he and Stephanie Block dueted on "As Long As You're Mine," it was pretty electric.

But the show belonged to the leads... and they were wonderful. There wasn't a dry eye in the house during "For Good," the final duet between them. And when Elphaba lept and flew above the stage during "Defying Gravity," the audience was stunned.

Stephen Schwartz, who wrote the music and lyrics to "Wicked" has long been one of my favorite composers. Ever since I sang "All Good Gifts" during a production of "Godspell" in my sophomore year of high school, I've been hooked. Hell, my cat's name is Pippin... you don't think I named him after the former Chicago Bulls star, do you? ;-)

Some say this isn't his best score, but I say it is. There are some downright gorgeous songs in this show. And one of them-- probably my favorite of all-- is "For Good." The words are as moving as the melody. And they fit so many different situations, and mean so many different things to so many people.

So I am sharing some of them with you. Because they express how I feel about many of you out there... and I just want to thank you for all you've done for me in the last year. (Can you believe it's almost been a year since I started this blog?)

Of course, these are copyright of Mr. Schwartz, so I must give credit to him here... so please visit his website at www.stephenschwartz.com.

For Good from "Wicked" I’ve heard it said That people come into our lives for a reason Bringing something we must learn And we are led To those who help us most to grow If we let them And we help them in return Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s true But I know I’m who I am today Because I knew you... Like a comet pulled from orbit As it passes a sun Like a stream that meets a boulder Halfway through the wood Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you I have been changed for good … It well may be That we will never meet again In this lifetime So let me say before we part So much of me Is made of what I learned from you You’ll be with me Like a handprint on my heart And now whatever way our stories end I know you have re-written mine By being my friend... Like a ship blown from its mooring By a wind off the sea Like a seed dropped by a skybird In a distant wood Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you... Because I knew you... I have been changed for good... And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness For the things I’ve done you blame me for But then, I guess we know There’s blame to share And none of it seems to matter anymore

For the full set of lyrics and other good stuff about "Wicked," visit this link: http://www.musicalschwartz.com/wicked-lyrics.htm

Springtime

Lily of the Valley
Originally uploaded by RcktManIL.

I took this photo of a single lily of the valley at my Mom and Dad's a couple weeks ago. It's my favorite picture so far.

Essay in Cubdom

Today I received an Email from the Chicago Cubs telling me about an essay contest they were holding with Swedish Covenant Hospital, one of the zillions of hospitals in the city of Chicago. The instructions were to write a 250-word or less essay about an unforgettable moment that made me a Cubs fan forever. The Grand Prize winner gets to throw out a ceremonial pitch on "Swedish Covenant Hospital Day," July 15, 2005 at Wrigley Field; Four tickets to the game; a tour the Press Box; and their winning essay published in the Chicago Tribune. I bit. Here it is. Wish me luck! Growing up in Kenosha, Wisconsin in the 1970s, my allegiance to baseball teams could easily have gone in any number of directions, but my father made it easy. He told me that I could either be a Cubs fan and get presents from Santa at Christmastime, or be a White Sox or Brewers fan and get coal. I quickly chose the Cubs. I was no fool. My first trip to glorious Wrigley Field was on a sunny August 22, 1977. The Cubs were playing the Giants. Rick Reuschel was pitching against Jim Barr. I remember this clearly because I distinctly remember a plane flying overhead with a banner attached, saying “GO JIM BARR AND GIANTS,” and thinking, even at the ripe young age of 6, how strange it was for someone to be cheering on the Giants at Wrigley Field. My hero at the time was Bobby Murcer, who was having a miraculous first year with the team. He ended up being the team leader in Home Runs with 27 (which seems like small potatoes when compared to the Sammy Sosa years). My hero Murcer was also the game’s hero that day when he hit a home run and solidified the 3-2 win in the 8th inning. After that first visit to Wrigley Field, witnessing my first Cubs home run, and my first Cubs win, I never again had to choose my favorite baseball team. I was a Cubs fan from head to toe, and nothing would ever change that.

