Couldn't be any clearer

 Yeah so, I placed these in plain sight all over the backyard and so far my dogs are just going ahead and pooping all over the place anyway. I swear, one of these days...

 

Could it be any clearer?

Echoes of Sunday Night Blues

One of the great things about retirement is not hating Sunday nights. Because, really, on some level, there was always an element of that, even at the best points of my career. I don't think it's unusual, or even necessarily bad -- assuming the idea of Monday morning doesn't fill you with existential dread. Been there, too. I think a lot of people go through it do varying degrees, even if they just looooooooove every little moment of their jobs and burst through the door each Monday gushing with enthusiasm. We all know such creatures. They walk among us. 

Then I stumbled on this little gem: 

Really? How very evolved of you, O traveler of this magic world. How positively advanced ADHD must one be to float above such mundanities as rent and food. 

While it's true I don't go through the Sunday night blues, per se, I'd be lying if I said I don't still sometimes expect the Retirement Police to kick my door in, drag me back to my desk, and tell me I have to stay there another 84 years. 

And in this environment, who knows?  It could still happen. 

 

In addition to being an almost-famous, mostly-unpublished author, I am *also* a moderately talented jewelry designer!

I am also an Internatinal Super Spy. 

It's been a busy week for this here aging gay hippy / writer / bead stringer / blogger. I got another shipment of beads in, and tomorrow I'm hoping to finally list a couple of items in the Etsy shop. If you like cool and collectable beads, feel free to check in over there from time to time.  I'll put the link below. 

I love tiny stones, and here are some typical examples of my beach bling that just shipped off to their forever homes this week!  

A few of my peeps have asked about pricing, etc on some of the recent pieces. I try to keep the pricing fairly consistent, but the materials I use can vary from modern Czech glass that you can purchase by the pound, to actual excavated antiquities reputed to be centuries old. My shop's a bit eclectic; Fine, it's a bit all over the map, but you never really know what you'll find. I try to research my beads, and be fair in my asking price. I'm not really much into it turn a profit. 

If someone is interested in an item, I usually list it in the shop as reserved for them, at whatever price is mutually agreeable. It's easier to just let Etsy handle the money exchange, and then I ship directly to the buyer. 

Anyway, if you see anything you like or have any questions, feel free to leave a comment here. To browse the shop, CLICK HERE. 

Tiny turquoise & spiny oyster shell

Love this "Tiny Turqs!" 

Red coral, turquoise, broken bones

Long time readers of this dumb blog (hint: It's me. I'm the long time reader) will remember seeing these beads in previous episodes, but I made a few changes and went with this funky-cool (?) old/new tribal fusion thing that I actually think turned out pretty cool. 

I'm Arresting This iPhone For Theft

So, I recently noticed that my iPhone was popping up with all of these random subscription renewal notices. Most of them weren't much, just little apps I've collected over time and now can't live without.

They make this way too easy. 

But one popped up for some obscene amount of money, like $60, and I remembered that somewhere, back in the Mists of Time, I had desperately needed to create a meme involving Donald Trump's head photoshopped onto the body of Jaba The Hut, and I was probably drunk at the time, and anyway shut up all of you, there's a reason I was spent two weeks in one of South Florida's finest rehabs. 

This immediately set me upon an iPhone safari. How many of these damn things did I have attached to my account? What did they even do? And most important, how much were these things costing me each month!? 

My bank app was no help. The only thing showing up was a generic "APPLE.COM" in the description. Eventually I stumbled into my settings, and found a menu item for subscriptions. There I saw them all listed, with a picture of the app so I could identify what it was. 

And, in all but one case, immediately deleted them all. By some miracle, most of them were due to renew at the end of this month. All told, I saved myself about $140 bucks that would have disappeared, for a bunch of apps I never used and won't miss.  

  

I Don't Know Who Needs To Hear This: Earwax Edition

Okay listen up. Things have become entirely too scatological on this dumb blog. I'm tired of you people (all three of you) and your prying eyes. Your prurient interest in my bowels, my teeth, my general decrepitude -- it all needs to stop immediately. It's unseemly. 

