2005-2015: My Heart Attacks

Unbelievably, it's been 10 years since my heart attacks and quadruple bypass surgery.  I say attacks because I had several over the course of a few days, but there was no way to know exactly how many.  The first one I remember was in the wee morning hours of Sunday, August 6, 2005 - I think around 3AM.  I woke up in the middle of the night at my parents' house feeling numbness in my upper left arm.  I thought I had just laid on it during sleep and it had gone numb.  So I got up and walked around a bit and the pain eventually subsided.  This feeling followed this experience.  I probably should have been more aware.  But despite being a heart patient for the previous 4 years, my then-cardiologist had told me that my heart was actually diseased and failing and that I would soon need a complete transplant.  He also said that I would never have to worry about having a heart attack.  Yeah - Dr. Edward Bodurian was awful and is, sadly, still in practice.

The rest of the story can be recounted in the following posts I wrote 10 years ago.  You should read these.  They're actually quite good:

My Heart Attack

Pre-Operation

Post Operation

Hospital Recovery

There are a few measurements doctors take before and after bypass surgery to ensure the heart is once again a healthy muscle.  One such measurement is the actual diameter of the heart.  Normal diameter is 56mm.  Before surgery, mine was 58mm, after it was 49mm.  Another measurement is the ejection fraction which measures how much of the blood being pumped into the heart is then being pumped back out.  Normal fraction is 50% or higher.  Mine was 35% before, 55% after.  Dr. Mark Nelson and his team did an incredible job on me.

When I had initially started writing my blog, only a handful of people were reading it; a few close friends and a couple of people who found me on blogrolls pretty much made up my audience.  But a reporter had somehow found the above posts on my blog and posted them on a popular site.  Suddenly, my blog went crazy - not "Carol-Burnett-Crazy", but the readership escalated exponentially.  At one point, I had one of the most popular blogs in DC.  It was THAT kind of crazy.

So fast forward to 2015, I'm doing very well now.  I've been seeing the same cardiologist, Dr. Donald Lloyd-Jones, for the past 10 years and he's done an amazing job keeping me healthy.  I was part of a heart campaign in February 2011 (photo at right).  I've been the subject of articles, like the one that written for Northwestern University in Spring 2011.  I was featured in a fundraising ad for the Bluhm Cardiovascular Institute.  I was even part of a news program in Canada that focused on young people who suffer heart disease.

I give a lot of the credit for my staying healthy to Kevin, who simply refuses to allow me to act my age.  I live and eat better because of him.  He's my inspiration in just about everything.

There is a day down the road when my 4 bypass grafts will need to be replaced because about 50% of placed grafts close in 10-12 years.  This means that of the 4 bypasses placed in me, 2 would be expected to close 12 years after surgery.  I plan on making them last as long as possible.

In another ten years, there will be another update on this.  But until then, I remain pretty healthy, and very happy to be able to look back 10 years ago to see how far I've come.

Miami Wasn't Traumatic For Just Us

So I've made no secret about our disdain for Miami.  It's now the place we love to hate.  We are reaching that point where we can look at each other and jokingly ask, "Can you believe we did that?"
In the grand scheme of our life together, Miami will be a mere blip on the radar.  And to our credit, we came back stronger than when we left.  So in retrospect, leaving Chicago to go anywhere for that year was a good thing for us to do, both personally and professionally.  Admittedly, it was a hard year, but WE weren't the only ones who suffered.

Since professional movers boxed up our things to move to Miami, we couldn't take house plants.  Our belongings would sit in storage for almost three weeks and any house plant was guaranteed to not survive the experience.  So we left them behind in the care of our renter, who assured us he would look after them.  Otherwise, we would have given them to friends.  So you can imagine my surprise a year later when I moved back into our condo and saw our ficus tree.  I almost cried:

March 2014

There stood the physical manifestation of our Miami experience:  worn, sparse, sad, defeated.  In order for the tree to look like this, the renter would have had to completely ignore it - in other words, never water it.  Before I even unpacked a box from the moving van, I went to the tree and apologized to it.  I brushed a year's worth of dust from its leaves and told it that good and positive energy was back in the condo and I promised we would never leave it again.  

Fast forward 9 months and the tree looked like this:

December 2014

Seriously, all I did was water it once a week.  But I believe it fed off our energy.  It stood silently by as Kevin proposed to me, as we welcomed friends into our home, as we planned our wedding, and as we geared up to buy a new home for all of us.  All the while, it got healthier and fuller.

And now we are in our new home.  Ficus trees can be temperamental; they don't like to change their environment.  We were afraid we might lose it when we relocated from the condo to the house in March.  But again, I made a promise to it, professed my love for it, and here's the tree today:

July 2015

Just 16 months after the first picture up top, I took the above picture this morning.  The tree is healthier and more vibrant that it's ever been.  Just like us, it came back stronger after the Miami experience as well.  Kevin always calls me a "dog whisperer" because dogs seem to be attracted to me.  But I've also never lost a plant (with the exception of an orchid here and there) and our house plants, even the temperamental ones, just seem to thrive.

Trees and plants are living things.  I think they feed off of us, our emotions, our happiness.  I'll let the ficus tree be the symbol of my life's happiness.  Love your children, love your pets, and love your plants.  Because all of them are living representations of you.  Take a look at your plants, because they will be a window into your life.

And tell them you love them now and then.

2005 - 2015: A Gratifying Day For Dad

Ten years ago, I was introduced to my Dad - not my Dad, the man, but my Dad, the boy.  I wrote about it 10 years ago, and it's important to me to remember that day.

Deal, PA

On Saturday, July 23, 2005, Dad, Mom, my sister, Kim and I spent the day in Mom and Dad's minivan, driving to the place my father was born in 1939, and locating the cemetery where his grandfather was buried with two of his daughters: aunts Dad didn't know he had.

This memory is significant for me because it's one of the last few experiences I had with my Dad while he was 100% lucid (two others being the two times he and Mom visited me in Chicago).  What's more significant for me is that at the end of that day, my Dad recalled that it was one of the most gratifying of his life.  I never asked him to explain what he meant by that.  Gratifying because he was able to see these places again?  Gratifying because he got to share these things about himself with his wife and children?  Gratifying because, simply, it was a beautiful day with his family, recalling memories he'd probably long forgotten or possibly suppressed?  Perhaps it's all three of those, or perhaps none of those.  I should have asked him then.

