Clees is a breakfast genius.

Even when Clees is in the doghouse, I am always all smiles when he fries up some prosciutto with a fresh laid egg. My all time favorite is his sourdough French toast. Since Clees has been away in New York for a week, I've been eking by with random fruit. But a lazy Saturday morning deserves more than that. I dipped some stale Acme sourdough round slices in a egg and milk batter and voila. The egg creates a barrier to steam the bread inside and becomes soft and chewy again. Uhhaha, I've got one of Clees's secrets.

Gay for Wallace Stevens

Clees kept making fun of me all week, saying how I am "gay for poetry" every five years. It's true. A poem can carry you above the clouds all day long if you are that kind of guy and I am that kind of guy. You can read a thousand poems and not feel anything, but you only need just one poem to hit you over the head.

I almost have Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird memorized. Clees who is not gay for poetry keeps refusing an impromptu recital. I feel just like Grover going about asking, "Did anyone order a poem. A poem about blackbirds?"

Clees made an official complaint that he was tired of being everybody, nobody and somebody. If you live with one other person and if you make statements like
-Nobody made dinner. Nobody did laundry.
-Somebody left the eggs out.
-Everybody brush teeth.

Well. It usually is Clees.

Gorilla Biscuits Night Out

I have been given an unusual Friday night to myself as Clees has gone to kick it one last time in the mosh pit. I told him not to wear his crocs and get stomped on. He was agonizing over wearing his eBay bought "Rise and Shine" chicken and egg shirt seen mostly on fifty year old moms. At last he decided he would wear his "Be the Reds" soccer fan shirt. There's no point in trying to be hardcore if you are the chicken man of Berkeley.

Douglas Sued Again

C's dealer is again in the news. Sued over money he didn't pay up to an artist. I'd better get in line. Doug is laughing his way to the courts as the claimant is suing for breach of oral contract. I should be mad but I'm just relieved he isn't being investigated for tax fraud or some other illegal doings.

Muscles From Brussels

One benefit from surgery recovery is that you have absolute license to watch bad movies. As C could not get about much for the first few days after surgery, I was his proxy at Elephant Pharmacy. I spent twenty minutes riffling through for any vintage Jean-Claude van Damme movies but came up zeros. Elephant probably has deemed Muscles From Brussels too mainstream tacky and not sufficiently of alternative campiness for it's shelves. If they rent the Spice Girls movie, they shouldn't snub Hard Target- it's got pre-hurricane footage of New Orleans in it. I didn't want to humiliate myself on C's behalf so I just got your usual WWII movie with Donald Sutherland and Michael Caine as a German captain in a plot to kidnap Winston Churchill. No submarines though.

Then I had to go through Andronicos and procure a hefty sack of prunes and a bottle of prune juice just as the doctor ordered for C.

Surgery husband

After days of excruciating pain, C went to see our family physician Dr.B who confirmed a hernia diagnosis and referred him to Dr. Wright for surgery. At the first pre-op exam, while Dr. Wright had a few fingers up C's scrotum, someone busts in with a few knocks on the door. It's no other than the lady receptionist who says "Naan and Curry". Dr. Wright still probing, says "Yeah. Naan and curry. That eggplant curry was real good." After she leaves, Dr. Wright says, "Have some respect for yourself. Put your pants back on." Let's mention Dr. Wright wore a beige crocheted beret, silver snake skin boots in an office over decorated with Guatemalan textiles. If this wasn't Berkely you might get a bit worried.

As there is a long line for surgery, the first available spot would be in February. But as C is in a bad way, he's squeezed for Thursday surgery, the last surgery for the day.

Vintage Pu-erh 1950

A rainy Sunday night. Yesterday in celebration of C turning 32, I took the old man to Samovar Tea Lounge to drink an even older Pu-erh. A tea reputedly from 1950. The brew was like licking an ancient cave. What fortitude for a tea so aged. Even after eight or nine potfuls, the leaves were going strong. There is only so much pu-erh one can be forced to drink at one sitting.

