I went out with my adopted kid sister and her girlfriend last night. We decide Hibachi was the order of the evening so we went to Hinode. Hinode is kid sis’s FAVORITE place to eat and I must admit I do love the Hibachi Scallops.
As it was Friday, the place was packed. We were seated at a grill table with two older straight couples. The waitress did us a favor by placing us on the opposite end of the table, as it was immediately apparent the seven of us had nothing in common. These folks were very uptight.
The one older woman, who was wearing what appeared to be a dead poodle dyed brown around her neck, had this pinched expression on her face. It truly looked as though she had to go through life smelling a cat turd.
We settled in and placed our orders. The hijinx began immediately. I noticed a woman helping her elderly mother back to the Ladies’ Room. Grandma looked like she probably would have been able to get around fine if it weren’t for the seven inch wedge sneaker contraptions she was wearing on her feet.
I nudged Sis, “Did you SEE those shoes?”
Sis, being quite the shoe aficionado, whirled, “Where?”
I explained the woman had just gone into the Loo. So for the next five minutes our heads kept swiveling around every time there was movement in that direction.
Sis’s girlfriend quipped, “You two look like hyenas on the prowl for prey.”
Sis nudged me and said, “Yeah, you get the weak one.”
At the end of the table, Poodle Woman arched a contemptuous eyebrow.
When our chef came out, he looked like he was about 13 and said his name was Scott. Scott was about as close to being Asian as I am (and there’s a reason they call me the Irish Hand Grenade) and he was having technical difficulties with the grill. He informed us it’d be a few minutes before it would warm up.
At that moment, one of the older male codgers at the end of the table came to life. “What kind of Japanese name is Scott?” He said guffawing at his own comedic brilliance. It was my turn to arch the angry brow.
He continued to berate poor Scott until he changed Scott’s name to Chuck, because that sounded German. And THAT was HILARIOUS. Not so much.
Finally, Scott got to making hibachi and we all fell back into conversation. Sis started asking me about Portland, ME. I spent a lot of time in Maine during my straight incarceration. It really is a cool city.
I told Sis as much then warned, “But you don’t want to go this time of year. You’ll freeze your hooter scooter off.”
Why is it, just as you say something really provocative or embarrassing, when you think the noise of the restaurant will shield you, some how at that moment it just gets quiet?
Yeah. It got quiet.
Scott’s head whipped around, nearly losing his spatula and perhaps a zucchini, “WHAT did you say?”
Sis and her girlfriend were collapsed in gales of laughter. So it was down to me.
Sis made a joke about me not being right in the head. I followed it up with, “Well, the hospital GAVE me a PASS.”
Scott was cracking up. We were cracking up. The geriatrics at the end of the table were NOT amused.
They were now all eyeing us in that way some straight people do, when they realize they’re being confronted with The Gays. My friends and I don’t make a point of pointing out who we are but we aren’t ashamed either. We’re obviously lesbians and sometimes I think it really troubles people that we’re so OK with it.
Sis giggled, “They just figured us out … kind of. The one with that poodle thing is mentally checking through her Dyke Diagram and wondering where our flannel is but is convinced because we talked about dogs and there was a mention of a cat.”
I chortled, drawing more attention to us and cast my eyes down embarrassed. Then I looked right back up and smiled directly at Poodle Woman. There was a lot I wanted to say:
No, I don’t give a damn you don’t approve of me or my friends. I’d hate to live in that stuffed shirt prison you call a life. I laugh and I love and I know who I am which I’m gathering is a far cry from who you are. So pay attention to your own kind down there who’ve made just a big of an ass of themselves as we have and leave us be.
It was her turn to be uncomfortable and she did turn her attention back to her group. I guess the Irish Hand Grenade can still be menacing.
Scott was just relieved the attention was off of him for the moment and gave us some extra steak. I like that kid.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Well, mom...when two men love each other...
So after typing the last line of my last post, I remembered something that happened to me while heading out to dinner with my parents a couple of years ago.
I had not yet revealed to my parents that I was, in fact, a gay man. Come to think of it, I was so deep in the closet myself at that point that all I could only find shoes by feel! Neither had I considered the general vicinity of the Queen City in which I live. So, it totally evaded me that Pride Fest was within walking distance of my apartment. (Since I wasn't out yet, I had no plans or intentions of attending.)
My parents came up for Father's Day, as well as to come to a work-related function. After we had been to my workplace, we returned to my apartment to use the restroom and freshen up for lunch. As we stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot, I heard loud speakers across the way, foretelling the enthusiastic party about to commence, disco tunes blaring and men's falsetto voices raised in response. "Woo-Woo!"
As we walked out of my apartment a few minutes later, I told my parents I'd treat lunch for a change. They agreed, and we hopped into our cars. My mom has always preferred to ride with me when she can manage it--she thinks it gives her time to "catch up" with me. I think it gives her time to annoy the hell out of me. (Did I mention my family has "subtle dysfunction" written all over it!?)
Not paying attention as we left my apartment complex, I took a left when I should've gone right. As we neared the next road, I saw "Street Closed" signs. Behind them, I saw a bright rainbow flag waving in the wind.
"Well, shit!" I muttered to myself.
"What!?" Mom asked.
"Nothing. I just forgot it was Pride Fest today. Damn! It's an easy fix, I'll just go around it."
Silence ensued for a moment, and I figured that since mom wasn't asking, there was no point in explaining. Then out of nowhere...
"Pride fest." She seemed to ruminate on the idea... "Is that a black thing?"
"Um...no, Mom." I stifled a laugh. "Um. It's, um, a gay thing."
"Oh." Her tone indicated clear misunderstanding combined ever-so-beautifully with I'm not going to ask, but I really want to--maybe if I sit silently long enough, he'll just tell me what that means.
I waited for the inevitable conversation that never happened. In my head, it went something like this:
--------------------------------------------
"So, it's a gay thing..." After an imposing silence, "Have you been to it?"
And in keeping with the perpetually 14-year-old smart-ass that lives in my head, my response would have been both simple and succinct. "ME? No. My boyfriend, however...yeah. TOTAL queen--feather boa, high heels, fishnets...the whole nine yards of glittery, sheer fabric! He's freakin' fabulous!"
--------------------------------------------
Sometimes, it really is much better to have the conversation in your head. Saying things like that out loud would've probably confused my mother more. On the other hand, if I would have said it, she'd probably have warmed up to a "normal, decent guy" like my boyfriend a lot sooner.
I had not yet revealed to my parents that I was, in fact, a gay man. Come to think of it, I was so deep in the closet myself at that point that all I could only find shoes by feel! Neither had I considered the general vicinity of the Queen City in which I live. So, it totally evaded me that Pride Fest was within walking distance of my apartment. (Since I wasn't out yet, I had no plans or intentions of attending.)
My parents came up for Father's Day, as well as to come to a work-related function. After we had been to my workplace, we returned to my apartment to use the restroom and freshen up for lunch. As we stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot, I heard loud speakers across the way, foretelling the enthusiastic party about to commence, disco tunes blaring and men's falsetto voices raised in response. "Woo-Woo!"
As we walked out of my apartment a few minutes later, I told my parents I'd treat lunch for a change. They agreed, and we hopped into our cars. My mom has always preferred to ride with me when she can manage it--she thinks it gives her time to "catch up" with me. I think it gives her time to annoy the hell out of me. (Did I mention my family has "subtle dysfunction" written all over it!?)
Not paying attention as we left my apartment complex, I took a left when I should've gone right. As we neared the next road, I saw "Street Closed" signs. Behind them, I saw a bright rainbow flag waving in the wind.
"Well, shit!" I muttered to myself.
"What!?" Mom asked.
