you say tomato, i say you are sexually attracted to men

something about the rain in San Antonio, or maybe the ground--in that it (the rain) doesn't soften the ground--something about that whole tableaux (the rain hitting the ground for days and the ground resisting it's ability, it's physical duty, to soften under such treatment), well, it speaks to the nature of the people who live here. Surely, it can be explained by the lack of the sky's perspiration, sweat, over such a dry-hot clime, and the resulting stubbornness of the earth, like a hungry, overtired child refusing a peanut butter sandwich and a nap.

stubbornness, me so humbly thinks, is the key word. a resistance devoid of logic, given the situation. ignorance, some call it. intolerance, others. but a simple replacement of empathy, as an instinct, with stubbornness, is a fair way to explain some observable behaviors of the people one encounters in this city. so much for southern hospitality.

let me now, for specific reasons, give you reason to disregard my judgment of the ground and people of San Antonio, Texas. I have only been called a 'faggot' once in San Antonio. I have many times been called the same in the Chicagoland area. even since middle school. as recently as last spring, i was waiting for a bus when a car occupied by two young men drove by, the passenger with no provocation (save for some insecurity and maybe a need to be distractingly cruel in front of the driver, whom he may or may not have been secretly attracted to, though it's not my place to speculate) shouted 'faggot' at me. it's something i have grown accustomed to, sadly. i guess i just have that face.

when, though, now, today, i was driving by on base (Fort Sam Houston, home of the Combat Medic), at a required and strictly enforced speed of 20 MPH, i was called a faggot by one of two men, walking side-by-side on the sidewalk to my right, i had greater consternation. i was dismayed, though not surprised, anyway.

i suppose my judgment of those more 'stubborn' in Illinois is more focused on the people and not the place, because i love the place, and i am able to cast them off as rude or bad seeds or whatever cliche gets the comment to roll rain-on-duck-like off my back. and the fuck me part of it is that the people who insulted a stranger, me, today, are likely not from Texas. They are displaced soldiers, likely in training, i pray (because such immaturity can not, please, go past training into those who kill or save lives for us). but my lack of attachment to this hard earth part of the world causes me to cast a wider judgment on the place itself. a silly reaction stemming, in some don't-analyze-me-you're-not-my-shrink-so-drop-it way, from the hurt i like to think doesn't penetrate me but obviously does if i'm writing all of this just because someone called me a faggot.

21 days, a half hour ago. that many days before we head home, then to a new home.

it rolls off the tongue in an artful way, the word. you need a northeastern accent to pull off the term 'queer.' but faggot stings. especially if said in the bumpkin way, sharply: 'fay-git.' and it's sad how much it affects me in such an obvious way. i present myself as unhurt and flaccidly, yawningly, above such a pitiful attempt at insult. inside, i fume. it can last days, has lasted years cumulatively, the amount i am upset. it gives potency to a term used by such people who can easily be called insecure and more harshly be called inbred yokels.

i wish that my armor could only be penetrated by those who criticize real attributes of mine. but an off-hand shout by a stranger serves, here, to display how easily i am penetrated. my rant denouncing this behavior, well, it shows something. my own insecurity. my frustration over wanting to stop the car, put it in reverse, kick back to drive, hop the curb, and show the young man the power of the word he so loftily uttered. or is it my unwillingness to stand up for myself because of some over-intellectualized excuse that responding is just giving the man what he wants, even though that is just a bullshit way of masking my fear of physical confrontation?

but shit, who knows. who is the bigger man? the one who swells up in his chest when he belittles a stranger? the one who shrinks densely with anger when belittled? mostly, and most obviously, neither. it's something that has no bigger man. it, the name-calling, the stubbornness, the intolerance, the insecurity, the petty reaction, only serves to shrink humanity into some infinite regression. it makes us small.

the man steps to the side of the lectern, swirls his hand daintily from his brow downward as he bows to raucous applause. the audience acts out of reflex, slowly ingesting the sourness of his speech.

so much for posting every other day. i tend, in my insecurity, to assume that no one even reads this anymore.

we are winding down. 25 days until we head back into town. tonight, i am excited. thinking about the big move in a less stressful way, i can't wait to finally sleep in a bed with my wife. more than midday naps, anyway.

report day is August 2nd, and graduation is July 23rd. so, some time in between there, we will be in Chicago.

we will be keeping busy with shower and coming home/going away parties, eating good chicago food for the last time in a while, and seeing friends. if you are a friend, make a date. we only have a week.

i am starting to better understand how Colleen has been feeling the past six months. i miss getting to see Matt on the weekends, my brother and mom. i miss my dad telling me about bullshit around the building and whether or not our usual mail carrier must be on vacation. i miss work. everyone there. well, not everyone. i'll stop by.