The Coming of Summer

Summertime.... and the livin' is easy.... So goes the old tune. But that was a long time ago. In these days of hustle and bustle, there is never any time for 'living easy'... every day is hard work and a struggle to get by (unless you're fabulously wealthy, in which case you have nothing to worry about in the first place.) As a kid, summertime meant walks to the public swimming pool. Dad's backyard full of rose bushes and green spongy grass to play upon. Music playing from the AM radio that dad installed on our garage. Bike rides and sandboxes and Matchbox cars. "Mother May I" and "Kick the Can" and "Red Light Green Light." Swinging on the the swingset. That's when the living was easy. As I approach my 35th summer on our fair planet, I can't help but recall, once again, what it was like to run outside of my parents' back door and know that the world expected nothing more of me but to play. And play I did. My dad put a swingset at the far south end of our backyard when I was about three years old. It was one of those wonderful metal sets, the kind you can't get anymore, since everyone now fears them tipping over or rusting and falling apart on the little ones. It never happened -- save for one time when I was standing on a crossbar and slipped. I landed in a not-so-comfy spot. If you know what I mean. We had two swings, a teeter-totter, and a swinging horse. A couple of years later, Dad added a slide. Each morning, my sister, Beth (when she was old enough) and I would wolf down our breakfasts and burst out the back door for a day of fun. The backyard, and moreso the swingset, was where every day started. After a while of swinging and jumping and pumping the set til it nearly tipped over, (Dad had put anchors into to ground at each post, which was actually fruitless, since they only anchored into the soil and not into any type of concrete), we would decide what to do next. There were no schedules. no hours, no appointment books or daily planners. We just made everything up as we went along. Most days involved running next door to see if our friend Becky could play. Of course, she always did. Becky was one year younger than me, and one year older than Beth. The three of us were inseparable. We did everything together. If we built a fort, Becky was there with us. If we played wiffle ball, Becky joined in. If we rode bikes, we always did it together. It was almost like I had two sisters. Of course, that probably explained a lot about my toy preferences. I never much cared for G.I. Joe dolls or smash-em-up cars or anything extremely boyish. I played with Barbies and Little People, just as often as I played with Tonka trucks and Matchbox cars, because Beth and Becky liked to play with those, too. Fortunately for me, Beth and Becky weren't girly-girls. They liked to play rough. They got their fingers dirty. They scuffed their knees. There weren't many boys my age in my neighborhood. The closest was a boy named Brian who lived a few houses away from me. He was a year older than me, and although a Super 8 film shows that we were friends once upon a time, as long as I can remember, he and I were at odds. He teased me about anything and everything, and I retaliated by slugging him. That pretty much ended any chance of a friendship. There was another boy named Mike who lived a few more houses away. He was also a year older, but he was closer to Brian than anyone else, and whatever Brian did, he did too. Kitty-corner from where Mike lived was where Timmy and JoAnne lived. Timmy and JoAnne were the youngest in a fairly large Italian family and were often at our house, and we were often at theirs. We went to the same Catholic school, and carpooled with their mom in the mornings, and our mom afterward. Their mom was the neighborhood busybody. She knew everything about everyone and wasn't shy about it. My mom never liked her much. She always said "If Yolanda could print a newspaper, she'd make a killing." As we all got older, I eventually befriended Mike, and suddenly my sister and I were invited to play games with all the neighborhood kids. This usually involved a game like "Kick the Can" or "Stuck in the Mud" or some other variance of "Tag"... but it was always so much fun. The neighborhood kids all got along fine for a couple years, and then one day, it all stopped. Beth got into a huge fight with JoAnne about something -- what it was, to this day, I still have no idea-- and JoAnne went home crying to her mother. From that day forward, Timmy and JoAnne were forbidden to come to our house, and upon hearing that, our parents likewise forbade us to go to theirs. A rift was started, and we never played with most of the neighborhood kids again. Becky remained our friend. We switched Catholic schools when I was in 6th grade and started going to the same one as Becky. We carpooled with her just as we had done with Timmy and JoAnne before. And as grade school progressed to high school, the swingset, that was always the center of everything for us, finally was taken down. The worn spots where our feet dragged in the dirt were filled in, and we planted a crabapple tree for my mom that following Mothers' Day. Life was changing, and summers would never be the same again. When I wander through my parents' backyard today, and I see the grand tree that has grown where the swingset once stood, I can still hear us laughing, and playing, and enjoying the precious summertime. I can still smell my dad's roses blooming, still hear the music playing from the garage speaker. I can still see the sheets and towels drying in the summer breeze on my mom's clothesline, and I can smell the freshness of the dried fabrics after an afternoon of soaking in all those wonderful rays and smells. And I'm reminded of those summers as a kid, when the biggest drama in life was whether or not to play in the sandbox, or to take a bike ride. When my greatest concern was whether the kids would play a game or we would go swimming. Everything changes, and we all grow up. But memories of when "livin' was easy" will never escape us.