"Nothing. I just forgot it was Pride Fest today. Damn! It's an easy fix, I'll just go around it."
Silence ensued for a moment, and I figured that since mom wasn't asking, there was no point in explaining. Then out of nowhere...
"Pride fest." She seemed to ruminate on the idea... "Is that a black thing?"
"Um...no, Mom." I stifled a laugh. "Um. It's, um, a gay thing."
"Oh." Her tone indicated clear misunderstanding combined ever-so-beautifully with I'm not going to ask, but I really want to--maybe if I sit silently long enough, he'll just tell me what that means.
I waited for the inevitable conversation that never happened. In my head, it went something like this:
--------------------------------------------
"So, it's a gay thing..." After an imposing silence, "Have you been to it?"
And in keeping with the perpetually 14-year-old smart-ass that lives in my head, my response would have been both simple and succinct. "ME? No. My boyfriend, however...yeah. TOTAL queen--feather boa, high heels, fishnets...the whole nine yards of glittery, sheer fabric! He's freakin' fabulous!"
--------------------------------------------
Sometimes, it really is much better to have the conversation in your head. Saying things like that out loud would've probably confused my mother more. On the other hand, if I would have said it, she'd probably have warmed up to a "normal, decent guy" like my boyfriend a lot sooner.
Opening Up
I was at one of the major coffee house chains the other day. (And while I won't say which one, I will simply mention that there's a literary reference in their name.) This particular location of the chain is my favorite for a number of reasons.
First and foremost, it's close to work. That means that if I'm having a bad day and want to relax after work for a few minutes, it's no problem to drive by and grab a "fancy-ass coffee"--as my boyfriend likes to call it, sit down, and just unwind. The same is equally true of otherwise bored lunch hours.
In the past year, there were more reasons to go. There were a couple of incredibly cute guys who worked the counter. And being a man of words, I enjoy a great verbal spar any time I get the opportunity. These guys could hold their own against an English major, and look good doing it. (It also didn't hurt that--again--they were CUTE. And willing to get me whatever I wanted. Really, I have simple tastes. Give me everything I ask for, and be sexy doing it. That happens, I'm happy!)
But there's another reason I love that place. One of the baristas and I have engaged in verbal sparring for the better part of the last six months. (Sorry guys; he's straight--not that I hold it against him.) And after getting in a rather impressive dig on me one lunch hour, he quickly noticed my crest-fallen face. (WHAT? I used to do theater...I make faces.) He spurted an apology, explaining that he'd never mean that in any way. On the contrary, he stated, he would greatly enjoy hanging out with me outside of the coffee house. (AWW!)
So, after having said that, and my perpetual visits to be berated and harassed by the help, out of nowhere the other day, said barista-boy plopped down at my table during his break. I was thoroughly engrossed in a book (as usual). But he started chatting away, and I was glad for it.
Then I noticed the time. It was getting close to time for me to return to work...a bit too close, actually.
I started to close my book, and he said he had another question. Okay, fine. Another question won't hurt. What can I say? I'm a sucker for sweet eyes, gay or straight!
"You just opened up to me last week about the guy you're seeing, and I appreciate that. But I know what you do for a living. How does that work? I mean, do people discriminate against you because you're gay?"
It was actually a very endearing conversation. I mean, it's not like my whole life revolves around buggery. And yes, my work sometimes does get in the way of my relationship; so does my boyfriend's! But, when you mix religious views with anything other than married straight sex, something's bound to conflict. Fortunately, though, my life hasn't been fraught with outright discrimination.
Yes, there are the times that I wish people didn't look at my boyfriend and me on a date like we're the latest exhibit at the zoo. But sometimes, it's more fun to mess with their minds and give a sort of peep show into gay life than to be upset about being the outsider. (If you aren't aware of it, I'll simply say that breeders in the queen city are astonished by anything gay. Whether it's a flag or something else, you can be sure that it'll be intriguing to a straight person!)
No, no silly story here. Just reminiscing on a great event from this week.
First and foremost, it's close to work. That means that if I'm having a bad day and want to relax after work for a few minutes, it's no problem to drive by and grab a "fancy-ass coffee"--as my boyfriend likes to call it, sit down, and just unwind. The same is equally true of otherwise bored lunch hours.
In the past year, there were more reasons to go. There were a couple of incredibly cute guys who worked the counter. And being a man of words, I enjoy a great verbal spar any time I get the opportunity. These guys could hold their own against an English major, and look good doing it. (It also didn't hurt that--again--they were CUTE. And willing to get me whatever I wanted. Really, I have simple tastes. Give me everything I ask for, and be sexy doing it. That happens, I'm happy!)
But there's another reason I love that place. One of the baristas and I have engaged in verbal sparring for the better part of the last six months. (Sorry guys; he's straight--not that I hold it against him.) And after getting in a rather impressive dig on me one lunch hour, he quickly noticed my crest-fallen face. (WHAT? I used to do theater...I make faces.) He spurted an apology, explaining that he'd never mean that in any way. On the contrary, he stated, he would greatly enjoy hanging out with me outside of the coffee house. (AWW!)
So, after having said that, and my perpetual visits to be berated and harassed by the help, out of nowhere the other day, said barista-boy plopped down at my table during his break. I was thoroughly engrossed in a book (as usual). But he started chatting away, and I was glad for it.
Then I noticed the time. It was getting close to time for me to return to work...a bit too close, actually.
I started to close my book, and he said he had another question. Okay, fine. Another question won't hurt. What can I say? I'm a sucker for sweet eyes, gay or straight!
"You just opened up to me last week about the guy you're seeing, and I appreciate that. But I know what you do for a living. How does that work? I mean, do people discriminate against you because you're gay?"
It was actually a very endearing conversation. I mean, it's not like my whole life revolves around buggery. And yes, my work sometimes does get in the way of my relationship; so does my boyfriend's! But, when you mix religious views with anything other than married straight sex, something's bound to conflict. Fortunately, though, my life hasn't been fraught with outright discrimination.
Yes, there are the times that I wish people didn't look at my boyfriend and me on a date like we're the latest exhibit at the zoo. But sometimes, it's more fun to mess with their minds and give a sort of peep show into gay life than to be upset about being the outsider. (If you aren't aware of it, I'll simply say that breeders in the queen city are astonished by anything gay. Whether it's a flag or something else, you can be sure that it'll be intriguing to a straight person!)
No, no silly story here. Just reminiscing on a great event from this week.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Pride
I watched the last strands of sobriety drowning in my beer. Shifting on my barstool I offered up a prayer or made a wish, whatever would work, to please just make it stop hurting. Even copious amounts of alcohol weren’t making me numb.
It wasn’t even the brutal way she dumped me. Even before I’d met her in person, I knew she was trouble. Something in the way she cocked her head in her online photo, something in the way her emails read … I knew. I knew it was over before it began. Yet I couldn’t help myself.
I ran headlong towards all sorts of things that were bad for me then. I was smoking too much, drinking too much and loving someone completely incapable of loving me back. Somewhere, Logic was shouting very loudly at me that I was a complete idiot who needed to pull herself together. But Ego had turned Logic’s volume down.
Ego is a bitch.
I thought about pouring my heart out to the attractive bartender, but Ego had turned my volume down too.
Fortunately, Ego was taking a nap when I was talking to my therapist a few days later. I guess I’m a backstabber because I was running Ego down pretty good while she wasn’t around to defend herself.
Ego let me think I could make someone love me. Ego let me think I could keep being gay quiet from those who didn’t want to know. Ego let me think I could handle the eventual collapse of that house of cards. Logic knew better, but Ego wouldn’t listen.
“You’re awfully hard on yourself,” my therapist said.
Logic shrugged my shoulders and said, “I walked into this with open eyes. I knew I’d get hammered. I’ve no right to be surprised.”