Today we'll be discussing ear wax, a topic of which I have some knowledge. 

Like this, but smaller.

As it happens, I was born with very narrow ear canals (this is true, I've had two -- count 'em two! -- ear, nose & throat specialists comment on this) and I also happen to be of a Northern European lineage that apparently produces more cerumen (the fancy name for ear wax) than most.

It's possible that the sudden and complete loss of hearing in my right ear a decade ago may have been the result of complications related to my somewhat unique ear structure. 

It happened suddenly, literally over night. I woke up one morning in my late 40s, and things sounded funny. It took me a few minutes to realize I couldn't hear anything from my right ear. 

Naturally, with my freakishly small ear canals and my genetic knack for producing cerumen fuck it ear wax, I assumed it was simply plugged. Sadly, it was nothing so simple this time. 

Over the years, I've become adept at A) unplugging my ears when this happens, and B) preventing it from happening in the first place. Here's the thing: 

Don't do this, k? 

(Today's buried PSA): When it comes to your ears, Q-tips are from Satan. Do not stick these things into your ears. 

Look, don't @ me on this. I'm not a hater of Q-tips. They come in handy for cleaning small spaces, no question. Things like those little magnetic connector thingies that always seem to get gummed up, or the narrow spaces on your keyboard, things like that. They're indispensable for pretty much any arts & crafts project worth its time. I love me some Q-tips, okay? 

But don't stick them in your ears. As ear-cleaning tools, they're no more useful than the average pencil. I'm also not a big fan of those wicked little drill-looking things you see people using on the internet to pull thick ropes of gunk out of their heads. 

No, don't fall for these gimmicks. Use what the pros use: the tried & true ear syringe, or its common name: the Big Blue Bulb. 

1. Fill a sink with warm (not scalding) water. 
2. Squeeze the bulb and let it suck up the warm water. 
3. Lean over the sink, and gently press the bulb of warm water into your ear. 
4. Repeat until everything is clear. 

If your ear is srsly plugged, you can get ear wax removal kits at the drugstore that include the bulb, and also drops that will soften the wax for easier removal. (They won't include Q-tips.)  

Shut up, all of you. We tackle the tough issues on this blog. I never said it was gonna be pretty. 

But You'll Never Have To Bake Another Gay Wedding Cake...!

Stoopid maddafackas...

"I'm not political." 

 

In Which My Colon Passes With Flying Colors

All good here! 

I know you've all been waiting, so here's an update on my colonoscopy: Everything came out okay in the end. One 7 mm polyp out, which (considering my wonton past) is something like a miracle. 

It appears that I'm not in danger of eminent death by colon cancer, and this makes me happy. Now if I can just get passing grades from the pulmonologist and the dermatologist, I might be able to stick around awhile after all. 

Reminder: Colon cancer is one of those cancers that doesn't have any symptoms until it's very advanced, and things are dire. If you're of an age, and haven't done so: Get a colonoscopy before you're dead. 

Also, please stop voting for the GOP. Those assholes really are trying to kill you. 

 

It's a hobby! 

It turns out Mrs. Alito is a bit of a cunt. For that matter, so is Mr. Alito. 

Pondering my colon and the futility of voting GOP

Yes, the whole fuckin thing. 

One of the joys of getting old is that every life choice, every cigarette, every drink, every random line you may have snorted basically every sin you ever committed from the moment you were born comes back to haunt you. 

That shit catches up, y'know? 

I never really had time to think about it much when I was working. But now, retired these nine months, one has more time in which to ponder his impending mortality. And, ideally, to take corrective action while there's still time. 

In the last few months I've had a battery of tests: a scan of my "right upper quadrant" for some reason; a lung scan to detect early signs of lung cancer, due to my 40-year relationship with the Phillip Morris Companies; bloodwork, to rule out a host of age related maladies, including prostate cancer, heart disease, liver function. Next month I'm starting up a regular thing with a dermatologist. This is Florida, after all, land of endless sunshine that is punctuated only by the occasional Cat 5 hurricane.  

