I Seafood....and I Gag

Wednesday afternoon, as I was walking past the front desk in the lobby of my apartment building, I happen to notice a book that the security guard was reading, entitled, “Japanese Cuisine.”

And it wasn’t just the title that caught my eye, but also the book cover photo.

A plate full of SUSHI.

(gag me with a spoon, please)

I know that 99% of the world is in LOVE with sushi, however, if I were to be ship wrecked on a deserted island and had only one choice of food to eat in order not to starve (that being sushi), I would eat spiders.

First, I can’t eat anything in it’s presentation that resembles a round mosaic tile.

And B) I can’t stand the taste of anything that was born in or lives anywhere near the sea.

And when I say that to someone the first thing that comes out of their mouth is, “Well…not even lobster or crab?”

*Duh*

Hello?…did you even HEAR what I said? ANYthing to do with the sea!!!

I know that seafood is healthy and wonderful for you, and I do eat healthy, but I’d much rather eat something like a veggie burger with some hummus and cucumber, and then have a cigarette.

(yes, I SMOKE. So, please feel free to nail me to a cross and put thorns on my head)

Anyway…

…the point of this post is to share with you what it was like to live in the magnificent country of Japan for three months and see pictures of nothing but tuna, octopus, squid, eel, and salmon dominating every menu in a restaurant.

(I felt like Ariel in The Little Mermaid)

My only saving grace was that I was living in Kobe, so I was delighted to eat some of the most fabulous beef while everyone else fed on the flesh of Flipper.

One night after our show I went to a restaurant with some of the cast members. And while we enter the restaurant, there was a cute little wooden bridge that we had to walk over, which extended beyond a pond that was filled with various fish swimming about.

And I thought to myself, “How cool…such wonderful decor for a seafood restaurant.”

After we were seated the waiter brought over some menus so we could select our meals.

(I think that night I ordered vegetable tempura)

Of course, everyone else ordered SEAfood.

My friend David order something off the menu that he seemed very excited about.

About ten minutes after the waiter took our orders, I saw the chief come out of the kitchen and walk past our table carrying a FISHING NET. He continued walking over to the wooden bridge, where he began fishing in the pond like Captain Flounder.

I watched, as he carefully searched for the proper fish…and then SCOOP!

(he had apparently caught what he was looking for)

He then walked past our table again smiling at David, as the fish was flipping and flopping inside the net; spraying me with water.

About a minute later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the chief take a cleaver off the kitchen wall and proceeded to behead his recent catch.

WAAAACK!

I sat there in horror, as I tapped David on the shoulder and whispered…

“Hey….I just saw your dinner giving HEAD.”

Have a sushi weekend everyone!

X

Blogging and Relationships

Back in my archives, I’ve written several posts about blogging.

Today, I would like to combine some of those posts and share a little more about my feelings on blogging and relationships…

I will occasionally hear people who for one reason or another decide to stop blogging. And in their final farewell post, will tell their readers that they've decided to return to the REAL world.

Now, my questions to these people are…

What do you mean by REAL?

Does real mean that you only consider “flesh and blood” interactions with people, REAL?

And in what way do you consider the time we’ve spent sharing with one another all these years, NOT real?

Perhaps I feel differently about blogging than some people do, because the relationships and interactions that I have through this blog are very REAL to me.

Do I physically SEE all of you?

No.

But that doesn’t make my relationship with you any less real, than if I was standing in front of you.

Blogging allows us to SEE on a deeper level because we’re connecting through energy.

And not only do we connect through the energy of our words, but also through the gifts of expressing our art, photographs, travels, and life experiences.

Personally, I can tell more from feeling someone’s energy, than I can from ever seeing them. Whenever I visit someone’s blog, I instantly feel them.

Relationships through blogging are like any other relationship.

Some people we spontaneously connect with, and others we don’t.

Some are long standing, and others are only for a short time.

Some days we feel like talking and other days we feel more quiet.

