radiopeter

I’m amazed how many people read this blog.

The guy I was dating read the previous post and seemingly freaked out. I can’t blame him for being upset. There was no harm meant by posting that, and I hardly expected him to read it before we spoke, but that didn’t happen.

When your blog is your therapist, these kind of things happen. But I digress.

A few weeks ago I met said handsome guy. We hung out a few times, had a bunch of slap and tickle, but I suspected he wanted much more than me right off the bat. I should have opened my mouth a little wider to scream a little louder about things, but along the way I did say that things were proceeding too fast.

It apparently fell upon deaf ears.

After speaking to him, during which I let him do almost all of the talking, he decided we should not be friendly, only tolerant. That’s not the way I wanted it, but there you go.

Curtain close, the end.

—

If I ever doubted the power of the zodiac, now it’s truthfullness is shining brightly. I’m a Fire Dragon and an Aquarius. The negative thoughts about my sign below are exactly the kind of things I’m working on.

From: http://www.chinavoc.com/zodiac/dragon/five.asp

Because the Fire Dragon is often enveloped by insatiable personal ambition, he is short-tempered, inconsiderate and unable to put up with anything less than perfection. He also overgeneralizes or jumps to conclusions, frequently lumping people into categories without allowing for or even perceiving their individual differences.

That’s me. And here’s the lesson:

Nonetheless, here is a performer of the highest degree who could easily be a source of inspiration to his fellowman and a personality who will catch the public eye - when he learns to master his negative traits and communicate more humbly with others.

Mastering my negative traits. Fuck. If that doesn’t sound like a hell of a lot of work, I don’t know what does.

Why on earth did I think I could have a relationship right now? I’m so not interested in that. The single life is so appealing for about a million reasons, but primarily I’m interested in being single because of my time.

My time is precious.

I have, over the last few weeks, tried to reorganize my schedule to the point where I could free up a little more time so I could find those pockets for downtime to relax and enjoy the world around me.

A relationship would suck that time up like a black hole.

That’s really why I’m uninterested in being with anyone. I don’t want to MAKE the time. Maybe someday I’ll meet someone who I want to make the time for, but so far that isn’t the case.

Ever since I can remember, there was this giant lady on the television who I was in love with. She was motherly, lively, and had one of the best senses of comic timing I’d ever seen.

Her name was Julia Child. She changed my life.

My mother and I religiously watched her cook on television. She made mistakes. Her kitchen was a mess when she was finished cooking. She laughed, and chortled her way through every recipe. Her excitement about food was infectious and I instantly adopted as much of her philosophy as I could.

Over the years, as I grew, I encountered countless articles and television segments with her. No matter what I was doing, I’d stop dead in my tracks and go into a trance, hanging on every word. I remember once being at Montgomery Wards in the television department. One of the televisions was tuned to PBS and they were showing her cooking with another chef. Somehow I managed to tune every single television to Julia and sat on the floor watching, mesmerized by thirty Julia’s all cooking.

I’m nothing close to an accomplished cook. I wouldn’t even say that I’m a good cook. I’m an EDIBLE cook in that the things that I prepare can be tolerated by the average stomach, but I’m not a gourmande or anything like that. Yet every time I step into the kitchen, I feel like Julia is there with me, watching.

When I cut vegetables, I can hear her in my mind telling me to “keep your fingers clenched” and “let the blade do the work.” I can’t help but finger a knife every time I see one to see if it’s sharp…or if it’s Julia sharp, the latter being my preferred choice.

She is my own personal inspiration for food, and because of her I’ve never been afraid to try eating anything. Make jokes if you want, but I’ll put anything in my mouth once. And I owe that all to Julia.

I’m about to move into an apartment that has a new kitchen with a dishwasher and a nice brand new stove. The excitement I’m feeling about the kitchen has been keeping me up at night. Although I’ve thumbed through many of Julias’ cookbooks, I’ve mostly followed recipes of hers by downloading them from the internet or flipping through back-issues of magazines. But it’s time to change that.

I’ve just purchased “The Way To Cook” by Julia Child because the bookstore next to the office had it for $20. The first three chapters are “Soup”, “Bread”, and “Eggs.” I intend to cook as many of the recipes I can during the first couple months in the new kitchen to get myself on track.

During this next year I plan to cook as much as possible. The added bonus is that Spin is right next door, and I can slough off leftovers on the folks that work there, so there won’t be tons of food staring me in the face.

It’s tax time again. My accountant and I slaved over tons of paperwork to get everything sorted out. It feels good to be starting my own business on paper. It’s been a few years coming and it keeps moving forward.

I’m getting a bit of a refund. Nothing too grand really, but I’m happy I’ll get something back. Now it’s all about keeping as many receipts as possible for the new tax year. I’m moving into a new place so I can designate square footage and a percentage of that as a “home office.” Can’t wait to see the numbers on that.

Happy Valentines Day!

Would you believe I actually have a Valentine this year? Who knew that could happen… It’s baffling to me. I wasn’t looking for anything, then BAM! Out of nowhere it landed in my lap (so to speak of course.) Slowly is my key word for this relationship. S L O W L Y. I’m proceeding at a snail’s pace because, well, really, I can.

—

My apartment is in an absolute state of chaos right now. There are piles of crap, stacks of records, and endless mounds of books and clothing lying around waiting patiently to be sorted. One of the mountains of clothing even looked at me this morning and seemed to beg not to be donated away. But I’m afraid that it will have to go, like so many other things in my house.

Part of me feels incredibly guilty that I haven’t been able to invite him over to my place because I’ve been to his a few times already. But then I realize that hey, he caught me almost in mid-flight, so it’s ok for now. My grand plan is to really tear-ass through my place on this long weekend and get my shit sorted out and scrubbed clean, in anticipation of my impending move to Lakeview.