“I’ll grant you that,” she said, “but you don’t think you deserve it do you?”
It was, of course, at that moment our time was up. I wandered out into the bright sunshine and behind the wheel of the car. As I drove, Emotion welled up and started clamoring for a vacation from all this.
Emotion, bless her heart, was battling my broken heart as well as Ego’s detachment from reality after I’d lost my job. Emotion had been working really hard to assuage grief and shore up Ego, but she was fighting a losing battle.
“Hiatus,” she whispered in my ear. “We need a break from all this.”
For a long time, I’d been thinking of just what I wanted to say to the one who broke my heart. Something more coherent and less full of vitriol than our last exchange. Logic and Emotion were both in agreement it would have no impact. It was, sadly, at that point Ego woke up.
I braced myself for the loud argument I was sure would ensue. But somehow, Logic and Emotion got it together and gave Ego an out. Put simply, it was time to say goodbye.
Time to say goodbye to unhealthy habits, unhealthy situations and unhealthy people. It was time to embrace the people, places and practices that were positive and supportive. It was also time grow up and stop expecting good things to just appear and work on making them happen.
The bad job was easy, it was gone and I was looking at a much greener pasture. I crumpled up my last package of smokes and shoved it in the trashcan. I sold some of that writing I’d been hiding on my hard drive. I made time for some of the people I’d been neglecting.
Logic and Emotion also came together to pen a letter to my heartbreaker. It wasn’t angry but not overly contrite either. Its most salient point was goodbye. I actually smiled when I hit send.
Ego had gone on permanent hiatus and Pride had taken her place. With the shadows of those dark days receding, I decided I was only going to try to focus on the things that filled me with hope and promise. I was only going to surround myself with the people who made me smile. I was only going to do the things that filled me with a sense of Pride.
It wasn’t even the brutal way she dumped me. Even before I’d met her in person, I knew she was trouble. Something in the way she cocked her head in her online photo, something in the way her emails read … I knew. I knew it was over before it began. Yet I couldn’t help myself.
I ran headlong towards all sorts of things that were bad for me then. I was smoking too much, drinking too much and loving someone completely incapable of loving me back. Somewhere, Logic was shouting very loudly at me that I was a complete idiot who needed to pull herself together. But Ego had turned Logic’s volume down.
Ego is a bitch.
I thought about pouring my heart out to the attractive bartender, but Ego had turned my volume down too.
Fortunately, Ego was taking a nap when I was talking to my therapist a few days later. I guess I’m a backstabber because I was running Ego down pretty good while she wasn’t around to defend herself.
Ego let me think I could make someone love me. Ego let me think I could keep being gay quiet from those who didn’t want to know. Ego let me think I could handle the eventual collapse of that house of cards. Logic knew better, but Ego wouldn’t listen.
“You’re awfully hard on yourself,” my therapist said.
Logic shrugged my shoulders and said, “I walked into this with open eyes. I knew I’d get hammered. I’ve no right to be surprised.”
“I’ll grant you that,” she said, “but you don’t think you deserve it do you?”
It was, of course, at that moment our time was up. I wandered out into the bright sunshine and behind the wheel of the car. As I drove, Emotion welled up and started clamoring for a vacation from all this.
Emotion, bless her heart, was battling my broken heart as well as Ego’s detachment from reality after I’d lost my job. Emotion had been working really hard to assuage grief and shore up Ego, but she was fighting a losing battle.
“Hiatus,” she whispered in my ear. “We need a break from all this.”
For a long time, I’d been thinking of just what I wanted to say to the one who broke my heart. Something more coherent and less full of vitriol than our last exchange. Logic and Emotion were both in agreement it would have no impact. It was, sadly, at that point Ego woke up.
I braced myself for the loud argument I was sure would ensue. But somehow, Logic and Emotion got it together and gave Ego an out. Put simply, it was time to say goodbye.
Time to say goodbye to unhealthy habits, unhealthy situations and unhealthy people. It was time to embrace the people, places and practices that were positive and supportive. It was also time grow up and stop expecting good things to just appear and work on making them happen.
The bad job was easy, it was gone and I was looking at a much greener pasture. I crumpled up my last package of smokes and shoved it in the trashcan. I sold some of that writing I’d been hiding on my hard drive. I made time for some of the people I’d been neglecting.
Logic and Emotion also came together to pen a letter to my heartbreaker. It wasn’t angry but not overly contrite either. Its most salient point was goodbye. I actually smiled when I hit send.
Ego had gone on permanent hiatus and Pride had taken her place. With the shadows of those dark days receding, I decided I was only going to try to focus on the things that filled me with hope and promise. I was only going to surround myself with the people who made me smile. I was only going to do the things that filled me with a sense of Pride.
Dykes with forks: I'm sick of Progresso Edition
I have cabin fever. After coming home from work early on Monday, I never made it out of the neighborhood on Tuesday. Oh sure, I got out to try and put ice melt on the driveway so I could drive to work. Which resulted in my falling.
But then, the mere act of waking up often results in my falling. I digress.
The weekend is upon us and I figure the rest of y’all have thoughts towards finally escaping the house, so I give you a very special Dykes With Forks, Dear God I’m Sick of Progresso Edition.
We’ll start with the bad news first. Usually, I give a restaurant at least two tries before I write it off entirely. This is not something I’ll do for Rivals Casual Grill on Glenstone. As the girlfriend says, “The food sure is bad, but at least it costs a lot.”
The girlfriend had ribs and I had a burger. We should have known we were in trouble when the ribs came out with a steak knife. Eek. Don’t know about y’all, but those of us what spent time in the South know ribs are supposed to just fall off the bone when you look at ‘em cross. These ribs darn near needed a chainsaw to separate them from the bone.
The bacon cheeseburger tasted a bit like barbeque-flavored sawdust with some strips of leather tossed on for color. The cost for our meal, with tip was about $35. As I said, I generally give a place two shots but given our waitress completely ignored us, couldn’t tell me what the beer specials were and seated us right in a draft despite the establishment not being too crowded … I’m not feeling too charitable.
The good news, Pan Asia on Walnut between Campbell and South rocks the cat box. The place is small, quiet and as yet doesn’t have a liquor license but the food is delicious and the prices are great. So far I’ve sampled the Ginger Chicken, the Chicken Pad Thai and the BoBon. All of which are phenomenal. The girlfriend has also had the Pad Thai and the Cashew Chicken. Her only complaint was the Cashew Chicken was a little too salty. We’re also big fans of their Crab Rangoons and California Rolls.
We’ve eaten there at least four times and the tab has never been over $30 with tip. Well worth the trip downtown and, given I’m getting old and crotchedy, the quiet atmosphere doesn’t hurt. Quiet that is except when I drag the lesbigaggle there … in which case there’s a racket.
But then, the mere act of waking up often results in my falling. I digress.
The weekend is upon us and I figure the rest of y’all have thoughts towards finally escaping the house, so I give you a very special Dykes With Forks, Dear God I’m Sick of Progresso Edition.
We’ll start with the bad news first. Usually, I give a restaurant at least two tries before I write it off entirely. This is not something I’ll do for Rivals Casual Grill on Glenstone. As the girlfriend says, “The food sure is bad, but at least it costs a lot.”
The girlfriend had ribs and I had a burger. We should have known we were in trouble when the ribs came out with a steak knife. Eek. Don’t know about y’all, but those of us what spent time in the South know ribs are supposed to just fall off the bone when you look at ‘em cross. These ribs darn near needed a chainsaw to separate them from the bone.
The bacon cheeseburger tasted a bit like barbeque-flavored sawdust with some strips of leather tossed on for color. The cost for our meal, with tip was about $35. As I said, I generally give a place two shots but given our waitress completely ignored us, couldn’t tell me what the beer specials were and seated us right in a draft despite the establishment not being too crowded … I’m not feeling too charitable.