As bloggers, we can agree or disagree, we can laugh, we can cry, and we can support one another through health issues, deaths, or breakups. Our physical presence is not always needed to touch one another.

I’ve heard it said that Internet relationships are not real because you can hide behind a computer screen and project a false image of yourself.

But don’t some people do that outside of the Internet, too? I mean, seriously, if someone wants to hide and project, they certainly don‘t need a computer screen to do it.

So that’s a reality either way.

I completely understand if someone feels the need to leave blogging because they may be spending too much time online and neglecting things outside of the Internet, or even if they simply no longer wish to blog.

However, those are completely different reasons, than to think that you’re leaving a place that was never REAL.

Blogging is real.

It’s an experience that has made my life more real and rich, because it has expanded my understanding of people and has increased my relationships.

And some of these relationships, I’ve had the pleasure to meet in person.

So, as I conclude this post, I would like to say to the ladies and gentlemen who stop by here and share your lives with me…

…thank you for our relationships.

I feel you in our own unique way.

And you’re REAL.

My Wicked Weekend with Vista

Today I would like to share how I spent my Saturday evening until 3am. And my Sunday afternoon until 3pm.

For those of you who run Vista on your computer, will surely be able to identify with this post.

And for those of you who don‘t…YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU‘RE MISSING.

Having Vista as your software, is worse than being punished by the IRS for two years of tax evasion and finding out that you owe them an additional three thousand dollars in penalty fees.

It’s a nightmare, because it seems that the longer you have Vista, the worse it gets.

It’s strange, because my computer will run smoothing for a week or so, and then suddenly becomes possessed by what seems like Damien in the movie The Omen.

Updates are CONSTANT. And after every single installation my entire computer system becomes schizophrenic, which usually takes at least 3-4 days for everything to return to normal.

I know that part of my issue with how slow Vista runs, is that I need to get more memory. But that still doesn’t excuse how it screws up other things on my computer, such as, the clock, virus protection, keyboard, and word processor.

Anyway…

Saturday evening at about 11:30pm, as I was getting ready to go off-line, I noticed a message for new updates. And like an idiot, instead of waiting to do it in the morning, I thought I’d get it over with.

There were TWO updates.

One was for spyware and the other was for the new Internet Explorer 8.

The message said that the IE 8 update was HIGHLY recommended, so I went ahead and downloaded it.

HUUUUUUUGE mistake.

First, let me tell you how LONG it took.

Let’s just say that if I were a female cat, I could have gone through 9 ½ weeks of gestation and then 24 hours of hard labor, while giving birth to EIGHT kittens.

After the download…it took another 35 minutes to install.

THEN…I had to restart my computer, which took another 20 minutes to conform the installation.

By the time it had finished, I had watched 6 DVD episodes of Sex and the City.

At 3am...I went to bed.

When I awoke on Sunday morning, I immediately went online to check out my new Internet Explorer 8.

Well…much to my surprise, when I got to my home page there were two added toolbars (I detest toolbars), which made my nice 20 inch monitor look like 5 inches. I also noticed that my phishing security system was no longer working. And to make matters worse, browsing the web was excruciatingly SLOW.

So, I started googling the Internet to try and find out if other people were having any issues.

Come to find out, that IE 8 was NOT so compatible with Vista and that it was causing several people’s computers to CRASH.

SHIT!

Luckily, the Microsoft website explained how to uninstall the update.

And thank god uninstalling was so much less painful.

Because believe me…

…I live on the 21st floor of a high rise apartment building….

Meet My Brother Tom

The image that you see above is a photo taken of my younger brother, Tom, when he was just a little tater tot.

(he looks like a model, doesn’t he?)

Those of you who have been reading here for awhile already know about the times I spent torturing this little boy by waking him up in the middle of the night whenever our parents went out for the evening; doing my best to scare him, by telling him that a serial killer was in the basement with a butcher knife and was coming upstairs to murder us.