—

This Saturday my Mom and I are going to a cat show. I’m really looking forward to spending the day with her and just lookin’ at all the cats. However, it might be time for me to take some of the white man’s poison (read: benadryl) so that I don’t fall over from all the cat dander in the air. I HATE taking pills, I really do, but somehow methinks it’ll be necessary.

Well. I’ve found myself beginning to fall into a relationship. How the fuck that got past my radar, I’ll never know. But it’s happening. Far quicker than I wanted it to, but I think it just slowed down a bit.

I keep asking myself the same questions over and over again; Do I really want to date someone? Do I even have time to date someone? Do I have room in my life to date someone? It’s healthy to ask these things, but I’m just starting to feel the gravity of the situation.

What I don’t want is to spend all of my free time with someone else. I’m 100% sure of that. Call me a selfish prick, but it’s my life and I deserve to be as selfish as I want. Time spent quietly alone with a book and a cup of tea is beyond value in my life. And given I’ve just recently quit Aikido due to lack of time, I have only a little free time to myself.

I’m busy.

That’s not an excuse, just the reality of the situation.

I don’t know where that leaves me and him right now. I’m spinning us around in my head as I write this and I can’t see where it’s going to stop, nor can I see where I even want it to stop.

Tricky things, relationships are. Tricky.

I’m completely feelin’ this song right now. 100% of me is with her.

I know I do some things that make you so confused
One minute I’m so in love and the next I can’t stand you
But if u may ask it’s just the things that you do
that reminds me of all of the mess that I’ve been through

I got this baggage with me
Don’t wana make you pay for what somebody else has done to me
I don’t know what to do
With all this baggage in me
Everytime I hurt your feelings it’s what someones done to me
I don’t mean to hurt you

Heartache and pain I just can’t do it again
So I look for the worst and brace myself for the hurt
But nobody has ever treated me this way
Please be patient with me coz I want you to stay but I got all

This baggage with me
Don’t wana make you pay for what somebody else has done to me
I don’t know what to do
With all this baggage in me
Everytime I hurt your feelings it’s what someone’s done to me
I don’t mean to hurt you

It’s no way to be livin’ my life
But I can’t get it out of my mind
You know I love you yes I do
So don’t, don’t we get it confused

Don’t be confused coz boy u know I realy do love you
Want you to stay wit me I never ment to hurt you baby
It won’t be easy gettin rid of all this baggage baby

I got all of this baggage with me
Don’t wana make you pay for what somebody else has done to me
I don’t know what to do
With all this baggage in me
Everytime I hurt your feelings
It’s what someone’s done to me
I don’t mean to hurt you

Some of this might make sense. Some of it might be funny, and some of it might be offensive. But it’s my Blog, so here goes with my first annual

Grammy Stream of Consciousness Report

Was PAULA ABDUL drunk? I saw her on the Grammy pre-show with the ET folks and she was either botoxed beyond belief or drunk as a skunk. Maybe both.

Neat GORILLAZ trick with MADONNA dancing around the cartoons. I was hoping for a little more Roger Rabbit tricks, but we got none. Sadly her live vocal bits and pieces were a bit lacking. And why on earth isn’t she wearing a headset microphone. She hasn’t had to dance AND sing in a while and you could hear it.

Stevie Wonder and Alicia keys should sing together all the time.

###BEST FEMALE VOCAL PERFORMANCE: Kelly Clarkson Since You’ve Been Gone. Lovely eyeliner stains down her cheeks as she was crying, but I’m happy as hell for her.

Where are SHERYL CROW’S breasts? And about GWEN STEFANI’s outfit “Watch out for that tree!”

Coldplay was just that; cold. They don’t do anything new to me. It seems like whatever they’re doing has been done before.

The Intel Centrino commercial with MARIAH CAREY was hysterical. They also used my favorite Mariah song; “Mine Again”.

JOHN LEGEND filmed in black and white during Ordinary Peopleand then fading into color was a neat trick. He sounded great.

SUGARLAND’s JENNIFER NETTLES sounded fantastic but there was some odd mic spill-through during the broadcast. I want her to do a solo Soul album.

###BEST COUNTRY ALBUM: Allison Krause and Union Station “lonely runs both ways” The only country album I reviewed last year *snap* Their speech was really short, but hey, wasn’t this her 14th Grammy.

I dislike Bono. He’s a little too big for his britches these days. If he cuts his hair and gets some new glasses I might like him more. I didn’t really enjoy U2 and MARY J BLIGE, but her braid crown is stellar. Mary was REALLY feeling it, but she sounds bad against U2 the band. The end was a mess. But go Mary. Live ya life girl.

###BEST RAP ALBUM: Late Registration Kanye West had this giant THANK YOU LIST card. Ugh. tacky.

KELLY CLARKSON’s performance of “Because of You” was beautiful as she basked in the fresh winner glow.

###BEST ROCK ALBUM: U2 How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb

PAUL MCCARTNEY should have stayed home. Helter Skelter was awful. And if he won’t stay home, he should stay in the studio. Sorry Paul, much love, but I’m tellin’ the truft on this one.

BLACK EYED PEAS Fergie looked stunning. So did her botoxed forehead. Jennifer Love Hewett looked like Malibu Skipper. Nice faux hair girl.

###BEST MALE R&B PERFORMANCE John Legend Ordinary People

MARIAH CAREY performance loved her microphone coated in bling. She was the second flawless live performance in the show. And I’m glad to see she how fabulous she looked. She did We Belong Together and Fly Like A Bird…and when the choir came out I was all goose bumps and shivers. I knew she was getting ready for the sky high notes..and she hit them all p e r f e c t l y. I could have cried.

