Vibrant.(Still) Unrepentant. Badass. Old. Queer

Good Morning, Kittens. Are you ready to take a trip? Because I'm about to take you on one, a trip into the past ... the Once Upon a Time and the Long, Long Ago ... back when VUBOQ was just a wee lad (or a college Freshman) and looked like this: (and please, everyone give a big hand to my college friend, Ginger -beautiful Mother of 3-, who uploaded these photos to Facebook last night and inspired this post. *APPLAUSE*) Some of you may know that I attended college on a (somewhat) prestigious fellowship, the North Carolina Teaching Fellowship, which is awarded to 400 NC Seniors per year [at least it *was* ... I don't know if it still is]. I was in the first class of NCTF recipients to attend Elon College (now university). Elon, in order to woo the program to their hallowed campus, set up all sorts of wonderful (and free!) programs for NC Teaching Fellows. One of these Fabulous Programs was a three week stint in Washington, DC, in January 1989. We attended lectures. Toured embassie...

On my walk to work this morning, I passed a discarded can of Skoal . And I found myself thinking, "OMG. Do people still dip?" Suddenly I was on a whirlwind trip down memory lane ... [insert Wayne's World doo-doo-doot doo-doo-doots here] ... I was 6 and somehow found myself playing on a Little League baseball team, the Reds* . My brother was on the same team. We were the worst team in the league, and I, I with my awesome athletic ability, played Right Field **. One day during practice, one of the cooler kids on the most losingest baseball team ever [so that probably gives you an idea about how cool he was] brought a bag of chewing tobacco. My brother and I didn't try it there, but brought it home to ask permission.*** Dad, in his wisdom, said, "Go right ahead," and sat back to enjoy the show. My brother and I both took big wads of shredded brown tobacco leaves and shoved them in our mouths. BLEEAAAARRRRGGGGH! *spit* *cough* *gag* *sputter* *cough* Needles...

As some of you may know, about 8 (ack!) years ago, I spent 3 months teaching English at a small private junior college on the outskirts of Beijing. As part of the teaching program, I required each student to keep a journal. They had to write in it at least once a week. I would collect the journals on Friday, read them over the weekend, and return them on Monday morning with corrections. I was always amazed at how well these students (even the ones with limited English) could express themselves. However, every. single. one. consistently made the same two spelling errors. At first, I tried correcting the errors in their entries and hoping they would catch on. They didn't. A more drastic approach was called for. One Monday morning, after handing back their journals. I wrote the following on the blackboard in huge letters: TURE "What is that word," I asked. "TRUE," my students replied in unison. "No. You are wrong. It is TURE. TURE is not a word. Ple...

The summer before I started junior high school my family moved to a new town. One of the first friends I made was Will. His family lived on a farm in a refurbished tobacco barn. We hung out quite a bit early in the summer. Then, I started to notice none of the other people I met our age liked Will. I couldn't figure out why. He was smart and funny and lived in a freakin' refurbished tobacco barn. I mean, really, how cool is that? I noticed that since he was my friend, no one else wanted to be my friend. I have a vague recollection of someone saying to me that no one would ever hang out with me as long as I was friends with Will. I was 12. And new in town. I made a decision I still regret. I stopped speaking to Will. I stopped hanging out with him. I wouldn't return his calls. Our parents tried to figure out what happened, but I was too ashamed to explain my real reasons. How do you say "I cut him off because he's not popular and I want to have more friends" wi...

VUBOQ Offers Advice to the Masses College Freshmen Ah! The beginning of the School Year. VUBOQ would like to write a post in which he waxes poetic about the joys of teaching and how to be a better teacher (or professor). However, VUBOQ experienced very little joy during his two year teaching stint in rural North Carolina, where most of his students aspired to either a) make socks in the local factory or b) make lots and lots of babies. Perhaps his most joy-filled moment was the one in which he gave the principal his Letter of Resignation . VUBOQ distinctly remembers the Heavens parting and a snow white dove descending whilst the Heavenly Host sang "Hallelujah!" Fortunately, VUBOQ has spent loads of time being a student and has learned a few useful things about studenthood. First, the advice my father gave my older brother when he went off to college: Remember: A B plus a good time is better than an A minus a good time. When my brother came home for Christmas, he said, "...

Mmmm.... You know you wanna bite. Last night, I discovered I had a message on Classmates.com. It was from my best friend from high school, the best friend who decided he didn't really want to have anything to do with me for the last semester of school. Uh. OK. I'm too cheap to pay to read the message, so I googled him. I remembered that he entered the ministry and works in my father's former conference. After that, it was pretty easy to find his church and work email address. Google. It is an amazing tool. I sent him a quick message this morning. He responded about an hour later. He's all married and with child [She's nearly 5]. Apparently, our 20th high school reunion (ACK!) is coming up next year, and he was getting all reminiscent. Now, I'm working on an update of my life. We haven't spoken in over 18 years (at least), so it's difficult trying to figure out what to tell him ... current events only? I'll probably leave the gay bit 'til later. B...