However, what I have never shared with you, were the times I spent drawing pictures of stick people on his face with a black magic marker while he was asleep, so that when he woke up in the morning and came downstairs for breakfast, my mother would look at him wide-eyed and say, “Tom…what have you got all over your FACE??”

(as he sat there perplexed; not knowing what the hell she was referring to)

But I think the most evil thing that I’ve ever done to him, were the times when I would remove the thin elastic bands that were on the back of my Halloween masks and then shoot them at him while he was asleep. I loved watching him suddenly bolt up-right in his bed, clutching the side of neck; screaming, “WHAAAAAAAAT WAS THAAAAT??”

And it was at that point, I would hold him lovely and say, “Oh, there-there, Tom, it was just a nasty poltergeist…go back to sleep.”

All of this makes me wonder why later in life he never tried to kill me by throwing a hair dryer into my bath.

Anyway…moving on to more pleasant thoughts….

As you know, I have two other siblings, however, Tom is my favorite.

Tom is actually my half-brother from my father’s second marriage. And yet, he and I have never felt any less close because of that - we always have had a special connection.

We were the last two siblings to leave home and are closer in age, therefore, had time to bond.

The thing that makes Tom so special…is his wonderful soul.

He’s a “guy’s guy” yet, at the same time can feel totally comfortable being around anyone. He has no pretentiousness and is genuinely sincere. He feels deeply and is very sensitive. He is loyal and honest. He loves to laugh.

If you were to meet him, you would instantly feel good.

And even though Tom and I are different in certain ways, we’ve never once had an argument or expressed harsh words to one another. We respect one another enough to listen to each other’s view points and never judge. We give each other our space, knowing when to speak and when not to speak.

Our relationship is open and free, therefore, we hold no preconceived idea about how brothers are suppose to be with one another. We know in our hearts that we would be there for one another, but there is never any pressure to BE a certain way.

We can go weeks without talking to one another, yet when we speak on the phone, it’s like no time has passed.

Just yesterday, he and I talked, because I wanted to ask him if he wouldn’t mind sharing his baby picture on this post. He reads this blog often, so I didn’t want him to suddenly show up one day and see his face staring back at him, and go, “Holy shit…why does that little boy look like me?”

Yes…you’re on the Internet now, Tom!

I wrote this post because I feel terribly guilty having done all those WRETCHED things to you when we were kids. You had every right to take your BMW and run over me.

Yet, know that my readers will tell me in their comments how hideous I was and that if I had been their brother, I wouldn’t have lived long enough to experience my first orgasm.

Honestly, though…I know I may not say it often, but please know how happy and proud I am to have you as my brother.

You’re everything a friend can be.

Love you.

Have a great weekend everyone!

City Rush Hour Chaos

One of my favorite times of the day in a city is between 4 and 6 o'clock when all the office buildings empty out and total pandemonium breaks loose, as everyone is in a chaotic hurry to get back to their quiet split levels in the burbs.

I love the melody of bumper to bumper traffic moving down Broad and Market Streets; listening to car horns and tempers blaring. There's something so endearing about hearing the delicate dialogue between two car drivers in the City of Brotherly Love...

Scene: (two cars at an intersection after the light turns green)

Characters: (two men)

Honk!...Honk!...Honk!

"Hey...get your cheap piece of CAR SHIT out of my way!"

"Hey...fuck you, douche bag...EAT ME!"

"No thanks, dude...I don't eat ASSHOLES!"

"Yeah?...well then SUCK MY DICK!"

(can't you just feel the brotherly love?)

Another thing that's harmonious about rush hour madness is that everyone is either talking on a cell phone or text messaging, therefore, no one is paying any attention to anyone around them, so the sidewalk looks like one long pinball machine as pedestrians are literally bouncing off one another.

I actually saw a woman once, who was walking in front of me talking on her cell phone; completely oblivious. As she got to the street corner, she never checked to see if the light had turned green and just continued walking. I watched as a taxi cab SLAMMED on it's brakes; missing her by an inch.