Terri Hacher looked crazy…like she just finished mud wrestling with Pam Anderson.

###BEST POP VOCAL ALBUM Kelly Clarkson Breakaway. “I don’t know what’s going on?! I’m all cried out” So charmingly honest during her acceptance speech.

The Desperate Housewives-esque commercial with Edie and Bree was fabulous. But I could have done without the pinball rolling around in the maxi-pad that followed in the next commercial. Eeek.

When did JENNA ELFMAN get so hot? She usually looks so freakin’ frumpy. Her dress was WHITE HOT!

FAITH HILL & KEITH URBAN He just looks dirty. Keith Lionel Urban, for Christ sake, it’s the goddamn Grammy awards. Buy a jacket, fix your hair, and shave. I’m tired of the bangs that Faith constantly sports, aren’t you? She needs a a fag (or a different fag) doing her hair.

I think Santana needed some lip gloss and a Xanax. He sped through his speech about Mo Ostin at lightning pace.

###BEST RAP SONG COLLABORATION Jay-Z feat Linkin Park for Numb/Encore

Good to see Dave Chappelle. Glad he was able to joke about things.

SLY STONE TRIBUTE by JOSS STONE, JOHN LEGEND, VAN HUNT, etc. Their warmup sounded like the beginnings of church hollerin. Damn I love JOSS STONE. FANTASIAS screaming shook my Soul bone. MAROON 5 and CIARA we’re ok. WILL.I.AM shouldn’t have rapped to “Dance To The Music” STEVEN TYLER is what the Grim Reaper looked like before he died. But when Sly walked out with a bleached blonde mohawk and the best lizard-back jacket I’ve ever seen, I almost dropped a kitten. Immediately after that I became confused when Sly disappeared. Not sure what happened to him. Everyone else seemed to be confused too, or at least they sounded that way. How odd.

Did you see SCARLET JOHANSEN looking very Pris from Blade Runner during that makeup commercial? BEYONCE was wearing some similar hideousness on her eyes too.

L.L. COOL J is too muscle bound. I think he needs to Slim Fast it a bit and stop licking his lips so damn much.

I didn’t need to see JAY Z and LINKIN PARK again. Yuck. And then out walks PAUL MCCARTNEY during a broken version of “Yesterday”. Double yuck.

Tom Hanks needs a haircut. Big foreheads do not favor long locks. So does Bruce Springsteen. Where are all the hair homos? Was every single one in New York for Fashion Week? Bruce Springsteen sounded quite good for the low-key song he sang tho.

The trio of DESTINY’S CHILD looked absolutely gorgeous.

###SONG OF THE YEAR U2 Sometimes you can’t make it on your own. (but they played a clip of we belong together for a few seconds!)

Halftime At The Grammys? What in the f#$k was that about? It was so painful. There’s seven minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

Again I ask you, where did SHERYL CROWS breasts go? She makes a cute couple with STING who was looking hot. Sting is who Bono wishes he could be.

###RECORD OF THE YEAR Green Day Boulevard of Broken Dreams

HERBIE HANCOCK and CHRISTINA AGUILERA did a fabulous duo. She looked drop dead gorgeous for a change. I actually believe they gave the best performance of the entire evening.

FIONA APPLE looked enchanting.

###BEST NEW ARTIST John Legend

The In Memoriam section was fast, but we saw Robert Moog in there, which I was hoping for. And they gave Luther only a few SECONDS. Which was terrible.

Woah QUEEN LATIFAH. Girl, why were you wearing a tire on your waist?

###ALBUM OF THE YEAR U2 How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb

There you have it. My Grammy stream of consciousness report.

I’m sick. Ugh. I’m not a happy puppy. My throat is sore, my body aches, and I’m feeling like crawling into a hole and disappering from the world. I hate the flu.

Hate, hate, hate the flu.

I hope I’m better in time for the Grammy awards. I don’t want to be sick while I’m watching them.

I feel like I stepped into a time warping machine last week and have only just now exited out the other side. My birthday came and went, I had a fantastic date with a handsome man, and I have yet to finish my next podcast.

Zoom.

I actually didn’t do very much celebrating on Saturday because I had an extremely long Friday. But it couldn’t have gone better. After a stellar dinner before Spin on Friday, we had a slow night at the club. But that was of no concern to me because after the bar closed I sped to Charlie’s to see the handsome man.

At some point on Saturday afternoon I finally made it home to shower and collapse in bed. Yes, it was my birthday, but I was so blissed out that I had no desire to leave the house, or even to stay awake. I slept and slept, received lots of calls from friends with birthday greetings and slept some more. Even the handsome man tried to pry me from my apartment, but I wasn’t going out. I was comfortable, warm, and feeling like sleeping some more.

So I did. It was perfect.

On Sunday my mother and father took me to a Greek Restaurant called Periyali in Glenview. It was quite delish, and we had a great time chatting and eating. It had been quite some time since we’d all gone out to a restaurant together, so it was nice to relax and have a glass (or two) of Retsina wine.

After that they took me home and I rested until heading out to Spin for a bit of the game (I loathe football, but I wanted to go out) and then on to Trax. I met the handsome man at Charlie’s because he had to retrieve his coat and we ate at the Melrose. Yum.

—

Dating. It’s nerve-wracking and delightful at the same time. If my house wasn’t so absolutely torn apart from dissecting all my belongings in anticipation of the move, I’d totally capture him and hold him hostage at my pad. But that isn’t an option since it looks like a tropical depression hit my house. Seriously. There are boxes, bags, stacks of records, unkempt bookshelves, and clothes everywhere.

