“Merry Christmas and Happy smoking!”

Joseph and his amazing technicolor toilet

You might be thinking: “Good Christ! What fashion hell is Michael Guy wearing?!” Maybe you are not thinking that. Maybe there are those among your legions out there sitting in the vast cyber darkness who recognize this colorful shirt as D&G Resort 2010. I am sooo fuckin’ fashion forward that I’m already sporting next season’s collection here, little lambs. It was frightfully fished from the dumpster expensive. But I am so digressing. And because this in the internetz I can bullshit boldface lie about this shitty t-shirt and you’ll take it as truthiness.

But let’s get to the point: yesterday morning I visited my bathroom as I’m wont to do from time to time. Usually I just nonchalantly whiz and check my lip liner for cracks but yesterday morning I decided to drop the kids off at the pool. Know what I’m saying? Know where I’m going? I’m a man of routine: four cups of coffee and a rousing rendition of “She Bangs” and I’m on the crapper. Everything was moving along fine (moving. along. fine.) until I flushed the commode. Yesterday I was short-staffed; typically my upstairs valet taps the lever for me but I’ve given him the week off to visit his ailing, bedridden, whore of a mother. I’m kind and benevolent like that with staffing and they love me for it. But where was  I?

So, like, the goddamn handle cracked off, snapped, inside my toilet tank! I mean I’m sitting there, frozen in three-ply fear, as I’m not mechanically inclined at all. I was relieved that the toilet flushed but troubled that I had in some overload fashion broken my toilet. I’d never broken a commode before and had no inclination on how to fix one. Sure, I’ve hugged a few in my college years but that’s an intimacy I’ve since outgrown much like my fondness for tumblers of Amaretto Di Saronno on the rocks has subsided with maturity. What I needed was a handy-dandy lesbian with a tool box and a gas mask.

Instead I decided to take my balls by the horns and go to ACE Hardware. They really do have the ‘helpful hardware man:’

“…er, the commode toilet handle thing. Well, it’s more like a plastic rod stick thing. Inside the water tank? It  connects to the rubber valve in the bottom thing? Well it broke off. I’m wondering if you’d have a simi…”

“Aisle three.”

I found what looked like a similar device next to the home abortion kits and while checking out inquired about ease of installation; I wanted to make sure I had enough sandwiches prepared:

“…So, like, this just unscrews here, right? And then I poke that through the tank and reconnect the chain thing? What if the scr…”

“It’s easy.”

And so it was. I just sucked it up and realized that I can do anything I put my mind to after channeling my inner butchness and shutting off the water on the north side of the city. It took all of five minutes to fix the tank handle stick thang. I saved myself a maintenance call and the hassle of waiting around; you can bet I’ll be adding this new found talent to my current resume’s skill set. If anyone’s looking for Adobe InDesign experience with an ability to repair toilet tanks I’m the man. Minus the hippie shirt, natch.

World of chocolate

Well little lambs, this evening heralds the holiday social event of the season: AIDS Foundation/Chicago’s annual fund raising event, WORLD OF CHOCOLATE. If you can dip it, shake it, sprinkle it, mold it, drizzle it or blend it…chocolate is the main ingredient treat on display from the many exhibitors.

The Hilton Chicago ballroom will be filled with a heady chocolate cloud as Chicago’s gay community and its friends turn it out and kick it up a notch to support this dynamic local service organization. AIDS Foundation/Chicago is the group that sponsored my marathon training program two years ago. (2 years ago…yikes?!) OH MY GOD…I just remembered that YESTERDAY was my 2nd anniversary of running the 2007 LAS VEGAS half marathon. TWO. YEARS. AGO. Wow! Time marches forward, huh?!

Anyway loves, you can read about last year’s swell soiree here. I see from reading that post that I must have returned home, skunked, and hit the blog keyboard. There’ll be no ’silk shantung’ tonight; I’m thinking chocolate though. You’ll see!

New [Christmas] moon

Yeah, this post has nothing to do with New Moon the tween vampire film currently wetting panties in a theater near you. No sirree this pic was snapped from my kitchen window last night. I was on my second ‘what’s in the cupboard’ snack foray when the bright new moon caught my eye.

For all the futzing, queenie fuss and matchy-match with my formal Christmas decor I like to keep the kitchen somewhat traditional in that ‘let’s bake cookies’ type way I remember from innocent childhood. As much as I whinge about my mother I can twirl major snaps on this: she was the cookie queen of the family. Longtime friends here recall my Christmas packages arriving from back home filled with all sorts of baked goods. She really had a baking flare; she partnered that knack with my Italian grandmother and many of my dad’s favorite treats carried forward throughout the years.

adly mother stopped her baking efforts about 10-years ago; she may have just been overwhelmed with my dad’s extended illness. Or maybe she just reached that point, as we all do; ‘why bother?’ and that twin sister of ‘who cares?’ often fall on the wrong side of decision making. Maybe it just became too much; mom’s holiday baking schedule neared war games timetables with shouted orders from top brass: “Chop those walnuts finer; you know I don’t want chunks!” We did her bidding, gladly, as kids because the payoff would be colorful Santa tins of assorted cookies and odd coffee cans, lined in crinkly waxed paper, filled with divinity, walnut and peanut butter chunks of fudge. Flat pans with sliding lids brimmed with honeyed struffoli and delicate powder-sugared pizzelles.