(and she never even looked up)

But I think perhaps my favorite thing about his time of day, is when you add all the bicycle riders who are NEVER reprimanded by our city police for driving their two-wheelers on a sidewalk that's intended solely for pedestrians. Honestly, the pavement looks like a track for a dirt bike race, infused with frightened pedestrians who are trying to avoid death by a Schwinn.

I would also like to add that skateboards are also a part of the chaos. It's nothing to see a pack of skateboarders with their baggy pants hanging below their asses, weaving closely between elderly people using walkers. You have no idea how many times I've been tempted to reach out and grab one of them by an ear lobe as they skate by me and scream...

..."Didn't your parents ever teach you to respect the elderly?"

..."And didn't your parents ever teach you that exposing your ass crack like that makes you look like a PLUMBER???"

Shaving my Kiwis

As you can tell from this blog post, I obviously spent too much time sitting in the park last week feeding nuts to the squirrels, because I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to talk about shaving my gonads.

I mean, why not?...gonads deserve a blog post too.

(ask any man)

I had originally planned to post about how I need to use my reading glasses in order to properly shave my face in the morning, but while I was googling the Internet for images of men shaving, I began to notice articles on How-To-Shave-Your-Balls and I thought to myself, "Hell...this is a much more interesting blog topic."

(isn't it wonderful how destiny takes you where you need to speak?)

What was really interesting about these articles, was that some of them included a comment forum in which men shared their views on shaving versus going natural.

Several of the articles also gave tips on how to shave safely; warning men NEVER to use wax as a way to remove testicle hair, which I thought was a very wise warning because I can only imagine the damage it could do. It would probably feel as though you stuck your gonads on a piece of hot duct tape and then ripped it off.

*However, one advantage to doing that would be that it would most likely cause your loins to hang to the floor like a porn star.

Quite frankly, not only do I shave my kiwis, but I also coif my entire pubic area.

The reason why I do this, is because if I didn't...I would need a compass and a Boy Scout to locate my genitalia.

I'm Italian, therefore, I've been blessed with an over-abundant hair gene.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind being hairy, but I do mind my manhood looking like a toucan bird sticking it's beak out of an Amazon rainforest.

However, this wasn't always the case....

Many, many years ago, a good friend of mine was constantly telling me how much he LOVED shaving his ping-pongs because of the look and feel. At the time, I thought he was deranged because the image of getting a razor anywhere near my diamond studs made me CRINGE.

Yet, I have to admit...after trying it one hot and humid summer, it made me feel like I had just eaten a York Peppermint Pattie. I felt a cool breeze blowing between my legs.

The only slightly negative thing about shaving, is that when the hair begins to grow back...my kiwis begin to itch. But sprinkling them with some baby powder takes care of that until I shave again.

Besides, I kinda like walking down the city streets and occasionally giving myself a little "scratch."

It makes me feel like a jock....

Go Phillies!

Break Time....Cut

Hi Folks!

Just wanted to let everyone know that I'll be taking this week off from blogging.

I've got a new book I want to read, several movies to catch up on, and will be reorganizing a lot of work related stuff that's been overflowing in my apartment.

The weather has be gorgeous, so I'll also be spending time sitting in my favorite park feeding the squirrels, while watching the greedy little BASTARD pigeons doing their best to steal all the peanuts.

Wishing all a fabulous week!



Oh...but before I go, I want to leave you with a photograph that was taken of my good friend David and I, while we were living/performing in Japan.

You see...

...this is what happens when two theatrical gay men go sunglass shopping in a foreign country, and end up innocently FREAKING OUT the sweet, unsuspecting sales girl behind the counter....

"There's no business like show business....."

See ya next Monday!

X

The Power of a Mother's Love

For those of you who have just recently started reading this blog, I would like to quickly preface this post by sharing with you that my biological mother passed away when I was 6 years old. My father was remarried two years later to the woman who is now my mother.