Colleen and i found a place that serves chicago-style food. the dogs had bright geen relish, but they were not vienna beef. more like ball park. the italian beef tasted like a beef. by beef i mean fart. close enough though. a good pizza cannot be found.

ok. sort of scattered thoughts tonight. the point is that i miss chicago. i am nevertheless excited for the new home we will have in killeen tx for the next 3 1/2 or so years. don't worry, we will visit. fuckers. (mom, this last bit was not meant for you. the visiting part, yes. not the profanity bit.)

running water.

been a while. a stressful bit of time. but everything, now, is beginning to come more securely into place. my new place had some issues with not being totally livable when i first moved in. shower and sink were not installed. i survived for a few days by showering at another house. finally, the bathroom is completely finished. sink installed. i'm living like a real human being.

39 days until graduation. Fort Hood is in the middle of nowhere, but there are three Dairy Queens in the town adjacent. so, there's that. no Chipotle, though. we may have to go a distance for such luxuries.

Dave is in town for a wedding and various touristy things. about to go get him to hang out and all. tune in later for maybe a story or something about texas living. i don't know.

fuck texas.

so much to report. caps, be damned.

first of all, this weekend was just great. family was in town. terry and jess, ski and caitlyn, mom and dad in law, and jimmy. we did a lot of shit.

we saw the alamo, which was surprisingly cool. by cool i mean that the temperature inside was way cooler than i expected, but the place itself was sort of lame. by sort of i mean very. we went to the zoo, which was hot as shit, but supercool.

we ate at a few nice places. got shitty service at cracker barrel. and the food itself is never anything to write home about. cracker barrel has always sucked. it's the lame waiting room with all of the lame shit to buy that wins people over. the food is less than mediocre. the service? ahh, the service. let's just put it this way, i could serve at the cracker barrel and nobody would blink an eye.

also, this weekend, we went to the mall. not a bad mall, actually. we saw robin hood, which was awful. but i tend to want to keep  that a secret so i can recommend it to people i hate. we went mini-golfing. i got second by one point. i had stomach issues though, so i blame my score on my urgency to finish.

colleen and i made the most amazing homemade cinnamon rolls ever. cinnabon can suck a dick.

we probably did a bunch of other shit i cant remember. there was a lot of walking around and the riverwalk was there somewhere. a lot of fun, though. that's the point.

would i rather spend the weekend in my bed with my wife watching bad movies and rifftrax? well, yes. but it's nice to have some variety. plus, i learned this weekend that i quite like my in-law family. terry is hilarious, and a great story teller. jess is down to earth in a scary, "where did you come from" sort of way. mom-in-law is just awesome. she keeps the peace and makes me feel welcome, no matter how lost i get us. dad-in-law is just like my dad in so many ways, so i feel, you know, okay around him. like my dad.

colleen, my amazing wife, is just extraordinary. she puts up with my nervous driving fits. she makes every boring event (walking slowly through the alamo, etc.) more fun than anything. as long as i am with her, i will enjoy absolutely anything. it was a great weekend because she was there to high five me every time we made a zoo pun, or an alamo pun, or an applebee's pun, or anything at all. she keeps me happy, keeps me from wanting to smoke. the best wife i've ever had.

in other news. i have been kicked out of my room in this god forsaken house. the main reason is that i don't do my dishes until the morning. (by the way, i am wishing now that we had signed some sort of agreement that says you can't kick me outt just because i don't talk to you or i'm not friendly.) also, the dude who lives here, danny, has a problem with the fact that i have my wife over.

but no, he didn't say anything to me about it. he told his dad, the owner of the property. he doesn't want me to have my wife over for a few hours a day, even though he is usually not even here. the only reason i moved to san antonio was to have my wife over. and he doesnt want me to leave dishes in the sink, which i wash every signle morning(he hasn't washed a single dish that i have dirtied, nor has he been left without dishes to use). he leaves pizza boxes sitting in the livingroom for days and days until i throw them out. i take the trash out every day. his trash, that attracts bugs. i stay in my room, and i use the kitchen, and i have my wife over, and that is it. i am a bad tenant.

and he didn't say a word to me. he had his father come by and tell me to leave this morning. his father threatened to kick my wife out of the army because he knows people he can call. i would love to hear that conversation. "her husband waits until morning to do the dishes. she is not fit to defend our country." he also gave me a whole rant about this house being a christian house and there should be no fornication. i won't get into that. no contract though. so what can i do?

fucking texas. why did i think this was a normal place?

i found a new place and i am leaving shortly to move in. i have everything packed in the car, again, and i will hopefully live with decent people who don't consider it inappropriate for me to see my wife for a few hours a day. and i will sign a GD contract.

address to follow soon.

