Life with Keith, or The Whimsical Banjo Man

The Postponed Christmas, or Tinsel and Tears 2008

2008-12-28T00:58:00.007-05:00

Seriouly, I had no intention of abandoning my semi-random musings back in April when I last posted. But then I moved back to Indiana, no longer had internet, and had a very part time job. So basically what I'm saying is

GET OFF MY BACK

Now that's that's clear, let's review, shall we?

I went to Texas, concerted in Peru and Bolivia, moved back to Indiana and have been getting used to being graduated. Having "Dr" in your name sounds like it would open up doors, but strangely Applebee's doesn't give me preferred seating when I put my name on the list.

Maitre'd: Name?
Me: Dr Keith Collins
Maitre'd: How many?
Me: Did you hear me, I said DOCTOR Keith Collins.
Maitre'd: Don't care, don't care, don't care.

Variations of this exchange have been repeated at Ruby Tuesday's, Outback, Texas Roadhouse, Fogo de Chao, Airtran, United, USAir, Northwest, my parents, and by the lube guys at the Wal*Mart. Even the cats are unimpressed, but then what does impress an evil bloodthirsty 20 lb felid and his spritely, food-obsessed, semi-feral she-companion? Not much, let me tell you.

It seems a Doctor of Music doesn't get the respect one might think he would. Even in the incestually small world of my specialty people are more interested in knowing who I studied with, and whether or not I've played in Europe. "Europe?" I ask. "That's SO overdone. You haven't really made it as a musician until you've played in a dank semi-tropical third world country during civil unrest and unbearable heat. Why, how can one believe he is in any way accomplished unless he's sweated so much that salt rings appear on his shirt before even the intermission?."

Meanwhile, not even a single Handel concert was tossed to me this December. That's like a cop not getting to arrest anyone on New Year's Eve. Sad, disappointing, and kinda makes you wonder about the world.
_________________________________________________________________

With all this free time, I've been looking for jobs. Not so much career-advancing ones mind you, but jobs nonetheless. I have instead taken a "volunteer" position with an historical society. It pays not a wage, but a "living stipend". I am not an employee, but a "member". And one of the first things I learned was that
God/the cosmos/fate/creation
hates me.

My boss contracted what may or may not have been whooping cough. You read that correctly. Pertussis. That which is vaccinated at the age of one. Apparently in Indiana, though, there are enough earth hippies, ultra-fundies, separatists, and other delightful sub-species who DO NOT VACCINATE their little larvae that this disease has made a big comeback in Indiana. Perhaps you're unaware, but the life sciences are one of Indiana's main industries. Lilly. Glaxco. Big players. This is irrelevant, apparently.

For the record, I did not contract whooping cough. But because I was exposed to it, my family and I decided it was too risky for me to come home and potentially give them that most blessed of Christmas presents: phlegm. So I stayed home.

And by "home" I mean that I flew to Bangor, Maine. Let's face it: staying home with the two "cats" was just too depressing. So I bought a last-minute sale flight and prepared myself for my first Christmas with my partner. Hooray!

Not so fast there, Tiger. As always with me and mine there is a Story.
_________________________________________________________________
Picture it: Indianapolis, December 23. It had been raining and sleeting, but it had passed. So a certain hobbit-ish fellow drives his sasquatch of a spouse to the airport. But as they near Edinburgh, IN (outlet malls and antique malls and a Cracker Barrel!) the phone rings. A robot lady instructs said spouse that the flight is canceled. For a day. Please come back and try again tomorrow! Thanks!

Meanwhile, hobbit's ticket is for the morning. So back home for one more night. HIS flight was completely uneventful and only delayed by 20 minutes. Sasquatch was to leave 6 hours later, to meet in Bangor around midnight.

*cue orchestra which is playing a bminor7 chord, au tremblant*

Upon arriving in Bangor, there is a phone call. Flight delayed. 4 hours. Another call 4 hours later reveals that there is no crew for the flight. I wonder if they just said "Well f*ck this, it's Christmas Eve. Let's take the attendants to the bar and get hammered!"

He makes it, eventually, on Christmas morning at 5am. Fa la la la la.

At this point in the narrative, I would, were I a reader, sigh with a smug smile and shake my head at the tangled webs we modern humans weave, what with flying in the air and whatnot. Then I'd expect the author to start wrapping it up. Sadly, that is not going to happen. Let's turn the metaphorical page:

The smaller one, the hobbit-ish one, had in fact had a bit of a cough and some Liquidity in the Market, if you know what I mean. But nothing more. So the merry little band opens the presents and then has what, for this particular family, is a tradition: Christmas Chinese takeout.
Now for the wee guy, this is not unlike celebrating the birth of our Lord and Saviour with a pinata, or a clam bake- weird, a bit sacreligious, and a tad nauseating. Still, it wasn't as weird as the Christmas Supper of Stuffed Shells and Cheese. With garlic bread. It should be noted at this point that this wee hobbit-like dude is an Appalachian American of many generations, and he has often described visiting his friends and relations and in-laws in Maine as "like being Jane Goodall but with better weather and fewer bugs." Yankees in the Mist, if you will.

*weeguy writing in journal, wearing a safari hat*: "The one I call Sasquatch has been cranky today. When I pant-hooted he nearly took off my face. His sister seems much calmer, perhaps because she is courting a young male. If only I could understand their language and customs! Also, what is a whoopie pie?"

And so, around 10pm, Sasquatch begins to feel unwell. That's what you get for eating Chinese on Christmas the hobbit thinks to himself. Then the big one turns gray and feverish. Finally a decision has been made. Time to go to the hospital.

Nothing says "Happy Holidays!" like going to the emergency room at a semi-rural town on the edge of the world, where there are 8-ish hours of daylight on Christmas and 2 feet of snow on the ground and a sad, sad little Christmas tree in the lobby.

And so, as the diagnosis of a flare-up of diverticulitis is confirmed, as the admittance papers are signed, as the IV antibiotics and Fentanyl are injected, as the realization that there will be at least 2 days in the hospital over Christmas, and as the cold, cold dawn arrives (at 8am), they look lovingly at each other and, through impossibly foul breath, wish each other a "Merry Fecking Christmas".

Report from the Wildlife Refuge; or Leno Has Apologized

2008-04-07T23:18:00.006-05:00

So JL has published an apology about the whole gay thing. Thanks Jay! Don't do it again!

It is well into spring here in Texas, so I used one of my rare weekends here and drove about 60 miles north to Hagerman National Wildlife Refuge. 1000 or so acres of Texas wilderness, with man-made lake, marshes, ponds, woods, wetlands, hills, and

Oil rigs?

Yes, of course! It's TexAss after all, where Big Oil is Everything and Everywhere. Kinda hard to commune with nature with all the "screeek....WHONK.....screek.....WHONK" going on all the time ALL THE TIME. So to all the Republicans and others out there who want to drill in the Arctic Refuge, I've seen and heard what it's like. Verdict: NO THANK YOU. Instead let's pour some serious money into coming off oil once and for all. Maybe when Obama wins and we pull out of Iraq that'll free up a few Trillion. sigh....

I shan't befoul your eyes with rigs, but I will treat them to some particularly lovely images of egrets, sunsets, and butterflies. Clicky:

My Gayest Look, or, Leno's a Loser. Also, I AM NOW DR KEITH

2008-03-30T00:04:00.003-05:00

Well the fun never stops, does it?

Leno on March 20 had Ryan Philippe on. Ryan had played a gay soap opera character, and Leno couldn't resist egging him to give the camera his "gayest" look.

Cuz that's funny. Apparently to J.

So fast-forward to Jeff Whitty of Avenue Q fame who wrote Jay a letter and included an image of him giving Jay his gayest look.

(Brief recap here: Jeff wrote to Leno back in 2006 about J's gay "humor" and it ended up all over the news.)

Melissa McEwan picked it up and she told some friends, who told some friends, who told some friends....

I've sent in mine, plus a link to those photos of Indy Pride 2006 of the "clergy" with the murderous signs on his pickup. June 2006 in the Archives <------- over there if you don't remember what I'm talking about.

In other news, I have passed my defense and am a Doctor of Music.

Would you like fries with that?

laters,
Dr K

... Oklahoma: NOT OK

2008-03-12T01:03:00.002-05:00

So here's the letter I wrote to Rep. Sally Kern. In case you've been under a rock, she was recorded saying that gays are a worse threat than terrorism.

Dear Representative Kern,

Thank you for articulating what many Americans are afraid to say out loud. If there were more people like you we could perhaps have an open dialog about homosexuality.

As a happily partnered gay man, I applaud your vociferous and astonishingly candid speech which is now making news. If we as a society recognize that our elected officials have such strongly anti-gay views, we can perhaps begin to see that things have gone too far and that we can begin to heal as a nation.