The important thing here is that I was part of that day, that experience he had that resulted in him recounting it as such a memorable day for him.

I saw Dad a few weeks ago.  I returned home to help my mother through cataract surgery and since she couldn't do her usual evening visit to Dad in the nursing home, I went to visit him on my own.  Since Dad has been in the nursing facility, I've not had the chance to be with him alone - just him and me.  At first, it was awkward with him.  I didn't really know what to say.  We mostly believe that Dad hears everything but just can't find the motor skills to join the conversation.  So I decided to just talk to Dad as I always had.

I said, "Hey, did Mom tell you we bought a house?"
"You did?" he asked me, suddenly appearing alert and engaged.
"Yeah, well, Kevin and I bought one.  It's cute Dad, it's a little 2-bed, 2-bath house with a garage."
"Where?" he asked.
"In Chicago."
He leaned toward me.  "Where?" he asked again.  I took this to mean that he wanted to know where in Chicago the house was.  Dad had some familiarity with the city from his two visits, so it struck me that he wanted to know where in Chicago I was now living.
"Lincoln Square neighborhood.  Remember when you came out and we had dinner at that German restaurant where the band played?" I asked excitedly.
And just like that, he faded away.  No response.  But I kept on talking anyway.  I told him about how we had cleaned up the back yard, replanted flowers, painted the front porch, bought some furniture, fixed the garage doors.  I even told him about the plumbing problem we had fixed and all that went into that.  I talked for about 15 minutes straight.  And through it all, Dad sat silent, but never took his eyes off of me.

I've always believed that Dad thinks of me more than the others.  Not that he loves me more, but that he thinks of me more because he's used to not seeing me as often.  I think he wonders about me a lot, as any parent wonders about a child who no longer lives nearby.  I think he's used to thinking about me.  At least this is what I like to believe - that I am clear in his brain and in his memory because he's used to me being there.

The Troutmans in 2005

I hope he can still recall the days in his life that meant something to him:  the day he met mom, the day they married, the days each of his children wore born, the day his first grandchild was born, the day his first great-grandchild was born.  And I hope he can remember those days when nothing all that special happened, like the day he, his wife, and 2 of  his 4 kids drove around southwest Pennsylvania in a minivan looking at open fields and cemeteries.

Days like that will stay with me forever, too.

2005 - 2015: My Next Best Friend

Little did I know how pivotal Monday, July 18, 2005 would be for me.  But during my second trip out to Chicago from DC, prior to moving in September, I met Jessica for the first time.  And life has been changed for the better ever since.

It was technically, no actually, my and Kevin's 2nd date.  I had come out to Chicago to interview for some jobs and with the afternoon free, Kevin chose to take me to see The Field Museum, Buckingham Fountain, and Millennium Park.  First stop was The Field.  And Jessica, who was working there at the time, volunteered to be our tour guide.  We've joked that Jessica has been the third person in our relationship.  But that's not really a joke.  She's been there from the start, even before Kevin and I knew what we were going to become.

July 18, 2005

The first picture Jessica and I have of us (left) was taken just a few minutes after the first picture of Kevin and me.  How appropriate.

Those who attended our wedding heard Jessica give a heartfelt speech during the reception about the first time she and I met and her nervousness about whether I thought her posing for a picture where she's pointing to a hieroglyph of a monkey penis would be funny. But I freely admit that I loved her immediately - long before she pointed to that monkey peen. She's just that person.  Jessica doesn't know a stranger, and although we tease her about it ad nauseam, I quietly marvel at her ability to strike up/insert herself into conversations with complete strangers.

Since that first meeting, Jessica has proven to be the most loyal, the most trusted, the most devoted friend a person could have.  She'll be the person by your side to cheer your boyfriend through 4 Chicago Marathons, 1 Minneapolis Marathon, and 1 Chicago Half-Iron Man.  She's your partner when you want to eat Long John Silver's, but everyone else wants a salad.  She'll go see a movie with you that she's already seen because the experience for her will only be made better if she's with you.  She'll dress up in the most ridiculous costumes for Hallowe'en (or anytime, really) because she gets the gag.  She'll show up early to help you prepare, and she'll be the last one to leave to make sure everything is cleaned up.  And she'll be the one to prevent you from walking down the aisle to be married with a beer in your hand because she knows that while you might think it's funny now, you'll look back on it years from now and wish you hadn't done it.

October 12, 2013 - when life got better.

When we moved to Miami in 2013, Jessica was the one we wanted to tell last; indeed, she was the last person in Chicago we saw before our plane took off the next morning.  But when we had made the decision to move back to Chicago, she was the first person we wanted to tell.  We told her on the People Mover Ride in Disney World's Tomorrowland.

Jessica's reaction was exactly as hoped (right).

And that's another great thing about Jessica:  you can always count on her for the reaction you're hoping for.  If you want someone to be excited for you, no one cheers louder than Jessica.  If you're looking for compassion and understanding, she will sit and cry along with you.  If you want someone to confirm that your boss/the cab driver/the check-out person at Jewel is an asshole, she's the first to show up with toilet paper ready to trash a house.  She's up for anything, whether it's a quick lunch, a shopping trip, a weekend getaway, or a "suburban adventure" to Red Lobster and glow-in-the-dark miniature golf.  She's always game.  And I can't imagine attending a wedding without her.

Books are written about friends like her.  Movies have been made about her kind of friendship.  She is the kind of friend we all hope to have, and all strive to be.  But even on our best days at this, we could never come close.  July 18, 2005 introduced me to the meaning of real friendship.  How on earth could I ever forget that day?

Marriage and The Bible

As of last month, EVERYBODY can get legally married to the person they love, regardless of age, gender, race, and religious beliefs.  "We, the people," have "formed a more perfect union" by securing "the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity".  This country, which was originally sought out by oppressed people, took another step towards ensuring that its inhabitants were all seen as equals under the eyes of the law of the land.  A country that was founded on religious freedom, i.e. the right to practice or not practice the worship of God as you see fit, echoed our Founding Fathers' beliefs that government and religion can co-exist but not combine.  The principle of Separation of Church and State (on which our democracy was founded) was upheld.

