the age spot

Creative Gesticulations (the Blog): “Hi, can we talk”

The Gesticulator: “Um, sure”

CG: “It’s been a long time, Gesticulator”

TG: “Yeah, it has…”

CG: “That’s it?! That’s all you can say? You acknowledge the lapse in time without offering any explanation?”

TG: “Whoa, easy blogspot—talk like that will make you an ex- faster than you can say ‘wireless mouse”

CG: “Nobody calls! Nobody visits! Sure, people stop by to see if there’s something new but then…”

TG: “So, you’re lonely—it’s normal, besides you can talk. How many other blogs can do that, huh?”

CG: *sniffle* yeah, you’re right but I miss being cheeky. Laughter warms the cockles of my dual core-heart.”

TG: “you said cockles”

CG: --

TG: Okay…how about I tell you about the Gesticulator’s World?

So, we have added a new member to the family; another Dane, her name is Bella Contessa Princess of the Urban Jungle (registered names must be long, you know).

She looks like a Holstein calf and is equal in agility to a 400 pound man ice skating on a Nebraska pond. Turns out that she’s also the bravest little puppy in the world, she’s only afraid of: the mixer, her dog bed, anything that makes noise, anything that looks like it might make noise, spatulas, lamps, couch cushions, shower curtains, people with legs, people without legs, and a few others that have slipped my mind. She is very sweet though and has quickly made friends with the majority of the neighborhood dogs—in fact, this appears to be the only thing she doesn’t fear; evident by her willingness to gallop up to a stranger with a pug so that she can play. It should be noted that she is 100 pounds and doesn’t realize it one bit thus leaving said pug-walker panic stricken at the sight of a galloping cow.

barking up the willow tree

It has been a sad tale indeed. Our Blue Beast, our fuzzy, mouthy, floppy-eared, bug-eating beauty died suddenly of a heart attack nearly two weeks ago. She was almost 2 years old; our baby.

She has been the subject of a many blog here. She had a penchant for consuming our favorite things and throwing them back up, usually on my feet. She loved that, puking on my toes. She was a hit at the puppy-park too. She rarely failed to take someone out. Not intentionally of course; the laws of inertia being what they are, exacerbated by k-nine excitement, meant that she was a gray wrecking ball. It wasn’t long until others in the park could be heard muttering to themselves, “remember, keep the knees soft, soft knees…stay alert…here she comes!” and we would all cluster together to brace ourselves for impact. That was great too.

But perhaps the best moments were shared between the three of us: the Blue Beast, the 9fg and yours truly in the little yellow house on the corner. She elicited a full spectrum of emotion that usually ended in laughter. Like the time she peed on the guest bed (to those that have stayed at our house, we flipped the mattress), or the way she would race down the steps as if she were qualifying for the NASCAR 500, or the way she would grumble when we interrupted her nap/poop/drink or accidentally sat in her spot on the couch or how she’d be eating dinner and someone would knock and she’d bark, spewing kibble everywhere. The illustrations are endless.

Though her death brought pain, it brought unity. Friends surrounded us in person, meals, flowers, cards and empathy/sympathy. Our gratitude is inarticulate.

Through all the tears and snot we emerge saddened by the knowledge that there will never be another like her. The same thought brings be comfort because she was in our lives.

Gesticulate Already!

This is where i would normally offer some lame excuse about the absence of postings since 20-Oct (gasp!). Instead, i'll just let you make up something that would incline you to look upon this blog with understanding and good faith that i have not lost interest/humor/life etc. Now that i have your rapt attention (and full assurances that you will check here faithfully once again) i shall resume.

Updates:

1) Life outside of a war zone is awesome

2) 9FG and i have recently traveled to Paris, Aruba and the Bahamas (my tray and seat are in the upright position!)

3) We're considering a "companion pet" for the 20-toed blue people eater; she gets lonely and i'm tired of being chewed on. I should probably note that we're considering another Great Dane (she needs someone who will understand her); the prospect of two giant, rather clueless (but very sweet) furry Clydesdales is daunting but they would be so happy!

Compulsive Consumerism

The eight month shopping venue void drove me to the internet. At one time in my life i looked upon online purchases with disdain and quipped about the reliability of a product i couldn't handle before giving a store my money. I've also come to realize that i'm way too prone to fulfill my urge for instant gratification by just buying something here and now. To counter said urge i've decided to purchase more with my mouse and now i eagerly burst through the door to see what the mailman has dropped off (this has done wonders for my appreciation of the USPS).

Just today i picked up (well in 2-3 weeks) a handy new sign for our townhouse. The old signage is effectively a 2x4 painted white with numbers written with a sharpie pen.