The good news, Pan Asia on Walnut between Campbell and South rocks the cat box. The place is small, quiet and as yet doesn’t have a liquor license but the food is delicious and the prices are great. So far I’ve sampled the Ginger Chicken, the Chicken Pad Thai and the BoBon. All of which are phenomenal. The girlfriend has also had the Pad Thai and the Cashew Chicken. Her only complaint was the Cashew Chicken was a little too salty. We’re also big fans of their Crab Rangoons and California Rolls.
We’ve eaten there at least four times and the tab has never been over $30 with tip. Well worth the trip downtown and, given I’m getting old and crotchedy, the quiet atmosphere doesn’t hurt. Quiet that is except when I drag the lesbigaggle there … in which case there’s a racket.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Adventures in plumbing, or how to know she really cares
No Fiction for Your Friday this week, but in this case I think you'll find fact is far funnier than fiction:
I am not butch. Androgynous maybe, but butch not so much. I like shoes and cosmetics way too much to be a self-respecting butch lesbian. I am, however, that lesbian who feels empowered enough to try and fix the stuff that breaks around my house.
And as we all know, Harriet Homeowner always lands herself in hot water.
I am, of course, referring to the incident all those who know me refer to as “The Great Toilet Paper Caper.” For those of you new to my world, the story goes something to the effect of: I got it in my head I was going to change the toilet paper holder in our bathroom. I purchased the new hardware, got my tools and sauntered into the bathroom to be Ms. Fix It.
I got fixed all right … right between the cabinet and the commode. I had to lie on my back to get at the old hardware and through arduous torques on the screwdriver, wedged myself in. Of course, I did what any confident, independent woman would do in a situation like this. I freaked the fuck out.
The girlfriend was on the job in Joplin, not due home for several hours. My cell phone was precisely out of reach on the cabinet above me. Just as I was about to have a thermonuclear meltdown, the Hamdog wandered in and started licking my bare foot. It tickled. A lot. Which resulted in squirming, squirming to a degree I was able to wriggle free.
I solemnly swore not to undertake anymore bathroom projects. Even to the effect of studiously ignoring the fact that the hall bath toilet had started to run longer than it should when flushed. Basically, every third time it gets used, the lid has to come off the cistern and the ball has to be manually lifted.
I wake promptly at 4:45 a.m. every day to get the pooch’s food together, give him his shot and get myself ready in time to be at the job by 6:00 a.m. Needless to say, I’m less than alert at that time. This morning was no different other than the girlfriend was feeling a little puny and I wanted to let her sleep a little longer. After all, this is the woman who bakes me chocolate cake when I’m a crabby, premenstrual mess. She is to be kept happy.
So I was trying to be quiet. TRYING operative word.
I slipped into the hall bath, home of the runny toilet, to take care of some business in hopes of staying quiet. I then proceeded to go into our room to take a shower in the master bath. ( Why I thought it would be quieter to pee in one room and then shower in the room where she was sleeping is beyond me, but see above: not terribly alert.)
When I got out of the shower I could still hear the other toilet running.
“Well hell,” I said under my breath and walked briskly out, towel wrapped around me. I noticed the girlfriend was still sleeping. As I rounded the corner and heard water splashing on the floor, all pretense of being quiet left me.
I’m told I made a sound roughly like a wounded, off-key banshee as I saw over an inch of water running onto the bathroom floor and out into the hallway. The sound propelled the girlfriend out of bed. She later told me the one thought running through her head was, “Someone better be dead for this much damn racket.”
Sick, bleary-eyed and startled, I don’t think she was quite prepared for the naked, yelling maniac trying to sop up buckets of water with nothing but a pale lavender towel. But after living with me all this time, she’s become used to the roller coaster ride that is me pre-coffee.
“Just go finish getting ready. You have to go to work,” she said calmly.
Because one of the other things she’s learned being with me is the best way to stop a full on freak out is to get me distracted. Work was a buzzword for me this morning. My annual review was today.
Like a robot following a command, I abruptly turned and went right back to our bathroom to finish getting ready.
And this is one of the billion reasons I love this woman. Even ill and hardly conscious, she’s able to manage my insanity. If I could have her sainted, I surely would. But in the meantime, I think I’ll fix that toilet. Alert the authorities.
I am not butch. Androgynous maybe, but butch not so much. I like shoes and cosmetics way too much to be a self-respecting butch lesbian. I am, however, that lesbian who feels empowered enough to try and fix the stuff that breaks around my house.
And as we all know, Harriet Homeowner always lands herself in hot water.
I am, of course, referring to the incident all those who know me refer to as “The Great Toilet Paper Caper.” For those of you new to my world, the story goes something to the effect of: I got it in my head I was going to change the toilet paper holder in our bathroom. I purchased the new hardware, got my tools and sauntered into the bathroom to be Ms. Fix It.
I got fixed all right … right between the cabinet and the commode. I had to lie on my back to get at the old hardware and through arduous torques on the screwdriver, wedged myself in. Of course, I did what any confident, independent woman would do in a situation like this. I freaked the fuck out.
The girlfriend was on the job in Joplin, not due home for several hours. My cell phone was precisely out of reach on the cabinet above me. Just as I was about to have a thermonuclear meltdown, the Hamdog wandered in and started licking my bare foot. It tickled. A lot. Which resulted in squirming, squirming to a degree I was able to wriggle free.
I solemnly swore not to undertake anymore bathroom projects. Even to the effect of studiously ignoring the fact that the hall bath toilet had started to run longer than it should when flushed. Basically, every third time it gets used, the lid has to come off the cistern and the ball has to be manually lifted.
I wake promptly at 4:45 a.m. every day to get the pooch’s food together, give him his shot and get myself ready in time to be at the job by 6:00 a.m. Needless to say, I’m less than alert at that time. This morning was no different other than the girlfriend was feeling a little puny and I wanted to let her sleep a little longer. After all, this is the woman who bakes me chocolate cake when I’m a crabby, premenstrual mess. She is to be kept happy.
So I was trying to be quiet. TRYING operative word.
I slipped into the hall bath, home of the runny toilet, to take care of some business in hopes of staying quiet. I then proceeded to go into our room to take a shower in the master bath. ( Why I thought it would be quieter to pee in one room and then shower in the room where she was sleeping is beyond me, but see above: not terribly alert.)
When I got out of the shower I could still hear the other toilet running.
“Well hell,” I said under my breath and walked briskly out, towel wrapped around me. I noticed the girlfriend was still sleeping. As I rounded the corner and heard water splashing on the floor, all pretense of being quiet left me.
I’m told I made a sound roughly like a wounded, off-key banshee as I saw over an inch of water running onto the bathroom floor and out into the hallway. The sound propelled the girlfriend out of bed. She later told me the one thought running through her head was, “Someone better be dead for this much damn racket.”
Sick, bleary-eyed and startled, I don’t think she was quite prepared for the naked, yelling maniac trying to sop up buckets of water with nothing but a pale lavender towel. But after living with me all this time, she’s become used to the roller coaster ride that is me pre-coffee.
“Just go finish getting ready. You have to go to work,” she said calmly.
Because one of the other things she’s learned being with me is the best way to stop a full on freak out is to get me distracted. Work was a buzzword for me this morning. My annual review was today.
Like a robot following a command, I abruptly turned and went right back to our bathroom to finish getting ready.
And this is one of the billion reasons I love this woman. Even ill and hardly conscious, she’s able to manage my insanity. If I could have her sainted, I surely would. But in the meantime, I think I’ll fix that toilet. Alert the authorities.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Q&A with Rebecca Clark, GLO President
Q: How long have you served on the GLO Board?