We should now know that marriage is not a religious institution and certainly didn't start out that way.  Marriage is, actually, a covenant between two people.  Christians like to think God is involved.  So do Jews.  So do Muslims.  So do Buddhists.  So, even, do Scientologists.  The definitions of God might be different for all these groups, but to have your life based in a religion - any religion - is to believe that your God must bless your marriage.  But the fact is, we all don't truly believe that, not really.

How many couples married in a church eventually ended the marriage through divorce?  Religions don't divorce couples, the county government does.  How many weddings have been held in places that are not houses of worship?  Is a wedding in a church, synagogue, or temple somehow more sacred than a wedding at a country club, cruise ship, or castle?  One could argue that the eyes of God are everywhere, so it doesn't matter where a marriage ceremony is held.  But the truth is, God (in whatever form you view God) does not preside over a marriage, a legal representative does - a representative who is far from being ordained by God.  I happen to be one of those representatives and God has not mentioned anything to me about it.

But the Evangelical Christians in America are demanding that marriage be as their God ordained it - between one man and one woman.  They want traditional marriage as God intended, as dictated in The Bible.  So let's look at that for just a minute:

"First of all, marriage in The Bible is not defined as being between one man and one woman, but rather one man and several women.  It's basically polygamist.  Abraham had 3 wives (or at least 2 wives and a slave he had sex with), Caleb had 5 wives, David had 18 wives, Moses only had 2, but King Solomon had 1,000 wives (300 of which were concubines). 

"The Bibles rules about marriage are very clear: rape victims must marry their rapists; if a woman's husband dies, she has to marry his brother (even if he is already married to someone else); interracial marriage is strictly forbidden; and if you marry a woman who turns out not to be a virgin, you have to stone her to death.

The Church didn't even get involved in marriage until sometime around the 13th century when the Catholics got into the wedding business and made marriage a sacrament.  Pope Alexander changed marriage to be an agreement between spouses instead of an arrangement between their parents.

Up until the 1700's, marriage was never about doing something with someone you love.  The advice in the 18th century was to marry someone you could learn to "tolerate".  In colonial America, if you wanted to get married, all you had to do was simply say you were married.  Black people were finally allowed to get married after the Civil War, and in the late 1800's, South Carolina became the first state to declare that men were no longer permitted to beat their wives.  Wife-beating was finally outlawed nationwide in 1920."  NINETEEN TWENTY.  A big year for married women - they could vote and not get beaten for it.  Ah, tradition.

Also during the 1920's, the concept of "Love Marriage" fascinated America.  People were engaging in a new practice of marrying someone they actually loved (and couldn't beat up).  Conservatives at the time said that this new look at marriage would completely destroy the institution by the end of the 20th Century.

In 1967, bans on interracial marriage were lifted.  It wasn't until 1979 that the States eliminated the Master Laws, which stated that a man could do whatever he wanted with his wife's property.  And up until 1993, it was legal for a man to rape his wife in some states."

Here's a handy visual to help understand marriage as defined in The Bible which the Christians believe is the word of God:

A little scary for the ladies, isn't it?

So if you are married today to just one spouse whom you love and treat as your equal, then you have already accepted experimental changes to the traditional marriage, as written and defined in The Bible.  It wasn't that long ago that women were treated as property and people of color weren't even considered human.  As society learned from those mistakes, PEOPLE updated the rules of marriage.  And not because they HAD to, but because the times and society's views about marriage (what's fair, what's right and wrong) had changed over time.

So at its core, marriage is just an agreement between people.  That's it.  So please don't preach to me that your marriage is sacred and that my marriage somehow ruins your marriage(s)...

How many have you had again?

2005 - 2015: Goodbye to the Old Life

It's safe to say that today, I am not the same person I was 10-15 years ago.  At the turn of the century, I joined a gym for the first time and rather quickly developed a rockin' bod.  The muscles grew as did the attraction and attention I was suddenly getting from other guys - guys I would have heretofore put beyond my grasp.  This led to a huge boost in my confidence which allowed me go places and meet people I previously would not have dared.  I still had the same personality, it's just that it was now easier for me to make friends.  Shallow as it sounds, the muscles gave me a social life.  For a period of about 3-4 years, I traveled all over the country to dance clubs and dance parties, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.  I met people all over the place, some of whom I am still in touch with today.

Me and Poodle, July 9, 2005

My last big night out like this was Saturday, July 9, 2005.  I had traveled to NYC to see my friend Poodle and his partner Jeff.  At this point, I knew I would be moving to Chicago soon and I wanted to see Poodle before relocating, since NYC is much easier to get to from DC than Chicago.

Poodle and I met a few years earlier on AOL.  I was living in DC and he was in Jersey City, NJ.  It was November 2001, just two months after the attacks.  People still weren't going out much at that point, rather using AOL as a social outlet.  Now and then in life, you'll meet someone who you just instantly connect with, and that was Poodle for me.  His real name is Michael, but I gave him the nickname Poodle.  I have no idea why.  But it stuck.

We eventually met in person 4 months later at the White Party in February 2002 in NYC at the Roseland Ballroom.  It was love at first sight.  He was the best friend I'd apparently had all my life without knowing it.

So back to 2005, I had taken the train to NYC the day before, arriving on Friday, July 8th.  I had spent the remainder of that day just shuffling around Times Square.  The following day (Saturday), I reconnected with Ex#2 who was living in NYC at the time.  We went flea market shopping in Chelsea and had (read:drank) lunch in some little bar on 8th Avenue.  That evening, though, I met Poodle and Jeff for a night of dancing at Roxy.  A Saturday summer night in an NYC danceclub was not the most hopping place, and we expected that.  Most of the dance crowd was out on Fire Island, Montauk, or The Hamptons.  But I remember we had a very fun night.  The music was great and we really enjoyed dancing with each other and inviting in strangers to join us.

During the night, Poodle and Jeff got separated from me and we couldn't seem to reconnect.  At some point they went home and I stayed and talked to some people.  At around 4AM, I walked back to my hotel.  I knew then that life was going to be different.  This was not the life I wanted to continue to live.  In fact, it was one of the reasons I wanted to leave DC altogether.  The party scene had lost its fascination for me and I wanted to give it one last hurrah with my closest friend before bidding that part of my life good-bye.  I was 39 years old and looking forward to a quieter life in a new city.  Having been involved with several someones through the previous 8 or 9 years, my goal was to move to Chicago and spend my entire 40's as a single man.