When young people hear speeches like yours they learn that it is ok to have negative attitudes about gays. Please read about the tragic murder of Lawrence King, a 15 year old who had his brains blown out by a classmate because he was thought to be gay. http://lifewithkeith.blogspot.com/

You have every right to believe the things you said in your speech. But please keep in mind that as a community leader, your words can have profound impact on young minds. Clearly you do not endorse the murder of people who are thought to be gay. But young minds are fickle, and the words and deeds of people with your power are highly influential. Please keep that in mind before you say things like "gays are worse than terrorists".

with utmost respect,
Keith Collins

I didn't go into trying to convince her that her arguments are exceedingly faulty, illogical, and untrue; I know that would be fruitless. But I hope she'll at least see that when someone with her power and status says things like she said, it gives a small segment of society the sense that violence against gays is not only ok, but necessary for the good of the country. The logic might go something like: "Terrorism is bad, we go after terrorists; gays are worse, we'll go after them, too." And the violence continues.

I don't expect a response, but at least I feel like I tried a little. Alarmingly, she really believes that what she said is the truth. Equally alarming are the death threats she's received. Come on people, let's treat her like we want to be treated!

Happily, the governor of OK has made the admonishment to "cool the rhetoric". I like that.

If you're as astonished at her remarks as I am, consider writing to her at sallykern@okhouse.gov.

~kc

De profundis

2008-03-06T00:37:00.012-05:00

OUTRAGE

How is that this can happen, here, now?

How is it possible that there has not been more of an outcry about the murder of Lawrence King? Or Simmie Williams?

Lawrence was an 8th grader and was shot in the head during class at a school in California. His accused murderer is a 14 year old classmate. Lawrence is dead, and his accused murderer will, if convicted, go to jail for the rest of his life.

Because Lawrence asked him to be his Valentine.

Because Lawrence was gay.

Because Lawrence wore makeup and heels to school sometimes.

And so a 14 year-old boy got the message from our society OUR SOCIETY that it's ok to take a handgun to school and blow the brains out of a gay kid.

CONDEMNATION

Shame on all of us.

Shame on our elected officials who drag their heels in passing equal rights and hate-crimes legislation.

Shame on voters for putting those elected officials in office in the first place.

Shame on our churches for not following Christ's message of love for your brother, neighbor, son, daughter, fellow human being. For if our children hear in church that "God hates fags", surely those same children will grow to believe that they, too, "hate fags".

Shame on our schools and their boards for not being more aggressive in anti-bullying policies, for censoring books with gay-affirming topics, and for prohibiting gay and gay-straight alliances.

Shame on parents for not teaching their children, our children, that all of us every one deserve respect, and to be treated with dignity.

Shame on those groups who, in the name of Christ, seek to thwart in our schools programs that teach not just tolerance but acceptance.

Shame on the media for being so blinded by the political process that they barely spared room for these tragedies.

And shame on me for not being man enough to stand up more, to love more, to speak up more, to insist more, to converse more, to be myself more.

RESOLUTION

There's much talk about Change lately. Can it really happen?

ENDA, spousal rights, marriage, civil unions, DADT repeal?

For the love of All That Is And Will Be, VOTE!
Sign a petition.
Talk to each other.
Love each other.
Engage each other with real dialogue.

Then maybe, just maybe, all the killing, all the suicides, all the crying and weeping and sadness won't have been in vain.

What will you do?

peace to all,
Keith

A Certain Collection of Photos, or Hats Are Fun!

2008-02-10T00:29:00.000-05:00

For this installment, I have chosen to showcase various images of people with headwear. We as a species really should wear more stuff on our heads, I think.

Behold:

The hubby with a Madeira-style woven hat, procured by the Drs. Crooks on their honeymoon.

Here he's working on his esis-thay in our old house in the Green Wood. That place was hard to heat!

Hubby again, this time with paper pants from (one of) his stays in the hospital on his head.

He was not in fact drunk; this is why I love him. He can run around the house with paper-based dignity garments on his head and not seem to all intents and purposes to be legally insane.

My peep Joey with Play-doh on his head. He's two, and he does what he wants.

OK, before you judge me you should know this: I'm hillbillyin' it up for the camera. Probably.

T is for Tennessee which is where My People are from.

"Comin' At Ya From the Blue Ridge Since 1726"

Now see, this photo has in it NO HEADWEAR WHATSOEVER. It was just so cute that I had to include it. This is my neighbor/nephew with my dulcimer, which he adores.

"Are you mad? I am your daughter!"

Here's my Tibetan/Mandarin/English- speaking darling. She and her mom are now far away in China. We miss them!

Joey and I are having a grand time at the park. I'm wearing my trademark driving cap. And by "trademark" I mean "I'm one of only a few people I've met that can pull this hat off and NOT look like a goober."

Right?

OK, so maybe a little goober-esque.

But Dom says it's cute, so there.

Also, wtf with my shirt?

Speaking of goobers....

This befezzed gentleman in my time of need abandoned me ABANDONED ME to go to Italy for half a year.

Just kidding. I managed fine in my Major Life Transition. Hmmmm... that sounds a lot like I was having gender reassignment, and instead I was merely unemployed.
Same diff.

And finally, here's the hubby, My Ain True Love tm, lookin' for all the world like the Salty Sea Dog he is.

PS- I bought him that Pea Coat myself. And he stole that hat. No, seriously.

OK, it's time to go now. Hope you enjoyed!

kisses and inappropriate headwear*,
~ keith

*with apologies to Brooke

Whatever Happened to My Blog, or Sometimes I Forget to ....... Hey look! Something shiny!

2007-12-27T23:42:00.000-05:00

I haven't blogged.
So sue me.
Really.
I don't care, since I'm narrowly avoiding a one way trip to Chapter 13-ville by selling off my precious instruments.

Well, ok, one instrument, but still. It's symbolic. And by "symbolic" I clearly mean "worth enough USD to barely keep me afloat financially." Once the deal is cut I'm talking to an investor specialist person dude at my new bank, the Credit Union. Credit Unions are totally rad, by the way. Banks suck. Just so you know.

In other news:
1. I'm living temporarily in Texass to teach for a semester. Great for my resume, no fun for a relationship which is, let's be frank, the best thing to ever happen to me.

2. My Kristy and Jim had a baby! Yay! He made rather a dramatic entrance, much to surprises all around, including him apparently.

3. My lil peep Joey went poopy on the potty for the first time yesterday. Go Joey!

4. I'm borrowing a ginormous baroque contrabassoon to do some gigs on this spring. Pics to follow will be hiLAAARious (cue Amy Sedaris).

Now the sad part:
I bade farewell to my pup Zeke Whippet. He just couldn't deal with me being gone and went completely ape-sh!t in my absence. I talked it over with the breeder and she helped me find a great home for him, a retired couple who already have Zeke's half-sister! There's been much weeping, but ultimately it was the best thing for him. Thanks for all the good times little friend, you helped keep me sane during the insanity. I'll see you on the Rainbow Bridge.

That's all for now, my poppets. I'll try to be more consistent in remembering to ...... hey! let's go play Nintendo!

Keith

And Now We Are 34, or How It Feels to Be Older Than Jesus

2007-08-30T21:51:00.000-05:00

Well, here I am; another year older, just as short, just as fat, just as sassy, just as broke. Actually, I'm broker cuz I don't have a full-time job anymore. But I am insured! "Why Keith, how is this possible, since you are apparently no longer a full-time salaried insured worker?" you ask.

Dom, my Ain True Love, and I have procured health coverage through his work at the University. We had to have a

Notarized Affidavit of Domestic Partnership

for the University. Never mind that this is a state school and that my state does not recognize such things. Never mind that now we are on some List somewhere where the guv'ment can find us if it so desires to, oh I dunno, persecute My People. Or maybe they'll just seek fashion advice. That last part was funny cuz it was a stereotype We don't have here at the "Boy Lair". Between Dom, two castrated pets, and me we couldn't accesorize ourselves out of a paper bag. With directions.

*watches Baby Kitten squirrel away his catalog from LL Bean*

So, I've been made an honest man of sorts. To make it really real, we're gonna have some sort of a Ceremony in October 2008. Could be Protestant, could be Catholic. Maybe Eastern Orthodox just to throw people off. At least we have some actual ceremonies from the EO church for My People. We don't know yet what we're gonna do, or wear, or eat, or what kinda rings to get ("Screw rings, let's get matching tattoos! Or a puppy!"). My nephew will be 3 and a half, and will be the best ring/tattoo/puppy bearer EVER. His brother will be just a lil guy, but I think he'll be a FABULOUS wedding cake topper.

We've considered allowing the Baby Kitten and Zeke Whippet in on the show, but then we realized that the cat would have to be muzzled and restrained, Dr Hannibal Lecter-esque, and brought in on a loading cart by armed guards to ensure that he wouldn't wreak utter havoc.

I can just imagine as the reception winds down and the cat is carted away

Baby Kitten: "Oh, and Daddy Dom: love your shoes."