Of course the cats are having a field day rummaging through piles of crap. But it’s my goal to get this mess sifted through in under a week or so. (yeah right, lofty goal.)

Damn it feels good to have the fever for someone.

*pant-pant*

I’ve left the dojo. My life is heating up too fast and there are way too many things going on for me to continue studying Aikido.

Is it a permanent move? I really do think so. I’ve enjoyed my time there and I’ve made some good friends, but honestly, I don’t think I’ll return to the mats in the near future.

At first, I thought I would. In fact, that’s what I spoke about with my Sensei. But after I left there last night I asked myself “If I had the time right now, would I continue training?” In my head I heard a resounding “no.”

And there it is. It was time to go. Perhaps even if I wasn’t so busy, I would have left anyway.

Every time I fast, I learn a lot about myself. This past fast was no exception. And in an odd twist, Aikido, which was teaching me to heighten my awareness, heightened it enough to see that I don’t really want to do it any more.

I’ve been meditating at home in the morning and I find it to be a much more pleasurable experience when I’m alone. The cats eventually make their way into the living room and settle down next to me and sit quietly, as if they were meditating too.

It’s also time to leave Rogers Park. I’m going full steam ahead with moving to Lakeview. I have a stack of home furnishing catalogs and each day another bag of stuff leaves my apartment, destined for the dumpster, the clothes recycling bin, or the Brown Elephant.

Purge, purge, purge. Clearing mind, house, and body. I’m trying very hard NOT to look at my current place with distaste, but it’s so easy to do. I’ve been here for so long and had such good times, but I’m really in the mood to move on.

Heh, that Sparkle song “Time To Move On” just came to mind…

Lookin’ back on all the years I gave ya, boy
And all the promises you made to me
Back then I was too damn blind to see
All of my time invested in this love affair
With working two jobs
Cookin and cleaning
But yet ya still wanna clown on me

It’s time to move on (I can not go on my baby)
Said I’m tired of hangin’ on (To all of your phoney promises, boy)
It’s time to move on (I can’t take no more of the headaches and pains)
Said I’m tried of hangin’ on (Said I’m better off gone)

Makes me think of Eric, who by the way showed up at Spin on Friday. Not quite sure what that was about, but it made me realize just how far I’ve come since I was with him. I’ve grown by leaps and bounds, something that wasn’t happening while I was with him.

I’ve honestly come to peace with the situation, and despite how awful it all was, I’ve gone beyond learning those lessons. I’m living them.

Time to move on indeed.

I saw Transamerica last night. It was playing at the Century in Evanston, so I bought a ticket online and went alone. I’m glad I did, because I couldn’t really fathom speaking after seeing it.

I’ve always felt a little out-of-the-loop on the transgendered community. Sure I played dress-up when I was younger. And even now I occasionally put on a skirt and paint for hours for fun. But I’ve never once felt like I was anything other than a man in a dress.

Perspective is something I try and gain when I don’t understand something. For instance, quantum physics is, for the most part, a big yawning black hole of information to me. It was only when I saw a three part documentary about it, where they had many people explaining it in many different ways, that is started to make the slightest sense.

I’ve not turned into a quantum physicist, but I know just barely enough about the concepts to understand what the buzz is about. I didn’t have any perspective on the subject matter before, but now I do.

It’s been the same way for me and the TG community. The very few TG “friends” I’ve ever had, only some folks I knew a long time ago, entered and left my life pretty quick. I’ve never been friends with someone who is TG. Never.

I’m not really sure why that’s the case, or if I’m at fault for anything, but I feel like that part of the queer community is somewhere out there, but I’m not invited. Not that I should be of course, but I have gay, les, and bi friends up the wazoo.

From what I have known of TG folks, it seems to be an incredibly hard journey that seldom tends to be the discussion of the hour unless you’re somehow on the inside. There’s absolutely no fault in that, but it does seem to leave a chasm in the GLBT community that nobody talks about often. Or at least nobody I’m listening to…maybe I need my ears cleaned and my eyes opened.

A-ha, eyes opened. There it is. Perspective, my original point. I don’t have any on the TG community, so when a movie or a book or anything comes along, I try and pay attention because my call for acceptance is, for better or worse, a part of their call and vice-versa. They are a part of my community, and I am a part of theirs in MANY peoples’ eyes.

Together but distinctly seperate. Isn’t that odd?

Transamerica brought me from tears to laughter and back again more times that I can count. It’s a film with both funny moments and strikingly painful ones. There are some antics that are a little bit stretched thin, and some moments when I wish I could have paused the movie to figure out why I was starting to cry.

It was a roller coaster. One I haven’t been on in quite some time.

I left the theater in a daze. On the way to the Purple line stop I tried listening to some music on my iPod but it annoyed me. I was on complete auto-pilot. Somehow I found myself in the shampoo aisle in the Dominick’s at Howard and Clark. I knew I needed shampoo, but I can’t remember how I got there. I shouldn’t have exited the train at Howard because I live at Morse, another two stops along the Red line.

After checking out and stepping back out into the cold evening I ended up walking home along Clark. I couldn’t hear anything. I could barely see. But scenes from the movie kept playing through my mind, over and over again.

There’s still many questions I have to ask myself about what I saw last night in that movie theater. But the fact that even now I’m still running it through my mind is proof-positive that it was an incredibly good movie. Perhaps even the best that I’ve seen in a very long time.

Perspective. It’s still something I’m missing about a lot of things in my life. But just knowing that is good because it means I know what I have to work on.