A: I have attended board and Pride committee meetings off and on over the past two years. I have been a GLO Board member since April 2008.
Q: Why did you decide to get involved?
A: I was involved with the organization of the Northwest Arkansas GLBT Community Center a couple of years ago. At the time, I was dating someone in Arkansas and through helping them build their organization I realized I had a strong desire to make a difference in “my” community as well.
Q: What was behind your decision to become GLO's president?
A: After becoming a board member and being on the Pride committee, I saw what dedication it took to make a difference. We need people to make a difference in this community. I have a passion for our Community Center and want to see it continue to flourish. It takes a lot of work to keep a center running and I decided I was going to help make that happen.
I have a great group of Board Members and together we make a great team!
Q: Do you worry about the visibility of the position?
A: Not really. However, I am the president of my local Neighborhood Organization and I am not out to that organization. If I were to be challenged I would resign from that position as I feel very passionate about our GLO Community Center. That has to be my main focus. I am out to my friends and co-workers which makes it easier for me to be comfortable in my position.
Q: What is your overall vision for GLO?
A: Getting the center more publicized. So many people don’t even KNOW that we have a center. I find that very sad since this is our 12th anniversary. Being in the Bible Belt I know is a challenge, but I want to change that. I would like to see the Community Center host more community groups such as a LGBTQ Support Group, LGBTQ Parents Group etc. We have a center that can be utilized in so many ways.
Q: What changes are taking place at GLO?
A: We are currently working on having the GLO Center open during the week for visitors as well as trying to have someone on hand to answer the phones. This takes volunteers!!! We have a practicum student from Missouri State University who will be keeping the center open on Fridays from 8am to 5pm. But we need more help during the week. The center has recently been donated 3 computers by the Kansas City Community Center. Having the center open will give those who don’t have a computer access to the internet and other resources.
We have several MSU students who have graciously offered their time and energy to keep the center open as well as changing the décor of the center to look even more inviting. They have done such an awesome job! Anyone who has not seen the center recently should come check it out. We are also working on donations of furniture to replace the existing couches. We will be having a work day in the spring to paint and work on the interior of the center.
Q: What sorts of GLO events are coming up?
A: We have recently hosted a Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner at the GLO Center. Although the center has hosted Thanksgiving dinner annually this was our first year to host the Christmas dinner. It was a great success and we will continue this annually as well. I want everyone in our community to have a place to go for the holidays. Join us next year for great food and fun with your family and friends!
We have a fundraiser event “THE GLO SHOW” January 24th 2009 at The Edge at 10pm. Visit our website www.glocenter.org and follow the link. This is a great way to show your support of YOUR Community Center.
There are several events coming up so keep visiting our website to see what is going on in your community! We are working on bringing back the Friday Night Movie Night. We want our community to have a place to come mingle with others and have a great time. We have also started the First Friday art display where we will showcase local LGBTQ artists.
Pride 2009 planning is well under way. Pride will be held Sunday June 14th from 1pm to 8pm on the GLO Center grounds. If you would like to have a Vendors Booth or be a Sponsor of Pride please contact the center.
Q: Any other words of wisdom?
A: I just want to thank you for the opportunity to be the GLO President and I look forward to working with everyone to make our community better, stronger and more active.
A: I have attended board and Pride committee meetings off and on over the past two years. I have been a GLO Board member since April 2008.
Q: Why did you decide to get involved?
A: I was involved with the organization of the Northwest Arkansas GLBT Community Center a couple of years ago. At the time, I was dating someone in Arkansas and through helping them build their organization I realized I had a strong desire to make a difference in “my” community as well.
Q: What was behind your decision to become GLO's president?
A: After becoming a board member and being on the Pride committee, I saw what dedication it took to make a difference. We need people to make a difference in this community. I have a passion for our Community Center and want to see it continue to flourish. It takes a lot of work to keep a center running and I decided I was going to help make that happen.
I have a great group of Board Members and together we make a great team!
Q: Do you worry about the visibility of the position?
A: Not really. However, I am the president of my local Neighborhood Organization and I am not out to that organization. If I were to be challenged I would resign from that position as I feel very passionate about our GLO Community Center. That has to be my main focus. I am out to my friends and co-workers which makes it easier for me to be comfortable in my position.
Q: What is your overall vision for GLO?
A: Getting the center more publicized. So many people don’t even KNOW that we have a center. I find that very sad since this is our 12th anniversary. Being in the Bible Belt I know is a challenge, but I want to change that. I would like to see the Community Center host more community groups such as a LGBTQ Support Group, LGBTQ Parents Group etc. We have a center that can be utilized in so many ways.
Q: What changes are taking place at GLO?
A: We are currently working on having the GLO Center open during the week for visitors as well as trying to have someone on hand to answer the phones. This takes volunteers!!! We have a practicum student from Missouri State University who will be keeping the center open on Fridays from 8am to 5pm. But we need more help during the week. The center has recently been donated 3 computers by the Kansas City Community Center. Having the center open will give those who don’t have a computer access to the internet and other resources.
We have several MSU students who have graciously offered their time and energy to keep the center open as well as changing the décor of the center to look even more inviting. They have done such an awesome job! Anyone who has not seen the center recently should come check it out. We are also working on donations of furniture to replace the existing couches. We will be having a work day in the spring to paint and work on the interior of the center.
Q: What sorts of GLO events are coming up?
A: We have recently hosted a Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner at the GLO Center. Although the center has hosted Thanksgiving dinner annually this was our first year to host the Christmas dinner. It was a great success and we will continue this annually as well. I want everyone in our community to have a place to go for the holidays. Join us next year for great food and fun with your family and friends!
We have a fundraiser event “THE GLO SHOW” January 24th 2009 at The Edge at 10pm. Visit our website www.glocenter.org and follow the link. This is a great way to show your support of YOUR Community Center.
There are several events coming up so keep visiting our website to see what is going on in your community! We are working on bringing back the Friday Night Movie Night. We want our community to have a place to come mingle with others and have a great time. We have also started the First Friday art display where we will showcase local LGBTQ artists.
Pride 2009 planning is well under way. Pride will be held Sunday June 14th from 1pm to 8pm on the GLO Center grounds. If you would like to have a Vendors Booth or be a Sponsor of Pride please contact the center.
Q: Any other words of wisdom?
A: I just want to thank you for the opportunity to be the GLO President and I look forward to working with everyone to make our community better, stronger and more active.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Gay glasses, Surfer waiters, and an Evening out
While out with my partner this weekend, we decided to visit one of our favorite restaurants. I'm not going to mention names. I'm simply going to say that it is downtown, that it's somewhat on the pricey side, and that it tends to be good food, regardless.
When we arrived on Saturday night without a reservation, I wasn't surprised that we'd have a wait. That's to be expected. So, we agreed to take a side table at the house bar, and the wait staff would get us when a table was available. At the time, we were told 20 minutes or so.
In walks a gentleman with the most gay-looking eyeglasses I've ever seen. I'm not using "gay" in the sense of "stupid." I mean: GAY, fab-u-lous, snap that "z", and hand me the Louis Vitton.
Just how did these look? Dark black, contemporary front frames, somewhat rectangular in shape. (No major problem--run of the mill "emo" there...) The kicker was the 5/8" thick ear pieces that were glaring white. WHITE. I'm not sure if he picked these out on his own, if his girlfriend picked them out, or if he just thinks he's taking years off his nearing-50 life...it just looked uber-gay.
On the subject of gay glasses, I'm a non-expert. I admit to owning a pair of Buddy Holly-esque glasses, which my boyfriend has pointed out on more than one occasion he loves to see me in. And yes, in 2009, if you wear Buddy Holly style glasses, you probably do look a little bit gay. But when you go all out with the white earpieces on your super-contemporary glasses, it screams "wannabe gay".
