From The Johnstown Tribune-Democrat, Wednesday, November 14, 2012, Page A1:

"The family of deceased local sailor Samuel Lewis Stiles,25, had hoped they could respectfully memorialize his after his sudden death while stationed in Japan.
"Dozens of the family's supporters, mobilized largely through social media, lined both sides of Luther Road near Emmanuel Baptist Church on a frigid Tuesday morning to make sure that happened.
"Reports began circulating last week that a religious hate group" (emphasis mine) "known as the Westboro Baptist Church had planned to picket the veteran's funeral."

(The WBC was a no-show. The balance of the article details negative reactions to tactics the WBC employs.)

I have rarely been so proud (and incidentally, astonished) that my local paper -- which is extremely conservative, despite having "Democrat" in its name -- that the Westboro Baptist Church was described as a "religious hate group". And so far, not a single nasty letter to the Editor complaining of the WBC's description has appeared.

It's been a long time. I know, I know. I said that the last time.

I've been busy, mostly answering political phone calls, answering poorly worked slanted surveys about political preferences, and hanging up on obnoxious people who want to give me a much lower rate -- a low, low, low rate -- on my (non-existent) credit card. Yes, I get along perfectly well without a credit card; my debit card works quite well and if I can't afford something now ... well, it will wait. I believe I ranted about this earlier. I refer you to that so I do not need to repeat myself.

I've also been busy trying to fulfill my lifelong dream of being one of those (allegedly) dumb male models that every red-blooded gay guy lusts after. I seem to be getting the dumb part right: my spelling has deteriorated ... or maybe it's just my typing. Either way, I'm enjoying it. The tyranny of needing to check my grammar and/or spelling has lessened. I still want to say exactly what I mean. However, the pressure of finding that elusively precise word that conveys my exact meaning has lessened. I re-re-re-rewrite much less often now.

I hope and pray that Obama gets re-elected. In a bit under an hour, I intend to sign off and vote when the polls open in Pennsylvania at 7:00 am EST. I try to be the first voter but haven't succeeded yet. Since Mom was Judge of Elections (the top poll worker) for a few decades, I know that the poll workers usually voted before they opened the polls, I doubt if I will ever be first. I was Number Two once.

I just got back from voting. I was the first voter in my polling place today!

They're repainting my apartment building. I can't say much for their choice of color. Painting the off-white concrete a dark reddish/rust color -- I am guessing the color is an attempt to hide the water stains air conditioners make -- does not make an apartment building for senior citizens attractive. Rust does not go well with extremely black metal windows, black window screens which make the windows look grey, and dark brown bricks. It looks as if somebody bled on a all-black building; it's an extremely depressing color combination. It's almost -- not quite - - morbid. A rust color next to black metal windows does NOT inspire confidence in the building's safety. I would have painted the off-white concrete a medium leather tan, sunshine yellow, or sky blue. At least those colors would have made the building more cheery. (I'm gay; tasteful decorating is part of the gay gene.)
More later. It's almost time to vote.

Greetings.

It's been a long time. It's been a long time since I had anything worth writing about.

I got a package in the mail today. What's so special about that? Well, I'm glad you asked.

The package was a gift from someone I met on Facebook. Yes, I'm now on Facebook. It's been a long time since I got something in the mail -- well, FedEx -- that I had not ordered and paid for myself. It's been a still longer time that I got something that I had not suggested. It's been an even longer time -- a much much longer time -- since I got a gift from someone who was not related. It's been even longer that someone I barely knew showed that he cared enough to show that care with something that I could keep, see, touch, feel, and -- in this case -- listen to whenever I wanted.

As I was opening the box, I was thinking that this was extremely considerate of Marty. He wanted to share some music and sent a few CDs -- unasked. I discovered to my pleasant surprise that they were gift wrapped with a card attached to each.

I carefully unwrapped each CD. I used to make fun of Mom [just mentally, never so anyone could hear] when she did this. Now I understand why; she wanted to treasure the pleasure of the gift a little longer.

