Author: Mark Alexander

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Not The Vacation I Was Expecting

Last summer Ben and I were trying to figure out what do to over his fall break.  I had a ton of vacation time available, so taking a week off at the same time as his break was a no-brainer. He suggested a road trip to see Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art again and visit our friends Erik and Robert. I thought that would be a great idea since I could also get my 20 year cancer anniversary tattoo at the same time. (Erik is the only person in the world I allow to poke ink into my skin.)

But then Life Happened

Cancer. Yeah, that bastard. Ben’s aunt is battling a particularly aggressive form at the moment, so we decided to eschew our road trip and instead to spend a little more time with her and perhaps just take her on a day trip to northern Arizona.

Even that fell through. She’s in the middle of treatments, and while we could’ve still done it this weekend, all the poking and prodding have left her feeling wiped out. (#relatable)

And then life happened again.

Wednesday a week ago Ben started having vision problems with one eye. He wasn’t able to get in to see his regular ophthalmologist, but he was able to get in for an emergency visit with mine first thing Friday morning. I wasn’t planning on taking the day off, but I insisted on driving him since I knew he’d be dilated. It turned out that it was a detached retina. From the eye doctor we went to a retina specialist and then directly into surgery. He were back home by late afternoon.

He’s doing well. His followup exam was good, and while he’s still an eye-patched bandit, he’s able to drive and will see (pardon the pun) the doctor again in two weeks.

Technology is Not My Friend

Robopsychosis

Several weeks ago I ran across a post where someone had mapped all the places he’d overnighted on a Google Map. That looks fun, I thought. I was able to get all my old domiciles and about 80% of my overnight trips mapped, but there were a couple years where I didn’t have exact locations—but—because of my inveterate anal-retentiveness, I was sure I had emails from the venues locked away in old Outlook .pst files.

I was able to access all but one file of the files. For some reason, I’d password-protected it and after trying all my usual passwords, came up empty handed. Found a piece of Windows software that would unlock it. After downloading it and running it in demo mode, it indeed identified the password but required purchase to actually tell me what it was. Go figger.

So I bought the software, installed it on my work laptop (my only source for Windows) and entered the registration info. It wouldn’t register because it was blocked by the Enterprise firewall!

See where this is going?

This is where I’m gonna lose a lot of you. I know it and I’m prepared to accept it. “That bitch be cray!”

I’d been wanting to get an inexpensive Windows box for a while. I didn’t want to spend much or get anything high-powered, but there were definitely instances (like this password thing) where it could prove useful. I could “borrow” one of the machines that are scheduled for disposal from work, reformat it and put it to use, but I’m too honest to do something like that. For the past few years we’ve been buying the Dell micro Optiplex desktops for those users who still require desktop machines. They’re tiny (about the size of a Mac Mini) and would suit my need perfectly. I looked on eBay and found a model from 2021 with 16GB RAM and a 256GB hard drive for $150. It seemed reasonable, and it even came with a warranty. I placed my order.

The box arrived a week later. The moment I started unpacking it I knew something was amiss. I pulled out the power supply brick and the power connector was not the correct form factor for these micro PCs. Then I pulled out the laptop.

Yup, they’d shipped the wrong unit.

Finally got that sorted out and received the micro desktop machine. Powered it up, and while it looked like it had been set up with a generic user account, it also came loaded with a bunch of crap I neither wanted or needed. I had a Dell Win10 Pro DVD, so I figured it would be an easy matter of wiping and reinstalling a fresh O/S.

Oh, you stupid, stupid man.

To my credit, the install went fine…but there were no device-specific drivers installed. No problem, I thought. I can go onto the Dell site with my Mac, download the drivers, put them on a USB stick and go from there.

The Dell recognized the USB DVD-ROM drive I had plugged in, but none of the USB sticks were seen by the O/S.

I ended up burning the bare minimum of drivers onto a CD from the Mac and attempted to load them. The two I needed most—graphics and wireless—would not load because the O/S was too old. Yup…the Windows 10 DVD I had was from the initial release back in 2018 or 2019 or whenever the fuck it came out.

Back to the Mac. Downloaded the latest Win10 ISO. Burned that onto a DVD and ran setup on the Dell. That brought me up to date. I was able to load the video and wireless drivers, and then finally go online to get everything else I needed.

I swear the universe was telling me I just didn’t need to be doing this.