新年快樂
Xin Nian Kuai Ler!
Happy Chinese New Year!

In celebration I went to Chinatown for dinner last night with my friend Paul. He’d never been to that neighborhood before so it was fun to wander around with him. Although he looked a little nervous at first, I think he relaxed into it nicely. We only saw one dragon, a white one with sequinned skin.

We ate at Ken Kee, which was delish but for some reason only three bites filled me up. And then on to Saint Anne for my addiction; the coconut tart. Mmmm, coconut tart *drool* A short train ride home and I was comfortably in bed, watching episode two of Bleak House.

Could Gillian Anderson look ANY more radiant than she does in that movie? I’m beyond impressed with her faccent (that’s petermavrik for ‘fake accent’) I just made the connection that Mrs. Flight is the same actress who played one of the young maids from the early seasons of Upstairs Downstairs. The one who slept with James and became the cabaret gal who sang “What are we going to do with uncle arthur!”

I drifted to sound sleep by 9:30…

…which wasn’t good because the INCREDIBLY handsome man I met at Charlie’s on Saturday night called around 10:30 while I was dead to the world. Grr. I wish I would have been awake. It would have been fun to chat with him. Especially while lying in bed…

But no worries. I’m planning to see him very soon for dinner.

—

Saturday is my birthday. Twenty-nine. I’m planning on dinner with my folks and maybe some late night drinking.

—

I want to move RIGHT NOW. The torture of it being two months away from my move-in date is unbearable at this moment. I cannot fathom what it will be like as the date draws near, just as I cannot fathom what it will be like living in the ‘hood.

Lookout Boystown. Here I come.

Time = money.

It always has in my book. The older I get, the more that statement rings true. I’ve lately adoped another axiom:

My time is precious, therefore it costs a lot.

Now, I’m not saying I should be paid large sums of money for every little thing I contemplate doing. But I do need to be compensated for my work and my knowledge. It’s been 28…nearly 29 years in the making. And for those who want it, you gotta pay baby.

I received a healthy raise and a lovely bonus at my day job, and I couldn’t feel better about it. This year I was again passed up for a promotion, but really, I’m not worried. My compensation is beyond what I expected and I’m truly happier than ever.

In truth, I was worried when I switched jobs. Would I really be able to contribute in the new gig? I was set to turn myself into a DBA without really taking into account exactly what that meant. But looking back over the last year, I’m truly a happy man when I walk through the lobby doors in the morning. There was a time when I dreaded showing up for work. Now I virtually bounce in the door, grinning like a fool.

It makes me wonder truly where I’ll be next year, and the year after that. Here, now, on the cusp of 29 years old, I’m starting to realize that a little song I wrote so many years ago really is the essence of life. The hook is one of my favorites, and someday soon I’ll be producing the full track:

to be passionate
in life
is to
not expect
what you gain

Single but not lonely. Happy but not full of myself. Working to live, not living to work. This year is starting at a good mid-point. It may go up, it may go down, but it’s all good.

Truly. All good.

I started fasting yesterday. It’s called the Master Cleanse and basically all you do is give up food and drink as much of this juice as you like. It’s a mixture of lemon juice and pure maple syrup with a dash of cayenne pepper.

I’ve done this before and I really do know what to expect. But let me tell you it isn’t making life any easier. My head hurts, I feel really out of sorts, and I’m in a bad mood. All expected, and all rough.

By about day four or five, when my body has managed to empty most of the stuff out if my insides, I’ll start to feel a heck of a lot better. But until then it’s rough going.

I didn’t go to meditation this morning. I’m not sure I can take Aikido.

So why the torture? Well, honestly, I need it. I’ve been feeling like a big fat slab of bacon lately and my body feels congested. Not in the chest-cold sort of way, but I really do feel slow. I know it’s because I ate so poorly over the holidays and because my affinity for beer and salt have gotten the best of me as of late.

The last time I fasted, I came out the other side a new man. I’m not expecting too much out of this one, but I need to make sure my insides are squeaky clean for the arrival of Spring. My goal is to eat better.

This is step one.

So.

There was this party on Saturday night.

It was at a friend’s house.

White wine, thy evil smear upon my liver, may you forever be damned. But your taste was sublime.

I drank. I chatted. I nibbled. I met some fantastic people.

I was groped by a gentleman or two, and I was chatted up by some others.

But above all, I was enjoying life to the fullest, exactly the way a person should experience a Saturday night.

Delish.

Did anyone else catch the breathtaking first episode of “Bleak House” on PBS?

My God…or should I say My Goddess!

I chose it over Desperate Housewives and couldn’t have been happier with my decision. Not only was the cinematography incredible, seeing Gillian Anderson in Victorian garb with a FLAWLESS high class accent proved to me that she is indeed the stellar woman I have always felt she was.

It’s dark. It’s dreary. You can feel the hidden wheels-within-wheels of the story. Dickens was a master writer. The team who has transformed the story into this huge film are genius. The costumes, the lighting, the sound, the music, the visual play of shadow and light all combine to transport you right into mid-19th century England. You can feel the dust when they’re on the street. You can almost smell the candles indoors. And even as the ladies move, you can hear the rustle of fabric.

I look forward to the next five episodes.

Bleak House

Ok, so there was this creepy guy at zazen class this morning who couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop breathing hard, and basically annoyed the fuck out of me. He’s not an Aikido student, but at some point some folks met him at Clarks on Clark one morning and Toyoda Sensei invited him to class.

To be honest, the man has bad energy. You can see it in him and you can hear it in the nervous way he chatters about nothing at all. I don’t have time for him and thus far have done my best to simply ignore him. If he continues to attend class, I will stop going.