As I undid the packaging on the CD, I remembered why I detested buying CDs; they are extremely hard to get into. I did not break the plastic boxes, the CDs, or the labels. It took some time, though; my hands were shaking. I have been blessed with patience; just not an infinite amount.

I finished taking the last of the plastic off. I caressed the cases in my hands and opened the Cd cover. I started reading the lyrics to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance. Oh! I forgot to mention that the CDs are both of Lady Gaga's albums: The Fame Monster {Deluxe Edition] and Born This Way (Special Edition).

Then I started crying. A realization hit me -- hard. Someone cared. Someone cared enough to share something they liked and hoped I would like as well. I held the physical evidence in my hands.

I cried. I sobbed. I bawled. I shook all over. I cried like I had not cried in ... well, you really do not want to know how long it's been. "Decades" comes close, I think.

I have been alone too long, living almost solely an intellectual existence. It has been a long time since I had such an emotional release.

My eyes are red from crying so much. I'm almost afraid to play the CDs. I know I am going to be crying through each track of each double CD set at least the first few times through.

I have been shown -- and given physical proof -- that I am not alone.

Thank you, Marty.

Peace and love.

Ox

In reply to his question of "I wonder what set that off", my reply was:
"Well, I don't think that the potato soup, iced tea, and cigarette I had before going to bed had much if anything to do with it."

More details on last night's dream:

The third cat was Brother Panther. I am still not sure of the identity of the second cat; I'm almost certain now it was not a Cougar.

I had another strange dream: Last night I dreamed there was someone who came to the left side of my bed [as you stand at the bottom of the bed]. This side is about two feet from my bedroom window. There is no way for anyone to get there without walking around my bed unless he came through the window on the thirteenth floor, which I had open about six inches for some fresh cool air. The window has a screen in it and there are no holes for anyone to get through. He [the voice was definitely male -- very low register -- and almost rumbled] said, "I have three special packages for you: a box, a book, and a record." He reached out and put them in my right hand, which was on top of the covers. I instinctively closed my hand around them. I did not see who he was since I was facing the wrong direction. When I reached for them, they felt like a DVD case, a box the size and shape of a pack of cigarettes, and a large flat 8 1/2" x 11" brown paper envelope. I felt them being absorbed into my skin.

This is especially strange since I rarely remember dreams. Especially not in such vivid detail as the shape, feel, and size of objects. I mean, the book felt like a paperback about an inch thick. The DVD case felt like a DVD case -- plastic, with sharp edges around three sides, and a sunken side where the two sides came together in a line. The box felt like it was wrapped in part of a brown paper bag and tied with string with a bow knot. The book felt like a paperback book.

Thinking about it, the "record" seems more like a public record/document, like a birth certificate, will, or something like that, not an album/CD of music/spoken word or a computer disc.

It was real enough that I looked for them when I got up. They were not there.

I meant to post this much earlier. However, I forgot. This is copied from an e-mail I sent asking for a friend's help in interpreting this dream. I intend to expand on this, as I remember much more detail than I put down. I was afraid that if I spent too much time describing everything in detail, I'd forget some parts or not get to them. However after months, the dream is still extremely vivid. I intend to go back through this and add much more detail.

No, it's not just a song title. It is extremely descriptive of my dream last night.

After I went to sleep last night I had the strangest dream. I'm putting it down in as much detail as I can remember. I went to sleep about eleven pm.

I was sleeping and [dreamed I] woke up. I got dressed, went outside to my car, a jeep with no roof, and drove out of town. I took some country roads I never saw before and ended up in a dale surrounded by smallish hills [a little taller than mounds -- think rolling dunes with grass] where there was a village. I parked in a convenient place and entered the village.

Sitting around an open campfire, I was served a meal of beans [lima beans, I think], corn, and squash by three sisters. I also had something to drink from what was shaped like half of a coconut shell, though it was not hairy like a coconut.. The liquid was a sort of grayish off-white. Of course I drank it; I was thirsty.