Happy(?) Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day. Do you know what your plans are? OK so it's not really Memorial Day yet. We have a few days to go. But still. It's that time of year. The whole concept of Memorial Day is designed to make us reflect. To make us remember. Remember those who we've lost. Remember those who sacrificed themselves so we can be free. Remember those we have loved. Remember those who we never knew, but were instrumental in our being here today. As a kid, the family would make three stops every Memorial Day. Three cemetaries in two cities. Our first stop, after picking up my Nana, would be to drive out to St. George's Cemetary in Kenosha to visit the graves of my dad's family-- his grandfather, aunts and uncles on his mother's side (my Nana). I remember one very vividly because it was an aunt who died very young. They had attached a photograph of her to the headstone. Since my Nanu's family was all in Italy or Canada... these were all my Nana's relatives. So the last names were all Scarlato and Savaglio. Good old Italian names. All were family that I never knew. We'd plant the usual assortment of Geraniums, Petunias and Agerateum near the stones and walk to the water pump, where my sister and I would take turns filling up the watering cans. After the flowers were watered and the mess cleaned up, we'd say a short prayer and be off to the next set of graves. The next stop was All Saints Cemetary, where, at the time, just my Nanu was buried. All Saints was a fairly new cemetary when he died in 1969. It was one of those where you didn't plant anything, you just pulled up this magical urn from the ground, filled it with water, and put cut flowers inside. Even as a child this seemed rather impractical and cold to me, but those were the rules and that's what we did. Even the gravestones were ordinary-- all were flat, recessed into the grass, almost hidden from view. Of course, there were variations in design and color, but there were no monuments, no crosses, no large messages. Just a name, a birth date, and a date of death. Back then, Nanu's grave was a lonely oasis among the others around him. As the years went by, neighbors began to appear around him. But there were always two spots next to him that remained open. These, I was told, were for Nana and my Uncle John, the priest, for when they died. I didn't like to think about that, but I always remembered. Nana took her place next to Nanu in 1992. When they laid her stone, my Uncle laid his as well. It always struck me as slightly odd, and creepy, when people would pre-lay their gravestones; showing the birth year, but leaving that square of untouched, polished granite where the year of death would be engraved when it happens. It seems so pre-meditated. Expected. After dropping Nana back at home, the last stop would usually mean and driving out to Antioch, IL to pick up Grandma and make our way to Hillside Cemetary to visit my mom's family. Hillside was like St. George's - large monuments and headstones, and we could plant whatever we wanted. For years we did the same as Kenosha, and brought the Geraniums and other annual assortments. But one year we decided that since my parents were rose growers, we would plant an old garden between Grandpa's stone and where Grandma's would go. The rose we planted was called Therese Bugnet, a pink, very fragrant rose that grew vigorously all by itself-- no excess watering or pruning needed. It seemed like the perfect idea. We still planted flowers at my mom's aunts' and uncles' graves, as well as her grandparents. I always liked Grandpa's marker because it wasn't granite or some obnoxious monument. It was a simple, tasteful marker with a concrete base and a brass plate. Mom said it was a military style marker, since Grandpa had served in WW II. Over time the brass aged to a beautiful green and purple patina, with the letters and numbers retaining some aspect of the brass color. When Grandma died in 1985, we placed the exact same style marker on her grave. When it was new, it was bright and shiny and would gleam in the sun. But as the years passed, it, too, developed the patina that matched Grandpa's. It's been a few years since we've been to the graves. With my parents' failing health and everything going on at once in all of our lives, it just isn't easy to make the trips anymore. Uncle John still cares for the Kenosha graves, but nobody has been out to Antioch in a few years. Last week, after our Chorus retreat ended, I decided to surprise my parents with a visit. Delavan is only about an hour west of Kenosha, and I had to pass through Kenosha to get back to Chicago. It just made sense-- I was in the area anyway. They were so happy to see me, and my surprise was much appreciated. I was so glad I did it. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, so I went out in the yard behind the garage and cut some lilacs and picked a huge bouquet of lily-of-the-valley for my mom. Because of their location, mom can't appreciate them as much as she would like to because it's too hard for her to walk back there. So each year I try to make it home in time so I can bring them to her. Soon the house was filled with fragrances from fresh-cut flowers. We talked about Memorial Day and how she would like to visit the graves in Antioch this year. So I think I'm going to drive her out there on Sunday. We're curious to see if the rose is even still alive. Even if it isn't, it'll be good to visit with Grandma and her family again. So this year, instead of partying it up, hitting the bars, going away for camping excursions, or visiting the leather mart at IML (International Mister Leather, which occurs in Chicago this weekend), I am going to pay tribute to my family. I'm going to remember those who are still with me, such as my baby cousin Taylor, whose first birthday will be celebrated on Saturday; and think about and remember those who have left us. Perhaps that's something we should do every day, rather than just one weekend a year. But in the grand scheme of things, once a year is better than never at all. Happy Memorial Day to you all. I hope you spend it with someone you love. I know I will.

