It’s Not Easy Being Green

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The stresses of this week have built to the point where a chronic health condition of my own reared it’s ugliness, requiring a visit to the hospital emergency room for treatment. I have mentioned before that I have a very restricted diet. Almost anything I eat can make me sick, and when I’m stressed, it all comes out — literally. I remember that I ate a salad with a variety of tasty veggies… oops. That’s what tipped my intestines over the edge.

I was treated and released in four hours. It’s amazing what an I.V. and some drug to kill the intestinal spasms can do. I must remain on a liquid diet and see my regular doc next week, but for now, I am resuming my attention to my beloved aunt. She was released from the hospital yesterday, and I have arranged 24/7 home health care for her, though it took quite a bit of doing in a short time. Fortunately, my senior pals rose to the occasion to help me again, and after a long, long day, it was all arranged.

Life is short: keep moving on.

Gay Boots

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I see internet search engine searches direct visitors to this blog and my website. Lately, for unknown reasons, there have been a number of searches for “gay boots.”

As Blogger is owned by Google, the most widely-used search engine, then “blogger blogs” come up rather high in search results. Thus, this post, so I can say, once and for all,

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS GAY BOOTS!

Boots are inanimate objects. They cannot possibly fall in love with each other, have sex with each other, or otherwise be “gay.” Boots are not “straight” either (unless you count that the boot shaft is straight.)

Seriously now, there are no particular brands or styles of boots worn by gay men that are different from what other men wear. Period. End of story. Boots aren’t gay. You won’t “become gay” if you wear a certain brand of boots like Wesco Boots, platform boots, dressy ankle boots, or tall boots with your pants tucked into them. Some insecure dolts may apply a label and engage in name-calling like kiddies in gradeschool by saying, “those boots are gay” or “you’re look gay in those boots” or “that’s so gay.” Bull. That’s all kiddie stuff. Man-up and get over it.

Cowboy boots are not worn exclusively by straight men. Gay men wear cowboy boots too. Both straight and gay men can behave in a masculine manner, or not. Masculinity and sexual orientation are not directly related, no matter what some who fear gay people think or say.

Motorcycle or biker boots are not worn exclusively by tough-guy straight bikers. Some of us who ride motorcycles are masculine men who wear boots for protection and style, and who by the way, also happen to be in love with another man. Yeah, “ho-mo.” The world isn’t going to end if gay men ride motorcycles or wear boots.

And there is NO SUCH THING AS GAY BOOTS. Get over it! Wear what you like, dress as you please. Be who you are, and stop obsessing over whether an article of clothing will label you as gay. If you’re afraid of such a label, you have other issues going on that have nothing to do with boots.

Life is short: wear boots.

Why Wear ‘Those’ In This Heat?

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“Why wear those in this heat?” … so remarked a guy in his 40s who was walking next to me from the parking lot toward the hospital which we both were entering to visit respective family (in my case, my aunt for whom I care.)

He was pointing to the jeans and cowboy boots I had on. He was wearing shorts and flip-flops.

He asked his question with a tone of incredulity and an emphasis on the word “those.” Yeah, it was well over 90°F (32°C), and the temperature was predicted to climb even more. He looked at my cowboy boots with a bit of of a sneer.

Instead of reacting negatively, I just said, “they’re comfortable, and don’t get hot.”

He continued to walk along next to me until we reached the door, where the sign said, “no flip-flops allowed for health reasons.” I gently pointed out the sign and said, “I have an extra pair of boots in my truck” and smiled back warmly.

He just shrugged and said, “maybe they won’t notice” and walked in the door. I wasn’t going to argue with him. I entered and said hello to the volunteer at the front desk. I knew her from some of my own volunteer work. She smiled, handed me a visitor’s pass, and asked me about my aunt. I briefly answered her then went to the elevator and up to my aunt’s floor.

When I got to my aunt’s room, I looked out the window, and saw Mr. “why wear those?” walking back toward his car. I guess they wouldn’t let him in.

Boots beat flip-flops, two – to – zero!

Life is short: wear boots!

On the Road

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A buddy of mine took some pictures of me while I was riding my Harley last Saturday. I frequently choose to “ride sweep” which is the last one in the pack. It has a nice view of the bikes ahead. Here is what my view looks like:

And here is how I look when riding:


And again (look closely — I meant it when I said that Chippewa Firefighter Boots are the most comfortable boots I have worn while riding my Harley, especially on a hot day like it was when this photo was taken.)