This is a "cat" (and I use the term loosely) who has unholy sexual relations with a stuffed squid on a unsettlingly frequent basis, who is currently fascinated with Dom's new hobby of acrylic paints and their brushes, and who fetches bouncy balls when we throw them around our home. Maybe he'll catch whatever we throw as a substitute for a bouquet/garter. What does one throw at a same-sex union ceremony? two jockstraps? Boxer briefs? Viewing guide to Lifetime?

In other news, I ate an entire box of Mac n'Cheese tonight. Mostly because I was hungry and had mowed the "lawn". This is the former flora which is mostly dead from drought anyway, so it was more of a Requiem than a Mowing. Still, I got all hot and gross and the cat drank all the beer last night ("Go get me a 40, bitch!") so it was sweet tea, mac, grilled chicken, and corn on the cob for the Boys tonight. Also, the dog has been eating cicadas again. A whole backyard full of McBugs is all they are to him. A veritable buffet of invertebrates. Still, its the little things that make life worth living.

Parting shots: following is a photo from roughly late 1980, featuring my Ain True Love, then one of me from about 1974. It's a minor miracle we survived our infancies and were able to find each other. Please note:the powder blue polyester leisure suit with flyaway collar, bell bottoms, and feathered hair were, I am assured by my older sister, the envy of all the 2-yr olds in my county.

ttfn,
Keith

I Saw A Moose, or, Ruminants Are Large

2007-07-09T20:03:00.000-05:00

2007-06-17T18:28:00.001-05:00

Surprise in Indiana, or Appendectomies Are Fun

2007-04-15T21:40:00.000-05:00

Greetings all! So sorry for the interruption in service, but Life got in my Way. As most of you know Dom had an emergency appendectomy. It was so not hot! I spent the night in his room at the hospital for several nights. I'm happy to say Bloomington Hospital was very accommodating to My People, despite my fears that I would be forbidden FORBIDDEN from staying with him. We had (mostly) pleasant nurses and techs, and a surgeon who was brilliant, Greek, and bracingly foul-mouthed. As in, and this is a direct quote directed at Dom after his surgery and before he was to get on a plane to the Vast White North, "If the wound gets red and green and oozy don't feck around with a walk-in clinic; get your a$$ to a surgeon." Fun!

Dom found out that morphine causes you to itch after a few days, and that staples in your belly leave an impressive scar; in this case, nearly a foot long. Seems his vestigial organ was further back in his abdominal cavity than usual so they had to cut.

THEN then then I went on a gig and what do you suppose happens? My Ain True Love goes and gets DIVERTICULITIS! So no more popcorn, and then comes the fun of ColonScope 2007 later in the month. Yay for insurance!

Good news: the Marriage Amendment in Indiana never got out of committee. Hooray! My my little letter back in February actually did make a difference.

Other good news: I'm getting a lot of gigging. This year I've so far been to Raleigh, Baltimore, Williamsburg, and Denton. Next I'm going to Atlanta, Boston, and then DC in July.

Other bad news: work is getting less fun.

OK, that's all the news that's fit for now. More cute pictures and a new Family Story installation soon!

ttfn,
Keith

Blizzards for V-Day, or, A Letter to Senator Waltz and Rep. Frizzell

2007-02-15T22:06:00.000-05:00

Hi everybody! For Valentine's Day we got a Blizzard, and I don't mean a Dairy Queen frosty yummy dessert. About a foot of snow, lotsa wind, and a high temp of 2!

2 LONELY DEGREES!

It's fecking cold. And Baby Kitten here is all wrapped up, ready for his facial. Or his screen test. Or a lobotomy. Yes, a lobotomy sounds good.

Behold Zeke Whippet up to his little puppy knees and ankles in the snow. He is not amused, by the way (click to enlarge!):

In scenic Greenwood IN we got mostly snow, but in Martin-tucky they got ice. It was pretty, if dangerous to drive on.

I'll finish up this Photo Update with some Pet Pics. Here's Zeke Whippet all curled into a ball cuz it was cold, and then the "cat" looking serene. In reality, he was digesting a toddler that strayed into our yard.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now is the time on my Blog where I get Preachy.

Ahem.

Joint Resolution 7 in the Indiana Senate is on its way to the House. This is Indiana's version of the "Marriage Amendment." Alarmed, I went to our state's government website and found email addresses for my sentator and representative, promptly wrote a letter and sent it off. Following is the letter:

Dear ,
I’m writing to voice my concern about the proposed marriage amendment and its impact on Indiana’s citizens.

Recently legislators have indicated their support for this amendment based on other states’ passage of similar amendments. Others cite that such amendments are the “will of the people”, based on the fact that these amendments are supported by about 60% of citizens polled in other states.

I think these arguments are misguided. The “will of the people” in the 1950’s and 60’s was that black people and white people shouldn’t get married, that black children shouldn’t go to white schools, and that whites shouldn’t have to share public facilities with non-whites. This state in particular was a notable example of such sentiment, and this is sadly still a part of our Indiana society in some places.

I’m surprised that since these events are so recent that we as a society, and more to the point our elected officials, have failed to learn history’s lessons. In 50 years, about the same amount of time since many of our Jim Crow laws were repealed, I want our society to be able to look back and see that Indiana refused to be swept up in the rush to take away rights from its gay citizens as so many states have done in recent years.

As a gay man with what can only be termed a spouse, where will I go to ensure that tax laws, inheritance rights, visitation and power of attorney are applied to me and my partner as it is to my straight married friends and family? I could move to Canada, or the United Kingdom. But I’m an American and don’t want to do that. I don’t want to have to do that.

Part of your job is to protect those in the minority: blacks, gays, immigrants, Jews, Muslims, the disabled, and so many others.

I hope you carefully think about this as the marriage amendment comes to the floor: if majority opinion had ruled in the late 19th century and the early- and mid- 20th century, where would we be now as a society? Some in the state of Indiana would be very happy if that imaginary world were real: a world where non-whites could not vote, or hold office; where murder of minorities went unprosecuted; where bi-racial marriage was illegal; where women were legally allowed to be beaten by their husbands.

I’m sure you are not one of those Hoosiers. But society judges harshly. It is easy for us in 2007 to look back at 1817, or 1947, and feel pity, anger, and embarrassment at our forebears’ misguided attempts to promulgate and even legislate their racism, misogyny, anti-Semitism, and other prejudices.

I hope we do not make the same mistakes, and that the next generation, and the next, will not have cause in 2057 to look at us with that same pity and embarrassment.

with utmost respect,

So there it is. Two weeks later, I got a response. It was........ fascinating. Behold:

Subject:
Message from the Office of Senator Brent Waltz
Date:
Tue, 13 Feb 2007 11:18:52 -0500
From:
"Jennifer Pearsey"

Thank you for your email regarding Senate Joint Resolution 7. I appreciate your comments; however, I respectfully disagree with your assessment of the marriage amendment.

The amendment does not seek to regulate private conduct, only state recognition of such conduct by virtue of preferred benefits such as tax status and related legal issues. Marriage is a legal and social construct which grants over 1100 legal rights and privileges. Marriage law has always been a matter of state law jurisdiction and the amendment simply seeks to preserve the law in its current state.

Again, thank you for writing. If I may be of further assistance to you in the future, please let me know.

Brent Waltz
State Senator

Notice something? The response

HAS NOTHING TO DO AT ALL WITH MY LETTER!
My argument wasn't about "private conduct" at all. It was about state recognition of my relationship. I'm not sure he even read it, or if his assistants read it. I suspect there's a pile of pre-written responses which just get sent along as needed. So I wrote back, imploring him to read my letter.

I wait with bated breath. I know full well this campaign of mine will prolly have no effect on the marriage amendment in Indiana. This is a very red state, even though we did gain a bunch of Democrats last November.

Oh well. I'll not give up, cuz that would make it easy. Momma always said, "You hafta lie down to get walked on" and "Nobody ever said life was fair."

She doesn't read this blog, but if she did, I'd tell her "Thanks Mom for good advice."

ttfn,

Keith

Happy New Year, or Surely 2007 Will Not Suck

2007-01-06T18:23:00.000-05:00

Hi everybody! It's 2007 and boy am I glad! It's not that 2006 sucked so much as it blew a few goats. You know how it is.

Just kidding! Mostly! I passed my exams, survived the summer at my job, almost died only once, and we got a digital camera that ROX!

BEHOLD:

What's cuter than a baby in a box? That's right!

NOTHING!

Unless, of course, it's puppy...

...or my Ain True Love.

Well, I've also decided to put up website for my professional life, such as it is. Interested parties should click here forthwith: www.ckeithcollins.blogspot.com

Don't laugh at the pics please.

xo
ckc

I Am Not Dead, or Let's Have a Holiday

2006-12-20T20:58:00.000-05:00

Hi everybody! Remember me?