Amazon.com (period) What can i say about the manifestation of American consumerism? Where else can i satiate my craving for books on Christian development and French cheese (i've eaten online cheese)? I now refuse (must to the 9FG's chagrin) to purchase anything (from planters to tools) without first consulting Amazon.com. I agree, it's a bit weird but i've saved a great deal on Egyptian Sticky Rice and Tahini AND i believe i'm more patient. Although one unexpected consequence is the desire to buy something aimlessly; right now, i'm resisting the unarticulated draw to have 3 pounds of dried blueberries sent to our house.

waffles

So, it’s been more than two months since my last entry, but I don’t need to tell you that do I? You’ve faithfully checked this site every day, holding your breath hoping for something new and perhaps slightly amusing to fill a few moments of your day. Well, here it is.

I’ve just returned to Baghdad after a lovely two week hiatus with the 9fg. We had a splendid time with much feasting and sleeping. The feasting is worth pausing to consider based upon restaurant slogans: "The Gaucho way of preparing meat" and “Free Style Japanese Cuisine” and “Dip into something different” to name a few. I am fat and happy with thanks to the free style gaucho way of dipping into something different.

It takes nearly three days to travel to/from Baghdad. For security reasons, I won’t describe in great depth the logistics of these trips but I will say one portion includes military air over a desert, a flying baked potato, if you will. The only note worthy item from my travels is that the French stole my new bottle of cologne, all hair products, and deodorant. I separated with my well fragranced mementos, but not without a bit of frustration.

I arrived safely in Baghdad, tired but in tact. A person that travels over three days, particularly via complex military air movements, has a special look about them. Disheveled is the immediate word that comes to mind. But not disheveled in the i-just-woke-up-and-rolled-to-starbucks, it is a bit more pronounced. The most notable characteristic is the fierce wild daze in their eyes—it is a mix between wild boar and angry cat. The second most noticeable feature of this hypothetical person is that they have several bags hanging from their PPE (personal protective equipment) which does something to a person’s equilibrium. In fact, you can spot all newcomers by their leaning gate. So, we have a wild eyed, leaning, deaf (from the helicopter ride) and hungry person. I’m happy to report most of these symptoms have worn off (except for the crazy eye—I keep that to intimidate the marines).

I was welcomed by Howard. This is a picture of Howard. Howard entered my hooch without an invitation and had a wild party and did a little bit of damage (a hole in the ceiling and a chipped floor). Naturally, this was a rather exciting welcome so I took Howard around and introduced him to my friends, one in particular said, “Hey! It’s nothing serious it’s [Howard] just celebratory fire!”

Hello from the B of Dad

For those of you that I did not get a chance to wish well for the next few months, my deepest apologies. True to nearly every major change in my life, the most recent happened with swift deftness that lifted me from the doldrums of life in Washington (all except the truest fulfillment of my earthly existence: my marriage to the 9FG) and set me down in the middle of the desert (a co-worker once told be the difference between the miserably hot sandy place and the black-bottom cupcake, "desert" and "dessert", respectively is that the latter is sweet, which is why you want another "s"--it stuck). But alas, I am here, in the heart of a war-torn country. To start, I live in a trailer...i am the Prince of a Single-wide. There is some consolation though, they don’t call them trailers in war zones, they call them hooches. You may now refer to me as Prince Hooch.

Why? I don't know.

Perhaps you're wondering about the green lining on the outside?
Those are sandbags covered in canvas. The rationale is that if a mortar or rocket were to strike a neighboring hooch, there would be less collatoral damage to the rest of the hooches in the area. It's a bit sobering to walk down the sandbag aisles in the greenzone knowing why they are there.

Okay, enough of the pictures, things I’m growing accustomed to in a war zone:

Guns—everyone carries a gun here. I feel out of place because I don’t have a weapon; i bought a water pistol at the PX to feel a bit better. But, it's yellow and the soldiers don't take me too seriously until i spray them.
Doors—here, doors come in twos, you must walk through one door, wait for it to close in order for the next one to be buzzed open. It's worth noting that this process involves several armed marines (see above) and blast proof glass. It's an elevator setting. Complete with people running toward the door saying, "Hold it please!" except the doors are glass so you can see the dissappoinment of their face as it swings shut.
Armored Cars—the doors (i have this thing with doors, okay?) are quite heavy (because they are thick) on an armored car, which simply means they slam with authority.
Heat—you know when you leave your car parked in a treeless mall lot in the middle of summer for a few hours? You open the door and get in, there is that hot, dry, yet oddly satisfying heat? Yeah, Baghdad is like that.
Saddam’s Palace—I work in the former dictator's B-dad lair. It’s huge, ornate and dreadfully tacky in many places. I tell you the truth, he has a mural of three missles soaring to the heavens on one of his walls. nice.
Trailer—I live in a trailer, okay? This has created an inexplicable desire to wear "wife-beaters" and decorate my porch with undrivable cars.
Roommates (that aren’t the 9FG or Tac)—as far as I can tell, mine doesn’t go to work; unless his job is blaring the TV as loud as possible. Although, I’m sure he has picked up on a few of my flaws, like leaving my boxers in the bathroom after a shower.
Food—one thing I’ll give this place, if it can be fried and covered in some indiscernible sauce, it can be called dinner, or lunch, or breakfast in Baghdad.