I can feel him when we’re sitting and he feels bad. Really bad. So bad in fact that while we were sitting I couldn’t focus on anything other than the end of the sit. Maybe I need to learn to relax more, or maybe I need to learn something else. Honestly I don’t care.

I’m rarely wrong about my impressions of people. If he continues to attend, I will stop.

Good christ. I think yesterday happened to be one of the busiest days I’ve ever known. Work was crazy, life was crazy, and by the time I made it home to the humble Rogers Park abode, I wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. And so I did.

Here I sit, at Starbucks at Belmont & Clark, thinking about the article I failed to write yesterday for Nightspots. Dance music will definitely be the theme, but I need to get it done. Work is going to be more hectic today than yesterday, and I suspect I won’t make it to Aikido this evening because I have about five billion things to get done before the weekend begins.

http://www.radiopeter.com has been updated with the second installment of my podcast.

Geezus, there are million things to do.

I purchased a USB microphone but still don’t have an ideal workflow. I did this past one in Garage Band by importing various tracks while preserving a single stereo audio channel for the voice work, but that isn’t perfect.

I’ve been trying out Audio Hijack Pro but I can’t seem to properly get away from the echo problem with the mic. I can hear a delay in the processing of the audio that sucks. I suppose I could mute myself out and do it like Garage Band, but I haven’t figured out all the knobs and buttons on it.

The mic isn’t perfect, and I need a windscreen. I currently have a paper towel wrapped over the mouthpiece secured by a rubber-band (high tech up in here) but that isn’t ideal either. I’m pining for a big expensive audio mic with a seriously thick windscreen on a nice motile arm far away from the powerbook so I can type and click without a care, but that ain’t gonna happen any time soon.

But I have a feel for what I want to do now, and as time passes the format will come together. So pop on over and check it out.

Told ya. I’m back again at the Belmont & Clark Starbucks drinking some sort of juice that’s called “superfood.” Mmm hmm. I’ve kinda realized that the Clark bus comes around 5:20ish by my house, so it’ll be good to get myself timed appropriately in the morning.

Whoo…the Wednesday night turn around is going to be hard. I took Garza Sensei’s last Aikido class of the day yesterday evening before I started teaching my Japanese class. As always, it was a fun class. We focused on tai sabaki which roughly means body movement. Getting certain body movement patterns down is pretty vital to the process. I’ve been told that you want your body to react naturally to attacks, and the tai sabaki we practice definitely seems to be useful for that.

But to leave the dojo around 11:30, catch the bus home, and then to wake at 4:30, catch the 5:20 bus, and be sitting here at 5:49 (right now) is rough stuff.

We’ll see how I cope later on today. I’ve organized dinner with friends at 7:45pm.

I hope I’ll stay awake…

I’ve just purchased some pillows from Linens ‘n Things in Lakeview. Hopefully they are high enough for me to do the sit tomorrow morning properly. There are a few patterns on the intenet for the zafu but I’m not sre I want to try my hand at sewing one just yet. Not like there is a machine in my house or anything, but maybe my mom would let me use hers. We’ll see how what I have works out. In the mean, I’m carring a HUGE bag around while waiting for my friend Rebeca. I’m at the Starbucks on Belmong & Clark, and I’m going to be right back here tomorrow morning, so it’s kinda odd to wait here. Perhaps I should make my exit…

I was able, randomly, to get a copy of the pinball song from Sesame Street. It’s the Pointer Sisters singing “one, two, three, FOUR, five, six, seven, eight, NINE, ten, eleven, twelve.”

I’m blissfully stupefied.

Aikido class last night was so great I nearly passed out like a narcoleptic dog. Not that I’m making fun of people with narcolepsy mind you, but when narcoleptic dogs get too excited the fall out. Thud. Poor things.

Anyway, After being a the dojo at 6am for meditation (I have another session tomorrow morning) I was right back there at 5:15pm for the triple-play Tuesday. Our first class involved us doing lots of intro work as it was a beginners class, but the new folks who’ve just joined are doing such a good job I’m pleased to bits.

It’s so fascinating to watch people work through learning their bodies again. I mean, most of us showed up without a lot of physical training and yet we all learned to do some pretty nifty things after only a few weeks. Watching the magic change in people is incredibly rewarding.

For myself, I’m conceptually understanding a lot more about how I move and how I hold myself based on my mood. That’s not to say I’m able to do much about it on a regular basis yet, but my body is changing. I’m more aware when I take a step. That’s the true beginning I think.

The second class was fun, but the third class I enjoyed the most; weapons. We did work with jo, which is basically a long broom-handle or “walking stick.” I have my own, so I’m starting to develop a relationship with a broom handle. Go ahead, giggle if you want to, but it’s true. I’m starting to get a feel for how it moves and how I can extend it just right.

At the end of class, as has become tradition, we went to Mi Tierra for some snacks and a margarita. The rain was falling softly that night, and I fell asleep immediately when my head hit the pillow.

Zzzzzz.

j, jump, joyful, jumble around
juniper, jan, jayne, john
j, jump, joyful, jumble around
jack-in-the-box jumping all over town
jingle jangle junk summer day
big j swingin’, flyin’ singin’

j, jump, joyful, jumble around
on a just nice day with the jumpinest j’s in town

jingle jangle junk summer day
big j swingin’, flyin’ singin’

j, jump, joyful, jumble around
on a just nice day with the jumpinest j’s in town

—

That’s my happy song. It’s an old Sesame Street tune that I hear in my head (yes, I’m Ally McBeal) whenever I’m insanely gleeful. And why am I frothing with felicitous festive fervor? (note: when I bust a move on the alliteration, I’m really in a good mood)

Paul and I are going on another date.

