Well, I'm back.  I've been back, but haven't posted because I have been very busy catching up with my life as I know it.

Thanks so much for all the well wishes and cards and things like that.  They really do make a big difference.

Since she was sick for so long, I thought I was prepared.  I had several good converstations with her.  I sat by her side and held her hand and told her that I loved her.  I cried everytime I left her side.  I thought I was ready.

I was not ready.  I'm not ready now.  I want her to call me Timmy-boy.  I want to hear her sing again.  I want to see her dance.

But I can't.  And I wasn't ready for that.  It's so final, at least in this lifetime.

She believed very much in the afterlife.  She knew that she was going to get to see her husband and son and brothers and sisters and mother and father.  And I think she can.  She can also walk unassisted again and dance and sing and smile and make the afterlife as much fun as she made this life.

And everytime I see something that reminds me of her (and there are a lot of things that remind me of her) I know that is her telling me that she loves me.

I love you GG.  See you later.

When I was a little boy, we used to go visit my great-grandmother at her house.  Every morning we were there, she'd make us hotcakes and they were the best damned things I ever ate.  Melted in your mouth, or at least that's my memory of them... they might have been horrible.  I know this, however... no other pancakes on this Earth were ever made with more love.

As I write this, my beloved great-grandmother, whom we call GG, has just died.

Wow.  That feels so final to see it written like that.  And that's just what it is.  Final.  at least for her, in this existence.

My great-grandmother was 92.  She turned 60 the year I was born, and was quite active and vibrant until about ten years ago.  She loved music and dancing and taught me the Charleston and Jitterbug when I was just a kid.  She used to watch what she ate and had bizarre beauty routines that kept her skin soft and supple, even up until the end.  She was a beautiful lady and intended to stay that way.  I have never, ever known anybody who took so long in the bathroom to get ready for bed.  She loved dolls, Barbie in particular.  Coca-Cola was her drink of choice.  When I was a kid, we used to read the large-type edition of Reader's Digest and discuss the articles.  Every time I went over to see her, she'd work on my teddy bear, making clothes for him to cover his damaged body.  She was smart and sweet and one-of-a-kind and more than a little crazy and how lucky am I to have had that in my life?

Last November, I got a phone call that she had fallen, apparently suffered some sort of stroke and broken her pelvis or hip or something.  They didn't know much and had taken her in to the hospital.  I knew then and there that it was the beginning of the end.

In the past eight months, she's been in a nursing home for two brief visits, in several hospitals and one very evil rehabilitation hospital.  We stopped all that madness about three months ago and brought her home to die peacefully and with dignity.  I feel good about the last few months of her life, because I know she was comfortable.

But that's over now, and as much as I wished she could be here forever, I knew she couldn't.  Those aren't the rules... people die.  And it sucks.

I really just want some of her hotcakes right now.

You've heard my rails against Clear Channel, and you know I hate all things related to them, but love them or hate them, I've given into The Man:  I purchased XM Satellite radio last week.

I know that M. Giant is just freaking out right now.   (Well, freaking out is a bit strong.  I'm fairly certain he's not running around his house, screaming at Trash that He Can't Believe I'm Such A Traitor and all that stuff.  I mean, if he is, that's fine.  I just don't think he cares all that much what I do, but I might be wrong.  I'll bet M. Giant is mildly surprised right now.  How's that?)  I mean, I'm the one that told him of Clear Channel's ownership of XM, warning him to Stay Away from it and all.

Anyway.  I like XM's competitor, Sirus a lot.  They have better content, including NPR and a great showtunes channel.  I KNOW!  Every gay man's fantasy is to have showtunes and an admittedly liberal viewpoint digitally available at all times!  I would have been a fool not to get Sirus, right?

Well, not so much.  Turns out XM is approaching 750,000 subscribers, and Sirus, according to my informal poll, has about four.  So I went with the company that I think will be around the longest. 

I know that XM has some commercials and no NPR, but they have BBC, so I can get my commie-leaning-pinko-news from them, and work on my fake-o James Bond accent, too.  As for the commercials, well... I have 100 channels to listen to, and can switch away.  My attention span can't take uninterrupted streams anyway.

Another cool thing is that I was able to get different setups for my receiver.  See, I spend a lot of time in my car, so I bought the radio, and a car kit.  But I also wanted to have the digital love at my desk during the workday, and so I was able to get a boombox, too.  Sirus didn't offer such a flexible setup.  It was pretty much car-only with them.  Not good.  XM it was.

So how do I like it, you might ask?  So far, so good. I'm digging all the selection, and it sounds great in my car.  I like my little antenna, too.  It's important that criminals know that I've got expensive equipment in my car, and there's no better way to do that than with a big black bump on the roof of my car.

Well, people are stocking up on explosives they've bought on the side of the road, buying tons of beer and meat to cook outside over an open flame.

It's either almost the Fourth of July, or the beginning of hunting season. Since it's about 7000 degrees outside and people are BUYING the meat, not trying to kill it, I'll go with the Fourth idea.

What does this holiday mean to me? Well, it means that I get a day off. It means I've been invited to tons of parties, have family in town to visit, and can't really leave my house because there are so many tourists in town, it just doesn't seem worth it.

Do I seem less-than-thrilled about the holiday? I'm not. I'm actually pretty darn excited, but you'll have to pardon my lack of patriotism lately. I find it hard to muster up deep pride and joy for my country when I see it going to shit.

But that's just me. Have a happy holiday. If you read this from outside the US, then, um, have a great weekend, then!

So if you've been reading this site, you know that I'm remodeling my house right now. I decided to get going on it last night, now that I've chosen colors for the rooms (I think) and so I went to buy paint. I'm putting wainscotting in the dining room, and I also needed to take down this dividing wall between the kitchen and dining room that the former owner of the house put in.

So last night, I took a hammer, a crowbar, and I went to work. I didn't expect to enjoy the demolition as much as I did.

Seiously, though, I think I've found the cure for any depression you might be feeling: it's tearing shit up. It was so damn satisfying to knock down a wall that I've hated since I moved in.

WHACK!

"OH YEAH, MOTHERFUCKER! NOT SUCH A STRONG WALL NOW, ARE YOU?!"

I think I scared the dogs.

I feel so very butch.

If you'll excuse me, I think there's something else I can tear up.