My stepmother was only 22 years old when she married my father, who was 43.

And I've got to tell you...she had an extremely difficult time being accepted into our family after their marriage.

You would think that the difficulties in being accepted would have naturally come from my biological mothers side of the family, having lost their daughter and then watching another woman walk in; taking over the care of their grandchildren.

But amazingly enough, they immediately welcomed her with open arms and treated her as if she was their own daughter.

However, the welcome from my fathers side of the family was a completely different story....

They basically treated her as if she didn't even exist.

They all thought that my mother was too young and had only married my father because of his financial success. I guess they assumed that if they ignored her long enough, she would just go away and their marriage would dissolve. But what's ironic, is that everyone who assumed that my parents would be divorced within a year, all ended up getting divorced themselves. And yet, it was my parents marriage that continued.

What's even more ironic, is that later in life when my father went through several financial hardships, my mother loyally stood beside him and picked up the shattered pieces.

Not only did she have difficulties with her new in-laws, but she also had tremendous challenges with her three new children.

We all gave my mother a very rough time.

We resented her and did everything in our power to make sure she knew it.

We resisted anything she asked of us.

We retaliated by doing everything in complete opposition.

Here was a 22 year old woman, who had walked into a marriage with three resentful children and a set of in-laws who wanted nothing to do with her, yet trying her best to be a good mother and having no support.

And my father, for as wonderful a husband and father that he was in many ways, never confronted his children or family about giving my mother the respect she deserved.

However, being the type of person that she is, she persisted...and never gave up on us.

And when everything else she tried to say or do, failed, she gave the only thing she could give in silence....love.

And it was that love, which eventually broke through and softened our resistant hearts.

I have a lot to be grateful for in having this special lady come into my life.

Not only did she provide me with a wonderful childhood, but she was/is the perfect example of the power of a mother's love.

She took a situation that was heavily wrinkled in creases and lovingly ironed them out.

So, thank you...

...and Happy Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day to all you wonderful ladies!

Have a great weekend everyone!

X

Facebook, Joanna, Chanel, and NYC

Even though I'm not a participant in all the social activities that Facebook offers, it's been a wonderful way to reconnect with so many friends who I've lost contact with throughout the years.

And one of those friends...is Joanna.

(she's the beautiful blond in the photo above, bottom row, right)

Joanna and I worked together for Chanel's cosmetic division while living in Florida, eight years ago. And even though she now resides in the UK (where she was born), her job as a flight attendant takes her all over the world.

Let me just intervene here, by mentioning that Joanna and I share an erotic love for anything CHANEL. Even just seeing the little white CC logo on a face powder compact or purse, will cause the two of us to suddenly go glassy-eyed and hump a chair leg.

(right, Joanna?)

Now mind you, I own NOTHING from Chanel, but that still doesn't stop me from mentally masturbating about it, while watching other people enjoy it.

Anyway...

Last week, Joanna emailed me several photos that she's taken during her layovers in a city that she and I love more than our own lives....New York!

Today I would like to share some of the awesome images that this talented Piscean lady has captured.

So without further ado, here's where my heart lies......

A view of Manhattan from the Brooklyn Bridge


The electrifying Times Square

A subtle splash of color

The Mayor of New York

Lady Liberte'

A beautiful view through Central Park

Wintertime in Central Park

NYC skyline at night....aaaaah!

Thank you Joanna!

X

A Haircut and a B.J.

Upon graduating cosmetology school, my first job was working at a Regis hairstyling salon in a local mall.

There are two advantages to beginning your hair career in a mall salon. One, is that you can immediately start practicing your new found skills, and two, you can build a clientele rather quickly because of mall traffic.

Starting off as a licensed cosmetologist is sort of like jumping into the deep end of a swimming pool without your water wings - you only just begin to learn, through trial and error.

Most cosmetologists will tell you that it takes a good solid year to build your confidence in the art of hair.

