Le chat maison du mon coeur.

The great excitement of Miss P's debacle with the sewing needle is settling down, she is returning, if slowly, to a normal routine; including asking for her dinner and seeking out my lap or her other Dad's lap, Mark's, to sit upon while we write at the portable Macintosh. Ir is a simple pleasure, from which out of discomfort or business I have oftem plopped her amongst the pillows on the bed, instead. I think now, we shall bothe savor it for some while to come. Her feline companion in this photo is her long time companion, Tigger, (aka Mr. Tig and Tig)

Miss Mint Progressing Well!

Miss Mint is more alert than yesterday, and has been sleeping at my side for the first time since this debacle began six days ago! It is such a small thing, but so hugely important to me as a symbol of hope for this entire change in our lives. A symbol of faith that we may yet have the opportunity for domesticity and stability and the comfort of each others arms and legs intertwined and tangled in the passion and the fire of Amore. Tonight she visited our friends Scott and john, Zsa Zsa and Gomez for dinner in the West Village. We all had a fabulous evening, the boys gave us the best home-cooked meal of crab cakes an eggs benedict, we saw their marvelous home in the very best neighborhood, the sort of area that New York is all about! Thanks guys!

The Pied Piper is Calling Me

It is said that moving one's life and one' household across town or across the world is one the top three reasons for divorce in the modern world. I believe the other two are a lost income and the death of a child. So, here we are, two of the top issues for divorce, Mark and me, and we're still hanging in together. But, for how much longer? The divisions between us are growing rapidly greater leaving gaping canyons of disagreements and unhappiness upon both our parts. The accusations of whom makes money and who does not is a really big one, and since the golden goose is Mark, I am left to rot inside my head every self doubt and every issue of worthlessness that always comes when we fight. Only, it doesn't go away after the fight anymore. I am coming to believe that indeed I am lazy, unloving, worthless, non-supportive and selfish putting all the needs I have before my dear Mark. That is when the self doubt grabs hold tight of my depression and they start their sexy tango, weaving me amongst the other dancers and out into a solitary space, where the air is bitter with cold and I am surely to freeze, bereft of any warmth of kindness. How can I blame the man, I hardly want to be around myself. So, each day moves forward, further from New York and deeper into myself, abandoning pleasure in all things and wishing only to find relief in the blessing comfort of my warm bedclothes and my dear Miss Mint and drift to sleep, that lovely land of oblivion where all is peaceful, safe and kind...

Miss Mint is Home!

The dear Peppermint Melissa has arrived home to day from the animal hospital in Paramus, New Jersey. She is groggy and sleepy and prefers at the moment to remain in her cushy carrier and sleep. After all, to have ones tummy surgically opened and have a needle and thread removed is a bit of an experience which is at the least wearisome and at the most terribly traumatic! Welcome home, Baby Girl!

By the way, the surgical bill will astound you - she's worth every penny, and I would not have made a different decision - but I am now in debt for in excess of $3500.00! Yikes!

Miss Mint, Day III

My Dear Miss Mint has managed through God's garce and the flaws of man to survive until today. Thank you Lord.

Is It OK To Fetishize Cookware?

I love this column of Mark Morford's! (Click on the Post's Title to go to his column)

Mark! A fetish for cookware has dominated my household for years, at time it overshadows our sex life! (Mark's never gotten the bug so he just bitches about his occasionally unattended erection!) Nevertheless, I have won him back a bit with a little footsie under the table as he feasts on a particularly fine range of culinary fair. The trouble, you'll find, is that it won't stop at pots and pans. The brushed stainless Kitchen Aid mixer will beckon, the fine French steel Mandolin will sing it's siren song, the huge British cream stoneware mixing bowls, the hammered copper sugar pot or the glorious copper fish poacher with it's bright and shiny inserts. Soon you are wooed by Wustof or Sabatier knives to chop and dice and julienne on a fine 3" solid maple cut-board, And it makes perfect sense to have the polished stainless food processors in at least two, if not three sizes. Then you realize you need a second mixer, - the big 6 qt. for your bread dough - and they don't make it in brushed stainless! (I finally settled on a pearlized grey, very complimentary.) And, then, dear man, out come the BIG BUCKS. Will it be a Wolf Range or La Cornue Rolls, and oh, they need a stainless HOOD, make sure you have a big enough hole for the vent. Chinois for sauces. Blender for sauces. Stocked pantry; oils, vinegars, sea salts (yes, several varieties for different purposes) The grinders for the salts and peppers. Price those. The nice little French aluminum ones start at $50.00 each. And my creme de la creme of once or twice a year usage but cannot bear to ever part with it - my Italian, all stainless steel 300 horse power ice cream and gelato maker. Damn it looks good... Have fun, my friend. When the bug bites, it bites hard. I finished my degree at the CCA; I think it well may be just to justify my shopping!