It's a lark, if for no other reason than our odd encounter with Mr. Fabulous. First, he looked at my boyfriend and I sitting silently over his gin & tonic and my beer, offering one of those "Really? Two guys together?" looks. (Did I mention HE was wearing the gay glasses?) He glanced at us while he took a call on his cell phone near the restaurant's entrance. (Totally different pet peeve!) Don't worry--the encounter gets SO much better.
The patrons of the restaurant were taking their time Saturday. So much so that the staff provided us with a little specialty appetizer, in gratitude for our patience. We gladly accepted, and shortly after we finished the plate, were taken to our table. Guess who was at the table behind us? (If you have a sense of the ironic twist of God's humor, you probably know the answer here!)
Turns out Mr. Fabulous has a donkey laugh. A very loud donkey laugh. Which he was not afraid to pull out of his arsenal of annoying dinner habits.
Add to that our waiter who I'm pretty sure just arrived in the Queen City from the California beaches. He had the shaggy blond hair, the barely-visible blond goatee, and the put-on "I'm your bro, Bro" attitude. Halfway through dinner, I found myself thinking that if it seemed kind of stereotypical surfer, it probably was part of his personality.
My boyfriend and I also observed a strange fact about eating at nice restaurants lately. People have gone into cafeteria mode. They modify their orders to suit personal tastes, taking this item off the plate but replacing it with this other item. They speak at volumes heard only otherwise used in contacting individuals across a field. They ignore waiters or waitresses, as well as bussers. (Remember when your mom told you that "Thanks" goes a long way?) And then look at other patrons with awe or disgust.
It's here that I mention that at an earlier date, my boyfriend and I went to the same restaurant and watched as, one by one, members of another table took turns looking at the gay boys. To be honest, the faces were priceless, especially when they realized we saw them looking at us. That's the best way to get people embarrased about your sexuality: take note that they notice!
At least the food was good!
When we arrived on Saturday night without a reservation, I wasn't surprised that we'd have a wait. That's to be expected. So, we agreed to take a side table at the house bar, and the wait staff would get us when a table was available. At the time, we were told 20 minutes or so.
In walks a gentleman with the most gay-looking eyeglasses I've ever seen. I'm not using "gay" in the sense of "stupid." I mean: GAY, fab-u-lous, snap that "z", and hand me the Louis Vitton.
Just how did these look? Dark black, contemporary front frames, somewhat rectangular in shape. (No major problem--run of the mill "emo" there...) The kicker was the 5/8" thick ear pieces that were glaring white. WHITE. I'm not sure if he picked these out on his own, if his girlfriend picked them out, or if he just thinks he's taking years off his nearing-50 life...it just looked uber-gay.
On the subject of gay glasses, I'm a non-expert. I admit to owning a pair of Buddy Holly-esque glasses, which my boyfriend has pointed out on more than one occasion he loves to see me in. And yes, in 2009, if you wear Buddy Holly style glasses, you probably do look a little bit gay. But when you go all out with the white earpieces on your super-contemporary glasses, it screams "wannabe gay".
It's a lark, if for no other reason than our odd encounter with Mr. Fabulous. First, he looked at my boyfriend and I sitting silently over his gin & tonic and my beer, offering one of those "Really? Two guys together?" looks. (Did I mention HE was wearing the gay glasses?) He glanced at us while he took a call on his cell phone near the restaurant's entrance. (Totally different pet peeve!) Don't worry--the encounter gets SO much better.
The patrons of the restaurant were taking their time Saturday. So much so that the staff provided us with a little specialty appetizer, in gratitude for our patience. We gladly accepted, and shortly after we finished the plate, were taken to our table. Guess who was at the table behind us? (If you have a sense of the ironic twist of God's humor, you probably know the answer here!)
Turns out Mr. Fabulous has a donkey laugh. A very loud donkey laugh. Which he was not afraid to pull out of his arsenal of annoying dinner habits.
Add to that our waiter who I'm pretty sure just arrived in the Queen City from the California beaches. He had the shaggy blond hair, the barely-visible blond goatee, and the put-on "I'm your bro, Bro" attitude. Halfway through dinner, I found myself thinking that if it seemed kind of stereotypical surfer, it probably was part of his personality.
My boyfriend and I also observed a strange fact about eating at nice restaurants lately. People have gone into cafeteria mode. They modify their orders to suit personal tastes, taking this item off the plate but replacing it with this other item. They speak at volumes heard only otherwise used in contacting individuals across a field. They ignore waiters or waitresses, as well as bussers. (Remember when your mom told you that "Thanks" goes a long way?) And then look at other patrons with awe or disgust.
It's here that I mention that at an earlier date, my boyfriend and I went to the same restaurant and watched as, one by one, members of another table took turns looking at the gay boys. To be honest, the faces were priceless, especially when they realized we saw them looking at us. That's the best way to get people embarrased about your sexuality: take note that they notice!
At least the food was good!
FemeNazis at Library Station
This little tid bit in the News-Leader made my stomach churn:
It would seem the National Socialist Movement (read Nazi Nutjobs) is upset that the white race doesn't get its due. Sigh. Really. Further, they take issue with those who support diversity saying that we don't really support diversity if we want to interbreed because then we wouldn't be diverse.
I'll give you a second to wrap your head around THAT logic.
Further, the group calls for all immigrants to be deported either peaceably or by force. Oh, and there's no room in the U.S. for Jews or homos.
Not that I'm particularly surprised by this group's beliefs, but wow. 1957 called, they'd like their racism and lynchings back, thanks.
I make light, but the reason I'm even giving these imbeciles the time of day is because these are the kinds of idiots we need to be on the look out for. I know, I know. It gets wearing just dealing with the cranky Baptists and AG's who want to fix us. But these gals, kids, might just want to do us harm and we've got no one to stand up for us but ourselves.
Knowledge is power.
Around 30 members and supporters of the National Socialist Movement came to the Library Station on Saturday night to listen to speeches and take questions from opponents and potential recruits.
It would seem the National Socialist Movement (read Nazi Nutjobs) is upset that the white race doesn't get its due. Sigh. Really. Further, they take issue with those who support diversity saying that we don't really support diversity if we want to interbreed because then we wouldn't be diverse.
I'll give you a second to wrap your head around THAT logic.
Further, the group calls for all immigrants to be deported either peaceably or by force. Oh, and there's no room in the U.S. for Jews or homos.
Not that I'm particularly surprised by this group's beliefs, but wow. 1957 called, they'd like their racism and lynchings back, thanks.
I make light, but the reason I'm even giving these imbeciles the time of day is because these are the kinds of idiots we need to be on the look out for. I know, I know. It gets wearing just dealing with the cranky Baptists and AG's who want to fix us. But these gals, kids, might just want to do us harm and we've got no one to stand up for us but ourselves.
Knowledge is power.
Biting diabetes back
Continuing with the bitter theme, our own Disgruntled Whistle Pig has a gripe or two of her own.
My dog is a portly fellow. Ever since we had him neutered he has had issues with his weight. Early last spring, I began to suspect his thyroid might be the culprit. When I took him to the vet on an unrelated issue, they immediately landed in the middle of my back about my “morbidly obese” dog.
Ham dog was 70 pounds, which is WAY overweight for his breed. I’d cut him back to two cups of food a day and a couple of slices of very thin lunchmeat turkey. His weight hadn’t budged. When I suggested to the vet he had a thyroid problem, the vet insisted it was my fault and said I should put him on a vegetable soup diet.
No. I’m not kidding.
I’ll spare you the details except to say, it REALLY didn’t work.