And we all know how that turned out.

Political Correctness and Evolution

In my universe, there's been recent and frequent talk about Political Correctness ("PC") and how it's the "ruination of our country".  I'm not saying these things, but people I know are.  And it makes me wonder what is so horrible about taking a few seconds to choose your words so that you don't run the risk of offending someone - anyone - who either has suffered or is currently suffering at the hands of established societal norms.  I don't care for the term 'politically correct' because there is nothing 'political' about having good manners.  In my quest to be an accepting person while attempting to put myself in the shoes of others, my ultimate goal is to just not be an asshole.

First, let me stand on a box and confess out loud that I am not without my prejudices, which almost seem innate.  I can't help the way my mind works but I can re-educate myself and I do have complete control over how my mouth functions, i.e. what I say or not say in the presence of others.  Anyone who has ever spent 10 minutes in my company knows that I am opinionated.  And I own up to the fact that I don't say about 80% of what runs through my brain.  Because back in my childhood, I learned that words can be upsetting, hurtful, insulting, and damaging.  Painful.  And in this day of cyber abuse and bullying, we know all too well that words can also kill.  So what is so hard about having good manners (read: PC) and choosing to not say something that might cause pain to or kill another human being?

The thing about being PC is that you can't pick and choose it.  You have to be all in.  You can't demand PC towards you and not give it back.  Number One: it's not fair, and Number Two: it contradicts the concept of The Golden Rule and ethic reciprocity.

I have a niece with speech development issues and a nephew with autism.  It's only because of PC that the world shouldn't call them "retarded".  I have a father with dementia and it's only because of PC that the world shouldn't call him "insane".  I have female relatives who are full-figured, and it's only because of PC that the world shouldn't call them "fat".  And, also because of PC, every one of them is allowed to live in the world and not be shut up in an asylum - which they would have been as recently as 30 years ago.

We EVOLVE because we MUST.  We are arguably the most intelligent form of life that's ever lived in the universe.  We have adapted our thinking and beliefs over time as we have become more educated and responsible.  It's only been those species that have refused to adapt that have died out.  Thomas Jefferson, the man who authored the Declaration of Independence almost 240 years ago, stated:

"I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions, but laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times. We might as well require a man to wear still the coat which fitted him when a boy as civilized society to remain ever under the regimen of their barbarous ancestors."

PC is not the ruination of the country, it's its deliverance from harm, ruin and loss.  So whether it's a word (I, myself, grew up being called a "sissy" and a "fag" and there are still people who think I should be put to death) or a symbol (such as a logo, a salute, a hand gesture, and , yes, even a flag) that causes pain to someone, why wouldn't we as an evolved, educated society want its use to stop?!?  Is a word or symbol more sacred than a human life?  If it's TOO hard for you to know what to say, do the entire world and yourself a favor and just say NOTHING.

Most people to whom PC comments are directed are suffering from some kind of societal norm deficit.  So when you think about it, aren't their lives hard enough without us choosing to hurt them unnecessarily?

For more information on the topics of mental health, please visit https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/bullying/

2005-2015: How This Blog Has Changed Over 10 Years

In creating something like this - a de facto journal of my life - it's easy to look back as I have been doing to see how I've have changed over the past 10+ years that this blog now covers.  It's not only me who has changed over the years, but also this here blog as well.

First of all, the blog didn't begin as a blog.  I had created a personal website back in 2004 that looked like this:

 

Not sure why I chose to name every page with an "H" word; I guess I had a reason at the time.  
(Click image to enlarge)

As you can see, I've always had a political bend to my writing and opines.  And it was because of how my site was written, as well as the fact that it was more of an op/ed kinda thing that a friend suggested that I create a blog instead.  I kept the actual website for about a year then just let it disappear.

So the blog was born.  Even the very look of it has changed over the past 10 years.  It's gone through 3 incarnations in the past decade: the first version created in 2005, then an update in 2008, and then the current version in 2013.  The previous two versions looked like this:

2005                                                                                                 2008
(Click image to enlarge)

The blog's actual URL changed, and fairly recently too.  The old address was http://viewfromthejeep.blogspot.com.  But about a year ago, I converted it to just http://www.viewfromthejeep.com.  Nice and simple.  I also no longer maintain a blogroll, which lists other blogs and websites that I follow.  I checked most of the ones listed on the two former versions and none of them work anymore.  I guess not many people keep personal blogs these days.  What can I say - I'm a rebel!

And why "viewfromthejeep" in the first place?  At the time I started the blog, I had my beloved green 1994 Jeep Wrangler.  The picture to the right is of me and the jeep back in June 2001.  I loved that machine.  I thought I would have it forever.  In DC, it became synonymous with me.  People recognized it and knew where I was.  Then one day, it was stolen while parked outside my house in DC.  I never saw it again.  I was crushed.  I kept the blog name as an homage to my identity, in a way.

Driving on...

Statistically, I no longer write posts like it's a part-time job.  Looking back to 2006 and 2007, I was averaging 4 and 5 posts per week.  Today, I dash off maybe 1 post every 2 weeks or so.  I want to write more, but it's sometimes tricky to think up a topic.  I almost always have an opinion on everything, but even that is not always enough to elicit a post.  I used to be rather political in my posts, but that has waned over the years as well.  It could be that I no longer have much to say since Bush left office, or it could be that since I no longer live in DC my interest/passion in politics is not as prevalent.

I also used to publish Monday Eye Candy every Monday morning, which was essentially just a photo of some random guy from the internet that I thought was attractive.  Now and then, I would post a photo of a friend of mine and tout how wonderful of a person he was or give him a shout out if he had something going on to which I wanted to help draw attention.  Mondays were (and still are) difficult days for me to get focused, so MEC was an easy way to post something without really needing to think about it.  My blog traffic was always highest on Mondays.  I guess there are lots of people like me who need some sort of motivation to begin their week.  Here's a lame example:

(Click image to enlarge)

I also used to occasionally pick a random day and go back in time through all my calendars and journals and list what I had done on that very date every year since 1982, when I started keeping calendars and journals.  The first one was created on October 20, 2005, with a few more random dates to follow including one listing out how I celebrated my birthdays from 1984-2007.  The most recent one was written on September 27, 2013.  It's actually a fun exercise.  I should do tit more often.