Miss Mint, Day III

Just as in an Evangelical Black Church, I am singing "Hallelujah, Lord, Hallelujah! Mis Peppermint Mellissa has made it through her surgurey and is been doing very well in recovery, if a bit spaced and groggy. We may be able to bring her home tomorrow, so that she may with pleasure hunt her little New York MICE! (NO MORE NEEDLES!) Mark always sings to her:

"Ah, those little Mousies!
Plump and quite ready to eat!
Bite their little heads off and
Chew on their little feet!"

Come home, our dearest darling, my lovely bit of starlight, all of Heaven's been weeping for you and we shall all sing again when you are here amongst us once more!

Miss Mint, Day II

The Mint is on the table now. It is a terrible wait, the unknown, the inability to do anything but hope. Pray. My dear companion of sixteen years is intubated and helpless and I cannot reach her. pray God that she make it through this surgery for she is otherwise in good health and desrves her time with us in this world before she moves on...

Miss Mint

Is in hospital this early morning. The XRay has shown a foreign object, a sewing needle which she apparently swallowed here in the hotel room. When the doctor called and asked if we wanted to proceed with the surgery he qouted an additional $500.00 fee for bringing in the surgeon on an emergent basis at two in the morning. He then called back and said the surgeon felt it was not an emergency (without seeing the XRay or doing a physical exam on the cat) and declined to drive in the rain to do the operation. Now, Mark and I, must wait with the knowledge that her chances at recovery decline as the surgeon slumbers without conscience in her bed somewhere in New Jersey. I have only one solution and that is to turn the entire matter over to Jesus and ask that he intercede and save this dear little animal, with her bright and friendly soul, and care for her when the world cannot be bothered. And, so Lord, I turn it over to you to keep her safe, either with us or with you. Keep her free of fear, let no one be unkind and let gentleness and love waash over her tiny fragile body as she rests in you her Creator. Phillip, my angel, be with her and guard her against harm on my behalf.

Phoebus Apollo!

Apollo Killing the Python (detail), Eugene Delacroix, Ceiling of the Apollo Gallery, Versailles, Oil on canvas ceiling mounted, 1825.

Chiron's Poisoned Wound

Where is Golden California tonight? It is still my home, though we are a country's width away, flung to this Eastern Seaboard in which all is alien and new to me. It has it's beauty, I cannot deny that, yet it is strange and hostile, too. I have grown used to my western life, however small and simple, in the rolling hills and valleys of the California, the great Pacific lapping at gently at it's shores, the sun winging each evening into the waves of warm water. It is like suddenly being flung through the looking-glass and all is backwards: the Atlantic cold and the Sun barely peaking above it, Phoebus Apollo sleepy in his chariot, shivering, never quite waking as he stumbles into this cold sky, where all is reversed and unsettling.

I see New York more clearly, it's many towers seem far less exciting and suddenly quite too real, soaring upwards dressed in dirty stone and steel and brick and glass. Less magical than when I knew it was a visit, a short adventure, vital and active, whirling through shops and restaurants, parties and glimmering theaters. Intense and loud and very present now, cloaked with the constant rumor of never resting humanity shrouded with their multitude of burdens. The great and wealthy gloat and the rest of us, seeming poverty stricken, in this mass of a dying twentieth century Gotham. Superman and Batman are long gone as rot and decay ripples around us like a flood of dirty sewer water. I have never felt so alone, nor ever thought I should pine for sunny Los Angeles and it's very different modernity.

What will it be like, I wonder. Will New York ever be a home to me, however fine the address or lofty the high-rise which elevator will sweep us skyward or earthbound day after day? Where is the glitter of the Metropolis I remember? Did it fall along with the Trade Center, or am I just in culture shock? Will Time tell me, or has He too fallen?