After a furiously full fall I am back online and bloggin'. What have you missed? Well, here are the highlights of

Keith's Fall of Fun, 2006

First, I had tons of gigging to do. This involved trips to Albuquerque, Atlanta, and other places I can't remember right now. I like the southwest, by the way. It's sunny there. Here in Indiana it is gray and overcast for about 6 months of a year.

I also worked. A lot. At my "job". Then I finished my transcription for my doctoral project. w00t!! I'm taking 2 weeks off in February to get the d&#n thing done.

I got to ride in an ambulance to the emergency room! The short version: I had a stomach bug/food poisoning and nearly shat myself into a coma. The projectile vomiting was also a contributing factor. Blood sugar dropped to 50 (bad!), I started to go numb (very bad!!) and my speech became slurred (call the ambulance please!!!). Anyway, an IV full of glucose, another of fluids, another of anti-nausea and I was on the road to (physical) health. It was one of those death-taps-you-gently-on-the-shoulder kinda experiences. Also found out how much I am loved when Dom cleaned up my, umm.... person before the EMTs arrived. I was so sick I was leaking. Sorry for too much info, but inquiring minds wanna know!

Here are some photos I have made. (Also, I have no idea why the text is so big in this last paragraph. I keep telling blogger to make it "normal size" but it's being ornery.)

This was from a roll of film I found in my car. I took this at least a year ago, maybe more, on my drive home from work. Creepy storm clouds in the east above Indiana's verdant fields. There's another one I'll post later that's pretty impressive.

Once again, the cutest kid ever! He's waving at me from his little playhouse and saying "Hi! Hi!" as he is wont to do.

I really like this shot. Joey has this funny way of running with his arm held up like this. I think it's adorable!

I had another one, but blogger just ate it. Drat! Oh well, I'll do another post soon.

There is a digital SLR on its way with my and Dom's name on it. Yay! No more film for a while. But LOTS more photos, I hope.

kisses,
Keith

The Evil Table, or Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

2006-09-01T20:32:00.000-05:00

Act I
Picture, if you will, the 1960's. A young married couple are raising their four nieces and nephews out of Christian love. They are poor, from Appalachia, and are living in Florida. It is a grand time to be a kid, to be ANYBODY, in Cocoa Beach, FL. He works at the Cape, doing electronic stuff for the Saturn V rocket systems which send humanity to the heavens. She is a full-time mom and sunbather.

They need a new dining room table.

They can't fit all six of them around the little round kitchen table. So they go to the second-hand store. Goodwill or Salvation Army, those details are lost now to time.

Eventually they find it. A beautiful hardwood table with leaves for expansion. It is exceptionally well-made, with tasteful, never-out-of-date turnery and decoration.

It is, however, exceptionally dirty; it's almost black.

With soot.

Act II
Fast forward now to the 70's. The couple are now in suburban Atlanta. They have two children of their own now, the nieces and nephews having married and started their own lives, more or less. Life is good in the burbs. There's a swimming pool, 2.5 bathrooms, all the neighbors are friends. But....

Tragedy strikes!

November, 1978. Mom takes her 5-year old boy and 2-year old girl to the mall to see Santa. How perfect! How delightful! How domestic!
Upon finishing whispering their hearts' desires into the ear of what was surely a rampant alcoholic of a white-bearded man, a breathless neighbor approaches the precious family.

Your house has burned to the ground. Come with me right now. No, there's nothing left.

Not quite nothing. The boy gets some toys back from the insurance-appointed cleaners, although they will always have the smell of tears and dashed dreams. That, and all his Superfriends are roughly the color of Wes Studi. Two stuffed animals survive. No clothes. Even the fish are dead, boiled to a crisp in their tank.

Act III
Now we go to the mid-1980's. In his parent's former residence the Husband has made a nice little vacation home. When the family goes to Appalachia to visit the kinfolk, they have their own place to stay, now that the kids' grandparents have moved in with auntie. Sadly, the pipes one winter burst asunder, warping the old hardwood floors to oblivion. They sell the old house to the man next door.

The place burns to the ground the day the sale is finalized.

Act IV
Just a few short years later, auntie who is caring for the kids' grandparents goes on an outing, taking the retirees with her. Upon returning she is startled to find that her house

has also gone up in flames. Only bricks are left. Even the television has melted like hot butter on a griddle.

Act V
The dawn of the 21st century. Those kids are now grownups, and the girl who was only 2 when Santa brought her despair and sackcloth for Christmas lo these many years ago has herself married. She finds a nice boy, sweet as can be, smart, funny. They have a fairy-tale wedding in a gorgeous church, have a stunning honeymoon in Madeira. Once home they resume business as usual. Husband comes home to find

there has been a kitchen fire. Smoke everywhere. Doggies are gasping, parakeets are doing an interpretation of a canary in a mine shaft. Smoke damage is extensive, they have to move out for months waiting on the repairs, the cleanings, the replacements, the sleepless nights, the installation of a security system.

Finis
Sometimes, my poppets, life is beyond explanation. Or perhaps that explanation is just too horrific, too improbable, too creepy to be borne. So we rationalize: Wow, what rotten luck for your family! Dude, that's kinda weird! Creepy!

The truth? Some of you know it in your hearts:

The table was in every house that burned. All of them. In the dining room, in the attic, in the kitchen.

We've considered getting rid of it, but would that stop it's evil power? We've considered burning it, but clearly it won't burn. It's come through all the "accidents" unscathed. We've considered burying it, Jumanji-style, but then it would only sprout more trees to produce more evil tables.

Anyone want a beautiful dining room table?

Coming of Age, or I Am 33

2006-08-30T17:42:00.000-05:00

WELL I NEVER

Do you ever have the kind of experience where you start off questioning something innocuous like, I dunno, manners, and end up debating with yourself the very existence of peace and goodwill?

Let me set the stage for you. I'm working at the museum. A "guest" comes in. She is roughly 13 years old. She is not just a little skanky. Her shirt is embarrasingly tight and her pants have the word "Skankalicious" on the ass. Ahem:

Skank: "OMG, like, you TOTALLY remind me of someone!"
Me: Really? Who might that be?
Skank: "I can't remember. Lemme think about it."

*dramatic pause*

Skank: "Oh yeah! You TOTALLY remind me of that fat hobbit Sam Gamgee in those movies!"
Me: !!!!!!

What I wanted to say was:
Me: And you TOTALLY remind me of a raving bitch!

But I didn't. I controlled my incredulity and directed her to the nearest pile of poop (it's an outdoor museum). I told her it was chocolate which had fallen off the chocolate tree nearby, ready for the pickin'.

And this isn't an isolated incident, oh no. This past winter I was asked by various snotty-nosed, soccer-playing, church-on-Sunday, white-bread-eatin, SUV-lovin, Red State brats:
"Are you an elf?"
"Are you a boy or a girl?" (!!???!??!!)
"Do you live in a tree?" (think Keebler elf)

Honestly. What is the deal with people under the age of 20 these days? They show up at college unable to read a whole book. They think it's perfectly fine to call someone a fat hobbit. And they wear their pants far too low to be practical. *shakes head in disdain*

I mean, I think I embrace my inner hobbit in a healthy, thoughtful, and productive manner. I ham it up with the short and tubby jokes amongst my friends and relatives and selected co-workers. It's fun because it's true, and I'm perfectly fine with that. I've even gone to Halloween parties as a hobbit. Twice.

But coming from a total stranger? It's simply not to be borne! *stamps foot indignantly*
I shall simply have to do something rather rash, I'm afraid.

SO to make the most of it, I am having a hobbit coming-of-age party. For those of you fortunate enough to have had normal social interaction during the teen years and beyond, Tolkien records that hobbits come of age at the 33rd birthday. Therefore, I propose we all go out to eat Saturday and have a drink or five. Then go to Jelder's band reunion thingey.

Tomorrow is actually the Big Day. I'm off work, but I'll be slaving in B'ton on my stupid doctoral paper, and a rehearsal, and who knows what else will come up.

_________________________________________

Speaking of coming of age, I simply must relate to you my interactions with one of my co-workers. Now, in the business in which I find myself in (that's three uses of "in" in one sentence! oops make it four) there are an inordinately large number of crazy people. Not just your usual run-of-the-mill crazies, but certifiable insanity. To wit:

I saunter inside to go potty, and I run into she who is known as , among other things*, The Bag of Hair. This term was coined by a former co-worker who observed that ther'es nothing weirder than a random bag of hair. Anyway, so there she is at the table in the employee lounge talking to one of our custodians. This custodian is African-American. This is an important point, so don't forget.

BOH: "Custodian, have you tried these tomatoes?"
AAC: "No I haven't."
BOH: "They're called black tomatoes. *pause pause pause* But don't worry, they're some of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet."

Clearly something went horribly awry in this conversation. I don't know what happened next because I was so horrified I left the room, choking on the bile which had erupted into my esophagus. I hope he betch-slapped her.

