Happy Fourth of July to all of my American readers, and a very merry Thursday wish to those readers in other nations. [A quick check of the numbers shows June visitors from domains in United States, New Zealand, Germany, United Kingdom, India, Australia, Malaysia, Canada, Denmark, Trinidad and Tobago, Singapore, South Africa, Luxembourg, France, & Sweden, with regular returning readers in surprising numbers from several of those widely distributed nations.] I think it's a sign of our health that someone who writes such drivel as I can find readers so widely without government interference.
I'm staying home today, watching the Mariners and a stack of DVDs and avoiding the chaos. For years I was part of the team that handled about 1000 patients a day providing first aid for the D.C. celebrations. Everything from booboo band aids on knees to bottle rockets shot horizontally into the crowds, sickle cell crisis to PCP overdose, heat strokes to - well, one Fourth the acres of overhead fireworks started to go off early shooting straight into the crowds. I really don't get off on fireworks these days, and I know I don't wanna go mingle with drunken masses. I'll celebrate my own way, thanks.
A little catch up is due, I believe.
Life has indeed been full. A week or so ago I had the opportunity to meet Miss Piggy for dinner. [Don't blame me - Sol is the man who gave her the nickname.] We first met a little while ago at a get together at KSlave's, and I've admired her quite a bit. She and Sol are getting to be quite close and she has also played with another close friend. In reality, I just sat back and thought, "Man, you all are so lucky to be with each other!" Then out of the blue I find out that she would like my counsel about bloodsports. We had a marvelous conversation and dinner at the Sunlight. This past Saturday we met at Sol's house party and had the opportunity to do our first play. She is such a brave brave girl for being a needle virgin. She took many needles, in many ways, including playing shish-ka-boob with a 3.5" spinal tap needle. And her favorite part? What a girl after my own heart - the finger painting. I'm looking forward to our next opportunity.
Now, a bit later in the evening, she got her get-back piece of the Slut. Nope, not like that. Sol's house is sort of a wrestling-positive environment. She ended up at the bottom of a pile up in the middle of the floor and I went to grab her ankles, but she flailed first with her feet, catching me right in the middle of the kilt and putting me down. Praise Utilikilts, I wasn't hurt, but I was stunned for a moment. And that wasn't all. A bit later, Peter not learning lessons, ended up back in the wrestling match with Miss P landing on top of me with an incredibly solid 300lb man on top of her, and the bottom of the whole pile was my right elbow. I rolled away, rolled back, and had the same damn thing happen a second time to the same doggone elbow! A great evening, but damn!
The next morning I had to actually jump up to my alarm clock on a Sunday. It was Pride Day, and as you can see by the picture, I got to ride on the Wet Spot truck. The picture, by the way, is copyright James Mogul, of Nawashibari.
I parked my car waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay on one side of Capital Hill near the end, then walked waaaaaaaaaaaaaay back to the starting point. I was exhausted by the start of the damn thing, although the chance to flash the Jesus Freaks on the way to the truck was refreshing. Georgette and I and a couple of other friends rode the back of the Wet Spot truck passing out Hershey's Kisses to folks, while a dozen or so of other WS members were running through the crowds giving out both kisses and Wet Spot fliers. We were between the large leather contingent [that had an immense leather pride flag that people were throwing money into for the Tony DeBlase Scholarship Fund, a truly worthy cause] in front of us, and the Masturbation Mafia of Toys In Babeland, who were circling their truck in the crowd with Hitachi's roaring. They had music playing loud enough to wake the dead, which kept us hopping and dancing and stuff, all the way to the end. I had one very flattering moment, when an attractive young lady came up and introduced herself to me. Said I wouldn't know her, as she has just been lurking and reading this journal, but that she wanted to meet me. I was quite touched. We've chatted since that now, and she's good people. I'm proud to have her as a reader.
I made a circuit of every vendor up in Volunteer Park, picking up as many colored pens, refrigerator magnets, and freebie this'n'thats as I could. Many thanks to the nice folks at Sufferware, for letting me hide in their sales booth long enough to rest my feet and scarf down a Polish with grilled onions and too much mustard. The Sufferware break was a lifesaver. With the sunburn, the many-times exhausted legs, and carrying a goodie bag the size of Nebraska, I headed back to the car and on home to collapse. It was a long day, lurching about in the back of the truck, walking about, carrying loot and all, but great fun
That brings us back pretty close to today. A couple days ago one of the docs in the office offered me a pair of tickets to Wednesday night's game. I called Dad when I first got the offer and he was excited. He came down late Wed afternoon and we caught the bus from the mall to Safeco Field. I love my time with him. He hit a farmer's market out in the boonies before he came to town and brought in a quart of the sweetest strawberries ever for us all to munch on in the office while he was waiting for me to finish work. Later at the game he brought out fresh carrots, green onions, radishes, and a bag of peas he had just shucked that morning. Good eats, although I still had to have a well done Kosher with the works. Joel Pineiro once more showed mastery of his trade. A great game, and more Dad/Son bonding time I'll treasure.