All of a sudden, I am on a dark road -- it was really black earth road that had been recently turned and was really soft and nice to run on -- jogging or maybe running depending on your definition -- with my long black hair flowing behind me. There is bright green grass and the occasional bush and tree dotting the landscape. I keep to the road, which is very easy to see; the moon is full and right in front of me, illuminating the landscape perfectly. Oh, yeah, now I'm naked and I really don't care. It seems natural.

To my right there was a dark copse of trees with a black bear standing there. [Don't ask how I saw a black bear in a dark shadow of trees; I don't know.] I said, "Brother Bear." He nodded, shook the tree, and two spherical objects came toward me. I caught one in each hand, said "Thank you, Brother Bear", cracked both walnuts and ate them.

I continued running. There were three cats lying by the side of the road I passed the lynx on my right, said "Brother Lynx", and he pawed me playfully on my right leg. {No, he did not draw blood.] "Thank you Brother Lynx."

I passed the Cougar on my left, said "Brother " and he pawed me playfully on my left leg. [He likewise did not draw blood. As I said, playful.] "Thank you, Brother ."

The third cat was lying in the middle of the road. "Brother " I straddle him -- one leg on each side -- while running and he swats me with his tail. The tail hits me right where my spine meets my pelvis. Thank you, Brother "

[Right now I can't remember who the last two cats were; I was interrupted when I was typing the dream by someone who wanted to tell me some information about the building and she talked for fifteen minutes. What I have there now is my best guess.]

I run for a bit more. There are two big presences running on the road beside me. On my right is a coyote; on my left a red fox. I acknowledge them. "Brother Fox, Brother Coyote." I reach down each hand and scratch them behind their ears. [My dog loved it, why shouldn't they?] They ... well, "purr" is the wrong word, but you get the idea. They liked it. Each rubs against one leg, the left leg by Fox and the right leg by Coyote. Thank you, Brother Fox. Thank you Brother Coyote".

I continue on my way. There is a stream cutting across the road of black earth. I can see two rocks in the middle of the stream, just right for stepping stones. I -- even though I am not athletic enough -- easily jump to the first stone. It's not a stone. I say, Thank you Brother Turtle." Now expecting that the next "stone" will not be a stone, I'm a bit more prepared when I land on it and it's moving. "Thank you Brother Trout" I say as I leap and land on shore.

Back on solid ground, I continue running. Four birds are flying overhead. They swoop down. Hawk brushes my left eye with his wing. As he climbs, he sheds a feather which I catch. I say, "Thank you, Brother Hawk" as I tie the feather with my long black hair near my left ear. Eagle brushes my right eye with his wing. As he ascends, he also sheds a feather which I catch and tie with a hair near my right ear. "Thank you, Brother Eagle." Then Crow descends and leaves a feather on the back of my neck, which I tie at the middle of my back with another hair. Raven drops a feather right in from of me; I catch it and tie it with yet another hair on my forehead.

There's a large tree which was recently struck by lightning lying across the middle of the turned black earth road. I jump it and land on the road at the other side and continue.

Then I'm back in the village. There's a celebration going on. I am handed a pipe with tobacco by one of village elders. The pipe has a large bowl, a straight stem, and there are two feathers hanging down that are tied near the bowl, one white eagle feather and one other which is somewhat grayish. As I am handed the pipe, a black primary feather falls from the sky. I reach up, catch it, pull a hair from my head, and tie the feather to the pipe with the other two. I then light the pipe with a twig I pull from the fire, inhale, and blow smoke to the four directions. I then hand it back. They follow the same pattern. Then everyone starts chanting a word -- which I can't remember now but did before I was interrupted. Maybe cay-neh-sha-no-ah [but I doubt it. I know it was five syllables]. Something like that .. I think. There was a celebration. It was like I was being accepted into something.

Then I woke up. It was five am.

An expanation of my apparent recent lack of activity: I thought -- since everything being posted here was being posted on my Facebook account -- that everything posted on Facebook was being cross-posted here. Apparently not. Sigh....

