Sunday, July 22, 2012

AWAD serial - part 8: misoneism, magna carta, king's ransom

A.Word.A.Day serial – 7/10:  misoneism, 7/14/08:  magna carta, 7/17/08:  king’s ransom.




MEANING:  noun: A hatred or fear of change or innovation.
ETYMOLOGY:  From Italian misoneismo, from Greek miso- (hate) + neos (new). Ultimately from Indo-European root newo- (new) that also gave us new, neo-, neon, novice, novel, novelty, innovate, and renovate.

magna carta

MEANING:  noun: A document or a law recognizing basic rights and privileges.
ETYMOLOGY:  From Latin magna carta (great charter). After Magna Carta, a charter of political and civil liberties that King John of England was forced to sign on June 15, 1215. It was revised several times over the years, and it became an important symbol, establishing for future generations that there were limits to the royal powers.

king's ransom

PRONUNCIATION:  (kingz RAN-suhm)
MEANING:  noun: A very large sum of money.
ETYMOLOGY:  From the reference to the large sum required to secure the release of a king from captivity. 
Eric wanted to stay home, sprawled on the sofa, watching ESPN for the next week, or the next month, or the rest of his life, but HR had left him two voicemails on Friday, asking when he’d be back at work, so he figured he’d better get his ass to the office.  And he’d better start letting people know that Trudi had left him, otherwise they might start calling the police to look into where she’d gone.

But god, he knew what was coming:  the pathetic, pitying looks, the trite words of sympathy, and then the offers to set him up with any and all available women.  He’d have to get it over with so he could move on to the next stage of his life where things would be settled, where he could have his comfortable routine again.  It wasn’t misoneism to have things the way you liked them and not in constant upheaval.

He wasn’t even looking forward to fucking his way through all those women that would come flocking to a newly divorced man.  He’d had his share of pussy when Trudi first left him, because, hell, why not take advantage of  his new-found freedom?  He was a man, after all, and straight, and that’s what straight, unattached men did.  But now he’d started thinking that all those women would just cause more upheaval in his life.  They'd want his time, his money, promises of love, everything he didn’t want to give just then.  Wasn’t there some “Divorced Man’s Magna Carta” that he could use as a shield to stave off the ravening hordes of unmarried spin class instructors and co-workers’ wives’ divorced second cousins?

He just wanted to be left alone for awhile, or maybe to hang out with the guys, but all of the men he knew were half of couples, friends of “Trudi and Eric”, not “Eric’s buddies”.  He thought about Armand and his offer of a drink and a willing ear, but he pushed that option away.  Far, far away.  He would give a king’s ransom to never have met the guy, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to seek him out.  That would be as good as admitting that he really was gay.  Which he wasn’t.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

AWAD serial, part 7: costive, atrabilious, linctus

A.Word.A.Day drabble – 6/30/08:  costive, 7/3/08:  atrabilious, 7/4/08:  linctus.




MEANING:  adjective: 1. Slow to act or speak. 2. Stingy. 3. Constipated.
ETYMOLOGY:  Via French from Latin constipare (to cram together), from com- (together) + stipare (to pack or crowd).


PRONUNCIATION:  (at-ruh-BIL-yuhs)
MEANING: adjective: 1. Gloomy. 2. Ill-tempered.
ETYMOLOGY: From Latin atra bilis (black bile), translation of Greek melankholia.


MEANING:  A syrupy liquid medicine, especially for treating coughs.
ETYMOLOGY:   From Latin lingere (to lick). Ultimately from the Indo-European root leigh- (lick) that is also the source of lichen (apparently from the way it licks its way around a surface), and lecher, but not lingerie (which is from the root lino: flax).

But why was it so important that he set things right with this guy?  Why did it matter so much what a total stranger thought of him?  Except he wasn’t a total stranger anymore; he was the guy Eric had called a fag.  And it wasn’t impossible, in a city the size of theirs, that their paths would never cross again.  Better to deal with it now than take the chance of running into him somewhere that it would matter.

Eric examined the packages of sunflower seeds, tubes of toothpaste, packets of aspirin.  The good stuff, like condoms and cough linctus, were locked up behind the cashier, so anyone wanting those was SOL until Daisy got back...but there she was, following close behind waving-hands guy, her mouth set in a hard, don’t-fuck-with-my-friends line.  The guy saw Eric and walked right up to him, stopping a few feet away.  He crossed his arms over his chest, and stuck one hip out as he shifted his weight to one leg. 