In the beginning, my blog was also hidden from my family.  Well, not really hidden per se - they just didn't know about it.  I also had not formally come out to my entire family yet, so I didn't want everyone reading and knowing what I was doing in my life.  But now my life is figuratively an open book.  And I know many in my family read it just to stay up to speed with Kevin and my excursions.

Several years ago, I didn't have much of a filter as to what I would write about.  Nothing was off-limits, which I think is still evident in some of the older posts.  I even wrote about my job on my blog until I was asked to stop - not asked to stop writing about my job, but asked to stop writing my blog by my job.  This explains the 4-year gap in posting from 2008-2012. But I'll save that for another, more interesting post.  And it IS interesting.

I also used to sell advertising space on my blog and made a nice chunk of change doing so.  Those ads went away during the break when I didn't write anything.  I'd get a check based on the number of hits my blog would get.  Man, I wish I'd had ad space on it during the Carol Burnett posts!  I could have retired.

So my blog, like me, has gone through some changes over the years.  It celebrates my evolving into the person I am today, and will most likely continue evolving itself over time as I keep it going.  I'm surprised that I have maintained this as I am always quick to delete something or throw something out.  But I like that this is here and remains just sitting out there.  And even if it's ever just me who reads this and no one else, that's fine too.

2005-2015: A Little Lasting Love

Continuing my celebration of this blog being a decade, I recall the last time I fell in love with someone, albeit even a little bit.  Ten years ago on June 14, 2005, Kevin and I met for the first time.

In Spring 2005, I had been living in Washington, DC for ten years, sharing a house with my best friend, Ashley.  We had both grown a little tired of DC and wanted a change. So when Ash decided to move to Chicago and open Hamburger Mary's with his brother, I decided to tag along too.

As the story goes, Kevin and I were connected by our friend (the newly-married-himself, Chris) on a pre-Facebook social network site called Friendster.  Chris and I had been drinking buddies in DC before he moved to Chicago in 2004 where his old William & Mary classmate, Kevin, also lived.  When I decided to move from DC to Chicago in spring 2005, I sent a message to Kevin hoping to make a new friend in a new city.  We didn’t meet on my first visit in May that year, but we began emailing each other and eventually shifted to phone conversations, which wound up occurring every night.  We got the chance to finally meet during my second visit to Chicago on June 14, 2005.  We met outside Briar Street Theater’s production of Blue Man Group for our first date at Cesar’s Killer Margaritas on Clark Street.

I was so taken with Kevin that two days later, when I returned to DC, I wrote a post about falling a little bit in love.  And I've remained in that state ever since, obviously growing more deeply in love as time passed.  And per the original post 10 years ago, Kevin is also the person with whom I prefer to spend the most amount of my time.  Ten years ago, Kevin "happened" to me.  And I am forever changed and grateful as a result.

Tear Drop National Monument

Ever hear of the Teardrop National Monument? 

Me either.

It's a national monument given to the U.S. by Russia to honor the victims of the September 11th attacks.  It sits across the harbor from the Statue of Liberty in Bayonne, New Jersey.  The name of each victim is inscribed in the base, much like the Vietnam Memorial Wall in DC.  

Made by Russian artist, Zurab Tsereteli, it stands 100 feet tall with a stainless steel teardop hanging in the middle.  The outside is made of bronze and the base is made of granite. Families of the victims placed stones in the walkway leading to the monument.

The memorial was dedicated in 2006, with little to no media coverage or fanfare.  There are no signs or ads leading to it on the streets of New Jersey.  The monument was and remains the source of many controversies and disputes.  It was originally meant to be erected on the NJ waterfront but officials rejected it.  It was finally placed in Bayonne, facing the New York skyline, but many still complain that this 10-story horror blocks the wonderful view of the city.  It's listed among the Top 5 Worst 9/11 Memorials.

The art community has stated that "it was not just unpleasant, but to the point that it was offensive."  Others have said it looked like a woman's vulva and that it was Russia's indirect way of calling America a pussy . . . . cat.  There is also the fact that the memorial includs huge pictures of Russia's president, Vladimir Putin, along with America's all-time worst President:

I personally don't know of anyone who has visited this site.  I imagine it might offer some comfort to the families of the victims.  But beyond that, with so little fanfare and attention, I'm curious what others think about it.

We Bought A House!

I'm a little behind on sharing this information, but - yeah, we kinda bought a house.

Most people go through a slump after the holiday season.  That period between Hallowe'en and New Years is an active time for just about everyone - and that's no exception in our home.  Kevin spent most of October creating our Hallowe'en costumes, and then immediately transitioned into making us both "onesies" complete with hoods, zippers, and pockets.  We journeyed to our families for Christmas, then flew out to Napa to celebrate New Year's with friends.  So after all this, Kevin needed a project during the month of January; something to challenge his brain and keep him occupied.

I thought he was going to start sewing again.  But instead, he started house-shopping.  Thus is life with Kevin.

We had talked about eventually moving out of our 880 sq ft loft condo in Uptown.  We'd been living in that space for 8 years (minus the year in Miami).  We loved the place, but it was small; we had become experts on how 2 adults can live in a small space.  And we'd decorated it with style.  But after living in a larger 2-bedroom apartment in Miami, we knew we needed to branch out.  I figured we would move into another condo in a different part of the city.  We'd talked about living in West Loop, South Loop and River North - which made sense since we would both most likely work downtown for most of our careers.

But rather than condos downtown, we shifted our interested to 2- and 3-flats within a mile or so of where we currently lived, staying on the far northside of Chicago.  So we narrowed our search online and enlisted the guidance of our trusted realtor, Susie Kanter, and set off one Saturday to look at buildings.  We toured 5 or 6 places, each one with rental capacity to help with our mortgage.  None of them seemed to hit it out of the ballpark, though, and it wasn't until later that evening at home when we were debriefing that we both realized the problem:  as much as the additional income would benefit our bottom line, neither of us was too keen on sharing our space with strangers.  For me, I didn't want to have to share my laundry facilities and experience the ire of opening the washer to find someone else's wet clothes sitting inside.  I had enough of that in college; I didn't want to relive that experience 30 years later.

