No No No.

Today as I got off the subway on my way to work, the usual vendor was standing there handing out the free Metro NY newspaper. He tried to hand one to this fellow with Downs Syndrome who was passing by, and the DS guy shook his head no and wagged a finger at him in warning, as if to say, "No, you bad man! Don't try to give me your dumb Newspaper Lite! Stop invading my personal space and intruding on my inner monologue!" DS guy then wandered away and stopped to look around, confused, before settling on a course of action and storming off.

I agree with him. But then again, I could be projecting.

I went to Total Wine Bar on Monday evening after work, since I'd not seen my friends since the night before Thanksgiving. Mikee and Beth were bartending, and I met the most amazing group of people there -- most of them new to me. There were Dorian & Pascal, two French guys who are either new to the neighborhood or will be moving to the neighborhood... I was unclear. And I met Elizabeth, an Irish writer with whom I discussed theater and Irish playwrights for a lot longer than I'd intended to stay. I forced the crowd to pose for a picture.

I'm not sure, but I think I may have just found heaven.

No. Gay. Priests. EVER.

I can't say this is a really big surprise, but I'm not all that upset about it. So there'll be fewer priests. Big whoop. Hope that works out for y'all. This'll do it's own small part to hasten the demise of a fearful, backward, and not terribly Christian church hierarchy.

I want some of the fancy gold geegaws when they have the post-closing yard sale.

Ass Kicking

A close Friend has recently given me a bit of a metaphorical ass-kicking over the fact I fall for the wrong men all the time. Well, not so much that I fall for them as that I have a hard time letting them go and moving on from them once I've pretty conclusively discovered they have no interest.

The Waiter, Hot Boss, and numerous others (The Friend actually used the phrase "superannuated teenager" to describe some of them) have haunted me for too long, according to The Friend.

I can't help but agree. I need to move on to... well, whatever. There's a world of possibility out there, and by focusing on the unattainable men of my past, I'm missing a lot.

So, I'm trying to be resolute and move on. The Waiter claims to want me as a friend. Fine. He can put for the effort required to keep a friend in one's life and pick up the phone every once in a while, if he likes. Or not. No skin off my nose.

Did that sound convincing?

Instant Karma

Instant, at least in geologic time:

God Warrior

There's no way that the more savvy of you out there haven't already seen this, but this sorta train wreck just needs to be seen again and again. And listen, yo: This is the reason you should fear the coming theocracy.

Dew Neh Loh Moh on Love -- Part II

Ah, love.

Was supposed to see the The Waiter again tonight. Didn't work out. Suspicious excuse. Sorta bummed.

Moving on.

Dew Neh Loh Moh on Love

Alas, I'm beginning to think there's no getting around it: I'm increasingly certain I've fallen in love with someone who -- this seems to be a recurring pattern with me, my friends -- doesn't (or can't) feel the same way in return. I'm in, as my dear friend Ryan Reynolds would say, "the Friend Zone."

I've been trying to get myself right with the fact that this man -- we'll call him Waiter Boy -- was never going to be anything more than a good friend. I mean, it makes sense. He lives 269.1 degrees west of me, has a nice full life, dates local men, doesn't drive, and is (if we're going to be perfectly frank about it) out of my league, physically. Refer, if you will, to the Hierarchy of Homos.

So. I left at the end of my long stint of work in Pittsburgh fairly convinced that I had to settle for having a great new friend. I thought that'd be enough.

The problem is that I've come back for Thanksgiving with my family, and I got to see him tonight (well, yesterday, now), and there's just no getting around it: I still dig him way more than I should.

If only he weren't so nice and dreamy. It makes my chest hurt, dammit.

Once More Unto the Breach

I'm going back to Pittsburgh for a few days, sans computer access. Or, at least, I'll have it, but I won't have the time or access required to do a lot of blogging, one suspects.

So, in honor of Turkey Day tomorrow, I offer you this gem, from one of my favorite sitcoms ever. The episode from which it's taken also contains what I think is, perhaps, the funniest line ever uttered in filmed entertainment: "As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly."

Speaking of gems, I thought I should take this opportunity to point out that those of you who're shopping for my Christmas present should feel free to wrap up and place either of these two under my tree:

Of course, if I get my druthers, I'll take David Sutcliffe. He's on the left. The fact that Edward Burns is so plainly straight and dating -- I dunno, is it still Heather Graham? -- makes the low-key equally-straight Sutcliffe a little more attractive. To me. At least I can sustain my delusion that he might consider me husband material a little longer.

Color me fickle.

Speaking of hotties, I managed to convince the inestimable Kenjiman B. to join me in Central Park for a little Shoot of Photoness recently. And despite his usual loathing of photos of himself, I think the results were kinda kick-ass:

Ain't he purdy? I think so.