“Okay, I’m here.  Say what you have to say.”

The voice, the posture, even the guy’s hair – dark with blond tips -- made Eric’s mind scream the f-word again, over and over.  He didn’t dare open his mouth, just in case it jumped out, so he waited, trying to bite back the word and willing his mind to shut up.

But the silence had gone on too long.  He knew he was being costive, knew that every second that passed made it harder for him to get out that apology.  So he sucked in a breath, blew it out, then said, “I’m sorry.”

Waving-hands looked less than impressed.  “Why are you sorry?”


“Why.  Are.  You.  Sorry?” he enunciated, as if Eric were deaf or stupid or both.  “Are you sorry I’m offended?  Or are you sorry because a pretty girl told you off, or because you couldn’t buy your beer, or what?”

“I’m sorry because…because no one should be called that.  I’ve, um.”  Jesus, his heart was racing.  “I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you, and that was wrong.  So I’m sorry.”  A bad mood.  Hardly an accurate description of the atrabilious prick he’d turned into over the past few weeks.

Waving-hands seemed to be on the fence, but then he shrugged one shoulder.  “Okay.  Apology accepted.”  He stuck out his hand, not like a normal handshake, but with the palm down, like he expected Eric to kiss it.

Eric hesitated, then took it, turning it so he could shake it properly and withdrawing his hand as soon as he could. 

Waving-hands made a “humph” sound.  “I’m Armand, by the way.”

“Um.  Eric.”

“Nice to meet you, Eric.  You want to go get a drink and tell me why you were in such a bad mood?”

Hell, no.  “Um, thanks, but I gotta, you know, I gotta go home.”

“Of course you do.  Wouldn’t want to be seen out in public with a fag.”

Blood pounding in brain.  “Look, I apologized for that!  It doesn’t mean I want to go out on a date with you!  I’m not like that, I’m not like you!”

“I wasn’t asking you out on a date, you arrogant little shit!” Armand shouted, and god, could his voice have been any louder or higher?  “I just thought you might want to talk about whatever bug’s crawled up your ass, but never mind!”

Eric cringed, hoping to God that the store was still empty.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.  He headed towards the door but didn’t make it outside before he heard Armand say, “Daisy, sweetie, I know you meant well, but next time, tell him to go fuck himself.”

Sunday, July 8, 2012

amazing male stripper at Silverado in Portland, OR

Just need to drop a line about a fantastic dancer I saw at Silverado in Portland, OR.  It's a gay bar, the first I've been to that has strippers.  (Some of the drag performers have dancers backing them up, but they've always been clothed.) 

Quite a few of them just pulled their briefs down under their ass cheeks, below their hip bones and wandered around the stage like that.  One guy was very, um, into displaying himself -- briefs off, legs up and spread.  I was kind of glad that my view was blocked by guys going up to tip him.  But the dancer I wanted to talk about -- tall, wiry, dark spiky hair, a few tattoos on his chest -- he moved so beautifully!

First off, he undressed a bit at a time (lovely), doing body rolls and air-humping parts of the stage with his pants still on, but unbuttoned/unzipped.  Then he'd take off some more clothing, still moving sinuously, until he was finally down to briefs and socks.  He played with himself a bit, groping inside his underwear, doing more writhing, all the while looking like he was really enjoying himself, just having a fun time moving and taking off his clothes.  I didn't know why the guys in that bar weren't screaming at him, "Shut up and take my money!" At one point he kind of flicked along the top of his dick, just for fun, it seemed, and did the make-your-dick-flap move. 

We were getting ready to leave, but I stuck a dollar in his briefs.  I wanted to hand it to him, but he was holding them out, so what could I do?  One of two guys I tipped that night -- the other was the one dancing on the other side of the stage, maybe the only other guy there who was as good of a dancer. 

Anyway, just needed to post the images in my head (no photographs allowed inside the bar) before I forget them.  I'm tempted to put him into my drag queen story, but not as David's love interest; Jason, the staid-ish baseball player, kind of pales in comparison to sexy stripper guy.  So I think I'll have to save him for someone else.