The heaven's stars were few in L.A., but you saw them still. Here the stars are lost all together, and the lights of all the skyscrapers do not replace them for me. San Francisco's hills and fog were alive as calmly, gently the horns of the Bay sounded as the Golden Gate disappeared each evening. Here the hills are flattened and the East River and the Hudson simply growl by, angry, dirty and fighting the city to pass on to the cold Atlantic. The trees of Central Park cannot match the wild California spruce cresting craggy hillsides with gnarled low swung arms swung towards each other like the dance of nymphs. Ah, Golden California, where are you? Thy son Chiron, the archer, has lost sight of you, blinded in the sky I think, forever eclipsed by this Babylon of heaven-stretched tombs filled with busy throngs weighted with woes and worries; my heart is left behind, and only my body lives on here, grappling with girders and masonry blackened by the black-robed reaper with his great dull-bladed scythe.

O! Diana, my Goddess of the Silver Moon, hear my call to return home. Call upon thy brother Phoebus to carry me westwards once again. Let me not say Farewell! Farewell, my Golden Home. California!

Rags Grants Riches

My dear parents and my 'dearest daughter mine' lost a special family member today. Pooka, their little puppy dog, had to be put to sleep today after a number of years of ailing health. We mourn with them, as only those who have lost a dear pet can, and send our love and support as they grieve. Mark brought Pooka home one day long ago when we were living in Mission Hills, San Diego. He was poodle mix and was the most hyper little puppy I had ever seen. I could not temper his energy, nor keep up with it while raising an energetic little girl, caring for my dear spouse and learning to be both spouse and parent. It was just too much. Mom and Dad agreed to take him and care and raise him. They, without any children at home any longer, seemed to have the time and energy to devote to this little frball, when Mark and Joy were not able to, and I felt overwhelmed with yet another life in my personal care. Joy was heartbroken, and I became, along with Mom and Dad, one of the bad guys who stole her puppy, Rags. Oh, the heartache of pets... Nothing cold ever console our daughter and even to this day she calls him Rags and reminds us of how Grandpa and Grandma 'stole' him. But Rags or Pooka, however he is known, was a lively, loving spirit who was full of happy if slightly neurotic love that he shared in his small life with eager happiness and gentle faithfulness for those he loved for many years. God bless you, Pooka/Rags! See you again soon!

Big Bites in the Apple

As Mark and I begin a new life in New York I have a few thoughts. It's said that moving is the second most difficult change for a relationship, following the death of a child. I have not lost a child, thank goodness, but I'm certainly capable of believing this statistic. Uprooting ourselves on average every two years has been the one really big challenge for Mark and me and our relation ship over time - even more than money. Just about the time one feels settled and has made local friends and business contacts - doctors, attorneys, pharmacists, even dry-cleaners, it is a big challenge to leave all those affirmations of a place in which you belong and venture forth to make new neighbors and contacts.

New York has proven to be a wonderful city in many was, but the vetting process just to be let into a building in this city's housing market is daunting. property owners require processes with their applications which resemble the sacrifice of your first born child - this even with a perfect financial picture. Ha! You can imagine how Mark and I feel after a bankruptcy. It is taking time to find a space to live/work, and time is what we do not have. the business, which provides our income, must be up and running as swiftly as possible. Many essential basics depend on an address, IP phone service, the placement of ads in the papers, a place to meet patients, etc. I turn it over to God - He can sort through all this mess!

The costs of keeping us in an hotel, eating out, traveling in and out of the city, including tolls and parking, take a huge bite out of our finances. Ouch! better have a hundred dollars in your pocket to park and eat for one day, and that is NOT a fancy luxurious day, but basic food, no shopping and no entertainment!

Well, all I can say is that the benefits of this magnificent and vibrant city are well worth the deluge washing through our wallets!

Surgical Options

Mark and Dr. Arsenos are building the business together. They are both working furiously and tirelessly to give us all a new life in Manhattan. And, as usual I'm the background player keeping, sometimes well and sometimes not so well, our lives running and giving Mark a sounding board for all the different situations that must be dealt with which arise daily. Mark fielded dozens of phone calls today, gathered documentation for the lease, ordered IP phone services and just now at 5:30PM headed to Anna's office where he'll probably be until 10PM or 11PM this evening.