BOH seems to have no filter on her. She just says whatever comes to mind, regardless of how shocking or insulting it might be. I'd like to say that I punched her in the neck this one time, or that someone in the locker room sprayed her corset with.... um......... an irritating substance. No such luck.

My friend and co-conspirator Aili and I have taken to rating just how crazy she is on any given day. It's sort of an Emergency Alert system for nutty coworkers. And a valuable tool to know just how to interact with her, or not:

Level 1: Able to have lucid conversations (with others).

Level 2: Given to occasional incoherent babble. Talks to self loudly.

Level 3: Makes little effort to interact meaningfully with other sentient beings.

Level 4: Filter is not working at all. Expect crazy talk, muttering, general weirdness. Laughs at jokes that only she hears.

Level 5: Get a blow gun and a dart with a sedative.

She's so nuts another co-worker who used to work in group homes for the mentally challenged observes that BOH only needs some TLC. Which stands, of course, for Thorazine and Leather Cuffs.

There are other BOHs at my place d'employment, mais oui. Like the 300 lb nudist colony enthusiast, the closeted fairy, the various and sundry Longskirts, Pentecostals, and Holy Rollers. But BOH takes the cake.

If only it had some thorazine in it.

bye!

Keith

* also "She Who Is Bobsledding to Pluto", "Amazing Grace", and "Crazy xxxxx" (name withheld)

Almost Ready To Blog Again; or Been Really Busy

2006-08-10T20:31:00.000-05:00

Hi everybody! Sorry for the silence, but Dom got home from Mexico and all heck broke loose: work craziness, I got sick, and now

Balthazar is also sick! Again.

As in: while walking out of my room this morning my feet went " splat" in something vaguely yellow. Eeewwww. Then I smelled something so foul my eyes watered, my butt puckered up, I got dizzy, and I gagged. It seems the cat had not only vomited (6 times!), but also had painted the laundry room with

Explosive diarrhea!!

Yay pets! Zeke Whippet, of course, thought this was the best day since the cicada outbreak a couple years ago ("Cool! The backyard is full of chicken nuggets! w00t!"). This morning his inner monologue went something like this

"Hey! What's this on the floor? [sniff sniff] Hey wow! The kitty made me breakfast! Thanks kitty, you're the best! Can I lick your butt when I'm done?"

Our pets are gross.

later,
ckc

Did Someone Call for a Harper? or, Hang On, Let Me Just Put On My...

2006-07-21T22:17:00.000-05:00

For all your weddings, civil unions, parties, wakes, and St Padraig's Day needs, call on

Keith the Whimsical Harper!

His harps come in two flavors, gut-strung and brass- and silver-strung.

He'll show up in a tux, tails, or whatever else your heart desires (no top-hat and tu-tu combinations though; baaaad experience once).

Rates are reasonable for the general public, and practically free for friends and "family"/family!

He's done weddings in knee breeches, faux Renaissance attire, jeans and a bolo tie, all black, all white, overalls and a wife-beater, cheesy Civil War clothing, and others. NB! small extra fee for Keith to appear in pointy shoes or in all green with a bowler hat. You know.

_____________________________________________________________

I'm not even kidding about the clothes people. Somewhere there are actually pics of me, Adam and Tammy playing banjo, guitar, and fiddle at a friend's wedding (Bryan if you're out there you owe me!). There was moonshine. It was flavored with watermelon Jolly Ranchers. How could I make that up??

I've also played dulcimer, baroque bassoon, modern bassoon, recorder, and crumhorn at weddings. I've done weddings officiated by rabbis, priests, Wiccan priestesses, Baptists, and Episcopals. I have been in weddings at waterfalls, horse barns, and a beautiful log chapel. For the bolo-tie-jeans-in-a-horse-barn wedding I put together AT THE BRIDE'S REQUEST a bassoon quartet. The wedding was on July 3 and ALSO AT THE BRIDE'S REQUEST we played marches by John Philip Sousa. She wore a mini-skirt, white off-the-shoulder top, and a long train which out-longed her skirt by at least two feet. He rode in on a white horse, and he wore jeans, black cowboy boots, and a tux top (but with a bolo, no bow tie).

In case you wondering, YES, I'M FOR SALE. I will play just about anything at a wedding. See, I have what I call the "Music Condom". This is an idea I had to cook up so I didn't feel like I was sullying my soul every time some doe-eyed sorostitute of a bride wanted me to play Randy Travis on the dulcimer at her wedding. Rather than get all Diva on her ass, I just put on the Music Condom and do what she wants. For a fee, of course.

Soul unstained, career untarnished, bride unvirginal. See? It all works!

Here we are again coming up on midnight. I had another nap today, this time sans quadrupeds draped over my person. It was invigorating! So I guess I'll get some sleep. It's raining peaceably and that makes me happy.

ttfn,

Awake at Midnight, or I Had a Nap Today!

2006-07-20T23:16:00.000-05:00

Greetings all!

Here I sit, typing again at a late hour. I'm awake, bored, vaguely hungry, and missing Dom like Crazy. I heard from my little world traveler. He is in Oaxaca, and had been for the previous days in Mexico City. While in the big city, he got sick (!) and obtained something unpronouncable from an apothecary. Then he was better and went to a museum, where I am sure he nearly fainted from excitement at tribal masks and other anthropological delights.

He is headed next to some place that sounds like Toxtlptliqutexotlpotl, but we could have had a bad connection. He might have said "Pueblo" instead. Either is a possibility.

For your viewing pleasure, I submit a secret: Dom and I are looking at rings. It's a funny thing. When you're one of Our People, you don't go through the whole seeking hand in marriage thing. Or should I say hand in civil union? Domestic partnership? I still like "spomo" = spouse homo. Anyway, we dated, we shacked up, it just seems like the natural next step. Not that it's recognized by the guv'ment or nothin', but still. I guess we could go Quaker, but I'm sure some of my friends at work would disown me. Maybe we'll go Canadian instead. I hear Vermont is nice. Not to live, just to go and get the paper. Of course we can and still may do it right here in the Rusty Bible Belt (=Midwest), paper be damned. At the very least we'll have a FABULOUS party.

I must admit, however, that I find myself daydreaming of a ceremony which includes superb, well-chosen music, and hand-picked attendants, all set to a translation of a Greek 10th century same-sex union ceremony. I TOTALLY want to wear a laurel wreath on my head at some point. ANYway, here's my ring of choice at the moment:

It's got Irish Wolfhounds on it!
Is maith sin!
(where are the diacriticals on blogger?)
Yay!

Also possible are the "Turkish" puzzle rings (not really indigenousto Turkey). We wanna find something that reflects our, um, unusual interests. Our interests include: Ireland (just say NO to Claddagh Rings!), Turkey (country, not livestock), Native America, cats and dogs, ice cream, shoes ("I'm gonna betch-slap you shet-bag!"; see Shoes post), woodsy outdoors, X-Men (Dom), Sci-fi (Keith), the colors blue and yellow (or for Our People "Cornflower" and "Saffron"), unicorns (Dom again), corn, black pickup trucks, yellow pickup trucks, sleigh beds, pants made out of linen, cat litter that makes our house NOT smell like Calcutta in July, native mask-making traditions, pirates and their lore, extinct or nearly-extinct languages, Stephen King, pizza, wine that doesn't suck, beer that doesn't suck, and Coke products, to name a few.

So maybe we won't have matching rings. But it'd be kinda fun if we did. Maybe we'll just say bugger it all and get matching tattoos. Or piercings. Or both! Or a puppy! [Just kidding Dom! Don't leave me!].

Sad fact: my parents won't/can't come. Happy fact: my sister and bro-in-law and nephew and foetus will! On the other hand, given how my mom behaved leading up to my sister's wedding maybe this is a good thing. And we'll have tens of friends there, I'm almost sure. Now we just have to find a place to do it where we won't get lynched. Yay America!

_____________________________________________________________

In other news, Balthazar woke me up on Monday hacking his evil little head off. Asthma attack. Dropped 90 bucks on the little snot. He made up for it today when he, Zeke and I had a nap on the couch. It was very sweet, if a little "Pet Semetary" somehow. Nice vet lady gave him 2 shots, and 2 bottles of pills. Now, it takes both me and Dom to hold the cat down to get pills in his little mouth. That's about 430 lbs of combined homo-mass per 10 lb cat.

Needless to say I value my digits far too much to try this alone. Instead I bought hypo-allergenic cat litter and have begun, Dom-style, to weave a little figure of the cat from his own rapidly-shedding fur. I'll have a little hoo-doo ritual and "get the good magic on 'im" and all will be well again. I just need to procure a few things. [*searches for chicken head, frog bladder, and Ouija board*]

Well my poppets, it's almost 1am and I need to be up and about tomorrow to try and build an extinct western European fretted zither based on one discovered in a barn in North Carolina in 1972. In other words, business as usual for Keith!

kisses,
K

The Rant, Part I

2006-07-19T20:41:00.000-05:00

Ok dear Readers. I can't wait any longer. It's time for my first Rant. I promised myself I wouldn't cry......