And during a riding break:

That thing by my left cheek is a microphone, which is attached to my radio which I use to keep in contact with the ride leaders and other riders.

Divided Between Duty and Dream

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There a tune sung by Steve Wariner that talks about the responsibilities one takes on as an adult, yet feeling the urge to carry out his dreams, as well.

Currently, I am in that position. I dream about visiting “Down Under” again; I dream about taking time with my partner and go away together — anywhere — just the two of us with no phones, no computer, no meetings, etc; or simply taking some time to go ride my Harley.

None of these things are happening for various reasons. My partner cannot travel. I have obligations that I have taken on to care for my beloved aunt whose physical condition is deteriorating rapidly. No time to ride. No time to travel. Gotta stick close to home and help.

Life was simpler before. Alas, this isn’t the case now. But I feel I am exercising my calling to provide care that’s needed. Now. Perhaps after the situation settles with my aunt, I can climb back on the saddle of my Harley, at least.

Meanwhile…

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

Parting with a Pair of Wesco Boots

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My bootedman.com website was built to organize my boot and leather collection so I would know what I have, and give me a hobby — writing web pages and doing web tricks — which is fun and interesting when I have the time. It was not created to promote or sell boots. From time to time, I get inquiries that have asked, “how much is such-and-such pair of boots in size X?” I have replied saying, “my boots are not for sale. This is a display of my personal boot collection.”

However, someone saw a page on my website about an old pair of plain Wesco Boss boots. He noticed on the page that I said that I do not wear these boots much. Since they were stock and the calf circumference was tight on me, I wasn’t wearing them. He offered to buy the boots from me, and I thought about it… and agreed. The boots will be worn with pride in California. I’m glad they got a new good home.

Again, I’m not in the boot selling business, but there are some pairs of boots that I don’t wear very often because my size has changed. From time to time, I will sell a pair of boots that someone else makes a decent offer to purchase from me.

Life is short: stay booted!

Stupid Is What Stupid Does

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Can you spell o-u-c-h or b-u-r-n with permanent leg damage? Not to mention broken ankle territory? The sneakered foot of the passenger was this guy’s daughter. (Great example Dad set for daughter, huh?) Pic was taken yesterday of someone on a motorcycle ride with which I was involved.

This manner of dress on a motorcycle: How sad, how very silly. Dumb. Stupid.

Okay, catharsis over. Check back tomorrow for more regular stuff.

Life is short, ankles and legs are burnable and not expendable: WEAR LONG PANTS AND BOOTS!

Did You Ever Want to be a Cop?

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Many little boys, when asked what they want to be when they grow up, say, “a firefighter” or “a police officer.” These professions are admired for the honorable and hard work that they do. They get into tough situations, save lives and property, and do honest public service for pay that often is not commensurate with the challenges of their high-risk profession. They rise to a higher calling to care for others and protect public safety. They put up with a lot of crap from the public who think only about themselves, not for others’ safety, or don’t think anything bad, like a home fire, could ever happen to them.

As I was growing up and considering my options, I moved toward education with a focus on public safety. That’s what I do. That’s what I know. That is where I have been trained, and have assumed various leadership positions to pass on skills and knowledge to others to help them be better at what they do.

Why not be a cop? Well, for one, when in high school and college, I was still a very klutzy, non-athletic kid. To this day, I still trip over shadows and non-existent obstacles. Some of the guys I knew who entered respective police or fire academies were naturally athletic. That left me out. I honestly didn’t think I could pass the physical tests that new recruits had to go through. (I watched a cousin go through his physical tests for the police academy, and even though he was “Mr. Jock” in high school, he still had trouble with those tests.)

My high school friends who entered law enforcement had a respect and an interest in guns. I didn’t. I still don’t. They each had to demonstrate that, if in the appropriate and justified circumstances, they could shoot someone. I just don’t think I ever could point a weapon at another human being (or an animal, for that matter) and intentionally hurt them. Does that mean that if someone were coming after me with intent to do harm that I would roll over and let them? Of course not; I would defend myself as best I could. However, I never want to be in such a situation so I did not consider entering a profession that would require carrying and perhaps using a gun.

In my civic life, I work with a lot of law enforcement officers. Most of my work is in meetings, on topics like reducing the lure of gangs, preventing “tagging” (graffiti), and making our community a safe and secure place to live, raise families, and enjoy life. I don’t ride with motorcops daily, though I have had a number of times when I have been escorted on motorcycle rides by working motorcops looking after our safety.