Several places in the city are being looked at, though no one has been chosen for certain. The neighborhoods are very varied and some are elegant and others, are, well, shall we say... colorful! We'll see what happens!


Our last New Years in Los Angeles mark and I had a special evening at home in front of the fire, candles lit, and frosted Christmas cookies which we fed to each other, while laughing and dropping crumbs on the couch! He glowed with his handsome Grecian face in the candlelight and we kissed deeply, wondering what the New year would bring. We had talked about New York, and made a resolution to move forward from his injury and start over once again. It was magical moment which I'd forgotten as the years struggles unwound for us... yet, here we are almost at the ned of the year and jesus has kept His word and answered our prayers. You remember His words: where two or more are gathered in My name I am in their midst. What amazing blessings he is bestowing now, helping us with such love to renew our lives. I see the sparkle back in Mark's eyes as he works with Anna, and the deep respect he has for her as she enters our life. Look at that gorgeous man! I'm so proud of him!

Search & Rescue Us, Please!

We saw three apartments today, incredible prices for incredibly small spaces - only one may meet our needs and I'd be embarrassed to tell you what it costs. The worst was a chopped up brownstone. Beautiful facade and front door and then a terrifying roach pit. See the pics.

The apartment(s) at 30 Park Avenue has/have a great address but were pretty ordinary spaces in need of renovation, some of which would be done and some which would not and in the end were not suitable to see clients. However, the gentleman who showed them to us, Cesar, was a prince and Mark and I both fell for his Brazilian charm at once. We are supposed to sup with the fellows who made the calls for us to see the building Saturday evening. That should be great fun.

The place which made top of the list is new, modern and sleek. Not what Mark and I usually would choose - but it's layout will provide private space to see clients and private space for us to live. Lots of shiny surfaces, mahogany, granite, marble, parquet. Amenities include a gym and doorman and parking air and heat and wrap around viws of the Midtown Bridge and the East River. Just off Sutton Place, how much better can an address be?

New York, New York

Yesterday we saw Dr. Anna's office and met her staff. We then headed into the city to see the carriage house which is one of the properties we've been considering for our consultation office/home. The house was just beautiful, late nineteenth century and set behind a brownstone it has a small garden - very rare in the city - and two floors. The charm made you want to sign the lease right away, but there are real problems with the space. None of our furniture will fit, it will need to be sold and new things aquired. The rooms, though charming, are tiny. The largest, the living room, is only 8 by 12 feet. The bedrooms are smaller and would be swallowed by the bed alone. So, we're looking at other places.


Our friend, Sean, in West Hollywood has made a few phonecalls on our behalf and made an introduction to his friend, Blair, here in new York. Blair has called another friend who has an apartment building or two and we'll see some other spaces today or tomorrow, I think.

It's still raining here, though there are hopes of it clearing by the end of the weekend.

Snap, Crack, Cop!

Our last day of migration East has ended - with a bang! Exiting into New Jersey and making a wrong turn into Englewood the BMW and we were hit by a small Toyota. The rain was pouring and it was very difficult to see and, while not unlikeky that the weight of fault rested with us the police officer responding was unable to determine with surety whom was at fault. So, no citation!

The two African American men in the other vehicle were more than kind and helpful and after all the paperwork was finished they were extremely generous in helping us to find the hotel. In fact they lead us to the Hilton in their car. I cannot remember when a starnger, who by all reason had every right to be upset with us, or at least the situation, went out of their way to be so kind.

Mark was driving and though we believe no one was seriously injured I'm insisting that he have an X-Ray of his spine. The jarring of the automible was strong enough to cause injury and I prefer to rule it out now.

Miss Mint handled the entire situation with aplomb, greeting one of the men in the other car with a gracious 'meow'. Or, "How do you do!"

The only dark spot was the police officer. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt since I assume he thought of us as rich white guys ready to take advantage of a 'brother'. I asked the driver of the other car if I might take a digital photo of the damage to his vehicle to which he had agreed. The officer, in his squad car, saw me snap the photos and leapt at me, shouting that I had no right to photograph the other person's car without permission. I replied I did have permission but he was angry and just repeated his tirade over any protest I might give. When he finally heard me he did turn and ask the other driver if I had his permission. The affirmative was given and he backed off. Whew!