I found a website today that caused the bile to rise up in my throat like so much sewage after a heavy rain in Indiana in July. It was the straw that broke not only the camel's back, but his resolve to restrain himself. I AM THAT CAMEL!

All right, that was lame. Chalk it up to exhaustion from yesterday's 300+ fasola singers (I led!). It was magnificent, moving, spiritual, also sweltering, 110 degrees, oppressively hot.

Anyhoo, here it is. Keep in mind I'm not a particularly religious person (don't trust organized religion), but I am fiercely spiritual:

Gay Does Not Equal Sin- a commentary by Me

Biblical literalists won't buy this and that's ok, but this whole focus on homosexuality as the root of all evil in our (American) society has gone on way too long. Let's examine, shall we?

Old Testament: we can dismiss these injunctions for Christians since Jesus wiped away the old covenant and brought the new covenant. Yes, Leviticus says homogenital contact is abomination. Also abomination are the eating of pork, lobster, shrimp, catfish (fish must have scales to be clean), and the wearing of blended fabric. Just for fun my partner and I go out to Red Lobster and wear cotton/linen blend and eat all the crustceans we want. We call it Abomination Night. Variant: pizza with ham and bacon. Yummy!

New Testament: The four gospels, the words of Jesus himself, say nothing about homogenital sexual acts, same-sex attraction, or anything else that can be construed as "gay" in the modern sense. Paul's letters, on the other hand, are more explicit. I've personally not been very keen on the idea of taking Paul so seriously. He never met Jesus in the flesh, was not one of the original disciples. More on that later. Anyway, he tells us in Romans 2: 21 that because men "neither glorified Him as God nor gave thanks to him," God gave men "over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another" (Romans 2:26-27). He's saying that men were inflamed with lust for one another as a punishment for their behavior.

What the heck did I do that God would make me lust after men? According to Paul, homosexual desire was at some time caused by men who "exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles." I have never once worshipped an image of anything, man, bird, animal, or reptile! To my knowledge, neither has anyone in my family. So that doesn't make much sense, does it?

Onward to 1 Corinthians 6: 9-10. This is from NIV, by the way: "Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor homosexual offenders, nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God."
The word translated here as "homosexual offenders" is actually in ancient Greek arsenokoitai. From the 16th century onwards it was translated variously as masturbators, perverts, child molesters, sodomites, etc. It's meaning is still hotly debated by Biblical scholars, and no one can say with certainty what it does or does not mean.

Incidentally, in the next chapter, Paul expressly recommends that "It is good for a man not to marry" (1 Corinthians 7:1). The very institution conservatives say they are trying to protect is perhaps not so very necessary to Christian life after all, if we take the Bible literally, and if we take Paul seriously. Paul admits that these are his thoughts, not edicts from God. I think the religion is "Christianity" not "Paulianity".

Regarding taking Paul seriously, 1 Corinthians goes on to say that "If a woman does not cover her head, she should have her hair cut off" (11:6). And I say, Woe unto ye as would cut off the hair of any of my myriad blue-haired, church-going aunts! They're ornery, Appalachian, and they can kick. Paul also says "...it is disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church." (14: 35). Just an observation.

Why on earth do we as a society focus on gay marriage so much? I'm frankly baffled. Clearly male Biblical literalists are forbidden to have sex with other men. But why not rally instead on the love of money, or the high divorce rate (which is, according to Luke 16:18, adultery if either party remarries)? There are in western European history precedents for church-based same-sex unions from as early as the 10th century in Greek, and later centuries in Old Church Slavonic (see John Boswell, Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe Random House/Vintage Books, 1994). We would not invent anything new by allowing gays to have the same advantages of domesticity as straight people. Call it civil unions, marriage, partnership, I don't honkin' care.
But taking the Bible literally leads to preachers with signs of nooses as the solution to gay marriage (see my blog http://lifewithkeith.blogspot.com/2006/06/being-repressed-or-crazy-people-in.html)

Matthew 7:1-2 "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." Think about it!

Further Reading: Daniel Helminiak. What the Bible Really Says About Homosexuality. Alamo Square Press, 2004.
Also anything by John S. Spong, former Episcopal Bishop of Newark, NJ.

The End of Part I.

much love,
Keith

The Funniest Video EVER, or "Shoes"

2006-07-19T19:28:00.000-05:00

O gentles all, I must inform you of this fantastic video. I shan't say too much, for fear of spoiling it. It is by a BRILLIANT comic named Liam Sullivan.

I realize many of you who frequent the net will already have heard of this. For the rest of you, proceed posthaste to:

http://www.liamshow.com/videos.htm and click on SHOES.
NOTE: some profanity, so beware if you're at work/church/grandma's.

Also of note is the song "Text Message Break-Up" at http://myspace.com/kellylikesshoes. I'm still giggling.

I showed it to a couple of Breeder friends of mine and they didn't get it. Stupid boys!!

That's all for now. Dom returns in a week [weeps silently]. People can call me and I'd appreciate it....

xo
keith

Just Me and the Livestock, or Dom's on Vacation

2006-07-16T19:52:00.000-05:00

Hello my dearies! I know no one is reading this drivel anymore, but I can't seem to stop myself. I think I have invented a new disease. I shall call it "bloggarrhea." Being a brand-spankin' new affliction, it will have to work out it's place in the pantheon of my other dysfunctional body processes. I can just hear it:

Irritable Bowel Syndrome: "Bitch, you get up off from bein' all in my stuff!"
New Affliction Bloggarrhea: "Oh no you did'n!"
Hypertension: "You go girl!"
IBS: "Who you callin' girl, girl?"
Hypercholesteremia: "That's really uncalled for."
NAB: "Shet the feck ep, skank!"
Primary Hypogonadism: "All y'all need to pipe down; I'm watchin' my stories."

Sigh. You get the idea.

Anyhoo, Dom has fled the country, oops, I mean "gone on vacation" to Mexico with some family members. And "family" works both ways here, people. if you know what I mean. I would have gone, too, except that Bloggarrhea's half-brother Diarrhea would have come a-callin' with some rather unpleasant results. I don't do well with la cuisine Mexicain. Also, my vacation time is my mostest precious commodity, given that I have yet to defend my dissertation.

This leaves me home alone. With the Pets. Our Quadrupeds. The Livestock. They Who Must Not Be Named. Actually, their names are already known unto ye who read this. Balthasar is just over one year old now (yay terrible twos!), and Zeke Whippet turns 6 in December (yay terrible sixes!). Behold:

They LOOK so sweet and innocent, don't they?

Shortly after this was taken, Zeke killed three juvenile squirrels in the yard, and Balthazar was sent away to a Convent For Wayward Kitties.

Actually, I have to give Zeke props. Here he is looking forlorn. I call your attention to the kitten, who is happily gnawing on his tail.

Here it is, "hiding" in the sink, ready to spring and attack unsuspecting passing Zekes. Perhaps a few sammiches short of a picnic, but kudos for trying, right?
It has also of late taken to leaping onto Zeke/me/Dom/the couch/a fly/the curtains/nothing in particular and then zoom off to avoid punishment. Devious, this one is.

And here's My Ain True Love (with apologies to Alison Krauss). Yes, that is a tattoo of Turkey on his arm. I miss him when he's gone! Usually I'm the one who's away: gigs, teaching in Texas, selling body organs for food, etc.

Incidentally (or Was it?) I got a call from him just as I was typing this. He had just dined on, and I'm not making this up, congealed blood, crickets, sliced kidneys, beans, and chicken soup.

In case you're wondering I gave up congealed blood for Lent. And for After Lent. Also, For Ever. I had McDonald's for supper, which is not unlike the above menu in many ways.

And then randomly, this is my friend and co-worker Aili. She has a great smile, stunning red hair, her own home, and a winning personality to boot. Why is she single? Why WHY???!!

Oh yeah, because "Boys are dumb."

Here's to Aili and finding that one boy who is smart enough to let himself be caught!

Well my darlings, that is all for now. I'm almost ready to write a Ranting Blog where I wail on everything and everyone from W The President, my credit card company, student loans, Indiana University's residency requirements, my parental units, the Ex-gay movement, the oil industry, AM radio (the conservative talk shows have corrupted my dad), fundamentalist Christians, pants that don't fit, my job forbidding me to have facial hair, and cherry-flavored soft drinks (they ALL taste like cough syrup).

TTFN!
Keith

Hello? Testing....Testing...

2006-07-15T21:06:00.000-05:00

Does anyone actually read any of this, or am I just doing it to amuse myself?

Just wondering.....

[Translation: SOMEBODY POST A COMMENT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD]

kisses,
ckc

Poetry Time! or, Bored Again

2006-07-13T20:00:00.000-05:00

A Limerick

A woman who played cor anglais
Was cremated in a dress oh-so gay.
Her friends opened her ossuary,
Found the remains of a cassowary,
And commenced then to cry out "Oy veh!"
________________________________

Haiku About My Life Recently

Zeke Whippet is dumb.
Suitcases make him upset:
He thinks we're leaving.