It was 1am by the time I got the Dell up and running. I’d been at it since before dinner.

The next day I went to load the .pst password cracking software and realized that when I purchased the license, I’d actually gotten the .pdf version!

FUCK ME SIDEWAYS IN TRAFFIC.

So, after spending another $30, I loaded (and successfully registered and activated) the software and finally got that .pst unlocked. And I found what I’d been looking for. (And also found all of the first emails Ben and I exchanged!)

Was it worth it? Yes…no…maybe? Seeing it all from the outside now, I realize how OCD it was; all that work and expense just to retrieve the half-dozen overnight locations that were missing from my map.

I noticed that the software company that has the password cracks for .pdfs and .psts also has one for Word docs. I have a several of those that I haven’t been able to get into for more than a decade, so it might be worth dropping another $30 to gain access to those.

My only real disappointment when all was said and done was that this Dell 7050 can’t do Windows 11 (it’s not capable of running TPM 2.0), but as Ben pointed out, “You don’t need Windows 11 to do what you’re wanting to do.”

#truth

And The Week Goes On

Admittedly, the rest of the week was reather relaxing. I solved the problem with my work laptop (something I spared you from in the previous section) negating the need to run back into the office before tomorrow (since I’m WFH) to reimage the infernal thing. Many afternoons were spent napping with my beloved or just hanging out with him at Starbucks, or with the dogs watching television. Other than getting the problem fixed with the work laptop, I haven’t looked at work emails, have kept the work cell turned off, and feel like I can face tomorrow’s undoubted onslaught of stupidity somewhat recharged.

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Triptych

Dude, we get it. You’ve got a big dick and you like to go out in public in sweatpants without underwear and show it off.

(I don’t know if this guy is a professional “adult entertainer” or not, but when I initially ran across him a year or so ago he piqued my interest because he came off as just a regular guy who loved to show off his hairy pits. But then I stumbled across him on Instagram and his entire feed is nothing but reels of him hard in his sweatpants with guys either reaching for objects and brushing against his tool or him just showing off how the ridge of his glans is clearly visible. Dude, we get it. You’re hot. You’re cute. And more than a few of us would undoubtedly get nasty with you if the opportunity presented itself. But you’ve gotta step up your game!)

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Never Forget

Forty six years ago today, during an October 14, 1977, press conference in Des Moines, anti-gay crusader Anita Bryant had a pie thrown in her face by gay rights activist Tom Higgins.

Bryant was a public face for Save Our Children, a political coalition aimed at overturning legal protections against housing and employment discriminations for LGBT+ people. She is known to have said “I will lead such a crusade to stop it as this country has not seen before.”

In retaliation, the gay community hit her in her wallet by boycotting Florida orange juice, for which she was the brand ambassador. Gay bars stopped selling screwdrivers (vodka and OJ) and instead sold Anita Bryants, made with vodka and apple juice, the profits from which went to a campaign to oppose Bryant. The boycott was successful, eventually causing her lucrative Florida Citrus Commission contract to lapse.

And I hope she disliked the flavor of that pie, too!

(Vid cribbed from out.com.)

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Why Is It…

…that I want to enact a National Quiet Day where everyone shuts up for twenty-four hours?

…that I make jokes in my head and then laugh out loud in public while people stare?

…that the temperature in South Carolina went from 90 to 55 like it saw a state trooper running up on it?

…that when someone asks if I have plans for the Fall, it takes me a minute to realize they mean Autumn and not the collapse of civilization?

…that I’m humble enough to know I’m replaceable, but cocky enough to know it’s a downgrade?

…that when I’m on Facebook and someone’s post includes the phrase, ‘I bet none of my friends will share this,’ I don’t?

…that I have days when I swipe my credit card at the gas station and if it says ‘See Cashier,’ I just leave?

…that unless we make plans before I get off work, once I’m off and I’m home, I’M HOME! I’m not going anywhere. I’m old and I’m tired.

…that bars only do a Happy Hour? Howsabout a Sad Hour with even cheaper drinks and no one minds if you cry a little?

…that my first thought when I get a headache isn’t that it’s from dehydration, caffeine withdrawal, lack of proper nutrition, stress, lack of sleep, not wearing my glasses, but rather that I have a brain tumor?