Both cars pulled into the Hilton together and I asked the men if they would join us for a coffee. One said, I don't drink, I use weed. "Yikes!", I thought. But replied with another thank you for their kindness. He told me where the nighborhood clubs are and suggested I hit the hot spots. I said I just might! I didn't snap their photos for the blog, unfortunately, but I'll always remember their good will.

Roving Reminiscences

Today, Mark was nostalgic today as we zoomed through the countryside he knows from childhood. West Virginia is where he grew up, and though we didn't see the town he grew up in for nine years we did see Wheeling, the town in which he was born. Ann, his mother, adopted him from a chidren's home in Wheeling and the memory was bittersweet. It is the sort of memory of which I can say little and only squeeze his hand for comfort. Too swiftly the Bimmer swept us over the river and up the hillsides, flush with autumn color and away towards New York.





Miss Mint, however, was terribly pleased to arrive at our hotel a few hours later. She ventured forth from her carrier and stood at the open car window, sniffing and viewing every which way into the black night, excited at the prospect of her freedom for the evening. A room to roam through, dinner from her own dish and, yes, the marvelous relief of her own litter. Mark sweetly bought her some catnip and toys and she's settled happily into playing and grooming.

Tomorrow we reach new York! The exciting promise of a new life before us and the fearful loss of a way of life in California behind. Bon chance, mes amies!

Migrating Sucks

Illinois, Indiana and Ohio. We're in Dayton tonight. Same trees, same road, same truckers, same hotel, same, same, same. Nothing to eat but high fat and high calorie foods. This trip is a misery. The best thing is having Miss Mint and Mark about, and that's all!

Achille's Heel

Troy just isn't what it used to be, Achilles wouldn't recognize the place. About all that's here is a truck-stop and Chinese takeout. (The sweet and sour pork's not bad) Not much happened today, a lovely drive through some pretty countryside. Rolling hills smothered in woods just tinged with Autumn color. Arriving in St. Louis we picked up the spare tire, lest we break down again, and headed out, passing the arch and crossing the river to arrive in Troy, Illinois. Hey, Paris, Helen won't give it up for you even once more after bringing her here!

D'em Souls is Movin' Slow

Well, our big adventure yesterday afternoon was a blowout on I-44. WE've had the unbelievable pleasure of staying overnight in Joplin, Missouri, a town I highly recommend you pass through. Oh, the scenery is pretty but I haven't met one single human being capable of a conversation without using local slang exclusively.

Nevertheless, we made it here alive after a rear left blowout. Triple A was on-sight in about an hour, and another half hour to be in the road, by which time the stress hit both Mark and I and we simply found a motel and collapsed for the night. But, we're up early now, listening to yet another Christian broadcasting program... which simply interrupted the news... The radio and television stations have a ratio of three in five being Republican commentary and/or the return of the Messiah, Jesus the Christ at any moment. It looks like a town, the people look like people but they've all gone off the deep end with the end of the world being nigh!



I am shaking from my Alain Mikli's right down to my Donald Pliner's!

We're on to Saint Louis to have a new tire put on, almost 300 miles of "hearin' da Werd!" And, Julia Darling, if this isn't sureal, I have no idea what may be!

The Migration of Souls, Continued

My 'guest blogger', my spouse, Mark, will give full descriptions of the day and of the photos you see above...

What can I say? I am old enough to remember a time pre-AIDS and post Stonewall when the truck-stops across America were the hot spots in most towns. Men came to the truck stops, the truckers were often AC/DC and after a few hundred miles of driving a big rig a wet and willing mouth or butt could be a nice diversion. For the gay men who frequented these places, servicing the traveling public, particularly the truck drivers - became a passion. Granted, a tacky, self-esteem destroying, risky, dangerous, titillating passion - but a passion none-the-less. Almost every gay man stopped in them when traveling the highways of America. If nothing else, you could always cruise and flirt a little and that alone justified the break.

So fast forward into the early 21st Century and my partner Don and I are moving from LA to NYC. I've had a performance car for years and the pity is that with it's marvelous handling and road-worthiness I've been idling it in LA traffic most of the time since it was new in 1998. The car's a BMW 740i and it has a huge V8 and power to spare. The Germans know how to build a car for the road and this was their top-of-the-line that year. These cars were built for the Autobahn before they put a speed limit on them. This car is for the serious driver who wants luxury and performance. I've never had it on the open road before and hence the decision to drive it from LA to NYC.