かれが好きよ！

Let me go over to the corner and melt into a puddle of cheese right now.

—

j, jump, joyful, jumble around
juniper, jan, jayne, john…

I started zazen (Zen sitting meditation) training this morning. When my alarm rang at 4:30am I was seriously considering my own sanity. I had managed to get to bed at a reasonable hour last night, but at 4:30am, with a warm hairless kitty on either side of me, the siren’s wail of my cocoon of a bed nearly kept me at home.

But not this morning.

Amid a chorus of meows, I slipped into a hot shower and finally out into the cold morning. The Clark bus came reasonably fast and I found myself at Belmont and Clark at 5:45. The Starbucks opens at 5:30 (note to self…) so I was able to pop in and wi-fi my fave podcasts into my Shuffle for use on the train while enjoying a cup of mint tea. Yum.

I knew a bit about what we were going to do, but to be honest, I was intimidated. The second foor of the dojo has a really strong feeling to me. That may sound like poppycock (damn, I NEVER get to use that word) but it’s true. They practice Iaido and Kendo up there, both sword arts. They are violent and harsh, which most likely explains why the space feels out of synch with my brain.

I saw a stack of pillows when we went up to the second floor. Sherik Sensei had a large one that looked like a hatbox. We all grabbed a few slim ones and a large square one. Then he taught us how to line up and enter the area for sitting. There’s some definite ritualness to it (everything Japanese is a ritual) but there was nothing stiffly formal.

The goal, it seems, is to sit rather cross-legged with your behind propped up higher than your knees. When you settle into the right posture, your back naturally holds you up properly and you can remain there for long periods without any pain.

While we were sitting, he explained we should try and not focus on much except our breathing. If there were any nagging thoughts, just let them pass. Count one breath, then two, and so on. If something really came into your mind, start back at one and work your way up. The goal was ten. I barely made five when I heard someone’s stomach gurgle and that broke my concentration.

I definitely need to buy a pillow (zafu) and a mat (zabuton) at some point because the ones at the dojo aren’t tall enough. I have a big butt and I need to haul it up high. Like Aikido, I haven’t the foggiest idea where this sitting is going to take me. But that’s the point of going on a new journey right? Who wants to know the end before the trip begins?

I forgot how good the intro to “Take A Chance On Me” was.

I’m working on a CD for my friend Liz. She’s holding a party called “Gals, Gays, and Gossip” which is sure to be the first hit shindig of the new year.

Naturally ABBA is a part of that CD. I think I’m going to use Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! despite my love for “Take A Chance On Me”

Totally having a Muriels Wedding moment right now tho…

Lifesource is once again doing a blood drive at work, and once again I cannot donate.

Because I’m Gay.

Men who have sex with men are forbidden to donate.

Never mind how often I get tested. Never mind how I’m safe and stocked with condoms wherever and whenever.

My blood is no good.

I would have been mad at Gabby too for kissing on my man like that. Especially someone like Lynettes hubby Tom. Hands and lips OFF!

I thought all the gals knew about the affair with John and Gabby. Interesting twist.

Did anyone else get hard when Bree walked in on her son and his boyfriend in bed. That was porn. Pure porn. And his boyfriend…would that I could meet him with a bottle of lube and a box of condoms in hand. And what a good little vengeful homosexual her son is. I love how hateful they’ve written his character. Blackmailing your own mummy is Emmy worthy stuff.

“Here’s $100. My son is trying to blackmail me and I want to stop the little SOB” How VERY Bree!

Mike, more Mike. Gimme more Mike. All the time. 24/7. He needs his own show where all he does is things like fix cars and paint walls, shirtless all the while.

Is it me or is Carlos getting less attractive each episode? His hair is too long. Favor corazon, cortalo eh.

I know leather boys who’d kill to have a dungeon like the one in the Applewhite’s house.

The new Caleb is much more attractive. But WOAH! What a twist! Didn’t see that one in the works. That creepy man shot by his own gun! And the whole fight / car accident / there’s the body scene was brilliant.

Good stuff.

…of sanity. There are about five million things I have to get done this weekend and I’m not sure I can get more than three taken care of. The highlight will be seeing “Sixteen Candles” the band at the Cubby Bear this Saturday with Paul. (more on that as it develops ;-p)

I’m stressing about my own personal podcast. I’m trying to figure out what format I want it to take and seriously considering if perhaps radiopeter wasn’t the best title, but we’ll see. There are tons of websites I need to register my ‘cast on, so perhaps as people listen I’ll get feedback.

Thank god it’s Friday.

Thirteen men going down into the earth and the entire world begins to watch and speculate, fueled but the pictures and television footage of people suffering.

Thirteen men, working hard to support their families in an industry where danger lurks closer than most people will ever experience.

Thirteen men, none rich, but none poor, with loved ones who dwell on the surface of this earth while they dig deep into the planet to help fuel our society.

Thirteen men went missing.

It was a recipe for a major news story, and the media whores descended, rutting in the worry, anguish, and pain that the families of these men were enduring. Like vultures, “correspondents” came from far and wide to “cover” the “accident”. All they really did was make the situation worse.

There was an explosion. One man died instantly. And then the hunt was on for the remaining twelve.

The exec of the mining company even said the other 12 were alive. Families rejoicing. Churches rang their bells. Finally, there was the happy ending that every American craves. But then he retracted that statement when the grim truth surfaced.

One man, barely alive.

No more bells. No more smiles. But it wasn’t quiet. Wails of pain. Screams of anguish. People, in their most raw form, suffering. And the media put it all on paper and shoved a video camera in the face of it, much to the delight of the stupid carp that feed on the news media.