Our cat poops a lot,
But not always in the box.
Colostomy bag?

Zeke is no better
And tends to pee on our things:
"Sorry, was that yours?"

Dom is now in Mexico,
Leaving me and the pets here.
I want a cookie.

MBNA sux.
"Why haven't you used your card?"
"Because my rate bites!"

I lie to children
And play dress-up for my job:
I am overdrawn.

He who mows our grass
Is definitely a queer.
How did he find us?

I hope that one day
The government will wake up.
I fear it's too late.

Student loans are bad.
Apparently six figures
Means no house for me.

My sister's pregnant
And it took on the first try.
Big Jim is a stud!

I miss my nephew.
His name is Joseph Orlin,
He likes playground slides.

I am haiku'd out
And need to eat some supper.
I'm thinking pasta!

K

Wildlife on Lake Erie, or: Snakes, Eaglets, and Siblings, Oh My!

2006-07-05T14:25:00.000-05:00

Hey y'all! On this episode we'll view some of the "nature" which is to be found on Lake Erie's Islands (this does not include the creepy sorostitutes from universities in the midwest who flock to Put-in-Bay's imaginary tropical paradise, nor does it document their male counterparts called "frat-o-skanks").

First up today is the Lake Erie Water Snake. This is a protected species which has made a grand comeback in recent years. Funny story: on one of my first trips to Lake Erie I spotted a LEWS lounging in the water around my sister's legs. The only thing I could think to say was "SEA SNAKE!!!!" which resulted in my sister rising from the sea and walking, nay RUNNING, upon the water. It was quite funny.

Next is an egret (I think). Majestic and graceful, these and other crane-like birds are thought in many cultures to represent heaven, the otherworld, divinity. In Irish folklore, cranes, geese, and swans are believed to be fairies traveling in disguise. Huh.

Please note the daring use of reflection in this composition (*cough cough totally an accident cough*).

And now that most majestic of birds, our national symbol, the Bald Eagle. This is a juvenile who has not yet attained the white head. The nest is in the lower right corner. We saw the adults off and on, but they were never still for very long.

This is the nest I mentioned in an earlier post as abutting the new landing strip on the island.

Here's a rare critter. I managed to capture on film the oft-reported but rarely-documented Committed Monogamous Homo. This variety does not frequent the bars like most. Instead he is content to stay close to home with his lifelong mate. Needless to say I blowgunned him and took him home.

Finally, here are a pair of Collinses. Short but jovial, they enjoy humor, and are apt to laugh a lot when gathered together. Don't piss them off, though. They spit and throw their own poop.

Well, that's it for this episode. Thanks for tuning in and we'll see you next time!

later,
K

Isle des Fleurs, or Middle Bass Island (sounds better in French, non?)

2006-07-01T17:39:00.000-05:00

Hey y'all

I had the distinct pleasure of returning to one of the nation's lovliest places, off the coast of, um, well, Cleveland more or less. But towards Toledo. Anyhoo, it's a house on an island in Lake Erie, mere miles from Canada. And while the lake was not on fire ("That hasn't happened in YEARS now") it was exhibiting worrying signs of the algae bloom currently plaguing some of the other Great "Lakes" (read "Cesspool"). The dead fish were a tip-off that something might be amiss regarding the lake's health. Not just one or two, but more like 10 in the course of 4 days. Big fish, like carp and bass and the Loch Ness Monster and stuff. However, the good news: there is a breeding pair of Bald Eagles, yea and verily our National Symbol, upon the island. The bad news: they unwisely chose as the site for their eyrie a tree right next to the AIRPORT.

How it is possible one can build an airport (landing strip really) abutting bald eagle habitat is vexing to me. Oh wait! I forgot: Ohio is where certain elected officials have been recently accused of shocking abuses of power. And isn't Ohio the state that majorly fecked up the last "election" (I use the term loosely)? Huh.

So enough ranting. Here are the latest Images of My Life:

These are my peeps, Kristy and Jim.
They're the best "family" I could ever want!

This is my little peep, Joey. He loves him some ice cream! That's the Perry's Victory and Peace Memorial in the background. Take that, UK!

"The Peace Memorial is closed indefinitely due to high-wind damage from recent storms" Sounds like a Republican conspiracy to me...

Kristy and the Podling (she's with child!), and Dom with a stick.

Yay babies! Yay Kristy and Jim! Yay Canada (in the background)!

Here we are, looking relaxed and groovy at Put-in-Bay.
"South Bass Island: Pretending It's the Caribbean for Pasty-Skinned Upper Midwesteners and Canadians Since the War of 1812"
There are fake palm trees here. I'm totally serious.

You people abut CANADA. Drop the fake Carribean crap and move on.

So there are totally like a bunch more pictures, but when I got the CD back from Target they gave me the wrong CD. Instead, I have a stunning and evocative photo essay of Some Little Girl's Ballet Recital. Which means SLG has a CD of me. Hugging Dom. And stuff. So let me give a shout out to some family in Greenwood IN who has now seen a photo of Dom with his arm draped jauntily about my person. Just my shoulders, mind you, but still.

More to come, as always! Including: why our pets are like unto a boil on the butt of humanity (hint: lots of poop in all the wrong places is involved!)

Keith

Our Clingy Pets, or Demonic Animals For Whom We Provide Food and Shelter

2006-06-15T20:11:00.000-05:00

Hello again my dearies! As promised some time ago, here are the Pets, uncensored, unrestrained, untrainable.

This is Zeke Whippet. He is the biggest, ugliest whippet I have ever encountered. He is, however, the sweetest dog I have ever met, if a tad passive-agressive ("Oh, were those YOUR library books I accidently shredded to pieces?" "You mean you DON'T want me to hose down the hardwood floors in the living room?" "I'm sorry, did I by mistake puke up a rawhide on the futon mere minutes before overnight guests are to arrive and sleep upon it? Heavens!" "Did the yeast infection in my ear cause you to spend tens of dollars on medication for me, which I ungratefully shake out as soon as you arent' looking?")

In this stunning photo, we see his nobility, his graceful form, his intelligent eyes. He's actually staring at a squirrel, hoping beyond hope that it will commit suicide by leaping into his mouth.

And finally, here is the "cat" which deigns to live under our roof. It is foul, evil, ghoulish, beastly. Also cute, needy, talkative, and asthmatic with a heart condition. He makes us laugh a lot.

Thus the livestock. I promise soon they'll do something ghastly I'll have to blog about. It's only a matter of time.

smooches,
Keith

Baby Joey, or Photo Essay on Cannabilistic Toddlers

2006-06-15T19:34:00.000-05:00

Greetings friends and "family"!

I showcase this time some recent photos of the world's most cutest baby ever, Joey my nephew. Now don't get me wrong, I love him and his parents dearly, but sometimes I've wondered if all that cuteness isn't a ruse. I mean, my idiotic dog and psychopathic cat are cute, too, but they have deviousness behind the cuteness. The cat, while chewing on the dog's tail, will look me square in the eye as I bawl him out for gnawing on the dog. No flinching. No remorse. No recognition that I outweigh him by a factor of a whole bunch.

Ahem....

Clearly this child is nearing his apex of cuteness in this image. Note the innocence, the glee, the utter wonder at the world and all it holds.

His sparkling blue eyes plead "Pick me up! Love me! Let me ride on your shoulders! Also: my diaper smells like Calcutta in July!"

Lest any be immune to such pleas, his next weapon is the pout. Surely no pout has been as adorable as this since the beginning of the world.

BUT WAIT. The real goal is yet to be revealed. For I document here, for the first time, a truly shocking behavior.

TODDLER PLUCKS EYE FROM PARENTAL UNIT!!!!!

As horrific as this may be, he is still the cutest baby ever.

hugs,

Keith

Being Repressed, or Crazy People in Indy

2006-06-13T20:17:00.000-05:00

Well my friends, I have finally seen the most horrific thing ever. Now don't get me wrong, I've seen some pretty fecked-up scheiBe in my day, oh yes. But this beats them all hands down. Allow me to set the stage...

So Dom and I go out for our semi-regular trip to Cracker Barrel. Yes, the same chain which a few years back got in trouble for firing its gay employees. I had since been told that they were reformed, and indeed I've only had the most pleasant experiences there. Thus no guilt for patronizing this business. And sometimes I just HAVE to have bacon and pancakes with maple syrup. And sweet tea. Cuz you cain't git sweet tea up here in the tundric midwest just anywhere.