Many serious Korean tea drinkers reserve pu-erh for the most special occasions. Indeed no other tea improves with the decades. Out of all the teas, I enjoy drinking pu-erh the least unless I've got a good pork dish on me. Anywhere we would go in Korea where a tea ceremony was involved, we would be served the extra special treat of aged pu-erh and certainly without any pork involved. Cup after cup. Numerous steepings we were served to prove the quality of the pu-erh. I was oft the recipient of such privileged torture.

It is often said pu-erh separates connoisseurs from dilattantes so I am quite happy to leave the earthy mustiness to those who treasure such pleasures. C apparently belongs to this category. I am also not much for truffles which reminds me too much of armpit smells of people who eat butter and other dairy foods. Despite all the fancy teas I've forced on friends over the years, I just like a good cup of cozy SleepyTime tea for myself- you know the one with a bear snoozing in front of the box.

C brought the leaves home with us and even today he brewed full strength cups off yesterday's leaves. None for me.

C utterly humiliated himself to get me the Return of the King Extended Edition. About 15 irate customers were standing with their arms crossed in front of an empty bin at Target. C led the charge by going through 2 employees and a manager. He pleaded- he really needed to get the DVD for his "step daughter".

While walking about Oakland with Clay the UI guy, we heard a few squeals coming out of the back of a pickup. 3 piglets oinking away- poor things. Pigs have a remarkably similar end. Clay tried thrice to get a cuter image but was stalled by bad UI on his cellphone.

Hard Working Hudgebend

While I was hanging out with Caroline slurping oysters at Point Reyes, lolling about in the sand, trying not to strut my stuff in the Castro(why bother when you get out-gayed at every turn), C was working hard at home. The thought of romping about in Italy with Sof next month while C works hard at home... Half honey, half vinegar.

Joel Update: JBen(who also bought one of C's gorillas) stuffed a full unsliced lemon in Joel's pants during dinner with a couple of collectors. I think Joel might have been improvidently going on about ball implants- latest fad in Miami. Even when Joel emphatically gestures "I'm not a faaaagggg!", one look at his girly pants and... I suppose it's no fun to be a false positive.

I'm munching on a few carrots to get used to healthy eating, but there happened to be nob of butter hanging out on the table- all room temperature soft. Not bad. I imagine if I cooked them together it could be quite heavenly, but raw is not bad either.

Lesbian Avengers and the T.W.A.T. Team*

Spent last weekend at my sis-in-law's wedding chockful of militant lesbians. Despite good intentions, I suspect topless activism is never a good idea. Think of the last time public nipple exposure has brought positive social change to the world. Hmmm. Yes. I guess Ghandi often fasted topless.


*The T.W.A.T. Team is no bad pun on my part but once name for the DC chapter of the Lesbian Avengers.

Badasses vs the DuWAL Club

While waiting for our Picante takeout, a tough bald guy in leather pants and leather vest, moustache and mirrored sunglasses walked past me really slowly giving me the badass look. I had my suspicious porkpie hat on so I put my chin out and gave him my best "eyes under the brim" look. Then I practiced my Vin Diesel imitations. I kept looking over my left shoulder firming up my jaws to a menacing grimace. I figure it might come in handy at work tomorrow. C was not impressed, but what does he know about being a badass action hero.

C keeps threatening to start an official DuWAL Dudes with Asian Ladies club. Berkeley and the bay area is generally littered with such pairs although LaWADs are harder to spot. Every time we go anywhere, C tortures me with "Check it out. A DuWAL!" right in front of the unsuspecting parties. Or even worse, he mutters "Tut tut, does not know the joys of being a full DuWAL" when he sees a dude with a lady of mixed heritage. Gross! Why do guys love embarrassing their ladies in public at the expense of themselves? I swear these deviant behaviors did not emerge until we were safely married.

A badly placed planter caused C to trip over and run straight into the plum sapling we planted in March. To add insult to injury, the open box of screws he was holding flew and scattered about the garden. When C called me in exasperation- it was guilty me who had placed that no good pot right in front of everyone's way- I excitedly said, "What about the one plum?" Our tree had but one lonely green plum which had taken fruit from a meagre cluster of blooms; a frosty green thing which I loved to focus on when I sat on the back porch swing. Too belatedly I sheepishly asked "Are you okay." Too late as C was sniffy and miffy. In the doghouse again...