Unrecoverable Posts

If I had a nickel for every time that I started writing a great, insightful and meaningful post, only to have the power go out, or the computer to crash or some other oddly unfortunate accident to occur, I would be a terribly wealthy man. OK maybe I'd have about $0.55. But still.

Uninteresting Observations

Here's a few things that I found myself pondering this past weekend. Maybe you can help me figure out why these things happen. Why is it that when someone says he's really sweet and easy to talk to and really is into the idea of having wild monkeysex with you; when you go to his apartment to meet for an afternoon of said monkeysex for the first time, he mysteriously disappears from behind his door and is therefore conveniently unable to open the door? Why is it that every time the chorus goes on its weekend retreat, everyone talks about all the sex and laviscious happenings that occur, but the one and only time you have ever had sex in the 5-6 years you have been going on these retreats is when you were dating your roommate? (And no, that wasn't this year. Dammit.) Why is it that when you add the words "GOD DAMN" before any noun-- or for that matter, any particular place in a sentence-- you instantly sound like Bette Davis or Joan Crawford? (Try it, it works! Pick up your GOD DAMN mess! Walk like a GOD DAMN Egyptian!) Why is it that whenever you feel like your head is about to explode because you drank yourself stupid the night before and you would much rather be in bed with ten pillows OVER your head, your chorus director sics one of his choreographers on the ENTIRE chorus; teaching them a number that starts with EVERYONE JUMPING UP AND DOWN. Why is it that whenever I see someone online and I send him a message saying "Hi!" he never responds, but if I walk away from my computer for just five minutes, I instantly get 15 messages from cute guys wanting to chat with me? And Why is it that when I try to reply to said cute guys, they've suddenly signed off in obvious frustration with me because I didn't respond quickly enough? And Why is it also that every one of those cute guys is from someplace impossible to drive to in one full 24-hour day? Why is it that whenever the weather is absolutely gorgeous outside, I am either driving from some far-away destination or stuck at work watching everyone else enjoy themselves? And Why is it that these people do not have jobs like me? Why is it that whenever I blog about something that I pour my heart into, I get zero or one comment; but whenever I blog about something worthless and silly much like this post, I get zillions of comments? Why is it that I use such hyperbole as "zillions of comments" when I've only ever had maybe, at most, 10 at a time? Why is it that I use words such as "hyperbole" in my posts, knowing full well that I'm going to have to search Google to make sure that I actually know what it means first? Why is it that I am still typing this post at 3:45 in the morning? I dunno.

