It's been awhile since I've blogged but I have an excuse. I was in Paris. Paris, France.

There is nothing much better than being in Paris, France for a week without a care in the world. The only thing you have to do is wake up in the arms of your lover and wonder where you are going to get your coffee and baguette that morning when you are done being lazy and in bed. And what a place to wake up in a lover's arms. Paris.

Joe knew about this place on the left bank with big rooms, high ceilings, french doors that opened onto the Seine and a bathroom that looks like it's out of "Architectural Digest." I loved the suite the minute we opened the doors.

It's been a week of walks, late breakfasts in cafes, reading, a couple museums and lots of good music. We haven't been spoken to rudely, abused by a single waiter or criticized for being Americans.

It was a gracious and well timed week. I am reminded again that the scale of the city is superb.

After Paris, we drove back through the Alsace and Lorraine (not in that order). French country houses, big farms, champagne vineyards, spectacular gardens. Quite a drive. Big change crossing the border into Germany.

Joe and I decided to go to Paris on the spur of the moment. We're living on borrowed time because he is probably going to be sent to Iraq. I won't hang around in Europe waiting, I'm looking for work in the states.

I wish Joey would get out of the Marine Corps and take his chances with me, but he won't. He's not ready and I won't push him to it. No way.

We'll see. In the meantime, we are living for the day. On Friday we'll head for Venice in the car. We want to be FAR away from anything American for the fourth of July. The jingoism is too disgusting.

Paris. What a place.

It's been awhile since I've blogged but I have an excuse. I was in Paris. Paris, France.

There is nothing much better than being in Paris, France for a week without a care in the world. The only thing you have to do is wake up in the arms of your lover and wonder where you are going to get your coffee and baguette that morning when you are done being lazy and in bed. And what a place to wake up in a lover's arms. Paris.

Joe knew about this place on the left bank with big rooms, high ceilings, french doors that opened onto the Seine and a bathroom that looks like it's out of "Architectural Digest." I loved the suite the minute we opened the doors.

It's been a week of walks, late breakfasts in cafes, reading, a couple museums and lots of good music. We haven't been spoken to rudely, abused by a single waiter or criticized for being Americans.

It was a gracious and well timed week. I am reminded again that the scale of the city is superb.

After Paris, we drove back through the Alsace and Lorraine (not in that order). French country houses, big farms, champagne vineyards, spectacular gardens. Quite a drive. Big change crossing the border into Germany.

Joe and I decided to go to Paris on the spur of the moment. We're living on borrowed time because he is probably going to be sent to Iraq. I won't hang around in Europe waiting, I'm looking for work in the states.

I wish Joey would get out of the Marine Corps and take his chances with me, but he won't. He's not ready and I won't push him to it. No way.

We'll see. In the meantime, we are living for the day. On Friday we'll head for Venice in the car. We want to be FAR away from anything American for the fourth of July. The jingoism is too disgusting.

Paris. What a place.

WHAT a week.

My U.S. Army Major ("Rush Limbaugh is the only honest and unbiased media personality out there") stalker won't leave me alone. I swear he has a crush on me. He sent his dog faced wife and two wierd kids to northern Germany (???) for the summer. Now he wants to be my new best friend. He's as screwed up as a soup sandwich. I told him to get out of my office and not come back. Joe thinks he's a creep too.

Joe and I are heading for Paris. Time for some love in the city of love.

Issue girl is back from vacation with more issues than ever. She seems to be talking to Brad about them more than me. That's a good thing. When Brad gets fed up he tells her to "talk to the hand."

Last night Brad went to the bath house and met the "biggest" guy he's ever been with. He is going back for more tonight. I wish him well and I hope nothing rips.

Luke's love life is in melt down just now.

There but for the grace of god go I. Nonetheless... Joe and I are off for Paris. I hope nothing rips.

Joe and I went to the baths with Brad last night. It's always more fun to go when it's raining because the place is packed. Last night was no different. We hung out in the bar for awhile, watching people go up and down the stairs. That tells a lot. How a guy goes up and down stairs while wearing only a towel is indicative of a lot of other things.

The sauna was so freaking dark you couldn't see. I hate it when it's that dark in there. All that bumping, and not in a good way.

We saw several people we knew. Mostly we sat around in the chairs watching the parade and joking with each other. When all the bears got out of the hot tub, we took it over and sat there for awhile.

This sauna is CLEAN with a vengeance. These Germans understand cleanliness. It makes for a nice time because you are not worried about getting foot rot or some other awful thing just from having been there. The towels are good too.

The staff always wants to know if you "had a good time" when you leave. We had a GREAT time.

There was some new construction going on downstairs for the last few weeks. We discovered that they have put in another video room (a nice one) and a dungeon! There was even a sling. I've never BEEN in a sling but it looked like it could be kind of interesting.
Joe said he had and it was fun. Brad said "no way" which I thought was funny because if anyone in our group of friends was apt to sign up for sling time, I would have thought it would be Brad.

Brad, by the way, still describes himself as "republican" but has agreed not to vote for Bush. Maybe that's why the no sling thing. Republicans probably don't get a lot of sling time.

I'm a democrat though. Bring it on.

Joe and I were visiting my family. He can't believe how much I look like my dad. People have told me that I look like my mom but I can't see it. Besides, at 6 feet, 3 inches tall and two hundred fifteen pounds, I'd look pretty stupid with big tits and big hair.