Everyone is at fault here.

The mine is at fault for not being as-honest-as-quickly as possible.

You out there, you stupid carp, are at fault for eating up this news and saying it’s ok for the media to feed you this muck.

The “correspondents” who were “covering” the “accident” are at fault for insisting it’s ok to point a camera and a microphone at the face of human suffering.

Even I am at fault for writing about it.

—

If we all keep swimming along like stupid carp, eating up the trash that the media throws at us, it’s only going to get worse. They are conditioning us to enjoy suffering; to indulge in it. Why? My theory is because it makes you feel better.

Excuse me?

Yes, it makes you feel better. “Oh, thank GOD that’s not my husband down in that mine who could be dead…” “Man, I’m so glad I didn’t get in that horrible accident, LOOK at how that car is torn up!” “I’m so happy I’m not one of the 160 people blown up by a suicide bomber”

Sick and twisted, isn’t it.

I can’t think of how it’s going to get better. I don’t know how to fix the situation. I worked for the television news media for a year or so and had to leave because it was rotting my brain. I just walked away.

But I know something needs to be done.

—

Exposing suffering for the sake of watching suffering is disgusting. But, on the other hand, if you show people living in bad conditions (human suffering) because you are trying to DO something about it, that’s a completely different thing.

My final thought is this; make yourself more conscious of what you are watching and reading. Think more about what you are staring at when you look at the TV. Watch how the news programs are structured; bloody intro, bad news, bad news, health news, weather, traffic, bad news, bad news, sports, weather, ohhh! how cute! rescuing a puppy from a tree!! Most people remember the puppy and forget, consciously, all the bad news they saw.

Open your eyes. Don’t be a stupid carp.

I was reading, as I always dutifully do, the Live Journal of Alexandra Billings, one of the most interesting blogs on my list. (see the link on the side). My time to sound out, in parallel, with Alex.

Finally someone else said it. What TF was the point of Brokeback Mountain? Oh sure, it was a gorgeous movie. It had it’s ups and downs. There was tension, release, and a scene near the end at Jake G’s parents’ house that is Oscar worthy.

But what was the point? Why make this movie? I couldn’t tell what I was supposed to leave with after the movie ended. I wasn’t sad during the “big tragic” scenes. And if you ask me, the women in the film, without a doubt, were much better than any of the male roles.

Now I’ll say, I didn’t mind seeing two cowboys get shirtless and romp around. But if that’s what you want, I know a handful of porn titles I can share.

I just couldn’t figure out, and still cannot tell what the movie was supposed to do. If it was just one of those vignettes of life, then most of those Golden Globes don’t fit the bill.

—

Visit radiopeter.com and download my first Podcast!!! I cannot tell you how insanely excited I am about this project. It’s still REALLY rough, and as time passes I’ll tighten up the format, but it’s here.

I’m doing it. It’s 2006 and I’m doing it.

あけましておめでとうございます!
akemashite omedetou gozaimasu!
Happy New Year!

radiopeter.com is now online!

There are no podcasts yet because I’m still fiddling with the style of the sounds, but I’m nearing the end. I really only need to go buy a decent microphone and it’ll be live.

Me. In your ear. Can you stand it!

Well, I had a wonderful week of vacation, full of good times and lots and lots of much needed rest. I basically hibernated all week and left my house as little as possible. I’m feeling a bit of culture shock getting back into the sturm und drang of the world, but that’s life. Whaddya gonna do?

Santa was good to me. Sweaters, a stack of gift cards, food, love, good gifts all around. I think my family liked their gifts as well, and I hope to see many of them put to good use. I gave my sister some tasteful art; a large glass vase and two bundles of painted branches. With any luck it will add to her home decor. Not that I’m the Nate Burkus of design mind you, but from what I remember she needed a bit of a style adjustment. No offense.

Well I’ve gone and done it. I’ve purchased a brand spankin’ new domain and set my creative engine on full thrust. While all the paperwork is being sorted out, I’m gently simmering a podcast project that is going to blow your mind and your ears right the fuck off. Hold tight and watch this space for some news of the debut.

This will be the best you’ve ever heard me. Trust.

YEEEE HAW!

God I love payday. I just bought a black Motorola RAZR. Sexy phone. SEXY I TELL YOU.

Must learn new buttons. Must learn new commands. Must sync bluetooth.

Bluetooth?! Aside from my laptop, this is the second bluetooth gizmo I own. I hope they will talk to each other.

Am I too giddy?

God I love payday.

Why was the final episode of Top Model on Tyra’s set?

Why did Tyra show the worst parts of the show and expect the girls, obviously uncomfortable, to respond?

Why was there an eerie feeling of early Oprah during the entire thing?

Why? It could have been so good.

Oh well. Spring is around the corner.

New Top Model then.

An infamous founder of a major gang force was executed last night. I’m refraining from using the gang or the man’s name because to speak either would give them power.

This whole death penalty issue is a whirlwind of emotion for many. But I just cannot understand why the killing THIS man is such a big deal. Do not confuse the issue here; killing any man is a big deal. But why is his life far more important to preserve than any other person on death row?

We, as a society, elect people to make the judgment calls about who should be put to death and who should not. A jury of humans also decides. We have a system. We have a government. We have choices, and we have a way to affect change in this system.

This is not, in my opinion, a case of “he who yells loudest should win”. Those who beg and plead for this man to continue living, in my opinion, see themselves in the eyes of this man; this man who was instrumental in creating a great deal of suffering, either by direct or indirect action. People see themselves in him because they are afraid of the waves they make in life.

Truly, everything you say and do affects the world. There’s