There were small, aged Italian fruitcakes, soaked in red wine, that required days of chopping and bowls of rising doughs. Yeast filled the air; walnuts, candied fruits, orange rinds, raisins and dates all came together for very heady taste treats that make my mouth water as I type. That’s all vanished now; memories relegated to happier less stressful times perhaps. It was a time in my childhood when ‘visions of sugar plums danced in our heads’ was pretty close to the damn truth. Where the magic of Christmas began on a flour-strewn table in the heart of my mom’s warm kitchen.

Party; out of bounds

Michaele and Tareq Salahi. Two asshat celebrity wannabes from Virginia! Have we all had enough coverage on their bullshit bogus storyline regarding the state dinner? It’s really quite simple: hand over the White House dinner invitation. Their bullshit, smoke-n-mirror back story on exchanged e-mails with a Pentagon-somebody doesn’t hold water. Let’s see how these two hold up in front of an investigative sub-committee. Their TODAY show “we’re victims” appearance was a joke.

It peeves me no end that the Obama’s first state dinner is marred by these two clowns; the Obama’s have a right to be angry and concerned. Frankly, if I was sitting in Michelle Obama’s position I’d ask for the head of the Secret Service. And by ‘head’ I mean his real fuckin’ head. On a White House silver tray.

arack Obama had massive security protection as candidate Obama; the same degree of Secret Service protection that most sitting presidents receive. The lapse in security at their state dinner is unacceptable. Didn’t we all watch Mission Impossible? Barbara Bain was a total fox. And a cunning spy. So tossing a red sari on a blond shouldn’t make one passable; just saying: fuck the fact that these two jerks passed a metal detector. What if she’d had a vial of acid in her va jay jay? What if they grabbed knives from the tables? What if they’d spread anthrax? What if they were Pakistani militant extremists? Their full access to the President, Vice President and Prime Minister of India, et al, must be investigated thoroughly and completely; security procedures must hike up a notch or two. What White House dinner guests arrive with a camera crew and makeup team prepping their entrance? The folks at BRAVO network need to explain some back story details, too. And I’m also thinking that had two people of color arrived minus a formal invite security checks would have reached other conclusions. You know I’m right on this point.

It’s now understood that the state dinner was not the only affair the Salahi’s recently crashed in their fame building mission. Sadly, perhaps Andy Warhol was right with his ‘in the future everyone will be famous for 15-minutes’ observation. In our culture that rewards celebrity climbing for the sake of celebrity I hope their next legitimate invitation with full-access is federal prison. They’ve got some serious ’splainin’ to do and we deserve Facebook pics from jail.

Right this very minute, candles in the window…

Here we are: the Christmas season 2009 begins today. Oh, sure, I bought Christmas cards two weeks ago but I’m just saying cuz today is December 1st. The other thing is this: I’m using “Christmas” here because that’s what it is to me. And if you’re celebrating Kwanzaa or Hanukkah or Winter Solstice or the myriad of other winter-type holidays of note I absolutely mean no disrespect. Nor do I feel my usage of the term “Christmas” is shoving my lackluster religious beliefs up your ass. I respect all faiths and beliefs; our nation is a crazy quilt of cultures. It’s the shared thread of understanding and acceptance that makes us a stronger quilt, too, but I’m sorta over saying “happy holidays” or “holiday season” when I really want to say ‘Merry Christmas.’ It was Christmas when I was a kid and I’m reclaiming it here and now. Santa Claus is optional though cause I’m an old turkey and sadly, as we all know, he died when Marshall Field’s left town.

hatever you’re calling it though let’s keep a simple mantra in mind moving forward. Don’t lose sight of the faith, hope and charity this month. And by that I mean just this: I’m going to keep the ‘faith’ that the 16.2 million Americans that remain unemployed find a good job soon. That’s a prayer that I’ll carry after Christmas, too, I assure you. Beyond that focused faith I’m gonna ‘hope’ that my own search for the perfect job will soon be answered in the New Year as well. Luck is not what happens to other people; we make our own luck in life. I need to stay the course and place value on my skill set. Age doesn’t necessarily equal ‘old;’ I’m gonna consider myself seasoned and experienced.

They say ‘charity’ begins at home. One doesn’t need to write checks or dole out dollars on the street corner to make a difference for those less fortunate. Clean out your closets and donate to your local shelters or Goodwill. Your castoffs will provide someone warmth at a price that’s affordable for those that struggle daily to make ends meet. Charity is donating one’s time, too. Take time to meet a friend for a relaxing coffee. Chat; listen. Catch up on each other’s lives. And understand that you’re giving the gift of quality time, making a place to really listen and share thoughts and laughter, in a season of distractions and obligations. It’s only in the quiet moments when one hears the heart sing its song. Peace.