Of course, you didn't think you could get away without at least one picture of the dog, did you? Please see the mouthy pooch (whom the 9FG indicates has been most trying since my departure).
How many steps is she sitting on?

Fish sticks

Something blogworthy...something blogworthy...As I troll the channels of my mind, searching for that priceless flounder of humor, I will introduce you to the WSC boys. I see these guys nearly every day for one hour. They are a motley crew, composed of civil service employees and attorneys. The are beyond entertaining, and, when together, loose all tact and public decency. First, you'll note the buckets of beer on the table and while you marvel at said beer containers, you should really consider its imbiber. Let's go left to right, shall we?



Reflection: I call him reflection because it reminds me of his real name. Reflection is a nice guy, very protective of the circle of men in the photo and insists that I sucker punched him a few years back at a bar in Adam's Morgan. Naturally, I deny this accusation, because IF I were to hit a guy, he wouldn't look as pretty as reflection so many years later.

Gesticulator: Really, what can I say about the gesticulator? He's a smashing gent, good humored, well build, fantastically attractive. He is the standard by which the others aspire. Which, is why number two from the right is staring at me, but we'll get to him later.

Mort: Probably the most earnest of the group. It is in his honor by which we were pictured together. He'll be missed at the new job.

Ninja: The centerpiece of the photograph, and with good reason. Ninja has more ripples than a peaceful lake disrupted by a fat-jack cannonball, and he wears shirts (I think they are painted on) that show the most minute twitch of each muscle. Secretly, we all hate him. One of us will be getting our sweat on and in strolls ninja, chewing on the weights we were just staining to pick up. He doesn't bench press the bar, he bench presses the bench press. To add insult to injury, one of the boys might be darn proud that he just accomplished his goal and Ninja will come over and say things like, "Yeah, that's great but that won't do anything for you--you should eat more red meat, preferably raw, there's more protein. Then you can get cloths painted on you because you'll look so good"

The Stabber: Known for his preferred method of conflict resolution. Really though, he's a charmer. He's also a runner, what's more impressive is his ability to incorporate alcohol and nicotine into his diet and still be able to beat me down a stretch of land. It's a bit humiliating to have a guy pass you while taking a drag on a Marlborough red. The Stabber is a great initiator and is always game for a drink (or 15) and has the astounding ability to attract women who collect his hair and leave him food. What's most impressive is his ability to consume the same amount of alcohol as the state of Rhode Island in one evening and still show up for work and the gym the next day.

Discretion: How does one describe discretion, or in the case of our dear friend, the antithesis of discretion? This member of the WSC frat is fiercely observant and can quickly reduce the most confident to a pile of tears and off-white gym towels. Fortunately he's a member of the crew so we are privy to his thoughts. It is worth noting that his volume button is broken, so what he shares with the boys, he shares with the gym and no one can really argue with him, because he's usually right.

Corky: I struggled to come up with an appropriate epithet for the final member of the WSC frat. I settled on Corky (root being: Cork) because it is the most essential (but often lacking) part of his physique. Like Ninja, he is constructed of solid granite but avoids the paint-on clothing line. Oh, and he's covered in scars and came into the gym this week with a story. Apparently Corky was accosted at some night club by some not-so-smart skinny twit, so Corky threw him 30 feet, although I believe the exact term he used was "I tossed him like a shot-put" Fortunately, The Stabber wasn't hurt after the throw (or the amount of liquor in his system dulled the pain) and they were back to hugging again on Monday.

I neglected to mention the yogurt class.

I'm svelte, some have compared my physique to that of an otter or seal; the skin glistens over the rippling muscle. It can be tedious to upkeep the Athenian physical appearance, so I have subjected myself to various gym classes which sculpt and mold. The 9FG talked me into yoga last Wednesday. I can now write about it because my muscles have finally ceased seizing at the most inopportune times. First of all, ow. Second of all, you need to speak yoga to go to yoga. The following phrases now mean something to me: "Downward facing dog", "Eagle pose", "Warrior I", "Warrior II" and "Warrior III" and finally, my personal favorite the "Vrksasana pose." For your convenience, I've included the following link (you might need to skip the add) so you might visualize yours truly enduring such stretching techniques. There is a particular face one makes while learning to do yoga: have you ever seen someone who accidentally gave themselves a paper cut? It's kind of like that but with a look of deeper pain and more surprise. I know this because, of course, the room is plastered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors; which, in my opinion, adds insult to injury. If you see someone emerging from the aforementioned class, you should probably clap and maybe whistle because they just narrowly escaped death. It's sort of fun, actually.

A place I will never eat again, particularly the Pentagon Row store. Enough hate mail for one day, okay? Okay.