There were a couple of photos that I snapped while in Pittsburgh for my dad's funeral that I haven't had a chance to share yet. The most amazing was the one of the flower that was blooming -- despite the approaching fall weather -- at the foot of the steps to my mom's porch (the one at left). I found it fascinating and beautiful and distracting, so of course I had to photograph it. The color just grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Amazing, isn't it?

I'd have preferred that it be under other circumstances, but it sure was nice to see my siblings all gathered together in one place. As we were all heading off to the funeral, it suddenly occurred to a couple of us that we should document the occasion.

Starting on the left, and in chronologically descending order: Ron, Suzanne, Patrick, Daniel, Tim, Lois, and yours truly. I never think we look alike until we're all together. At Dan's second wedding, several people walked up to me and congratulated me -- despite the fact that he was wearing a tux and I was not. Go figure.

This I Believe

All the more reason to love Penn Jillette.

His essay for the NPR Series This I Believe - which explains how he believes there is no God -- includes the following:

Believing there's no God means I can't really be forgiven except by kindness and faulty memories. That's good; it makes me want to be more thoughtful. I have to try to treat people right the first time around...

Believing there is no God means the suffering I've seen in my family, and indeed all the suffering in the world, isn't caused by an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent force that isn't bothered to help or is just testing us, but rather something we all may be able to help others with in the future. No God means the possibility of less suffering in the future.

I'm still struggling with my own belief, I guess. But I long for a world in which -- God or no -- things work the way that Jillette suggests they should.

I Fell For This

I usually just delete annoying forwarded e-mails, but with my dad's passing, I'm feeling a little more mellow these days, so I actually indulged.

Feel free to e-mail me your version:

This is what you're supposed to do...copy (not forward) this entire
e-mail and paste it into a new email. Change all of the answers so
that they apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of people
you know *INCLUDING* the person who sent it to you. The theory is
that you will learn a lot of little known facts about your family &
friends. Enjoy!

1. First Name? Joseph
2. Were you named after anyone? God's Human Father. Big shoes
to fill.
3. Do you wish on stars? Shooting stars, yes.
4. When did you last cry? Yesterday. But given my dad?s
funeral was, like, two weeks ago, I think I can be forgiven.
5. Do you like your handwriting? If we include "printing,"
yes. My cursive sucks snot.
6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Roast Beef
7. What is your birth date? May 27
8. Mountains or Beach? Beach, preferably somewhere between the
Tropics of Capricorn and Cancer
9. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you?
In a heartbeat.
10. Do you have a journal? Yes. www.joeschulz.net
11. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Oh, boy, do I! Mostly on myself. I try to use my
powers for good.
12. Do you have a nickname? Young Joe, Joey, Joey Bear (use of
which is restricted to The Lagemæ
13. Would you bungee jump? I'd skydive again, but no--
you don't get a spare bungee.
14. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? No. I
admit it.
15. Do you think that you are strong? Physically? I'm a
girlyman California legislator. Strong like bull in bedroom.
16. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Chocolate. Surprisingly un-exotic, no?
17. Shoe Size? 8½
18. Red or pink? Red.
19. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? My
wattle.
20. Who do you miss most? Jason Kirsch.
21. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? Not
required. Would enjoy it.
22. What color pants and shoes are you wearing right now? Blue
jeans, black loafers.
23. What are you listening to right now? "Man of La Mancha"
cover by Linda Eder.
24. Last thing you ate? A pile of scrambled eggs and turkey
sausage.
25. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Aquamarine.
26. What is the weather like right now? Brisk-ish.
27. Last person you talked to on the phone? Ken Bolden
28. 1st thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Personality. Hey, I'm gay. Did you expect me to say
rack?
29. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Sure do.
30. Favorite Drink ? red wine.
31. What is your favorite sport? Spectator: Men's
gymnastics, diving. God, I'm a cliché. Participant: Softball, Climbing
32. Hair Color? Auburnish Brown, tending toward salt &
pepper.
33. Eye Color? Whack-ass color-changing hazel. Depends on
what I'm wearing.
34. Do you wear contacts? Not to save my life.
35. Favorite Food? Thai. And Itlaian. And Chinese. And French... Oh, crap: All of it.
36. Last Movie You Watched? Angels in America. All six hours
in one sitting.
37. Favorite Day of the Year? I won?t lie: My birthday.
It's not entirely selfish. It's at the beginning of summer, and
four years out of seven is part of the Memorial Day weekend.
38. Scary Movies or Happy Endings? Depends on the movie.
39. Summer or winter? Summer.
40. Hugs OR Kisses? Kisses.
41. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? My mom's chocolate-chip
cookies and a frosty glass of milk.
42. Who Is Most Likely To Respond? Dunno.
43. Who Is Least Likely To Respond? Again, dunno.
44. Living arrangements? Painfully expensive one-bedroom
apartment on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. No roommates.
Considering a change.
45. What books are you reading? Rereading "Noble House," by
James Clavell. It weighs more than I do, even in paperback.
46. What is on Your Mouse Pad? No mousepad. Touch pad on
keyboard.
47. What did you watch on T.V last night? Last night I watched a
dance troupe. The night before I watched LOST. On tape.
48. Favorite sound? Silence. Maybe a sleeping lover's
breathing. Sadly, at this point, that's in the abstract.