Part of my job at Regis involved apprenticing along side of a senior hair stylist, doing things such as: shampooing his clients, rinsing perms and color, prepping his clients for haircuts, refilling shampoo and conditioner bottles, and doing his dirty towel laundry. Basically, it was being a SLAVE to an arrogant diva hairstylist, who was under the delusion that he could SHIT Haagen-Dazs ice cream with chocolate sprinkles on top.

(good heavens....did I just say that?)

Also, I was required to answers the phones and make appointments in between doing my own walk-in clients.

I remember an incident that happened while covering the appointment desk one morning, in which I embarrassingly not only put both my feet in my mouth, but also both hands. I guess I had either drank a little too much coffee that morning or had been preoccupied thinking about the adult film (Dick the Plumber) that I had watched the night before, but this is how it went....

Rrrrrrring.....

"Hi, thank you for calling Regis. This is Ron, how can I help you?"

She said, "Hi, yes...I've never been there before, but I would like to see if I could make an appointment today to get my hair cut and blown dry."

"Sure...any particular time you're looking at?"

"Anytime after 3:00 would be good."

"Ok...how about 3:30?"

"3:30 would be perfect."

"Great...your name please...?"

"Mary Smith."

"Phone number?"

"It's...555-5252."

"Ok, Mary...just to let you know that I'm scheduling your appointment with me today."

"Wonderful Ron, I look forward to meeting you...thank you, bye!"

"Wait! Wait! Wait!...let me just confirm this to make sure we both have the appointment time correct."

"Ok, sure"

"Alright...I have Mary Smith at 555-5252, at 3:30...for a haircut and a blow job."

*pause*

"um...no...just a haircut will be fine...I won't be needing a blow job."

Catholic School and My Report Card

Today I thought I'd share about the time I got seven F's on my report card.

First of all, I need to tell you that I went to catholic school for eight years.

Well, actually...it was more like seven and a half years, because my parents wisely transferred me into public school during my eighth year in fear that I would fail and be left behind. And within the first few months after attending public school, my grades improved dramatically.

I was finally in a place that not only offered a scholastic education, but also nurtured the side of my brain that was connected to creativity.

I know there are many people who went to catholic school and LOVED it. And for those people I think it's wonderful, but let me just say this as gently as I possibly can.....

"I FRIGGIN' HATED IT!!!!!!"

I felt like I was attending a boot camp for parrots; being taught everything by rote.

Catholic school teaching is all about about conforming, doing exactly as you are told, never thinking outside the box, and NEVER questioning the authority.

(I don't think so....I'm a Libra)

You're taught how to dress, how to walk, how to sit, how to stand, and even how to control your bladder, so you can pee ONLY when the authorities allow you to do so, at 2:15, right after your chocolate milk break.

I don't like being told how to think or how to do something in a specific way. I much prefer being given information and then being allowed to process that information in a way that works for me.

I like to think for myself, and I honestly don't mind making mistakes, but I want them to be MY mistakes; not mistakes because someone is standing over my shoulder telling me what to do and how to execute it.

Catholic school and I were like oil and water.

I couldn't learn the way I was being taught, therefore, I failed most of my classes. I honestly don't know how I got to the eighth grade - I barely got by on D's.

I remember my last year in catholic school; coming home with a report card that had seven red F's. And considering I only had eight classes, that meant I only passed one.

Art.

When I got home from school and showed my mother, she said, "Oh...just wait until you father gets home and see this Ronnie!"

I was shaking like a leaf waiting for him to walk through the door that night.

And the minute my father got home, my mother handed him my report card and said, "So...what do you think about THIS Frank?"

My father took the report card in his hand and looked over it a few minutes, and then said to my mother, "Yea...so what?"

"What do you mean...SO WHAT?"

"So what?...he got seven fairs and one B...that's not too bad."

"Those are not FAIRS Frank...those are F's...as in FAILED."

*blink* *blink*

..."You're kidding me?"...

Have a Faaabulous weekend everyone!

X