Joy through the pain

First, thank you to everyone who gave their support, either in comments or in Email, regarding the previous post about my ex. I have talked to him a few times since then, and while there still isn't any change in his condition, his spirits are decidedly better. I think as he talks about it with more people and gets it out in the open, he will find that people will be supportive rather than destructive. Because people care... and want only the best for him. Also, I want to say "I am sorry" to anyone and everyone who has had problems lately with Haloscan's comment system as of late. Either you have tried to comment and the screen never comes up, or the comments aren't being saved. Either way, they are just full of problems lately and it's driving me nuts. Which brings me to my next subject. Remember this? A few months ago I presented a challenge to someone with the skills and the patience to redesign my blog. I am still looking for this to happen. There were a few of you that said they would give it a shot, but aside from one of you (and I won't name names), I haven't heard of any progress. So... any progress? I would really REALLY like to get this blog off of Blogspot and on to my domain www.rcktman.com using either WordPress or TypePad or some other system. Please contact me if you are willing to take on the challenge! Finally, I am heading out of town today with CGMC for a weekend-long retreat in lovely Delevan, WI at the Lake Lawn Resort. I'm looking forward to a relaxing and fun-filled weekend with all my friends, music, and the lovely sight of trees and lake outside my window. And a spa day sounds nice too. :) So have a great weekend and be good to each other til I return!

And so you're back....

While browsing a certain website, I found him. The ex. The one I told the story about a month ago. He's with his mom. I could tell by the location on his profile. So I sent him a note asking him where he has been and why he couldn't contact me. He replied saying he was embarrassed to contact me. And that he had AIDS. Not HIV. AIDS. And they can't find anything to help him. He has the new strain that is drug-resistant. And I felt guilty for being angry with him, but I'm still angry with him. Because the reason he gave me for disappearing and not contacting me was that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed to tell me the truth. And embarrassed because he got himself into this mess in the first place. I told him how I felt, but I also told him that he shouldn't have been embarrassed to tell me anything. People who care don't stop caring when things go wrong. That's why they care. I still have his things... I never gave them away. I knew he'd be back, and I didn't want him to lose more than he had already lost in his lifetime. Because he has lost an awful lot already. But I told him that I could not trust him again. He had betrayed my trust one too many times. And nothing would change that. He understood why I felt that way. So in that respect, I feel like I made the right decisions. But it still doesn't hurt any less.

Up to Speed

I haven't been a good blog boy lately. So to bring you up to speed, here is what has been going on lately, and some updates on things I've written about in the past few weeks: The Guy We had a nice time, but it's over. There just wasn't a spark between us, and I knew it. Problem is, instead of actually coming out and saying "it's over," he just stopped communicating with me. But that's fine. I was intending on talking to him about it anyway. He was nice, we had some nice times and some good dates, but if you know it isn't going to work out, why prolong things? So I am back on the market. Again. The Windows They are in, they look fabulous, and I am so glad all that crazy drama is over. Pippin and Screech stayed with my friend for two days and it felt like two weeks. It's amazing how much they mean to me... and this proved it. Here are some pictures of the new windows. It's amazing what a difference they make! The Apartment The landlord was paid the money I owed her and all is quiet now. Thank God. I won't let that happen again. The Goals I haven't sold the car yet because I haven't got the dents repaired yet. However I did fix the headlights. By myself. That's right, I changed my own headlights. And they work. So at least I can drive it at night again if necessary. I am keeping better track of my money. The check registers are almost up-to-date. ... just have to add a few things. So that brings you up-to-speed on those things.... here's what's on the horizon: Chorus Auditions were held for our CGMC show, "CGMC World Tour" and I am feeling cautiously optimistic about my chances. I will let you know more once the cast list is posted. Why get anyone's (including mine) hopes up? We are also going away this weekend for a retreat. This is an annual weekend-long event filled with rehearsals, talent shows, etc. It's always fun and I look forward to it every year. Work Work has been absolutely insane lately. In fact, as I was typing this, they called to see if I could come in early. So I am cutting this short. See why I don't blog much lately? Always on the go! That's me. Friends Finally, all my love to Pua and Karen, my blog gals... Pua for her husband Charlie's mother, who is in my thoughts, and Karen for the return of her hubby. And it's Karen's birthday in a few days so I am wishing her a happy birthday as well. Love you guys.