When we got to Phoenix, Don decided he wanted to take one of our cats (having originally planned to leave both with our daughter in Phoenix for a month while hunting for new digs in Manhattan) and so we've got the two of us, far too much luggage, and one aging cat named Peppermint Melissa, AKA Miss Mint, along with the various accouterments of life for the three of us. "On The Road Again" - our version - is something Willie Nelson never dreamed of, I'm sure!

Yesterday, as we drove from Albuquerque, New Mexico to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma (some six hundred miles) we crossed the Texas Panhandle, put up with having only one one rest area on I-40 across Texas (oh they have Picnic Areas galore - but no bathrooms) until we got near the state line on the eastern side. Then we pulled into a rest stop (the ONLY ONE) and found something that looked like a DECO Version of a modern temple! All the money they saved by not having multiple rest stops was poured into this lavish worshibable edifice in the midst of Fuckin' Nowhere, Texas. The building was long - probably over 200', two stories high, and the public restrooms were luxurious by most standards; inlayed tile floors, complete with the Texas Star inset, marble countertops and vanities, automatic faucets and flushes, spotlessly clean and well kept to a standard that would make Leona Helmsley envious! In TEXAS! My Gawd! I was amazed.

The truckers were friendly. Not overly so. Oh maybe I got a look in my Diesel Jeans that make my crotch look quite ample, but it was only a passing glance. At my age, I find those things flattering and little more. Now by now you probably know that Don and I are both 6' tall. He weighs about 200 and I weight about 180. He's beefier. I'm thinner. But the effect is two big masculine looking guys and we're in very decent shape - having spent the last 18 months working out 3 times weekly with a trainer. We've got muscles in the right place and the V-shape most guys our age can't manage to maintain. Not to brag - because it's the first time in my life I've looked this good - but the overall effect is pretty damned hot for us both. Put us together and we turn heads! He's dark, I'm blonde. People look and take notice. Often times people will ask if I'm an actor or a newcaster. Yeah, that kind of LA look for a man. Good haircut, sense of style, the right bling (real, but subtle if expensive), the right shoes, a matching belt. The idea is it looks like we threw it on - but it all works and could well have come out the pages of Vogue Homme for fall. Even people who have no idea of what they're looking at seem to know it's not as easy as it looks. The funny thing is women often flirt with us openly. (Oh well! Take it when you get it!) It's a nice ego stroke and the payoff for that year and a half of hard work at the gym!

Back to our Texas Temple of Roadside Rest Areas. I came out of the head to see Don was by the car on the passengers side and on the driver's side there were three aging Hell's Angeles decked out in full leather and the requisite Harley's. Those guys had to be in their 50's if they were a day - but they still had the genuine Harley Biker look and were probably somewhat unpredictable in their behavior. Translation? Don't mess with them. Say good morning, get in the car, and go about your fuckin' business. Now. Not the people I'd have started a conversation with... So I got in the car, getting a weird glance from one of the bikers (Was it a flirty glance? I'm not sure. But I wasn't going to stick around to find out.) I slid into the car, motioned for Don to get in and we hit I-40 moving to the boarder of Texas and Oklahoma.

We passed a town called "Groom" Texas and a sign exhorted us to stop and see "The Largest Cross in the Western Hemisphere". Since it was indeed large, we could view it from the highway. The Cross had to be 100' high or better and since it was near sunset, the lighting was ethereal to say the least. The sign assured us that we could have a "Spiritual Experience" if we'd only get off the Interstate and chuck a $3.00 per person donation to allow us to get close enough to view the cross and have an experience that apparently radiates from the cross (but only covers a short distance) and requires the aforementioned $3.00 per head donation to allow one close enough to get the full benefit of this radiating spirituality. We opted to have a diminished spiritual experience, save our six dollars, and view it from the freeway. Don got a couple of shots of it that were dramatic and we were on our way. I wonder if they would have allowed the cat in for free or if she would have been charged for her Spiritual Experience, too?