Just after Christmas he started drinking an obscene amount of water and having accidents in the house. This is totally unlike my dog so I took him to the vet, a different vet.
Within moments of having a urine sample taken, I was told they suspected he was diabetic but a blood test was needed to confirm. I agreed and asked if a thyroid test was in that round of blood work. The vet said no, but that he could run that test if I’d like
Oh yeah. I’d like.
Sure enough, now diabetic, Ham dog also has a thyroid problem. I can’t help but wonder if this simple test had been done months ago when I’d asked if he might not have become diabetic. The vet tells me that once we get his weight down he may be able to go off his twice daily insulin shots.
On the positive side, I’m now taking Hamish to the Grant Avenue Veterinary Clinic and I’m thrilled with them. They couldn’t be nicer and have taken very good care of my baby.
Grant Avenue is located at 1037 S. Grant Avenue, 417-869-1581, if you’re in the market for a vet.
While I’m not naming the vet who suggested the soup diet, because my hope is that all the staff at that office aren’t that daft, if you want to know where not to go please email me. I’ll be glad to share the details.
Hammy is now doing quite well with his shots and his thyroid meds. He's biting the disease that bit him He's lost two more pounds since has last vet visit a week ago. He's also my happy, peppy, bouncy puppy again and I couldn't be more relieved.
My dog is a portly fellow. Ever since we had him neutered he has had issues with his weight. Early last spring, I began to suspect his thyroid might be the culprit. When I took him to the vet on an unrelated issue, they immediately landed in the middle of my back about my “morbidly obese” dog.
Ham dog was 70 pounds, which is WAY overweight for his breed. I’d cut him back to two cups of food a day and a couple of slices of very thin lunchmeat turkey. His weight hadn’t budged. When I suggested to the vet he had a thyroid problem, the vet insisted it was my fault and said I should put him on a vegetable soup diet.
No. I’m not kidding.
I’ll spare you the details except to say, it REALLY didn’t work.
Just after Christmas he started drinking an obscene amount of water and having accidents in the house. This is totally unlike my dog so I took him to the vet, a different vet.
Within moments of having a urine sample taken, I was told they suspected he was diabetic but a blood test was needed to confirm. I agreed and asked if a thyroid test was in that round of blood work. The vet said no, but that he could run that test if I’d like
Oh yeah. I’d like.
Sure enough, now diabetic, Ham dog also has a thyroid problem. I can’t help but wonder if this simple test had been done months ago when I’d asked if he might not have become diabetic. The vet tells me that once we get his weight down he may be able to go off his twice daily insulin shots.
On the positive side, I’m now taking Hamish to the Grant Avenue Veterinary Clinic and I’m thrilled with them. They couldn’t be nicer and have taken very good care of my baby.
Grant Avenue is located at 1037 S. Grant Avenue, 417-869-1581, if you’re in the market for a vet.
While I’m not naming the vet who suggested the soup diet, because my hope is that all the staff at that office aren’t that daft, if you want to know where not to go please email me. I’ll be glad to share the details.
Hammy is now doing quite well with his shots and his thyroid meds. He's biting the disease that bit him He's lost two more pounds since has last vet visit a week ago. He's also my happy, peppy, bouncy puppy again and I couldn't be more relieved.
An Open Letter to GO Magazine
Dykes with forks will be brought to you this week by Disgruntled Foodie. In fact, expect lots from her. She's far meaner than we could EVER be. This week she shares an email she sent to the editors of GO Magazine.
Dear GO Magazine:
Please GO away.
This weekend, I stopped in the Coffee Ethic for coffee and a bagel to kick start my Saturday. I picked up a copy of GO to read while I swilled my caffeine. My intelligence was immediately offended.
From the ridiculous puff piece on dive bars, (and you make it readily apparent you wouldn’t know what an actual dive bar was if it walked up and bit you on your pretentious hind end) to the completely out of date, and somewhat offensive, blurb on the now defunct JR’s bar under the Gay and Lesbian bar section I was appalled.
Just so you know, JR’s closed months ago. The bar is still a gay friendly place, but it’s now under new ownership and is called Trick. It has been since sometime in November. And the catty little comment about it being “the nicest gay bar on Commercial Street” (because I’m guessing it’s the only one) is petty and childish.
But I digress.
What REALLY got me was your “review” of The French Quarter restaurant.
I grew up in a town where food reviewers worked hard to maintain a low profile so that they could go into dining establishments without notice. The idea, you see, is to not only get a sense of the food but also the service. As a food reviewer, the job is to let people know what they can expect when they go spend their hard earned cash on a night out. Another part of the job is to have the cajones to say a place sucks if it’s warranted.
Review, you see, means to critically examine. Your “review” of French Quarter is no better than a third rate recommendation. And I’m certain your experience at the establishment would be far different from mine as the average customer because I’m reasonably certain your profile while visiting was anything but low.
How? Because you dragged Jeff Jenkins with you. Jenkins, in addition to being Mr. Skinny Improv, must have his nose fairly far up the GO Edtior’s posterior given his name and photo are sprinkled liberally throughout the publication. I wonder what kind of discount the two of you got as well?
Regardless, Jenkins was likely recognized and I doubt you were treated the same as Joe or Judy Ordinary Customer.
I also got to wondering if this was just a one off thing. I’m willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Until, that is, I combed through the online GO Eats archive. I found nary a “review” there. I found a few quirky and unreliable “rating systems,” a ridiculous number of articles on hot dogs, a comparison of Ocean Zen and Wal Mart’s sushi offerings, but not a single review.
Clearly, that’s because you don’t know how to write one. You’d be doing your readership a far bigger favor by simply printing the Health Department reports. At least then they’d know where it was SAFE to eat.
Now look, I realize you’ve got bills to pay and that means advertisers to keep happy. I also realize a fair number of your advertisers are restaurants … and Jeff Jenkins. At least, I hope he’s paying you. Otherwise, you’re getting raped on free press for the guy.
If you want to write favorably about local eateries, that’s just groovy, but don’t insult our intelligence by calling them reviews.
Sincerely,
An Insulted Foodie
One point of clarification: I've never eaten at The French Quarter and have no predisposition to how the food or service is at said establishment. My complaint was NOT with the restaurant, rather with the way the restaurant was "reviewed" er, recommended.
Dear GO Magazine:
Please GO away.
This weekend, I stopped in the Coffee Ethic for coffee and a bagel to kick start my Saturday. I picked up a copy of GO to read while I swilled my caffeine. My intelligence was immediately offended.
From the ridiculous puff piece on dive bars, (and you make it readily apparent you wouldn’t know what an actual dive bar was if it walked up and bit you on your pretentious hind end) to the completely out of date, and somewhat offensive, blurb on the now defunct JR’s bar under the Gay and Lesbian bar section I was appalled.
Just so you know, JR’s closed months ago. The bar is still a gay friendly place, but it’s now under new ownership and is called Trick. It has been since sometime in November. And the catty little comment about it being “the nicest gay bar on Commercial Street” (because I’m guessing it’s the only one) is petty and childish.
But I digress.
What REALLY got me was your “review” of The French Quarter restaurant.
I grew up in a town where food reviewers worked hard to maintain a low profile so that they could go into dining establishments without notice. The idea, you see, is to not only get a sense of the food but also the service. As a food reviewer, the job is to let people know what they can expect when they go spend their hard earned cash on a night out. Another part of the job is to have the cajones to say a place sucks if it’s warranted.
Review, you see, means to critically examine. Your “review” of French Quarter is no better than a third rate recommendation. And I’m certain your experience at the establishment would be far different from mine as the average customer because I’m reasonably certain your profile while visiting was anything but low.