Summer Goals

Summer is fast approaching. Hell, if you didn't know any better, you'd think it was already here. Today's Chicago temperature hit 83 degrees. Rock on! So with the onset of the summer months comes a set of goals. Goals that I will probably forget all about in a week do everything in my power to acheive in the next few months. Goals that are completely unrealistic, knowing my track record are easy to achieve if I just apply myself. So without further ado, too late, here are my goals. 1. I will get my bike fixed and start taking those rides along Lake Michigan that I've been wanting to take for the last three years but I've been too lazy to do anything about my broken bike. 2. I will sell my car. After I fix all the dents and scratches and broken headlights that are on it now. 3. I will spend less time parked in front of my computer (except when I'm blogging) and more time outdoors. 4. I will spend more time at the beach if I can get up the nerve to take off my shirt in public again. 5. I will continue dating even though the guy I was seeing suddenly stopped calling and writing and I haven't heard from him in almost two weeks. 6. I will keep better track of my money. No smartass remarks there. 7. I will continue to blog, even when sometimes I can't think of a single thing to blog about. 8. I will probably look at this list in a couple weeks and laugh out loud, knowing that I hadn't even begun to accomplish any of them. 9. I will stop being so cynical. 10. I will forget about #10, because I know that cynicism is inherent in gay men, and there is nothing I can do about it. 11. I will start taking the train to visit my parents instead of driving. Because I will have sold my car. After I got it fixed. With all the money I'd saved because I had kept better track of it. Because I will have spent less time in front of the computer (minus the time spent blogging) and more time balancing my checkbook. Because I will be happily dating a sexy man. Because I will be in such good shape because I will be riding my bike everywhere. Because I finally fixed the damn thing. These are hefty, lofty goals. I need lots of encouragement and positive reinforcement to accomplish them. I think I can do it. What do you think? Wish me luck!

Out with the old

Honest to God, my life is truly this boring as of late. I am devoting post after post to new windows. Am I really this lame? Here is why I am excited to be getting new windows... The new ones are IN... but it's night time right now, so I'll take pix when the sun's out again.

I'm all alone

They're coming to do my windows today. So I brought the "kids" (Pippin and Screech) to my friends' place last night. Last night when I came home from rehearsal it was odd not having them around. I miss my babies. :( But hopefully tomorrow they can come home and peer out clean new windows. I just want this all OVER WITH ALREADY!

Lemons into Lemonade

Last night I gathered up a bagful of laundry (along with a handful of quarters), dragged a bag of garbage and trudged down my back staircase toward the laundry room. Interesting, isn't it? It's a usual routine for me. I'm always one to kill two birds with one stone (or for our animal lovers out there, to cross two T's with one stroke), hence the garbage bag and laundry bag at the same time. I keep all my laundry supplies locked in my storage cabinet in the basement. It's easier than having to trudge them all down the stairs every time I do laundry, and they're safe behind the lock.

Oh hell I'm boring you now. There has to be a point to this story, right? Well there is. You see, last night, when I got to the end of the building, I saw a bunch of old windows stacked up against the fence. Curiously, I looked around and noticed that new windows had been installed in some of the rear apartments. "Well that's just great!" I said to myself. "When do I get my new windows?" When I got in the basement, I got my answer. There they all were, stacked against the laundry facilities, and against all the storage units. Windows of every shape and size. Ready to be installed. I guess a trip to a laundromat is in order. I ran back upstairs and checked my voice mail. Sure enough, the landlord had left me a message saying that they were going to start installing new windows on Thursday (which was curious since they had obviously started on Wednesday.) She asked me to move everything away from the windows and get them ready. I went into full panic mode. The air conditioners finally came out. The plants all got moved. The curtains pulled away. And then I looked at Pippin and Screech, who were getting excited by all the activity. Oh crap! What do I do with the cats? I couldn't lock them in another room, because every room in my apartment has a window. So there is nowhere for them to hide. I had to wait until morning to find out what to do next. There was a possibility that they weren't going to work on my place that day anyway. If so, I could make arrangments for someone to watch the boys while my windows were replaced. If they were working that day, I'd have to stay home with them and keep them in their carriers. Which would be HELL. So this morning, after warning my boss at work that I might not be coming in, I found out that they were, in fact, coming on Monday. Or so they told me today. So what's the point of all this? Well, it's been a rough couple of weeks. And things are just about to be resolved. My landlord is going to get her money (I should hopefully get it tomorrow), and I will even get a little extra to help alleviate some debt issues I have had recently. And to top it all off, I'm going to have brand-new, sparkly-clean, not-rotting, cracked or falling apart, easy-to-open, and totally air-tight windows in my apartment... the one that I get to stay in for (at least) the remainder of my lease, which officially renewed as of May 1. So yeah, I'd say that's a pretty good turn of events. Case closed. On to the next drama. Coming up: How to deal with a car with two burned-out headlights. Next on Oprah.