Especially when that One is me ... Why am I awake? I'm thirsty. I should be asleep. Why am I not asleep? It's dark. I'm thirsty. I have to use the bathroom. This sheet is too heavy. The room is too warm. This pillow is too thick. Shouldn't I be asleep now? The #52 keeps popping into my head. Why? I used to live near Highway 52 . Back in high school. I hated high school. There were some cute boys in high school though. And some mean ones. And some cute mean ones. Like the one who sat beside me in band class. What was his name? Jay? Maybe it was Jay. It could have been something else though. He was cute. But mean. I hope he is fat and bald now. I bet he is. Cute mean boys in high school should all be fat and bald now. I hope they are. Especially because I'm not. Fat and bald, that is. I'm still cute. And not mean. Usually. I am balding though. Stupid genes. Shouldn't I be asleep by now? I'm thirsty. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

When I was at my brother’s house for Christmas (and I may have blogged about this before but recent events have brought this story back to mind), he mentioned that his girlfriend’s son had brought home a letter from school: The front side of the letter was in English, but the reverse was in *gasp* SPANISH! My brother went on and on about how this is an English-speaking country this and how immigrants should learn English that. Finally, I had had enough and I asked him, “If you were a parent in a foreign country, wouldn’t you appreciate learning about your child’s education in your native language?” He made some lame excuse about people needing to learn English. I told him maybe they are studying English, but it takes time to become fluent. Seriously, did he think people are born fluent in every language? When I moved to Japan, I knew about 3 words of Japanese. As soon as I got there, I began to study very hard. Japanese is not an easy language to learn. Even after three years and being...

A recent exchange in my comments section with Mush reminded me of a sermon my Dad used to preach. [For those of you new to the blog -and you know who you are- my Dad is a retired Methodist minister ... which explains some -but not all- of my fuckeduppedness]. Somewhere in the Bible -I'm not sure where*- there is a parable in which Jesus talks about a shepherd leaving his herd to search for one lost sheep. I'm sure there was some sort of point to the parable, otherwise it wouldn't have been a parable. Anyway, the title of Dad's sermon was "What About the Goats?" I'm not really sure what he meant. And I can't remember his point either. *eh* Sheeps. Goats. They both make good cheese. *OK. I found the story . The link is pretty funny. Apparently, one can not be Christian and write grammatically correct comments. I think that may be the 11th Commandment.

You know I can't ... and I want to air a little family Dirty Laundry. Not that it's overly dirty, but it's not exactly Tide with Bleach Sparkling White, either. I suppose it's more like dingy. So, let's start over ... I want to air a little family Dingy Laundry. Hm. That doesn't sound nearly as interesting, does it? *eh* When my grandmother died in the mid-80s, the family divided up her belongings. I received her bedroom set. It's actually quite nice - light maple, full size bedframe, small dresser with mirror, and a cute little bedside table. My parents stored it in their various homes for a long time. When they retired to a smaller home, I had to move the set to my apartment in Silver Spring. Even though I haven't used that set since I was in high school, every time I considered getting rid of it I got a lecture from my mother. "It was your Grandmother's" "It should stay in the family." "You can't sell it to strangers....

Last night, as I sat knitting and drinking and mourning and watching Legally Blonde , I started thinking about high school. Admittedly, I wasn't the most popular person in school. Hell, I wasn't even in the top 1000 of popular people (my school had about 1600 students). However, I had enough good friends to keep me happy. At the end of my sophomore year, I decided to try out for Drum Major. For you non-Band Geeks, this would be the person who leads the marching band on the field. My main reason for trying out: I had a major crush on the current Drum Major, and rumor had it that the band director wanted 2 Drum Majors for next year. *woot* So, I tried out. And, by some weird quirk of fate, I was chosen. Yay. During the summer, I practiced. I went to band camp . And, then, started rehearsals in August with our marching band. The director decided I should direct the final number, Whitney Houston's Greatest Love of All . *shriek* I loved me some pre-crack-addicted ...

In high school, I had a crush on the one of the bad boys , the leather jacket wearing, smoking in the boys' room, skipping class bad boy. Billy was rarely in school, but, when he was, everyone knew it. You couldn't miss the 12-inch mohawk coming down the hall. He was tall, dark-haired, with stunning eyes which were usually clouded over in some sort of narcotic haze. I admired him from afar. Same school, two different worlds. Then, those worlds collided. The summer before our Senior year, Billy found God and cleaned up his life. The hot mohawk-sporting bad boy was gone. In his place, stood a typical Dockers-wearing Young Republican with a dream to become a minister. *shudder* He was still attractive in a clean-cut way, but the crush was gone. We became more than acquaintances, but not quite friends. Last night, I dreamed about him. As I sat at my desk this morning, reading the WaPo articles about the events at VA Tech, I began to wonder if that's what triggered my ...

Normally, at some point during the night, I wake up, take a drink of water, and fall back asleep. Last night, I was having very intense dreams, which I don't really remember. I popped awake, reached for my water, and ... my alarm went off. How could it already be 6:21? How? And, no, my alarm is not set for 6:21. It's set for 6:20. But, my clock must be wrong, because the NPR guy is always saying "It's 6:21" when the alarm goes off. I also thought of a funny story to blog about, but couldn't remember it ... until this very moment . Of course, now I'm trying to remember what inspired it. Cool! I just remembered that too: COMPOST. My co-op has a compost bin, and I was thinking that I need to buy a little sealed container to put all my compostable rubbish in, because last week I threw out some rotten and/or sprouting potatoes, but did not put them in the compost bin, because I thought they would grow, rather than decompose. No, that's not the funny story. ...

Two nights ago, when I was chatting with Sunday Date Guy, he asked, "What do you do? You have an artistic flair." I laughed ... And flashed back to my freshman year of high school, when I learned a new vocabulary word during the rehearsals for our high school production of Hello, Dolly! And, before you ask, no, I wasn't Dolly Levi. I was in the pit orchestra. *woot* Anyway, Dolly, played by the senior, Scarlet Morgan, who, in the early 90s rose to fame as Miss North Carolina , had a line describing Ernestina Money to Horace which is something like "She's very artistic." Every time Dolly said that line the director and orchestra conductor would laugh. "You need to enunciate more clearly, Scarlett," the director would call out. "It sounds like you are saying 'She's very autistic.'" Everyone would laugh, except the young 14-year-old Vuboq, who, in the days before Dustin Hoffman made autism a household word in Rain Man , h...