After mom and dad left, Joe and I had a romantical trip along the Cinque Terra, Monaco and the French Riviera. A guy could get awfully tired of working if he did too much of this kind of thing.

Getting back to Germany was stupid. Rainy, cold, nasty. German summer. I fancy the weather must be like this all the time in Rumsfeld's office only colder.

We're starting to get a real bad feeling about the whole election / Iraq thing. More and more troops are being sent and we are starting to see the first departures from here. I'm looking for work back in the states but so far haven't found anything.

Joe says he's staying in long enough to retire so the writing's on the wall. I wish he'd get out but Marines are stubborn. Even the gay ones. Maybe the gay ones are MORE stubborn than the other ones.

I got a fund raising letter from Kerry today... well, from two of my friends who are working for Kerry (Ben and Ben). I sent 2000 dollars. I'll just pay my damn property taxes next month.

I hope it helps.

I dropped off film to be developed today and saw a guy so good looking that if he walked down the street in New Orleans, he'd turn heads in Algiers. He was working at the film counter. I can't remember whether I just flirted or actually dropped off any film as well. I don't care.

I'm going to send Joe back to pick up the photos to see if he has a similar reaction or if it's just me.

Father Mike is visiting. We just call him "Mike" but he's Father Mike. He's a Jesuit Priest. He's a university professor. He's a musician. He's an art historian. He's smart as hell. I have feelings of inadequacy when I'm around him.

Last night, we met Sinead and Mick for a late supper at the Italian pizza joint. Luca the waiter was just back from France looking tanned and as beautiful as ever. When we commented on how brown he was he looked at me with a smirk. I answered his tanned, self-satisfied look with the doleful phrase "Sono un pesche bianco!" It's true too. I am as white as a mackerel. We have had no spring here. Sinead loves it but she's not right anyway. I hate it. (I haven't sat out on my balcony even one time yet this season).

Dinner was great. The food's not as good as at my favorite Italian joint here but it was GOOD. Mike had a calzone that could have eaten Manhattan. I've never seen such a big thing. Whatever Mick had looked good. Some sort of pepper steak. Sinead, who is already so skinny she can play her ribs like a xylophone, ate three leaves of spinach and one slice of hard boiled egg. She didn't go hungry though, she filled up on San Pelligrino. I had lasagna. I didn't go hungry either.

We drank Grapa but not enough although by the time we left at 1130 it was beginning to dawn on us that the next day was a workday so all's well that ends well.

Luke is back from traipsing through the south of France with the fish king's ex. He missed an opportunity. He should have gone for the sexy Euro buzz upon leaving. It's easier to come back to work with a radical hairstyle change after a vacation.

Sinead is putting something in her hair that comes out of a bottle that looks like a pink dildo. It almost makes me wish I had long hair. She got it off the internet from a miracle worker who specializes in hair emergencies.

Gunther the gay hairdresser (overstatement? I think NOT) put platinum zebra stripes in her tawny tresses. When the crying was over, she turned to the internet. Voila! Pink dildo gel to the rescue.

Last night at dinner, Sinead showed me Mick's passport photo. Jesus! If I dated someone that baby-faced they'd call me a chicken hawk! He looks older now but he's still pretty fresh looking. Give him a week with us alone, he won't look so fresh (cheers Mick!).

"Your mouth is hanging open."

"No it's not, Joe!"

"Yes it was."

"Was not."

That's how it went as I was reading the latest letter from the DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY.

"I don't believe this shit" I said.

"What?"

I handed Joe the letter. It was a follow-up letter to the last one I got. This one "established the legal authority for recalls." "You know Joe," I said, "With things getting ready to wind down in Iraq, why the big push now?"

Joe looked at me and said "duh."

"What?"

"Wind DOWN? Are you KIDDING?"

That's when it hit me. This crowd in power wants things to completely blow up in Iraq after the handover of power. In fact we will probably find a reason to jump ugly with Syria while we're at it.

"I'm not going back on active duty, Joe. I'm not."

"What will you do?"

"I'll declare my homosexuality. I won't go back on active duty."

"It might cost you your current job too."

"So what." I said. " don't care. I don't know what the hell I'll do to pay the bills but I don't care."

The thing about being a "gay american wandering the world" is that it's a little pretentious sounding in a blog description. Face it, it's pretentious in any context. Imagine, a gay man being pretentious.

I don't want to be associated with the NASCAR crowd though, or the baptists, or their ilk. I hate ilk. I like being a GAY american because at least we get a sort of sympathy vote for being (perceived) liberal in a country where we are roundly despised.

These Europeans are much better to their gays than we are. We hate ours. Russia hates theirs too. Zhirinovsky is calling for camps and death penalties. Bush probably would too, if he thought he could get away with it. In the meantime he'll leave that sort of opining to Wolfowitz.

When these Italians we were talking to in Milano started in on us (with our square jawed military looks) about the crap going on in Iraq we told them "hey, we're against it too."

"How can you be against it too?" they asked.

"We're gay." We answered.

That stopped 'em cold. The kind of stop you get when the words and music completely don't match. They couldn't believe it. So we kissed and told them we were lovers. Then they believed it. Italians are passionate about their passion.

One of them said "so good looking, both of you! What a loss to zee women!"

Their loss, our gain.

The other gain to be made was the shift in tide. All of a sudden we had (our shorn, military looks notwithstanding) credibility as LIBERALS. It was a refreshing shift. Then the fun talk really began. We got to hear real opinions and share some.

There are a few more Italians now who know that not all americans are like madge and bob from dubuque.