[unabasedly stolen from I Should Be Laughing]

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In Memoriam…

It’s been three years and I still think about him often.  I’m reposting this from 2020 because I don’t think I could write anything better than I did then:

Floyd Meeks, 1958-2020

2020 just needs fuck right off.

Now.

Seriously.

Traditional wisdom says that you should be able to sense when a loved one has died.

I’m here to say that’s a lie.

I found out this evening that my dear friend Floyd passed last October. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t COVID. It was his heart, and he went in his sleep.

Floyd left behind his husband Ron, with whom he’d shared his life for the last 40 years and many grieving friends, myself among them.

Floyd and I met January 28, 1983. Despite it being a Friday night I wasn’t planning on going out. As I recall it had been an exhausting week and I wanted nothing more than to simply stay home and unwind.

But I stepped outside that evening, saw the most incredible full moon rising above the Rincon Mountains east of Tucson, and something told me in no uncertain terms to go out. There was, as they say, magic afoot.

My destination was The Fineline, a relatively new dance club on Drachman Street. I’d been there with my partner Dennis, numerous times, but since we’d split up a two months earlier and he took off for Austin, this was one of the first times I’d gone there by myself.

And hell, I was young and in a state of perpetual hormonal arousal, so why not?

I’d been working out (believe it or not) since Dennis left and I was feeling good about my body and the way I looked. I radiated a certain amount of confidence and it didn’t take long for Floyd and I to gravitate to one another. He was there with his partner, Ron, putting a damper on any thoughts of immediately scampering off to get nasty. But Floyd assured me they had an open relationship and while nothing would be happening between us that night, he was definitely interested in getting together. We exchanged phone numbers.

Later that same night I met Lee, a friend whom I’ve written about before, thus cementing the magic of that night in my life.

Floyd called me the next morning. We had phone sex. Floyd was a dirty, dirty boy and I loved it. We hung out a lot in the weeks that followed. As we discovered our shared taste in music and culture, a genuine friendship and affection bloomed between us. That’s not to say the physical attraction waned; if anything it remained constant, and over the years we became infrequent fuck buddies, all—somewhat surprisingly—with Ron’s blessing. Even during my San Francisco years we remained in touch, with Floyd traveling to The City numerous times on business.

Floyd and your host, Marin Headlands, 1993

After I returned to Phoenix and made it through the cancer ordeal, I started driving to Tucson to visit the guys on a semi-regular basis. I had a new car and if for no other reason I needed to reconnect with the friends who knew me best while putting my life back together.

Floyd and I called each other Dolly (from our shared love of Personal Services.)  I’d call him up and say, “Dolly, I need to get out of town for a while. Are you and Ron free?” and depending on the answer, I’d hop in Anderson and make the 90 minute drive south. I remember one insane Saturday when I drove down to help with some computer issues, brought his PC back home to repair, and then returned it later that day.

Floyd did the same sort of spontaneous trips north, and one of my favorite memories were the two separate times he (and a few weeks later with Ron) came up to Phoenix and we shot photos at Arizona Falls.


Floyd and Ron, Arizona Falls 2008

Shortly before Ben and I left for Denver, Floyd and Ron fell on some very hard times. They both lost their longtime jobs, were unable to find work, lost everything they’d built together, and were forced to move in with Ron’s sister.  Through it all we stayed in touch, they stayed together, and when they’d gotten back on their feet and Ben and I moved back from Denver, talked of a weekend visit but it seemed life was continually getting in the way and one thing or another always prevented it.

When it finally seemed we were going to be able to coordinate a visit, COVID hit, killing our plans again. I last spoke with Floyd in September, when he called to tell me that Abe, a mutual friend from our University of Arizona days, had passed.

Floyd, Ron, Abe and I used to joke that when we got old and retired we’d buy a big house together and disgracefully spend our twilight years like the Golden Girls.

The best laid plans of mice, men, and queens…

Though we went through periods when we didn’t see each other, or even talk much other than an occasional text or email, Floyd was one of those people in my life I just knew would always be there…and now he’s not. I think that’s why this has hit me so hard. His impish grin, that devilish twinkle in his eye, and his extensive…vocabulary…will be so sorely missed. More than with any other death that’s hit my life (and yes, sadly that includes my parents and my first partner, Dennis), I feel like a part of me has been ripped out and there’s nothing but an empty hole remaining.

As I get older, it’s becoming more and more apparent to me that you need to tell the people you love that you love them every damn day, because they can be taken from you at any moment.