So Round 2 was to look at small single family homes instead.  The next weekend, off we went with Susie again to look at houses.  And the first one we saw, was IT!  We had been looking at pictures online for the entire week and we both felt good about it, but wanted to keep our options open.  So we looked at a few.  Admittedly, there was a second house that made the decision difficult.  Both had obvious pluses and minuses.  But our favorite house just seemed like "us".  And we knew it in our guts.  So after a little haggling, our offer was accepted the following week.  After a 6-week closing cycle, we took ownership on March 16, 2015.

March 16, 2015

We'll move in on Saturday, the 21st.  This is definitely a new adventure for both of us, both as individuals and a couple.  And I am sure there will be lots to share as we put our stamp on our cute little house.  Stay tuned for more stories and updates as we launch into our "houseownership".

Assassin's Escape Route Dud

The other night, we watched a show on Travel Channel that I was initially excited to see.  Going along with the 150th Anniversary of the Lincoln Assassination, an episode of Time Traveling with Brian Unger, Lincoln's Killer on the Run, was pitched as:

Brian takes locals back to Washington, DC, at the end of the Civil War to follow the escape route of President Lincoln's assassin, John Wilkes Booth. They hide in a pine thicket, row across the Potomac River, and visit a special group of tennis courts.

The show was only 30 minutes and I initially wondered how they were going to fit a visit to all the places (at least 12 by my count) on Booth and David Herold's (an accomplice) escape route in that short amount of time.  So I eagerly tuned in.  At first I was happy to see that the show began in Baptist Alley, the space behind Ford's Theater where the escape route truly started.

But from there, the tour jumped to Rich Hill, the home of Samuel Cox, which would be Stop #4 if all 12 stops were included.  Admittedly, it was nice to see Rich Hill up close as it is completely off-limits to the public.  But by making this the next stop, the show completely bypassed several rather crucial stops in the escape route:

1. The 11th Street Bridge. This passageway from DC to Maryland was completely off-limits to the public and guarded by the military.  However, Booth being the consummate actor, somehow managed to smoothly and calmly talk his way across it, despite having just shot the president, jumped to the Ford's Theater stage from the president's theater box and ridden at top speed through the city.
2. The Surratt Tavern. Booth and Herold stopped here to pick up supplies that had been stored there earlier that day at the request of Mary Surratt.
3. The home of Dr. Samuel Mudd.  Dr. Mudd was the physician who set Booth's broken leg, which happened either when Booth jumped to the stage or possibly when his horse fell on him during the escape).  There was and continues to be much debate over whether Mudd knew or recognized Booth during the visit.   

Three rather significant stops.  

From Rich Hill, the show then took us to the Potomac Crossing (accurate), discussed the failed first attempt at such and how a 2nd successful attempt was made a few days later (again, accurate), but then the show took us to Peyton House, veering past Booth and Herold's stop at Cleydael and the home of William Lucas.  I thought this was strange, considering the story behind both places.  Cleydael was the stately home of Dr. Richard Stuart, a confederate signal agent from whom Booth expected total support.  Booth thought wrong.  Instead, Stuart sent the men to spend the night at the cabin home of William Lucas, a black man.  Showing his racist sole, Booth made Lucas and his family sleep outside in the dirt so that he and Herold could have the cabin to themselves.

Eventually, the show brings us to the Garrett Farm, the final spot in the escape route, where Booth was gunned down in a burning tobacco barn.  The farm and barn are long since gone so there was really nothing to show.  But the show did take us inside Fort McNair to the site of the conspirators hanging following the trial.  It's the only spot on the trail that I've not been to personally, so I found that to be interesting.

I looked forward to this show and was disappointed.  It missed many opportunities to share the whole truth about the escape, as well as the country's attitude about what Booth had done.  Booth thought he would be praised a hero in the south, but was met with rejection and abandonment just about everywhere he went.  The show didn't really convey that.

Perhaps it's a lot to ask for a 30-minute show.  I liked the show and I think Brian Unger is a fun host (I realy liked him on How The States Got Their Shapes on the History Channel).  But I suggest reading My American Odyssey to learn more about this 12-day event.  It's really quite fascinating.

Starbuck's Don'ts

The 1st Starbuck's, Seattle

Every workday morning, I stop at Starbuck's to get a tea - sadly, not my long-gone beloved Awake tea, but a venti English Breakfast.  The new tea isn't as strong as the Awake, but it will do.  The experience is made better by the fact that there are two baristas at the Merchandise Mart location who know what I get and occasionally have it ready for me by the time I work my way through the cattle line.

But like most things, it's not always a smooth process.  Because tea is made by the baristas at the registers, I don't have to wait down in the mosh pit of yuppies, pining for their caffeine hit.  This means that once I get my tea, I need to navigate my way through a group of people who both individually and collectively don't seem to have any sense of spacial awareness.  Backpacks, large shoulder bags, and yoga mats should all be classified as registered lethal weapons with the FBI.  But even this isn't as tough as the next step: the coffee fixins' bar.

The fixins' bar (or whatever Starbuck's calls the Serengeti watering hole where you spice up your bev with milks, sweeteners and assorted other spices) is the area where my blood pressure raises.  Perhaps it's because folks haven't had their jolt yet that they seem to be mindless of their surroundings, not to mention their actions.  There are lots of lists already online about how to be the worst Starbuck's customer, but the list I created below is how to continue your horrid behavior after you got what you paid for:

