I should be happy, but I'm not. I logged into one of those websites today and had a message from a guy I really fancy. The message turned into chat, which turned into a really rather interesting exchange of photos.
So. I should be happy, right?
Here's the thing. Two and I do not have an open relationship. We're comfortable enough with each other that if we both like a Number Three (a rare occurrence), then bang, bang, boom, boom!
Three's allowed, the two of us is allowed (obviously) but NO SOLO FLIGHTS.
I showed Two the guy's profile and he made that face. Not a good start. Also, it became pretty apparent from the chat portion of the exchange that, despite us having met, in passing, on several occasions, he has no clue who I am. That says to me that in real life, I'm flying under his radar.
So, I'm left with a stack of filthy photos and blue balls, because it's never going to happen.
Of course, I'm keeping the pictures.
Friday, 2 December 2011
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
Dear Blog...
It's been four weeks since my last entry. We've moved from Week 9 or our six-week flat remodel into Week 13. With luck, the builders will wrap things up soon.
We're exhausted. We really are. We've had enough of being crammed into a small bedroom in a shared flat. We've had enough of the daily site visits to document both successes and screw-ups.
According to the latest revised schedule, taped up on the floor-to-ceiling radiator in the living room last Monday, we are supposed to move back in at the weekend. I don't see that happening. We have a toilet, but that's the extent of the functional plumbing.
At least there is light at the end of the tunnel, and the work that has been completed looks great.
And we haven't killed each other! Both of us are strong-willed... "stubborn" even. Acting as a "team" has historically been our greatest challenge as a couple. At some point during the build, though, we identified our individual strengths and have assumed appropriate roles. I handle structural and plumbing issues, Number Two takes care of the electrics and aesthetics.
I suppose that begs some elaboration. We started the remodel a few years ago. Drawings were made and a Schedule of Works was written. However, we were unable to find a builder who could deliver what we wanted within budget. At the time, our relationship was going through a rocky patch. At the time I felt the setback was a blessing in disguise, that if we'd been subjected to the stresses and strains of a building project it might have spelt the end for us.
That's relationships for you. Three years on and we're fighting from the same corner, working to turn our dream into a reality.
We're exhausted. We really are. We've had enough of being crammed into a small bedroom in a shared flat. We've had enough of the daily site visits to document both successes and screw-ups.
According to the latest revised schedule, taped up on the floor-to-ceiling radiator in the living room last Monday, we are supposed to move back in at the weekend. I don't see that happening. We have a toilet, but that's the extent of the functional plumbing.
At least there is light at the end of the tunnel, and the work that has been completed looks great.
And we haven't killed each other! Both of us are strong-willed... "stubborn" even. Acting as a "team" has historically been our greatest challenge as a couple. At some point during the build, though, we identified our individual strengths and have assumed appropriate roles. I handle structural and plumbing issues, Number Two takes care of the electrics and aesthetics.
I suppose that begs some elaboration. We started the remodel a few years ago. Drawings were made and a Schedule of Works was written. However, we were unable to find a builder who could deliver what we wanted within budget. At the time, our relationship was going through a rocky patch. At the time I felt the setback was a blessing in disguise, that if we'd been subjected to the stresses and strains of a building project it might have spelt the end for us.
That's relationships for you. Three years on and we're fighting from the same corner, working to turn our dream into a reality.
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
Good Things In Small Packages
I can't believe I'm so excited about this, but, this morning I discovered that an iPhone version of Apple's Garageband is now available! For the low, low price of £2.99!
When we moved out of our flat for the remodel, I put my guitars in storage. I also stored the sundry equipment I use for home recording. When you're a musician, even an amateur like me, having your creative outlet removed is tough. You feel bereft, adrift on a sea of blah-blah-blah. You get the picture.
As the build dragged on, the feeling got worse. One evening, after a couple of sneaky pints in Soho, a friend suggested we go for a jam at a nearby rehearsal room. We rented instruments and played, just for one hour. It was enough to pull me out of my slump. That weekend I paid our storage unit a visit, liberated my travelling guitar (a Les Paul copy) and a little dohickey thingamabob called an iRig.
iRigs are adapters which allow you to plug a guitar into your iDevice. You then fire up one of any number of amp modelling apps, usually equipped with a variety of effects pedals, multi-track recorders and so on built in.
With my main set-up at home, I never really explored using the iPhone as a tool for practice and composition. I've used it to fill in for an errant drummer on many occasions, but that's another story.
When I first got an iRig and the Amplitube app I played with it for a bit then put it to one side. The quality wasn't great and there weren't that many features. Between then and now, there have been many updates to the software. The app now has improved sound, a fourtrack recorder and music import to name just a few enhancements.
So, what other option did I have? I gave the iRig/Amplitube combo another shot. And it's great.
The biggest problem on any iOS device is the challenge of getting data from one app to another. For example, if I want to record a whole song on my iPhone, I need to first record the drums, say using InstantDrummer. I then need to wifi sync the clip to a computer and save it. Next, I do the same thing in reverse and bring it into Amplitube, bump it from the sounds library to a blank track and only then am I ready to rock. If you have access to a computer (which I don't at the moment) then it's a frustrating but workable solution. But what if you're jamming and the drums just don't work? You have to go back, re-program them, do the wifi shuffle and you're back in the room. It's hardly an all-in-one solution.