A few miles later, the whole texture of I40 changed. The roads got better. No more concrete patched and bumpy. Nice smooth asphalt in great condition with wide boarders on either side, sprinklers watering it, and the grass was mowed to a fair-the-well, both on the sides and the median. We then realized that we had crossed the boarder with no fanfare and were now in Oklahoma. Oklahoma! My God! The Heartland of America! And a "Red State" of course. We made it to the Holiday Inn Express in Oki City, Oki by about 9PM local time. The people are mid-western, the economy is shit, you almost never see a German car, and the cowboys do indeed wear Wranglers, belted tightly (showing off their nicely muscled asses!) and big 10 gallon sized hats and boots. Looks like a gay porn film casting director's dream of heaven!

After a night at the Holiday Inn - we managed to roust ourselves in time for the free buffet breakfast (the coffee is barely drinkable - don't they have a friggin' Starbucks here???) and packed up/showered, and we are on the road to St Louis today! It's been an uneventful trip - thank God - and the car has behaved wonderfully - as has the cat - that I had deep concerns about her ability to travel well. No sexual adventures - but lots of memories - and a sense of Don and I being able to handle this place if we had to, cause we got muscles! All these straight, gay hating Republicans scare the hell out of us (of course) but we have managed thus far to either avoid them or roll with the punches.

I suspect - but do not know - that because of our size and looking like men - we aren't taken for "gay" immediately. Oh, if they talk to us for five minutes we are obviously a couple (hell, it's been that way for 18 years!) but just walking down the street or going into a Denny's (UGH!) these rednecks don't usually figure out they're in the presence of "fags". There is some fear on our parts about what would happen if they were to know. Probably nothing worth the worry, but then who want's to find out? I talked to Don about buying a gun to have with us - and decided against doing so. Now I sort of wished we had. But then again, I haven't needed a gun in 30 years - what would make me think it would be helpful now?? Just fear, I suppose. What I'm afraid of? The heteros in the mid-west? Yeah, probably. I'm glad to be heading out of here and wonder what St Louis will be like. I've never been there other than to make a connecting flight at the airport when TWA was a real airline and St Louis was one of their hubs. Long time ago.

Time to pack the car, show Donnie this Tome, and get to the road. Another day, another 500 miles!

Mark

Where Antelope Roam

Magical Mystical Land of Enchantment New Mexico

Well, tonight we've arrived in Albuquerque. Hmm. Another nameless motel in a high desert city beneath a zillion stars and a crescent moon, all hovering over smoking powerplants. So much for the wildlife we'd hoped to enjoy! We were forced to leave our darling, Mister Tig, in Phoenix. Joy will cherish and care for him until he's shipped too us in New York, but it is misery to be parted from the little furry beast. Pisser Cat, as Mark calls him, for his undesirable stress release activity, is nevertheless a piece of my heart, ripped out and left behind. And, despite his tough talk, stoic ol' Mark shed a tear or two as well.

Miss Mint obtained a new posh carrying case so that she might sneak into restaurants and motels with us as a lovely piece of Canvas luggage! I do believe she loves her disguise. Other than a loss of appetite she's travelled remarkably well, often coming out of her charming mobile home to lay upon my lap or watch out the window at the fleeting New Mexico plains and red rocks. She's awaiting my presence under the blanket with me, as is Mark; I love them so much so I shall dive into bed in just a moment, too.

As we entered New Mexico on I-40 we listened to a Christian right-wing radio host berate the left and liberal attacks upon the doctor who announced that of course if all black babies were aborted the crime rate would effectively drop dramatically. He tried to defend the statement by declaring that it was said in the context of decrying abortion of any children. he just misses the boat, doesn't he? one may frame the statement with abhorrence of using abortion to mitigate crime in America, but the unspoken horror is the presumption that Africa American children all grow up to be criminals. That is the horror of his words and that is what anyone with a sense of morality has been horrified by, because we cannot group any race into a category of being criminal simply by their ethnic background. The very idea that this conversation is held at all leaves me with a dreadful noxious feeling of sour stomach and a desire to vomit upon all those who would defend this line of thought. Whatever happened to Christians? has their desire to 'save' others come to the point of any allowing racism to dictate their agenda and political propaganda? It certainly does seem so...

Mark awoke and I've been lectured for the lateness of the hour. He's right, I must be up early and driving to the Big Apple, 'cause I need a big bite of its' multiethnic sanity. God! Save us from Middle America!