You didn't miss much. Most entries concerned my progress in Mafia Wars. Some of the entries were the results of those strange quizzes taht pop up from time to time. You know the quizzes I mean: What Rocky Horror Picture Show Character Are You?, Which Deady Sin Are You?, Which Greek God Are you Descended From?, How Mentally Unstable Are You?, Which Dr Seuss Character Are You?. ..., those quizzes.

Ox

Uh ... I have no Christmas shopping to do. My paretns are both dead, my only brother has no use for me, and my friends are all out-of-town, mostly out-of-state.

So ... I shop for myself whenever I'm at a store.

Ox

Hi all.

I mentioned earlier that I was getting "into" a computer game called Mafia Wars. Well, I think I can report that I am becoming addicted.

Mafia Wars -- hereafter referred to as MW -- is divided into various areas. These areas -- traditional Mafia strongholds *duh* -- are [alphabetically] Bangkok, Cuba, Italy, Moscow, New York, and Vegas. This is my progress so far:

New York: 100 % complete
Cuba: 66 % complete
Bangkok: 33 % complete
Moscow: 33 % complete
Italy: 15 % complete
Las Vegas: 0 % complete -- have not started yet.

I am at Level 192 after only three weeks.

Is this addictive behavior yet?

Ox

Greetings one and all.

I wish each of you have had/have/will have a marvelous whatever-Holiday-you're-celebrating! [I hope that's inclusive enough.]

I've been having a good time lately. Paul -- a friend who also knows a lot -- well, a lot more than I do; his Grandfather [dead] and Great-Uncle [alive and well] were/are Mohawk healers -- about Amerindian shamanism. Specifically, he knows about Mohawk healing rituals, which are extremely interactive and similar to bardic epics, including iambic pentameter. They are more of "bedtime stories" than what is normally thought of as hypnosis.

Why am I mentioning this? Well, Paul and I have been experimenting with the Mohawk "bedtime story" to see what effect it will have on someone -- me -- who was never exposed to the idea of Mohawk healing rituals. We are using -- of course -- my obsession with becoming an overly muscled bodybuilder as the basic story idea around which he weaves variations.

Hell, why not? It's something I want as well as something that can be easily measured and observed. It is also something others can comment on -- "Are you losing weight?" or "You've gained some muscle, I think." -- without feeling idiotic about mentioning it.

The results so far are ... fascinating. I know my muscles have grown. My shoulders are bigger, thicker, stronger. So are my pectorals/chest. My abs are more defined. My legs are thicker and more like tree trunks. My calves look like someone has inserted footballs in my lower legs.

Nobody has mentioned anything like that but a few have thought I've lost weight. I actually gained a few pounds -- but I lost fat and gained muscle, so the net effect is a loss of volume. Fat takes up more volume than muscle; muscle is much more dense than fat. That's why fat dudes float easily while muscular jocks are in much more danger of drowning. Compare a three pound can of Crisco shortening and a three pound steak the next time you're in a grocery store. The shortening has more volume, even though both are the same weight.

Paul suggested a few changes to my facial features. My nose has become more broad and flattened. I have a brow ridge developing above my eyes, which have become more sunken [think Neanderthal], and my jaw is protruding more and more [think of a wolf or coyote]. There were suggestions added -- at my request; I am tired of looking like an albino -- that my skin color darken. My only facial hair is a Latino-like pencil-thin mustache.

The suggestions seem to be working.

I was at a Christmas party tonight. One of the dudes I was sitting next to was a Black dude [who lives in the building, William Brown]. The other dude was a white friend of his. We introduced ourselves. The white dude, after learning that I'm "Brownie's kid", exclaimed, "I thought you were Black!" [No ..., although one time Dad did comment that most people named White are black and most people named Black {and Brown] -- including one of the more infamous local KKK-type group organizers, Barry Black -- are Caucasian.

The skin tone and the nose have obviously changed. My pants size has decreased. I are still wearing the same jeans, though: my thighs need the leg room, though my waist size has decreased.

Intriguing....

Peace, muscles, Marlboros.

Ox