By some miracle, I'm still in fairly decent health. I'm not sure how that's possible, given my history, but here we are. My point is that I've weathered all of this poking and prodding, this groping and grasping, with great aplomb. I have refrained from my usual complaining in these instances because, goddammit, I'm a trooper. The physician's assistant told me so. 

Until now. 

Because, you see, tomorrow I'm having a colonoscopy. It ain't my first time at this rodeo, so I know exactly what to expect. 

This is my 3rd colonoscopy in the last 10 years. I'm a pro at this. I've already taken the first four laxative pills to get this party started, and in a few hours I'll begin trying to choke down THE FUCKING GALLON of gag-worthy slop that will compel my bowels to vacate. Like, right then. Explosively. 

Sorry for the TMI. It isn't pretty and it isn't pleasant, but neither is colon cancer.  

I don't feel like being "a trooper," but I have reason to be vigilant in this regard. When I was in my early twenties, shortly after I had moved away from my small town and found a new life in the Big Gay City, I contracted a rather nasty case of HPV. (HPV is a euphemism for venereal warts.)

Yes, I'm aware that I contracted HPV as a result of wanton, reckless, risky gay sex. But this was before the AIDS pandemic had become a thing, and no one was yet over-worrying STDs. We had penicillin, for fucks sake, what could possibly go wrong?  There was also no HPV vaccine, and anyway, who was even thinking about venereal warts in 1982?  I was treated, cured. 

But it was a hard lesson for a young lad about the realities of venereal disease. I learned how to protect myself, and took precautions after that. In retrospect, I credit this incident with perhaps saving my life later, when AIDS came along: I was practicing safer sex before it was cool.  

But the HPV virus remains dormant for the rest of your life, and it can morph into cancer later. 

It's not only that. Not long after my parents died of Covid, I discovered a whole other branch of siblings I never knew I had. One of them was my half-brother, born just 1 month after me. He and I had never met, never spoken, but another sibling (whom I did meet!) told me a few months ago that our brother had died. Of colon cancer. My age. And (who knows?) I'm guessing was probably never exposed to HPV.  

So. Yeah. I'll take these pills, drink my glop, and expel my guts in the hopes of getting a clear view, a clean reading. It would be easy to see all these tests and procedures as onerous and inconvenient and uncomfortable. They are all those things. 

But they also save lives. Maybe yours. Maybe even mine. 

*    *    *

Not lost on me in all of this is the fact that I have access to good healthcare. In this country that's a goddamn luxury, but things have gotten somewhat better due to Obamacare. Love it, hate it, but the fact is that prior to March 3, 2010, when the Affordable Care Act became a reality, I would not have been able to retire at 62. It would have been impossible. 

This is because Medicare, the health insurance system for old people, doesn't kick in until one turns 65. Before Obamacare, the only way younger people could get any access to health care at all was either through employer paid health insurance, or by being completely destitute and on Medicaid. There really was no other option, other than risking ruinous medical debt if you got sick. 

Read that again, please: Prior to Obamacare, there was essentially no way for individuals or families to find affordable health insurance on the marketplace. It was all employer provided, or some form of Medicaid (the insurance program for low income people.) That was it. 

This would have essentially mandated that I either continue plodding along in the workplace (instead of opening up a slot for a fresh young upstart like the girl who replaced me) OR living without health insurance for three years when Medicare kicked in. That's a long time at this age. 

*    *    *

All of which is a long way of saying, Would you stoopid GOP humping maddafackas stop voting to make your own lives miserable? I'm sick of your grievances when you keep voting for assholes who tell you right up front: We're going to gut your health care, strip your pensions, slash. your social security, take away your contraceptives, and generally make sure you remain indentured servants for the rest of your miserable lives -- but in exchange, you won't ever have to bake another gay fucking wedding cake. 

YAY! THANKS GOP!!!!