Sienna says she's taken Jude back

The mind of (wo)man is a thing of byzantine motivations. Here's a toast to the happy couple.

Triggers

It's really funny, the things that'll set you off.

When I saw Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, the song over the end credits, "Into the West," just broke my heart. But since my dad's death, I can't help but associate the song with him, and it just wrecks me every time.

Funny, that, how I can be a big (well, as big as a 5'7" guy can be), strong (emotionally, you know. Weak like bunny lifting weights), together guy most of the time, but I hear the right piece of music and I'm reduced to a weepy idjit.

Someone reminded me that I promised to post pictures of my re-emergence as a Celebrator of Halloween. To be honest, I had completely forgotten in all the hubbub after my dad's passing. So, forgive me for the lack of explanation, but let me whip these out and let you see how well the evening went:

Topher as Hamlet & me as... well, a pirate/Adam as Bjorn Borg.


Topher befriends "The Headsman"/Adam glares suspiciously at the camera


Amir, Nick & Adam/Mikee, Greg, Marcus & Julie

A word on the new divider: It was the license plate on the front of my dad's car. He loved smiley faces. They were freakin' everywhere. We pinned one on his lapel when he was buried. So I took a photo of the license plate on his car, and converted it into that. I think I'll stick with it for a while.

Overheard at Work

"I never had to wipe pee off the toilet seat until the IT guys moved in down the hall."

Amen, brother. Amen.

Copious Craptacular Concupiscence

I haven't been posting as much lately for a couple of reasons. First, and I know you'll forgive me this, but I've been a little distracted since my dad's death. Second, my computer is still on the fritz, and since I don't have computer access outside of work -- save for time spent at the local library -- there's less time to blog.

I just don't feel kosher doing it from work.

So, as a way of catching up on the hodge-podge that's been in my head for much of the last week, some interesting (to me) stuff:


(1.) Click on this photo, and then feel free to report me for indecency.

(2.) I'm not sure how I feel about the ending of this past week's episode of Lost. Of all the people I thought were going to bite it, I thought that the writers and producers kinda chickened out by killing off Shannon.

I mean, what's up with that? They kept promising that a major character was going to bite it, but I don't frankly think of her as being that "major." Actually, I thought she was really underdeveloped.

If you promise a major character's going to die, then make it a major character, dammit.

Shannon, much as I was loving her evolution into a not-as-hateful brat, didn't seem to me a major character, since she never gets the backstory treatment that the others have gotten.

Can't wait to see the effect this has on Sayid, though.

(3) Another in the long list of Hollywood hotties who aren't my husband.

This is Kevin Connelly. He plays "Eric" on HBO's Entourage, a show that I got hooked on while I was in Pittsburgh and actually had cable.

Now that I'm back in New York, I have to live without, but somehow I'll get by... or maybe I'm just gonna have to finally sign up for cable TV before it comes back for a third season.

(4) As you might suspect, I spent much of this week ruminating about my father. Digging through old photos, reminiscing about the past. A couple of favorites:

(4) I noted, with interest, that Downfall is coming to DVD soon. If you haven't seen it, you should. It's really a pretty remarkable film. Watching Hitler's last days is like watching a train wreck in progress, and being unable to stop it. Or not wanting to. What the film does best is paint portraits of the people around him, leaving you wondering at their gullibility -- at the ability of people in general not to see what's right (or reich) before their eyes.

Bruno Ganz is absolutely mesmerizing; frightening and crazy, pathetic and loving, weird and commanding all at the same time. If you haven't, you should see it soon.

(5) Peter Jackson's take on King Kong is coming out soon, so the hype around All Things Kong is gonna be "ginormous," as my friend Mr. J likes to say. Of note, in all the bother, is the fact that Warner Bros. is releasing the original movie on video soon, too. It ought to be something to compare the two. I have to admit that some of the CGI stuff in the new film (at least as it was rendered for the trailer) looked a little cheesy to me. I'm gonna keep my fingers crossed and wish Peter Jackson well, and hope for the best.