Light at the end of the tunnel

The problems from last week are about 1/2 of the way through. I can't wait for all of it to be over and done with. Less stress = easier breathing. And I'm ready to start breathing freely again.

Oh my aching everything...

On Saturday, the Chorus took a road trip that led us to Peoria and Bloomington, IL. We did three concerts in one day. Three. Three hours of standing still on risers and singing. In addition to the umpteen hours of driving my dilapidated vehicle from point A to point B, then point C, and back to point A again. Standing on risers is not as easy as it looks. You have to stand perfectly still and try not to move. Meanwhile, you have to hope your knees don't buckle... or try not to pass out because the tiny theatre you are singing in is so blasted hot. My calves feel like I've done eight hours of workouts. And in reality, I have. Maybe it was that animalistic sex I had the other day. Or maybe it wasn't. Well, it could have had an effect. Oh would you look at the time... Gotta run.

The follow up you've all been waiting for...

Man I do a cliffhanger better than "Dallas" in the 80's, don't I? :) So about the guy... Would you believe we are still dating? Two weeks later, and it's still on. "Shocking!" "Ground-breaking!" "Amazing!" And those are my own interjections on the subject. I can only imagine what you've come up with. Tonight was date number 5. We had dinner at a wonderful Japanese restaurant (Rick does sushi. Don't everybody recoil in disbelief together.) and then went to see "The Hitchiker's Guide To The Galaxy,"... which I enjoyed very much! (Any movie that opens with a production number sung by dolphins is cool in my book.) So... the update is, we're still going well, and taking things slowly. Which is just about perfect in my book. It's nice. I haven't dated in so long... it's nice when it happens and happens the 'right' way. Whatever the 'right' way is. Tomorrow I'm off to Peoria and Bloomington, IL with the Chorus all day. It's going to be a long day, with three performances. But it will be fun. No rest for the wicked, as they say.

Bathing Pussies Part II

In case you are wondering what the HELL the title is all about... do check out The Traveling Spotlight today. You'll be glad you did. So the RcktMan household has another member today. Well just for one day at least. I couldn't let him sleep at Man's Country after all. I can only imagine the trouble he'd get into. I mean... think of it. A new guy, in a new town, seeing new (and I use that term loosely) sights. Sets the stage for quite an adventure if you ask me. I had pity on our dear Patrick. He is in town for a job interview, after all. I couldn't let him walk into the interview and refuse the offer to take a seat. Because it would hurt too much. You know what I mean. He was going to take the train into the city, but I couldn't trust him with that. I figured he'd pick up some homeless person and go back to his shack for a little one-on-one fun. My guilty conscience couldn't let that happen. So I offered to pick him up at the airport. He jumped at the chance. After all, wouldn't you want to get picked up at the airport by someone you never met face-to-face before? I figured he'd think it was hot. I was right. We called Tuna Girl on the way home. She told me to watch out for him and keep him in line. I told her that was my intention from day one. We both know that if you take your eyes off on this one, he's liable to disappear. (I done good, TG. He's still here.) So he offered to buy me dinner as payment for services rendered the use of my sofa. I accepted, of course. I had images of a lavish dinner at one of Andersonville's finer dining establishments, but Patrick suggested McDonald's or Wendy's. I compromised and suggested T's, which is at the end of my block. Good food, decent prices, and no drive-thru windows to be seen. Thank goodness I got my way this time. We came back to my place, and the cats immediately took to him like a cheap whore on a rich man. They haven't left him alone yet. I'm actually sort of amused by it, until he started playing with my pussies. I'm worried about them now. They may never be the same again. He kept playing "Pippin being born" (see below) with the poor guy. He's been hiding in the litter box all night and won't come out. Poor Screech's legs are crossed and he won't shut up. Damn him!!! I'm starting to wonder whatever possessed me to take in this guy in the first place. Could it have been his boyish charm? His sense of humor? His slutty ways? His way around a kitchen? No... I guess I just wanted the company. After all, it has been a rough week already. OK OK OK... in truth, I was really happy to host Patrick and we have had a great time finally meeting face-to-face. And yes, he is sleeping on the sofa. Probably with the cats. You can take the boy out of the pussy, but you can't take the pussy out of the boy. Or something like that.