Searching for signal.......

Rupert Murdoch is a dick. I have had DirecTV satellite television since 1995. It isn't the greatest, for instance when it rains out I don't get any television. The signal simply can't pass through rain, or even an occasional flock of pigeons. The only, the one and only reason I have it, is NFL football. None of the other television providers can give me every NFL football game on Sunday so I am stuck with DirecTV. Now I find out that Rupert Murdoch wants forty percent more in fees for the privilege of watching his television channels, and if he doesn't get it he will pull his channels from DirecTV. Those would include National Geographic, FX, Fox sports channels, and the Fox Movie Channel. DirecTV has assured me that the Fox News Channel would not be affected. Too bad. My question to Rupert Murdoch is, don't you get advertising dollars from those channels? Won't your properties be worth less if they are getting less exposure? I guess this is what you would expect from one of the greediest men in the world, the guy who has polluted our political system with his twenty four hour propaganda machine, Fox News. The bottom line is, I will stick with DirecTV. I value being able to watch the Chicago Bears from the comfort of my recliner here in Florida, more than I do those Fox cable channels. I will miss 'It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia' though.

Photo Friday

Photographed from my front yard

Video Thursday

Click here to watch the original ad

911

I was sitting here writing up today's post when phssst, the electric went out for a couple of hours, AGAIN! I think this is the fifth time this year the electricity has gone out here at Casa de Alan y Marcos. I had a hilarious story about Mark having forty dollars stolen from right under his nose, half written, and then nothing. The whole thing was gone. That's what I get for using Microsoft Works Word, instead of Microsoft Office Word. The difference being that Microsoft Office Word saves the project constantly, while the simpler Works Word only backs up when it feels like it.

Anyway, here's the gist of what I had written. Mark was asked by a lady friend of ours to watch her sandwich shop for fifteen minutes while she ran off to do something. Within minutes three children, from the age of around eight to sixteen entered the store. I was at home, and the phone rang. It was Mark.
"There are some people here." he whispered.
"And???" I replied.
"They aren't buying anything. I think they're going to rob me."
"Okay. Just tell them to leave."
"Alright." he whispered back.
After I hung up the oldest one asked if the youngest girl could use the restroom. When Mark said sure, she asked Mark if he would go back there with her to show her where it was. Here is where Mark made a mistake, he momentarily moved towards the back, then stopped. When he looked back, he saw the middle kid hanging around the cash register. Like I said, they took him for about forty dollars.

So the lesson today is, don't trust those little fuckers. Oh, and don't call me, call 911 if someone might be robbing you.

When Worlds Collide

For a little over three years I have volunteered at a no kill pet shelter. It is run by a very dedicated staff, and they are supplemented by an enthusiastic group of volunteers. One of the activities we volunteer for are the 'Meet and Greet' events. These consist of taking some of the dogs and cats to fairs, stores, and other places where people gather so that they might find adoptive families. Usually the meet and greet crew consists of various old ladies, nice man/woman couples, and the ever present gay man or two. So when the call went out for help at a meet and greet at a local gay bar, of course I immediately signed up. The bar is called The Ramrod.

The Ramrod is a leather bar. That means that the guys get dressed up in varying degrees of leather costumes, and play different roles in their little alternate reality. Some are into S&M, some bondage, and some... well who knows. Many years ago I used to go to this bar on occasion. I am not into that leather scene, nor do I own any of the accessories used in that scene. Mostly I went for the cheap drinks, and the fact that once in a while those guys do go vanilla. What I remembered about that bar was that it was very dark inside, had different forms of restraining devices placed around the bar for customer use, and that they showed hard core pornography on the video screens.

Never the less, what could go wrong with us bringing some of our dogs over there? I figured we would set up a table with our flyers and promotional stuff right outside the front door, greeting the leather boys as they arrived. It was when Barb, the organizer of this event, informed me that no, it wouldn't be out front but on the 'patio' that I started to worry. Maybe I waited too long, but on Saturday afternoon I emailed Barb asking her if she was aware of what that place was. She replied back that she did, and besides it would be in the early evening, before the leatherwear crowd showed up.

So early Sunday evening, we arrived with our dogs. Our crew consisted of me and Mark, two other gay men, Barb, and another middle aged lady. After making our way past the dildo gift shop, we stumbled through the nearly pitch black inner bar area, and out back to the patio. The patio was just a narrow area between the back of the building, and the property line. It was damp, and smelly, but there was a bar and bartender out there. So we set up our little table next to the pillory (a medieval restraining device). The dogs immediately began sniffing things of uncertain origin that were jammed into the corners, and trying to taste the moist spots on the floor. Besides the pillory, there were chains, ropes, and video screens. On those video screens they were showing porn movies. Hard core gay porn movies. Big, beefy, hairy men doing what your mother always told you not to do. If you tried to avoid looking at the porn by casting your eyes downward, you were greeted by men in assless chaps. I looked over at Barb, and then over to the other lady. They seemed unperturbed. Instead of their heads spinning, and them gouging their eyes out, they were both busy talking to guys, trying to find those who might possibly adopt a dog. All I can figure is that either they are blind, kinky themselves, or just troopers doing whatever it takes to find a home for the dogs.

I Won't Give In

There are two eyes looking longingly through the window at me. A few moments later there are four eyes out there. It's Britney Spears, and Lindsey Lohan, my outdoor kitties. They're working on me, trying to weasel their way into the house, I just know it.

It's been two months since my last indoor cat, Fat Kitty, passed away. I do miss her but the relief from cat allergies has been welcome. I've had at least one cat living in my home with me since 1975, and for thirty six years I constantly popped allergy pills. I don't miss that. I'm still cleaning up the cat hair, and it will probably take a year to get it all out of the house. Because of that I refuse to have any more indoor cats. Not only because of me, but because of Mark, and his breathing problems.

So what am I going to do? Every time I open the door to feed the little darlings, they run into the house. Three feet in, and they come face to face with Chandler. Amazingly nothing ever happens. When I step outside with their bowls of food, they follow me back out. It's a routine we've been doing for the last year or so. They seem to not be afraid of the big dog, and Sasha isn't much more than a nuisance to them. It's as if they're trying to show me they can get along with dogs. See what I mean? They're working on me, testing me, trying to break down my will.

Photo Friday

Last Saturday afternoon at the JetBlue Health and Safety Fair

Those are my scratched up shins.

In front of me is Otis, a five month old Boxer/Pit bull mix. 

He's looking for a home. Don't let the Pit part bother you. He's a sweetheart.

This is his brother, Opie.