How? Because you dragged Jeff Jenkins with you. Jenkins, in addition to being Mr. Skinny Improv, must have his nose fairly far up the GO Edtior’s posterior given his name and photo are sprinkled liberally throughout the publication. I wonder what kind of discount the two of you got as well?
Regardless, Jenkins was likely recognized and I doubt you were treated the same as Joe or Judy Ordinary Customer.
I also got to wondering if this was just a one off thing. I’m willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Until, that is, I combed through the online GO Eats archive. I found nary a “review” there. I found a few quirky and unreliable “rating systems,” a ridiculous number of articles on hot dogs, a comparison of Ocean Zen and Wal Mart’s sushi offerings, but not a single review.
Clearly, that’s because you don’t know how to write one. You’d be doing your readership a far bigger favor by simply printing the Health Department reports. At least then they’d know where it was SAFE to eat.
Now look, I realize you’ve got bills to pay and that means advertisers to keep happy. I also realize a fair number of your advertisers are restaurants … and Jeff Jenkins. At least, I hope he’s paying you. Otherwise, you’re getting raped on free press for the guy.
If you want to write favorably about local eateries, that’s just groovy, but don’t insult our intelligence by calling them reviews.
Sincerely,
An Insulted Foodie
One point of clarification: I've never eaten at The French Quarter and have no predisposition to how the food or service is at said establishment. My complaint was NOT with the restaurant, rather with the way the restaurant was "reviewed" er, recommended.
No place like home
My good friend Wildefan is taking the reins today. Sorry for the prolonged silence, I've been recovering from numerous health issues. Be back shortly, but in the meantime enjoy the following.
For New Year's weekend, my boyfriend and I decided we needed a much-deserved break from our lives. More than that, we needed a weekend together, where we might actually wake up seeing one another. So after he finished his job on Friday, we headed to Dallas, TX.
For those unaware, you might take note that Dallas exists in some small part BECAUSE it has gays. I mean, there are more than a couple of sections of town that wouldn't be possible without the gay influence. In one neighborhood, we found a Crate & Barrel, a Pottery Barn, and a Restoration Hardware. Not to mention a Wine Bar and an Apple Store nearby. Within walking distance is a Borders Bookstore, a Brooks Brothers clothier, and a Polo store.
The point is, Dallas is GAY! With a capital "G" and a snapping "Z". Yes, yes. It's gay-lorious.
My boyfriend and I decided to go for a quiet, romantic dinner at a local restaurant.
Even if we weren't gay, the restaurant was. It was cozy and intimate, full of character with art for sale on the walls. The waiters all wore tight pants, and everything was upscale, including the shopping center at-the-door valet parking.
As I listened to the chatter around us (I'm a people watcher), my eyes locked in on a table nearby. There was a middle-aged couple, obviously married, sitting with a lone gentleman of their age. No ring on his finger, a vibrant personality, and a voice that closely matches nearly every stereotypical "gay" thing imaginable. The conversation progressed, and his voice became more gay each moment. At one point, I finally looked at my boyfriend, leaned in, and said, "Honey, I found the gay!"
To which he responded, "You think EVERYONE is gay."
"No, I mean it. This guy is G-AY. Just close your eyes, listen to his voice for a minute, and tell me I'm wrong." He did so. And then agreed quickly.
"Yep. We have a winner! He's gay."
Five minutes later, we were enjoying a couple of plates, the first glass of wine was consumed for each of us, and I hear the guy talking to this couple about their web site. They asked about hackers and protection. He responded in kind. Then he said it.
"Well, I suppose you heard about that online dating service. Now they HAVE to provide 'M seeking M' as an option. But there'll always be those sickos out there."
My head raised faster than any dog, and I'm sure I uttered a Scooby-Doo-esque sound.
Boyfriend looked at me and whispered, quickly and repetitively, "Let it go. Don't make a scene. It's not worth it. Let it go. Really, let it go."
"No. Not going to happen. I'm pissed. That's not okay. EVER."
About that time, the woman at the table slowly raised her head. Slowly, she turned toward us. Her eyes caught mine. I stared daggers. She lowered her head, still slowly, and turned away, back to her table.
No words were said. Nothing said to the management, nor did anyone apologize. It's the first time I've had something stated of that nature in my presence. I immediately told my boyfriend we were going to leave. I wanted to have more dishes at that place, but not that night. Not at that time.
We walked right past the table with the offender, no eye contact was made on either side. In ways, I'm sure he won. But it's really difficult for a permanent loser to really win. As my boyfriend and I walked out of the restaurant, I thought of a thousand things to say to the hostess, who asked "How was you boys' meal?" I couldn't state one aloud, aside from "The food was good."
Who knew a small city in southern Missouri could be more friendly than a large city with a much more blatant gay population?
For New Year's weekend, my boyfriend and I decided we needed a much-deserved break from our lives. More than that, we needed a weekend together, where we might actually wake up seeing one another. So after he finished his job on Friday, we headed to Dallas, TX.
For those unaware, you might take note that Dallas exists in some small part BECAUSE it has gays. I mean, there are more than a couple of sections of town that wouldn't be possible without the gay influence. In one neighborhood, we found a Crate & Barrel, a Pottery Barn, and a Restoration Hardware. Not to mention a Wine Bar and an Apple Store nearby. Within walking distance is a Borders Bookstore, a Brooks Brothers clothier, and a Polo store.
The point is, Dallas is GAY! With a capital "G" and a snapping "Z". Yes, yes. It's gay-lorious.
My boyfriend and I decided to go for a quiet, romantic dinner at a local restaurant.
Even if we weren't gay, the restaurant was. It was cozy and intimate, full of character with art for sale on the walls. The waiters all wore tight pants, and everything was upscale, including the shopping center at-the-door valet parking.
As I listened to the chatter around us (I'm a people watcher), my eyes locked in on a table nearby. There was a middle-aged couple, obviously married, sitting with a lone gentleman of their age. No ring on his finger, a vibrant personality, and a voice that closely matches nearly every stereotypical "gay" thing imaginable. The conversation progressed, and his voice became more gay each moment. At one point, I finally looked at my boyfriend, leaned in, and said, "Honey, I found the gay!"
To which he responded, "You think EVERYONE is gay."
"No, I mean it. This guy is G-AY. Just close your eyes, listen to his voice for a minute, and tell me I'm wrong." He did so. And then agreed quickly.
"Yep. We have a winner! He's gay."
Five minutes later, we were enjoying a couple of plates, the first glass of wine was consumed for each of us, and I hear the guy talking to this couple about their web site. They asked about hackers and protection. He responded in kind. Then he said it.
"Well, I suppose you heard about that online dating service. Now they HAVE to provide 'M seeking M' as an option. But there'll always be those sickos out there."
My head raised faster than any dog, and I'm sure I uttered a Scooby-Doo-esque sound.
Boyfriend looked at me and whispered, quickly and repetitively, "Let it go. Don't make a scene. It's not worth it. Let it go. Really, let it go."
"No. Not going to happen. I'm pissed. That's not okay. EVER."
About that time, the woman at the table slowly raised her head. Slowly, she turned toward us. Her eyes caught mine. I stared daggers. She lowered her head, still slowly, and turned away, back to her table.
No words were said. Nothing said to the management, nor did anyone apologize. It's the first time I've had something stated of that nature in my presence. I immediately told my boyfriend we were going to leave. I wanted to have more dishes at that place, but not that night. Not at that time.
We walked right past the table with the offender, no eye contact was made on either side. In ways, I'm sure he won. But it's really difficult for a permanent loser to really win. As my boyfriend and I walked out of the restaurant, I thought of a thousand things to say to the hostess, who asked "How was you boys' meal?" I couldn't state one aloud, aside from "The food was good."
Who knew a small city in southern Missouri could be more friendly than a large city with a much more blatant gay population?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)