Stitched

C had possibly the world's most efficient wisdom teeth extraction ever. Dr. Ng, conviniently located a few blocks from work in the heart of Oakland Chinatown, was rotating between 2 other clients, and had cracked and pried 2 teeth loose in 4 minutes flat. Everyone in the office was running from mouth to mouth.

Prior to meeting C for surgery, my web research on post oral surgery support uncovered the dreaded condition known as dry sockets. I kept demanding to check for dry sockets, but C kept his lips mum.

Happiest Girl in East Bay

All year I've been hopping up and down about replacing our suspicious toilet- twice as old as me.
C has been surprisingly resistant saying it was too much work and perhaps he would do it in February. C is a wiley one. On Friday I came home only to be shocked at a brand new shining unused toilet all plumbed and installed- the only time C has heard me screaming and jumping up and down. There is nothing more wonderful than having a toilet "all accounted for" as Suse puts it.

The house is under official prepare for coziness state as Big J and bro-in-law S-man will be here in no less than 2 days. An official welcoming wicker chair has been procured for the porch. Tomorrow I'll dig out my finest linens(supplied by J of course).

How to do whatever you want. If anyone objects, just say "You are not the boss of me!"

Tried a new restaurant on 4th Street- Tacubaya. No leftists insurgents in sight. I had a big bowl of tripe. Sadly, my menudo really lacked kick. My pork tamale, sweet but mealy.

One of C's art chums from L.A. showed up at our door today. Nothing like hung over art ex-grad students in your back yard. Almost always in such situations, Sam McPheter's Dog Dairy idea comes up. Dog cheese, doggy yogurt and the like. Malamutes and Great Danes. Yuck is right.

Of course none as entertaining as Joel- our double denim suit wearing tragic comic art hero. Joel sweetly phoned C to let him know the SFMoma was having Rauschenberg and Arp show. "Man, we've shown with both them fools."

C has been threatening to make one all week and he did. The dreaded no-war pumpkin. I thought it would be one of those meaningless liberal gestures that one sees so often these days. And it is. But now that C's carved it, it looks pretty hot.

The one legitimate chance to dress up as a hobbit, I missed. Miss Sof said she was going to be Smurfette(woo woo). C and I eagerly await the photos. Last year she as a dominatrix;a.k.a party girl with a whip.

C and I've been striving for days to have a pumkpin pie date. This is where two romantically involved persons get together, make a smashing pumpkin pie, and eat it. Sadly, intervening events leave the ppd in the air just as the library dates have fallen by the way side. Yesterday at work, A took me out for an icecream cone. En route, we saw a man being picked up by his wife; lucky dog got the full hug and kiss service on top of the pickup service. I asked A if his wife provides such welcome services. He said not all the time. I boasted that I did. I said you have to train 'em. Every time(regardless) after each new meeting, you have to smile in to their eyes, look a bit confused and say "Did we hug when we meet?"

Left behind.

One would think when a spouse goes out of town, one would shout for joy and do whatever one wants... Eat crumbly cookies on the nice sofa and in the bed. Terrorize the town, and maybe get a tattoo or two. Get into fist fights, but avoid the black eye or losing a tooth as your mate'll return after all.

Once my parents left little June-not yet seven- with the neighbors and took me somewhere. Resentful at missing out on the fun we were having without her, she snuck back into our house fuming, marching back and forth with fists in the air. She dumped a jar of Taster's Choice and entire bag of sugar into a plastic gourd full of water. In a gesture full of bravado, she glugged, guzzled, guggled, a gallon of the stuff! She showed 'em. Who likes being left behind.

Last night C called full of fun and excitement. He and Joel had just enjoyed dinner at Basix, a gay steak cafe. He had never seen so many ripped pecs in tight girly tees before- tees with tapered sleeves, you know the kind. He said it was a "getting to know you" kind of datey joint, too much of a costant techno beat to be for intimate couples. But their woodfired pizza was kickass. Poor Joel has had another spot of bad luck earlier this week. The freight company skewered his piece with the forklift gouging a good sized hole in the middle. This mangled piece was already late being shipped to a show in Cologne.