I respect the law enforcement and firefighting profession tremendously, and do my part to ensure that law enforcement officers and firefighters earn the respect they deserve for the hard work that they do. From providing affordable housing, to advocating for pay and benefits, to helping to educate my neighbors and elected officials about hazards and how to be safe.

Some people have asked me, “you seem to like uniforms, so why wouldn’t you be a cop?” My response has been what I explained above. Plus, having spoken with a lot of law enforcement officers over the years, their “real jobs” are nothing like what television shows make them out to be. A lot of their time is boring… waiting… and hoping actually that they don’t get a call. To them, each call may mean trouble, and they would prefer that trouble not happen in the first place.

So that’s why I have spent most of my career in prevention and education. Let’s make that trouble “not happen.”

In summary, I have deep respect for firefighters and law enforcement officers, and play my part to help prevent trouble as well as support what they do. We work together in our community. I appreciate that. But did I ever want to be a cop? … well, probably when I was a youngster, I might have said that I did. When I grew up, I found my calling was elsewhere.

Life is short: support public servants!

Posted in Job

Got No Time

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Have you ever had those times when a song gets in your head and it keeps “playing”? Lately, the tune “No Time” by The Guess Who, which was released in 1969, keeps repeating. (BTW, one of my friends explained to me that “hearing a tune” and not being able to shake it is called an “ear worm.” Yuck… sounds like a creepy Star Trek episode… but I digress.)

The title of this song, “No Time,” is applicable to my life right now. You’d think since I’m not working at a regular job, I would have all the time in the world. Ain’t the case.

Somehow I signed myself up to help with two motorcycle rides each on Saturday and Sunday. I don’t know why I let that happen. I should know better. My partner whines about all the chores to do around the house and my absences for an activity that he can’t join me to do. I had to back out of one of these rides. I hate making a commitment and then not being able to carry it out. But if I were gone on both Saturday and Sunday, my partner would “not be pleased.” (Ummm… been there, done that… it’s not pretty.)

Further, I have picked up some contracts to do some work for some agencies and companies, which is great, because I can do this work from home and make some money on the side. However, all these contracts are on short fuses, meaning the deadlines are quick and require almost instantaneous response throughout the day.

My dear 95-year-old aunt is not doing well at all, so I am spending a LOT of time at her place helping out. Even though her son has been here this week (he left yesterday), I am still spending time with him to care for my aunt and help guide decisions for her comfort.

I am serving as webmaster for two contested local political campaigns, and each of my candidates have frequent requests to update their respective websites, send blast email messages, and so forth. It is not difficult work, but … it requires time.

Further, I made a dumb mistake. I have a very close friend who lives in Oklahoma whose husband died recently. She had bought her husband an extensive set of cast metal model vehicles over the years. She now needs money so she can move into an assisted living center. I offered (before she asked) to sell the models for her on eBay. She sent them to me … all 192 of them! OMG! I had no idea it was that many! I have to take several pics of each one, then prepare listings for auction, manage the auctions, ship the items… arrrgggh! How do I get myself into these messes, Ollie? (And it was another “not pleased” moment when my partner saw the volume of boxes that arrived. “Where are we going to put all that?” he ululated! [BTW, the verb “ululate” clearly applies in this specific instance].)

… then there’s this extensive “honey-do” list at home. These are all things that need to be done, and require time, work, and effort. I won’t bore you with the list, but it’s a lot.

So, I got no time…
… to ride
… to create videos or update my website
… hardly even to blog.

Wish me peace.

Life is short: too damn short sometimes.

Wesco Boots With Nowhere to Ride

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I pulled on a pair of lightweight leather jeans yesterday morning, and thought my good ol’ Wesco harness boots would be good for the motorcycle ride planned for the day. I tucked the ends of the leather jeans into my socks, pulled my socks up nice and tight, then pulled the boots on and “ta-da”, there I was, all Mr. Biker. (I’m not showing the rest of me ’cause it’s only a Harley t-shirt, a dime-a-dozen in my drawers).

I learned that with this particular pair of Wesco boots that I need to wear thin, not thick, socks. That way, my feet don’t get hot.

… then after making my partner’s lunch and kissing him goodbye as he set off for work, I turned on my computer and checked the weather. Drat — strong storms predicted. No ride today.

But I kept the leather and boots on. A guy at the grocery store asked me tons of questions about the boots. Okay, happy to answer! He was very impressed with the boots, to say the least. I think I met another Bootman-in-training! LOL!

Life is short: wear boots!