As we were exiting said establishment, we came upon a none-too-recent light truck bedecked in what can only be described as plywood upon which had been painted messages. It was so foul I immediately peeled out (pealed??) and drove post-hast to the nearest Walgreen's for a disposable camera. Feast your eyes, O ye who dare:

It's rather tiny cuz Blogger compresses images a lot (click to enlarge!), but it says "HOMOSEXUALS JESUS CAN CHANGE YOU and then THE SOLUTION TO GAY MARRIAGE

WITH.

TWO.

NOOSES.

Now what you can't see is that there is a bumper sticker that proudly proclaims "Clergy".

So let me get this straight (no pun intended!!): For this member of the "clergy" the solution to gay marriage is to hang gay people. The Bible verse under the nooses is from Leviticus 20 which prescribes death for any man who lies with another man as with a woman. The other one is from II Corinthians 5. Leviticus 20, by the way, also prescribes death for adultery and for cursing one's mother or father. I won't get into the finer points of translating ancient Hebrew and Greek into modern English because there are specialists who have done that already. But I do ask this:

How is this ok? Why aren't people upset? Why did I shake and why did my heart pound in my chest when I saw the signs on this truck? Answer to the last one is: rage.

On the other side of the truck was this charming note: SALT OF THE EARTH CHRISTIANS NEEDED GAY PRIDE PARTY WHY: TO SAVE HOMOSEXUALS FROM HELL then with the date and place.

w00t! We didn't even know Indy Pride was going on. So we went, and were merry, and had a lovely time. We joined HRC. We signed petitions. We bought gay pride merchandise. We also went to Red Lobster and had shrimp while wearing cotton-lined blend clothing, also prohibited by Leviticus. Dom has tattoos, and I once played with a Ouija board, so we're all-around abominations. We even sometimes order pizza we call "Abomination Special": ham and bacon! Oh well. If we're going to hell at least all my friends and most of my family will be there with us!

There are more photos, but Blogger is still not cooperating. One photo? Fine. TWO photos in a blog? Apparently not.

with much REAL Christian love,

Keith

Olde Tyme Keith, or Fun With Linen and Wool Clothing

2006-05-28T00:39:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, this is me. I am apparently "whimsical". Upon searching through one of the blog sites using the name of my place of employment, a friend discovered someone had come to the museum and witnessed me playing this very banjo. I was described as "a whimsical banjo player". Huh.

It could be worse. School children routinely ask me if I am an elf, especially if it is cold and I am wearing a knit stocking cap in the winter. I tell them yes, I am an elf, and Santa will hear of their impudence. Bless their little hearts.

I am also described as looking remarkably like Chilly Willy the penguin when wearing the tail coat pictured here and the aforementioned knit stocking cap. That's Dr Chilly Willy to you (soon).

More pics later! Target CDs have been re-made and all is well.

smooch,
ckc

The Cast of Characters of My Life Part I, or Family Time

2006-05-25T20:25:00.000-05:00

Hello my poppets!
I bring you today some of my favorite photos of my favorite family members who aren't in witness protection. These folks mean a lot to me.

Kristy, sister, confidante, she to whom I look for advice, best friend.

She was born to play this role, and she does it with a depth of character seldom seen on today's Stage of Life. One of my favorite humans on the planet, and one without whom I'd be lost. Witty, caring, brilliant. Mother, wife, sister, daughter. Also: loves any candy that will turn her tongue blue.

Jim, brother-in-law, token hetero male, he who will bring height back into the family line, all-around great guy.

Jim met Kristy the old-fashioned way: he brained her in a game of Ultimate Frisbee. Kristy has the scars to prove it. Father, brother, son. Funny, also brilliant, big heart. We're honored he's on the Cast!

Joey, nephew, cutest baby ever, star child.

At just over one year, Joey has wowed audiences wherever he goes. His ability to charm is unparalleled, and his hair is simply to die for. Son, nephew, grandbaby. Happy, amazed at life, loves to feed the dogs. Joey's sure to go far in his journey.

Dom, significant other, spomo, partner, bestest friend, my one and only.

Dom studied for this role for several years, pursuing a couple of dead ends before landing this gig. He doesn't dwell in the negative, instead choosing the road of optimism and humor. Funniest guy ever, wordsmith, teddy bear, hottie. Dom has my heart locked up somewhere, and the key never really existed at all.

Well gang, that wraps it up for family introductions. Friends are next, plus the pet you haven't met yet: Zeke Whippet. Stay tuned!

laters,

Keith

And now some pictures, or Cameras Are Fun

2006-05-24T21:13:00.000-05:00

OK, so some of you (hi Kristy!) are expecting images of this weekend's festivities: concert, hell in car with parental units, joy of Kristy's dissertation defense, et al. When I popped the Target photo CDs into the drive THEY WERE BLANK! I have the prints, but alas, cannot share them digitally. Instead here are images of my man and our cat. By "cat" I mean "demon who allows himself the shape of a cat, roughly".

Aren't they the best? Sometimes the cat is naughty and must be hosed down. Behold:

Shortly after these pictures were taken Dom was tragically eaten by his kitten. Cats have very strong opinions about water, apparently. For Dom's birthday, as a matter of fact, I made a photo-storybook about our pets' proclivities for violence. It starred two Playmobil figures bearing striking resemblances to our persons, our pets, and an unassuming gay yard boy. I made that last part up, but it SHOULD have been about the unassuming gay yard boy. Because we have a real one, and I'm not even kidding. We call him "The Yard Fairy" with as much Christian affection as we can muster. Seriously, a gay yard guy? In Jesus-town, Indiana? WTF?

I would love to share more photos with you, dear reader, but Target Photo Thingey has just gone down (to use Dom's phrase) "like a Thai whore at a truck stop". Tomorrow: images of the Cutest Baby Ever and the Doctors Crooks.

Kisses,

Keith

Why I'm Happy I Don't Have To Go To Jail, or The Evil Scientist Named Mac

2006-05-23T22:18:00.000-05:00

So this weekend I had the divine pleasure of attending my sister's PhD dissertation presentation. It was sensational, of course. I understood only about half of it, but still. I could tell on account of the other people in the room. The other Scientists, and stuff. Then she went off to two hours of grilling for the dreaded defense. It went well apparently, since she passed. Then there was champagne, and cookies, and unicorns in a parade, and I got to maim her advisor. Oh wait. No, that didn't happen 'cept in my head. Her advisor is, to put it politely, a giant throbbing prick. As a matter of fact my dear sister fears her one-year-old son's first words might be something to that effect. This "advisor" has made her life for the last 8 years not unlike a barium enema: it has to be done, it's cold, and the nurse's hands feel like 120 grit sandpaper, but when it's over you've never felt better in your life. Well, almost just like that anyway.

I was afeared I'd have to put on black grease paint and don my ninja black to go slash his tires. Problem: I don't actually own ninja blacks, so I'd have to use one of my tuxes. Fortunately this was not necessary as he passed my sister on the defense. If not you'd be hearing about in the papers, under the headline BROTHER STRIKES, KILLS SCIENTIST WITH BAROQUE BASSOON. ALTHOUGH -sorry- Although that then dangles a participle and it sounds like he had the bassoon not me. You get the drift though.

Crowning the stress of the weekend was the horror I'd sworn I'd never again endure. You all know it, and fear it:

Car Trip With The Parents.

I'm breaking into a sweat just typing it. I had a concert in Atlanta and they attended. Then we all three piled into the Dadmobile and drove SEVEN HOURS to Raleigh. But we stopped for the night somewhere near Charlotte. I damn near had to stay in their hotel room, but as I had devolved and had begun drooling and singing Tibetan Buddhist chant (throat singing!) my father wisely got me my own room.

The driving the next day was, frankly, not unlike a roller coaster. Dad gets periously close to the car in front of us, we scream, its all over. He begins coughing to the point of almost passing out, but refuses REFUSES to pull over and let me drive. Better dead than to have to sit in the back seat, apparently. Which of us, I wonder, gets the dubious pleasure of stealing his car keys when he finally can no longer locomote via automobile? Not it! I nominate the nephew, since he's cute and unassuming. I'm reasonably sure dad wouldn't do to him what he threatened to do to me if I tried to take the keys. I'll recommend the nephew take a can of mace just to be safe.

In other news, the cat has yet to dislodge what must be a terrier-sized hairball in his alimentary tract. What a pleasant noise he makes trying to cough it up! I'm sure the Great Almighty, in His Infinite Wisdom, thought to Himself "Hey, I'll make cats kinda cute but evil. They'll purr sweetly, but when copulating I'll make them so they sound like..... well...ummm.....cats in heat. Then for good measure they need to make a disturbing hacking sound when dislodging terrier-sized hairballs. Perfect!" At least he's learned to clean his hiney.

The cat, not the Great I Am. Seriously.

This ends my first blog. Ite, missa est.

kisses,
Keith

Hey Look! I Have a Computer Thingey!

2006-05-23T22:05:00.000-05:00

It was bound to happen! I mean, generally, I'm about 5 years behind in the whole technology thingamabob. So now that I have the computernet at home, I'll give this the old college try. And stuff.