1. Stop dumping out your drink in the trash.  If you need the barista to leave room, just ask.  They're happy to do it.  Dumping out what you just paid for is tantamount to throwing money out the window.  Besides, it's dumb.
2. For god's sake, put your phone away for the ONE EFFING MINUTE it will take you to add whatever you need to add to your beverage!
3. Stop with the T-Rex arms.  Put down your bag(s) and enjoy the use of your limbs.
4. The fixins' bar is not the place for you to get organized.  Don't reassemble the purse, don't switch out phones, and for-the-love-of-all-that's-holy DON"T change out your shoes!
5. You - the one adding nutmeg to your coffee - I hate you.
6. Don't talk to me.  I equate fixing my beverage to peeing in a public urinal: no talking, eyes straight ahead, flush when finished.
7. Put your trash in the trash.  Put your trash in the trash. Put your trash in the trash.
8. Once you've added everything you need, die.  Or leave.  Either is fine, just move out of the way.  
9. By the way, have you ever made your own coffee or tea before?  You don't know how much milk or sweetener to put in?  Add a little, taste it, add a little, taste it...  I want to stab you in the eye.
10. Don't socialize with someone while you are prepping your beverage.  You're not in the club.  Concentrate on your task then get the hell moving.
11. See that dribble of milk you just spilled?  Yeah you.  Be a big boy, pull a napkin and clean it up.  What must your house look like?  Slob.
12. Don't hoard the milk carafe.  Take it when you're ready to use it - don't pull it away from everyone and stockpile your supplies.  Share, sweetie.  Share.
13. Also, if you have to add 16 packets of sugar to your coffee, you don't like coffee.

The key takeaway here is that people (read:me) are waiting.  You have 20 seconds to get in there, do whatever it is you need to do and get out.  Stop ruining my morning.

Pet Peeve #72: Peering Into Windows

And now for some classic Dop...

Window shopping is one thing:  walking by a brightly lit window, stepping in closer to see what's there, keeping a slight distance.  But cupping your eyes and plastering your face against a window to see what's inside is downright intrusive and annoying.  Especially if there is someone just on the other side of the window pane trying to enjoy a meal, a coffee (read: tea), or just hanging with a friend.

I experience this behavior more times than I can admit, most recently yesterday. First really warm day of the year so I leave my office to have lunch at Hannah's Bretzel (mmmm... soft, luscious bretzel).  No seating outside, of course, so I sit at the bar at the window for some much needed natural light therapy.  Attempting to have a quiet lunch, my sunny view is suddenly blocked by a woman pressing her entire body against the glass to see inside the restaurant - despite the fact that the open doorway to the place is just 4 feet to her left.  I shoot her my best WTF look, complete with half a Wild Alaskan Smoked Salmon on Wecken (mmm... soft, luscious wecken) hanging out of my mouth.  Oddly, she seems shocked to see me - me, a customer inside a restaurant trying to eat his lunch.  It feels invasive.

Shops and stores typically use non-tinted glass so that you can easily see what's on display in hopes of luring you inside.  Restaurants, to the contrary, tend to use tinted glass to provide some modicum of privacy for their patrons as well as maintaining the mystery of how busy the place may actually be, causing you to actually have to WALK INSIDE to see what's going on.

Is it really so hard to just walk into the store/restaurant/coffee shop to see whatever it is you think you want to see?

Are you giving any thought at all to the possibility that your big face might be disturbing people, or that you resemble some starving Les Miserable urchin knockoff begging for scraps?

Can you just freakin' back that shit up and use a door like a civilized person?

My goal is the next time I am sitting at a window and someone decides to wrap their face in their hands and press it against said window, thus blocking my view and/or invading my space, I will just have to give them a view to remember.

Our Kinda Really First President

We all love the glamour and mythology of George Washington:  General of all the Armies during the Revolution, wealthy landowner, etiquette lover, wooden teeth-wearer, slave owner (yeah, we tend to forget that one), 1st President of the United States, ...

Record scratch

You may not know that America was not originally a constitutional democracy, but a confederation (which meant the states were sovereign entities) from 1776 until the Constitution was ratified in 1789. And while the individual states were free to run things however they chose within their own borders, they still decided that there would be a national one-house ruling body with very limited power called the Congress of the Confederation.

During the eight years that the Congress existed, eight men held the title of President of the Continental Congress - essentially the highest seat in the land - for 1 year each. It wasn’t anywhere near the same thing as the current Presidential office; it was far less powerful and had far different duties.  But it was the closest thing they had to such an office. Thus, the first official “president” of the United States was John Hanson, a delegate from Maryland.  My home state representin'!

Further Presidents of the Continental Congress from 1782 onward were Elias Boudinot, Thomas Mifflin, Richard Henry Lee, John Hancock (yes, that John Hancock), Nathaniel Gorham, Arthur St. Clair, and Cyrus Griffin.

The more you know...

Wrap Rage

A few weeks ago, I posted the picture at right on my Facebook account, stating that in order to open the package, I clearly needed the scissors inside.  Oh irony!  Funny to readers; not so to me.  

Attempting to unwrap a package that is seemingly impossible to unwrap can be a frustrating problem.  And not just for me - there is actually a diagnosis for the hatred, anger and exasperation one feels when not being able to open packaging:  wrap rage.  You know it's real because it has its own Wikipedia page!  

It's the immense, sweat-inducing fury we've all felt trying to open packages that are simply impossible to open easily: light bulbs, potato chip bags, boxes of cereal, medicines and (10 years ago) CD cases.  Have you ever found yourself standing in your kitchen, unfathomably frustrated — fuming, even — after several attempts to open a bag of something only to realize it’s more secure than Fort Knox?

Manufacturers say that their packaging is simply the safest way to ship and store their products, and ask for "consumer patience" when opening the goods.  Easy to say, impossible to do.  Besides that, it's wasteful.  Nearly 1/3 of American waste is packaging.

I've a longstanding joke about my health that "I've survived a car accident, a stroke, cancer, a heart attack, and open-heart surgery all before the age of 40: which means that one day I will probably choke on an M&M and kill myself".  However, I am going to amend this phrase to add "...if I first don't puncture an artery with a screwdriver trying to open a pack of pens."

Joseph Palmer: Beard Wearing Freak

Since December 1, 2014, I've been allowing my beard to grow out.  I've never done this before, having what equates to a 5-day growth on my face for most of the past 20 years of my life.  But since full, long beards are still considered stylish, I thought I'd give it a try.  There are obvious limits to me being able to change my look.  Short of gaining and losing a few pounds here and there, and plus a few more wrinkles, I have pretty much looked the same way since the mid-1990s.  I mean, it's not like I've been able to change my hairstyle.