Cherry Falls, Bruce Dickinson Never Dies...

One thing I like about Iron Maiden, no sucky love songs. All adventure and epic poetry. Hum. Last week for the first time in years I went to an indie rock show at the Great American Music Hall. Back in the day, C's band Action Patrol let another band peg on their second tour. Anyhow Rainer Maria now have a video on MTV and some token amount of college radio fame and were in town for their North America tour along with another band Denali with a Richmond connection. So we were privy to free tickets and back stage passes.

Fanny (drummer nee Jonathan Fuller) got much flack from C as he is only seen in sleeveless shirts. I tell C that hipsters do not bother with sleeves as they must fit snugly inside their lifestyle jackets. Fanny regaled us with his last bout of true fame. He was an extra in a horror movie titled "Cherry Falls" after the town in which following unfortunate events occur- a serial killer terrorizes virgin teenagers. The murder rate has risen such that the principal and the mayor urge all the high school girls to lose their virginity. Fanny's shining moment came when a fight broke out in the lunch room.

Petunia Prowler

On Sunday, C and I went to Home Depot to procure some lumber. I told C to meet me over at the garden section when he was done. I took my sweet old time browsing the six packs and quart herbs when I saw some guy put a giant tray of petunias in his cart. I thought to myself what sort of dorky person buys that many petunias. Anyhow, I went back and forth for a while as I could not remember where my cart was. All of the sudden out of nowhere appeared C. He is cracking up saying I passed by him several times, even watched him put the flat of petunias into my very own cart but I didn't register. And then he felt sorry for me as I would never be able to find my cart again since it had a tray of those ugly petunias in them so he waved and said my name. Yes it's true. Even after 16 years I cannot quite recognize my husband in public places. Once I failed to pick C out at an airport lounge as he wore a new shirt unknown to me. But C is good humored and will play on end of pranks on me.

Metal sucks. Criminals at large.

Again C tortures me with more metal ballads. When C goes away fishing next week, I'm gonna scrub all Iron Maiden songs from our hard drive.

Biscuit Bryce Sings Iron Maiden

C tortured me all hour by blaring Iron Maiden ballads. I cried foul as he never fessed up his penchance while we were dating. This would have effected his candidacy surely. He blithely says, "What's there to admit Who doesn't like Iron Maiden." Now I'm married to the man, I have to endure melodramatic metal songs in a ridiculous falsetto. I could have sworn I never found him listening to Iron Maiden in high school... Late bloomer...

After countless refrains of "Water water everywhere, not a drop to drink", C took pity on me and decided to put on new hits by JinuSean(sung GenuShan). Yes the "Dig my hand in the ice and pull Korea closer to Jersey" JinuSean. Out of all appropriated musical styles, Korean rap has got to be one of the worst- not as bad as french rap but heinous nonetheless. We decide to think up Korean rap star names for ourselves. C says I'm Gongbu Girl i.e. Study Girl. Terrible. This is because I spent all Wednesday pouring through my American Horticultural Society A-Z Encyclopedia- over 6000 photos- instead of spending a romantic evening for our 4th wedding anniversary. I'm lucky not to have burst a blood vessel on my eye.

So I go even lower by calling C by his party porn star name- Biscuit Bryce. The formula for one's party porn star name is adding first pet's name to the first street you grew up on. But I should take pity on the man as yesterday's surprise check from Douglas Supreme could not be cashed in as he sent it suspiciously unsigned.

Domestic Gulags Redux

My lady friends ask me for love advice- mostly of the "how to seduce a man, how to dump a man, how do I know he's worthy" variety. Why should any 2 particular human beings choose or unchoose each other? Why should I know anything about this...