Historically, in recent history that is, your best option for portable recording was to lug around a laptop equipped with an audio interface and a DAW (Digital Audio Workstation). Until our forced exile, I had thought that my next mobile rig would be something along those lines. My re-discovery of Amplitube and the knowledge that Garageband was available on iPad made me consider going the tablet route.
But now there's a full-featured Garageband that will run on my phone?!?
YES, PLEASE!!!!
Disclaimer: I'm not saying that I'm no longer considering an iPad. I do have fat fingers, after all. Plus, I suspect a full-featured desktop or laptop plus DAW combo may be the way to go for recording proper demos. Who knows. Maybe I'll be surprised.
When we moved out of our flat for the remodel, I put my guitars in storage. I also stored the sundry equipment I use for home recording. When you're a musician, even an amateur like me, having your creative outlet removed is tough. You feel bereft, adrift on a sea of blah-blah-blah. You get the picture.
As the build dragged on, the feeling got worse. One evening, after a couple of sneaky pints in Soho, a friend suggested we go for a jam at a nearby rehearsal room. We rented instruments and played, just for one hour. It was enough to pull me out of my slump. That weekend I paid our storage unit a visit, liberated my travelling guitar (a Les Paul copy) and a little dohickey thingamabob called an iRig.
iRigs are adapters which allow you to plug a guitar into your iDevice. You then fire up one of any number of amp modelling apps, usually equipped with a variety of effects pedals, multi-track recorders and so on built in.
With my main set-up at home, I never really explored using the iPhone as a tool for practice and composition. I've used it to fill in for an errant drummer on many occasions, but that's another story.
When I first got an iRig and the Amplitube app I played with it for a bit then put it to one side. The quality wasn't great and there weren't that many features. Between then and now, there have been many updates to the software. The app now has improved sound, a fourtrack recorder and music import to name just a few enhancements.
So, what other option did I have? I gave the iRig/Amplitube combo another shot. And it's great.
The biggest problem on any iOS device is the challenge of getting data from one app to another. For example, if I want to record a whole song on my iPhone, I need to first record the drums, say using InstantDrummer. I then need to wifi sync the clip to a computer and save it. Next, I do the same thing in reverse and bring it into Amplitube, bump it from the sounds library to a blank track and only then am I ready to rock. If you have access to a computer (which I don't at the moment) then it's a frustrating but workable solution. But what if you're jamming and the drums just don't work? You have to go back, re-program them, do the wifi shuffle and you're back in the room. It's hardly an all-in-one solution.
Historically, in recent history that is, your best option for portable recording was to lug around a laptop equipped with an audio interface and a DAW (Digital Audio Workstation). Until our forced exile, I had thought that my next mobile rig would be something along those lines. My re-discovery of Amplitube and the knowledge that Garageband was available on iPad made me consider going the tablet route.
But now there's a full-featured Garageband that will run on my phone?!?
YES, PLEASE!!!!
Disclaimer: I'm not saying that I'm no longer considering an iPad. I do have fat fingers, after all. Plus, I suspect a full-featured desktop or laptop plus DAW combo may be the way to go for recording proper demos. Who knows. Maybe I'll be surprised.
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
Hey, Hey, Mardi Gras!
We're feeling the draw again. New Orleans is calling. At first it was a low moan, seductive and enticing. In the past few days it's become a siren's wail, urgent, insistent, unrelenting.
Mardi Gras isn't for another four months, but figuring out whether we're going has become an urgent matter to us.
I blame HBO, the US television company. Specifically, I blame "Treme" (pronounced Tre-May). We just finished watching the first series on DVD, a birthday gift from a Texan friend. The show itself is a slow burner, character driven. New Orleans, "Nawlins" is the true star of the show. A downtrodden but gracious Southern Lady, her petticoats muddy but her head held high.
The TV series follows the lives of a handful of Katrina survivors, struggling to rebuild their lives, their homes. We relate, in a way. Just months before the storm, we had our wedding there, in the heart of the French Quarter. It was appropriate. She had always been our spiritual home, somewhere that healed our souls. Watching the waters rise was heartbreaking. Counting the human cost in the weeks and months that followed was worse. Knowing that one of the truly unique places on the face of the planet might wither and die was a crushing burden to live with.
And yet we didn't return immediately. We didn't want to accept that the reality could match the images plastered across the internet, broadcast on every news channel. If we stayed away, we could imagine that She was still perfect in her imperfections. We made a pact to return for Mardi Gras 2010. We made it to 2009 before the pull became too strong. It was a good year. The Mardi Gras magic was still there.
Last night we stood in our flat. The remodel is progressing, but at a snail's pace. It feels like we've been homeless for months. Perhaps we're feeling echoes of Katrina. The place smells damp from wet plaster, there's carnage everywhere, the new staircase lies awkwardly on it's side, as if washed away by the tide. Chaos rules. I want to be home again, but for now, there is no such place.