While researching beard-care and products, and image-searching for beards I wanted to emulate, I came across the story of one Joseph Palmer - a veteran of the War of 1812 and a member of the short-lived Utopian community “the Fruitlands”. He was described as a kind and tolerant man, but life was not easy for Joseph Palmer after he moved to Fitchburg in 1830. People would openly insult him, throw rocks at him, regularly break the windows of his home, and even cross the street so as not to be near him when he passed by. Despite being a deeply religious and God-fearing man who regularly attended church services, Palmer was publicly denounced during sermons by his pastor, Rev. George Trask, and even refused communion.

What awful thing had this small town butcher done to warrant such persecution? Joseph Palmer’s crime was that he was the only citizen in Fitchburg, Massachusetts who chose to wear a full beard, which (contrary to my vision of the 1800’s being a beard grower’s paradise) had been out of fashion in the United States since the time of the Pilgrims.  Think about it.  Look at all the photos of American men during the 1700's and the early 1800's.  You won't find a beard among them.

Mr. Palmer was so reviled that in 1830, while walking out of the Old Fitchburg Hotel, he was attacked by four men who attempted to forcefully shave his beard on the grounds that his beard was immoral. Palmer was thrown on the stone stairs, and even though he was a muscular, 200 pound farmer, he was unable to repel the four men and resorted to stabbing two of his assailants in the legs with his jackknife. His attackers were only hurt badly enough to curtail their efforts, but Palmer was arrested and fined for committing an unprovoked assault. Even though he had the resources, he refused to pay the fine on principle, and was jailed as a debtor in the Worcester city jail. He spent over a year in prison, during which time he repelled two more attempts by jailers and prisoners who sought to shave his beard against his will.

Palmer would be quietly released thanks to the large amount of bad press that was generated by his story as it wound its way through the national newspapers, but he would refuse to leave until he could secure a proclamation that it was perfectly acceptable to wear a beard. He was never given that assurance, and he was eventually tied to a chair and carried out of the jail against his will.

Joseph Palmer achieved national celebrity status at the time, and used his position to contribute time and money to the Temperance and Abolitionist movements. He would go on to circulate in New England intellectual circles with Transcendentalists like Emerson and Thoreau, and even appears as the character, Moses White in the Louisa May Alcott’s Transcendental Wild Oats.

Palmer died in 1873 at the age of 84, and on his grave in Leominster, Massachusetts is a picture of a man with long, flowing beard and the words, “Persecuted for wearing the beard”. He was one of the most ridiculed and persecuted men of his time simply because he chose to stand up against the herd in support of his right to wear a beard. Not ten years before Palmer’s death, Abraham Lincoln would be the first president of the United States to wear a beard in office.

The next time you’re feeling like a freak and thinking about giving up your individuality for a spot in the herd, remember: resistance is not futile, and sometimes freaks are only freaks because they’re ahead of their time.

2005-2015: Ten Year Blog Anniversary!

Me, the month I started writing this blog

At the time, little did I know that 2005 would be such a pivotal year in my life.  A lot happened.  I mean A LOT happened.  During 2015, the launch of several 10-Year Anniversary markers will occur for me.

The first of which is that 10 years ago on April 11, 2005, I started this blog.  My first post was titled Kicking The Tires and it was about my trepidation at trying new things (some things never change) while comparing technology to my then dating life.  Blogging was still a fairly new endeavor for most people, including me.  I had initially built out a personal website, but my postings were pretty much just opinion pieces.  So BF#6 (the one just preceding Kevin) suggested I start writing a blog instead, which I did ... 2 week after he dumped me.

A similar situation occurred back in 1993 when BF#3 broke up with me after 2 years.  Only then, I actually wrote an entire book.  It was never published, but parts of it have shown up in this blog over the course of the last 10 years.  I was proud of that book and I am proud of this blog.

Look for more 10-Year Anniversary markers during 2015.  

Lincoln Assassination 150 Years Ago

One hundred and fifty years ago tonight, at about 10:20 PM (EST), Abraham Lincoln was shot in the back of the head by John Wilkes Booth during a performance of "Our American Cousin" at Ford's Theater in Washington, DC.  He will die the next morning at 7:22 AM (EST).  This event, as well as those leading up to and following, have fascinated me - and many others - for the past 40 years.

What began as a failed attempt at a kidnapping ended in the first assassination of a sitting U.S. President.  Lincoln certainly was not popular during his presidency, but his death made him a martyr and he has since been elevated to greatness because he fought for what was right.  In some ways, his life is an allegory of Christ:  born in modest and meager surroundings, lifelong student and teacher, champion of the downtrodden, leader of people, eschewed personal sacrifice for the greater good, put to death publicly for a cause in which he believed.  The more I continue to read about him, the more he guides my moral compass. His death is one of the more fascinating pieces of a life filled with adversity and challenge.

During the past 40 years, I've read about 30 books on the subject, visited Ford's Theater & Museum an uncountable number of times, visited Lincoln's home, office, grave site, and Presidential Museum in Springfield, IL, seen the gun with which he was shot as well as the chair in which he was sitting, the room in which he died, and even the bed in which he drew his last breath inside the Petersen House.

I've also visited both the boyhood home and eventual grave of Booth, as well as found the spot where Booth died, which is now a nondescript site in a median strip along Route 5 in Southern Maryland.  I've even seen the vertebrae removed from his neck during his autopsy, which is now  held in the National Museum of Health and Medicine in Silver Spring, MD.

I've ridden Booth and accomplice Davy Herold's escape route a few times including visiting the Surratt Tavern in Clinton, MD, and the home of co-conspirator, Dr. Samuel Mudd in Bryantown, MD.  And in December 2013, I visited Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas, the prison where 4 of the conspirators lived and died.  I've visited the graves of 6 of the 8 co-conspirators as well as a few of their homes.

I've done all of this to get as close to and learn as much about this event and this man as possible.  To say I am fanatical is fair, but what is cool is that those who know me well cannot hear the name Lincoln and not think of me, if even for a flash of a second.  My friends and family have showered me with books, magazine, pamphlets, movies, documentaries and many trinkets that I hold dear - all now prominently displayed in our new home.

So tonight at 9:20 PM (CST) I will pause to offer reverence for one of the greatest men to have occupied the Office of The Presidency; a man who changed the course of the country in his lifetime.  And I'll wonder, as we all should, what we might have become had the event on that night 150 years ago not taken place.