For the last few weeks, C has been kindly providing me escort service from the Bart station. He usually leaves when I leave and we rendez-vous somewhere midway usually around the two benches in front of a basketball court. On Monday, he spied me coming round the corner, so he sat on the southerly bench with his cheeks hidng behind an upturned collar looking very suspicious indeed. I don't know why but this cracked me up mightily. The next day, he met me in the parking lot of the Bart; he told me he was going to sit on the bench with his shirt off and tied around his head except... Except a band of young Asian girls playing basketball foiled his plans. He didn't want to look like a pervert. On Wednesday, he said he almost dragged a blue plastic Ross Dress For Less shopping cart all the way to meet me; the runaway cart had been hanging about for several days off the corner of Page and Stannage . Of course it would have made such a rattle, he would have given up probably after a block. But he got just as much mileage out of a prank as I cracked up mightily when he told me. Either C has unnatural powers over me because I think he is so funny, or he has unnatural powers over me and that's why I think he is funny.

My mother always likes to point out that Solzhenitsyn has barbed wire fence all around his Connecticut compound. Indeed we love our self constructed prisons.

Household dictators and domestic gulags

This is an essay for all married persons:
http://www.english.ccsu.edu/barnetts/courses/vices/kipnis.htm

I've declared a new freedoms policy: noone is allowed to tell anybody else what to do. I'm tired of this long leash! C says that discipline is so lax in our house that mayhem will ensue. Once you've rented a place with no door separating the bathroom and the bedroom, it all goes to pot.

C is slaving away to prepare for his trip to L.A. on Sunday. I think of various devious activities whilst the cat is away. I'm going to hop on my speedy orange bike and terrorize Berkeley and demand bacon sandwhiches everywhere I go. Maybe I'll just return my overdue library books. I could go visit friends but a much more secretive plan is in order.

But my plan is foiled! C is not leaving until Monday so my super secret plan must sleep.

Dirty Bathtubless Frogs and the Obscure life of turtles

The tub has 7 more days to cure. The thought of having my very own bathing facility brings tears to my eyes. C's friend Joel was evicted from his studio a while ago; his art dealer(C's too) after months of nonpayment slipped him a few too many rubber checks. Joel told C sheepishly that he was so ashamed of himself. He had never sunk so low- his new studio lacked the most basic of facilities- no sink. Joel said that lately, he'd been given to washing his hand in the toilet!!! Joel promptly corrected himself, "Strictly upper deck man, strictly upper deck man!"

Meatball owns the pen. He doesn't want to be bothered with anything but bananas; even then he'll hiss in your face. Many days before, he would retract into his shell somewhat peevishly but cautiously keeping an eye out. Now he's part teenager and cranky old man. He's hangs about hidden under a clivia in the middle of the pen. Sometime during the day when he pleases, he checks it out. Then promptly back to central command.

Today I finally succumbed to the RoliRoti at the farmer's market. Who can guard against the hypnotic suggestion of 80 rotating chickens. The thing about such foods is that one simply gets greasy about the face just thinking about it.

cracker wars

A late night snack bites both of us. C grabs the last box of grissini, dipping them unsuccessfully in a jar of honey(he chose the wrong kind- all crystallized). I, in an effort to grab one, karate chop his breadstick- split half in his mouth, half falls in the honey jar. Despite the deadly accurate aim, it was an accident. Honestly!

Seeing C growl over his box, I'm forced to scrounge around for my own box of saltines and favorite blue cheese. While I spread the cheese onto my first cracker- C looks at me intently. I spread my cheese a little too vigorously, and the cracker busts in my hand. C nods at me knowingly- with the look of satisfaction. He brags "I broke that cracker with my mind."

Unfazed, I stack a pile of four crackers on to my plate- fully ready enjoy my snack regardless of cracker breaking mindwaves. While I divert my attention for the briefest second to restore the twisty tie to the cracker package, C in plain sight drives a finger straight through my entire stack of saltines. What an outrage!

C claims it was purely an accident. This unnecessary escalation has my mind spinning. I cannot think of a response witty enough- I make C eat every bit of the destroyed cracker pieces. Without water!

The next day after dinner, I ask C to prepare the table for the cheese plate while I surf the web. When I go back into the dining room, I see a plate of busted stack of crackers. I cannot live this down. C grins again with satisfaction- he says the vacuum attachment I've left on the floor has made him trip over and his finger landed perfectly in the center of these crackers. I grumble since more perfectly good crackers have fallen victim. He says he only wanted to make me laugh. I can't win because it's true- I am giggling. So Aristotle is right again. One can't win against humor.