Mardi Gras isn't for another four months, but figuring out whether we're going has become an urgent matter to us.
I blame HBO, the US television company. Specifically, I blame "Treme" (pronounced Tre-May). We just finished watching the first series on DVD, a birthday gift from a Texan friend. The show itself is a slow burner, character driven. New Orleans, "Nawlins" is the true star of the show. A downtrodden but gracious Southern Lady, her petticoats muddy but her head held high.
The TV series follows the lives of a handful of Katrina survivors, struggling to rebuild their lives, their homes. We relate, in a way. Just months before the storm, we had our wedding there, in the heart of the French Quarter. It was appropriate. She had always been our spiritual home, somewhere that healed our souls. Watching the waters rise was heartbreaking. Counting the human cost in the weeks and months that followed was worse. Knowing that one of the truly unique places on the face of the planet might wither and die was a crushing burden to live with.
And yet we didn't return immediately. We didn't want to accept that the reality could match the images plastered across the internet, broadcast on every news channel. If we stayed away, we could imagine that She was still perfect in her imperfections. We made a pact to return for Mardi Gras 2010. We made it to 2009 before the pull became too strong. It was a good year. The Mardi Gras magic was still there.
Last night we stood in our flat. The remodel is progressing, but at a snail's pace. It feels like we've been homeless for months. Perhaps we're feeling echoes of Katrina. The place smells damp from wet plaster, there's carnage everywhere, the new staircase lies awkwardly on it's side, as if washed away by the tide. Chaos rules. I want to be home again, but for now, there is no such place.
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Friday, 7 October 2011
The Open Road
I will always remember the night I proposed to my husband. It was years before the Civil Partnership bill was passed. We had no legal way to cement our relationship. In a moment of clarity, I realised that meeting this man had changed the course of my life, forever. I didn't have a ring. I hadn't prepared a speech. We were on a triple seven, flying home from Kansas City. 35,000 feet beneath us, the lights of New York City sparkled.
I got down on one knee, blocking the aisle, and took his hand in mine.
We landed in London at 7:00am, made our way through customs and immigration, then home, tired but happy. It was a new day, a new chapter in our lives. That day, the world would become a new place, more than we could have imagined. It was September 11, 2001.
Earlier this year, a young friend of ours, a native New Yorker, met and fell in love with a girl. It's been a rare privilege to have witnessed their feelings for each other blossom and grow over the weeks and months. At times, I've felt like an older brother to the boy, at times a father figure. When he announced that he'd proposed and she responded yes, I couldn't have been happier.
They've asked me read at their wedding. My choice of material seems obvious to me: an excerpt from a Walt Whitman poem that we used in our own ceremony.
Song of the Open Road (Excerpt)
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
Listen! I will be honest with you;
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes;
These are the days that must happen to you:
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe - I have tried it - my own feet have tried it well - be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
I got down on one knee, blocking the aisle, and took his hand in mine.
We landed in London at 7:00am, made our way through customs and immigration, then home, tired but happy. It was a new day, a new chapter in our lives. That day, the world would become a new place, more than we could have imagined. It was September 11, 2001.
Earlier this year, a young friend of ours, a native New Yorker, met and fell in love with a girl. It's been a rare privilege to have witnessed their feelings for each other blossom and grow over the weeks and months. At times, I've felt like an older brother to the boy, at times a father figure. When he announced that he'd proposed and she responded yes, I couldn't have been happier.
They've asked me read at their wedding. My choice of material seems obvious to me: an excerpt from a Walt Whitman poem that we used in our own ceremony.
Song of the Open Road (Excerpt)
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
Listen! I will be honest with you;
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes;
These are the days that must happen to you:
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe - I have tried it - my own feet have tried it well - be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
Thursday, 6 October 2011
Displaced
It's easy to feel displaced when you are.
Our home is being remodelled. The works were scheduled to finish tomorrow. That deadline is blown, most likely by three or four weeks. There was no way we could have lived on site during the build. The place was gutted, completely.
We had offers: friends who wanted to put us up in their homes, on their sofas, in some cases in their beds. To give ourselves some sense of stability, we opted to rent a small room in a shared house. We're in our 40's, living with strangers for the first time since university. It's not easy. You never know when there's going to be a key in the door.
"Yeah, harder, yeah, c'mon, oh God! YES! Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Someone's coming!"
And it's not us.
Adult men need regular sex. Adult gay men especially. I'm walking like John Wayne. A time bomb, ready to explode.
Our home is being remodelled. The works were scheduled to finish tomorrow. That deadline is blown, most likely by three or four weeks. There was no way we could have lived on site during the build. The place was gutted, completely.
We had offers: friends who wanted to put us up in their homes, on their sofas, in some cases in their beds. To give ourselves some sense of stability, we opted to rent a small room in a shared house. We're in our 40's, living with strangers for the first time since university. It's not easy. You never know when there's going to be a key in the door.
"Yeah, harder, yeah, c'mon, oh God! YES! Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Someone's coming!"
And it's not us.
Adult men need regular sex. Adult gay men especially. I'm walking like John Wayne. A time bomb, ready to explode.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)