Fort Home.

Let's talk about Texas.

Texas is not the south. Yes, it is in the southern part of the United States, but it is not the south. South is Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi: places with strong surviving factions of the klan, white towns next to black towns. Yes, I admit, in Texas there are more pick-up trucks than one man can count, and a meth addict can be spotted outside your local grocery store asking for gas money (I didn't know, but wouldn't be surprised, that gasoline is an ingredient in meth). And there are probably a good amount of klan members in Texas. But shit, man, it's a big state! There's bound to be a couple klansmen. It's not GD Atlantis!

The point is, Texas is not the south. Texas is more like the west, but not even that. Much like Chicago is not Illinois, Texas is not the United States. The people here don't wear overly tight pants and shop at boutiques. If they do, they belong somewhere else (see "Dallas is not Texas," yet to be written). People here wear shirts in public, and if they wear wife-beaters, they are of a lighter color than their skin (see "Die Hard"). Texas is something big and beautiful. Smart, and not GD backward! It is unfair to group this state in with the south. Texas screams "Fuck you!" just the way I like.

To the point, ignoring that nonsensical rant above, we found out today that Texas will be our home for the next 3 or however many years. Fort Hood. Right in the middle. Just far away from every big city that a trip is not out of the question. It will be amazing.

We are already planning the move and looking at places to stay if we can't find a place on base. Something beautiful is settling into place. Our married life in a single home. A real first home together. I can't express how excited I am.

driving versus arriving

I am thinking tonight of that first night I spent on the road, heading to Texas. The drive that day was wonderful. No stress or fatigue. Just the excitement of getting a mile closer to my wife every minute.

She called me around 6 or 7 to check on my progress. I was somewhere in Oklahoma, deciding that I would drive farther than expected. The progress I made that day, along with the news that I would be able to see Colleen Friday night, caused me to make the decision to turn a three-day trip into two days.

It meant that instead of spending the evening in the Dallas area with old friends, I would end up driving through Dallas in the A.M. and arriving in San Antonio at 3.

There was that moment on Thursday night though, where GPs took me off the interstate and onto a 60mph road. I told myself that I would stop at the next Days Inn I saw. Then I saw one and passed it. I was too excited. I passed two Days Inns, listening to David Sedaris audiobooks, thinking about how every mile driven at night is one less to drive in the morning. One mile closer to a new home, my wife, the new life we have started.

And now it's been three weeks. Our new life involves a lot of cooking and eating. Our amazing chemistry in the kitchen seems to mirror our life together. Planning meals, preparing, completing them. Still, though, the eating is never as fun as the cooking. And maybe it's because that's where we are right now. We are cooking, preparing, working on some great meal not yet fully enjoyed. Still in training.

Don't get me wrong, the meals are delicious. We are excellent cooks. But the meals might not taste as good as when we make them in our own home, eat them on our own dishes, then digest them in our own living room.

The excitement that kept me going that first night of driving has not gone away. Every day is more exciting. We're still working towards some destination, but, you know, I love road trips.

Fucking no smoking restaurant

Apparently I love to cook. It's all I do lately.

Today I made chicken satay with grilled vegetables and an amazing peanut sauce. Yesterday I butter-fried strip steak and twice-baked potatoes. I have grand ideas for the weekend. The food itself is impressive without being difficult to prepare. But most of all, I love being in the kitchen, chopping, zesting, stirring, etc.

It's something fun.

This has been a great week. I get to see Colleen every night for a couple hours. It's just enough time for me to quickly finish whatever meal I spent the day preparing, us to eat said meal, and a bit more time to lie around and catch a moment of laziness. Those two hours are the only bit of the day worth writing about. The rest of the day has a lot of grocery shopping and mariokart.

In other news, I hate waking up in the morning and not just lighting a cigarette. I hate getting out of the shower and not just lighting a cigarette. Meal after meal, I hate not just lighting a cigarette. And now, about to get to bed, I hate not lighting a GD cigarette.

Good night.