Boy, ain't that the truth?

To see what is in front of one's nose needs a constant struggle.
- George Orwell

The Long Road Home

I'm not really sure what to write here. I feel like I'm foolishly bursting with all sorts of crazy emotions. I don't know whether I should be telling you about the crazy, glorious, heartbreaking circus that the last two days have been, or ruminating on the nature of connections to loved ones. Or both. Or neither.

My mom, my siblings, and I decided that the thing to do was to have a single day of public viewing for my dad -- partly because a couple of us had commitments, the canceling of which would have proved disastrous for everyone involved, and partly because we had an innate sense of just how devastating a drawn-out mourning process would have been... so we had a marathon session on Friday.

The family arrived at noon and had a couple of hours alone with my dad. Those of us who had watched his precipitous decline were taken aback by how he looked in the coffin.

You know how sometimes yougo to the theater, and your friends are involved and -- regretably -- they suck, but you have to tell them how good they were? That's been my experience of most corpses in the coffin; you're expected to tell the family how great they look, when in fact they look nothing like the person you remember -- garish makeup and scary red lips and the like.

Well, I might be in that little pink cloud that your theater friends are often in -- the one that allows your friends to believe the lie when you tell it -- but I have to tell you, the funeral director, who happens to be a really close friend of my dad's, did an absolutely amazing job.

He somehow managed to make my dad's corpse hold onto my dad's "I know something you don't know" smirk.

It was shocking, unsettling, and beautiful.

I was really taken aback by how many people came out to see my dad. The public viewing started at 2 p.m., and right from the get-go the place was chock full of people. The family dined in staggered shifts at a nearby friend's house, but the crowds just never stopped. We were kicking them out at 9 p.m.

All in all, a delightful day of anecdotes and memories, jokes and reminiscences.

We buried him Saturday morning at a lovely funeral mass -- presided over by another person who knew and loved him, his pastor at St. Columbcille -- and the brief ceremony at the cemetary was lit by the most extraordinary mix of sun and dirty-cotton-ball clouds, pregnant with the threat of rain. It made for those lovely shafts of light spilling from above that you always see in ridiculous paint-by-numbers religious paintings.

I'm so glad I got the chance to get right with my dad long before he died; I'm so grateful that he knew that I loved him, and that I knew he loved me. No regrets. No missed opportunities.

I hope he's at peace, whereever he is. I'm melancholy from missing him, and loving him still; it was great to say goodbye in such a joyous way.

Hey There

Thanks for all the kind wishes. For those of you who are in the area and have an interest, here's the obit.

More, of course, later.

What World is This? How Did It Get Upside Down?

Never, in all the ways I imagined the passing of my parents -- in all the nightmare scenarios that I would invent for myself when I was fretting over being a sub-standard son, or thinking about my own mortality and, by extension, my parents' -- did I contemplate that possibility that my father would die before my mother.

My mom's had such a hard life, physically. Eight children (from twelve pregnancies) in an era when no one told you it was wise to get back into shape after each pregnancy. And she spent so many years doing physical labor -- working in the kitchens at Carnegie Mellon University's Skibo Hall, or helping the handicapped when she was working with (it was a different, less politically correct time) retarded children, or just plain raising a brood of children as wild and rambunctious as a herd of cattle. She just took a beating, and as a result, has also suffered a lot of physical degradation over the years.

But my dad got a wake up call in 1978 when he was diagnosed with diabetes, and he cleaned up his act with a perseverence that was... well, characteristic. He lost a lot of weight, he started eating healthily, and he started exercising. He was a machine. Up until last week he was walking or biking 15 miles at a stretch.

My father died last night, after suffering from renal failure that proved just too taxing on his 76 year-old body. He fell and tore a rotator cuff while biking last week, and that started a chain reaction of dangerously high blood sugar levels, renal failure, bacterial infection in the blood, and finally, heart failure.

I got the call that he'd been admited to the hospital on Monday night, but somehow managed to not see I had a message until I was getting into the subway Tuesday morning. So I called from work, and of course there was no one home, and I didn't get any more news Wednesday morning. It was then that my sister Sue told me I might want to get home as soon as possible.

But I didn't quite make it.

I'm still numb, of course. I don't seem to be able to focus on anything. Telling you that story seemed to help a little.

Mine too.

"To my embarrassment I was born in bed with a lady."

Wilson Mizner

Mukhtar Mai -- Back in the News!

BBC NEWS South Asia Pakistan rape victim speaks in US

It looks like Tom Watson & Company might have helped in some small way!