pdxleo

Never did understand why the kept pumping the possibly-unfixable product out of the plant- did they think that they could just buffalo their way thru any inquiry into their safety "program" and convince the flying public that a few lines of programming could keep them alive? This will end up destroying the entire US aviation industry, if they can't get a handle on this. Growing up in the Northwest, Boeing was a respected technological leader, and now they have thrown that all in the trash, and the hundreds of thousands of middle class jobs and families are at risk.

Oooh, needs me a Jamocha shake.....

My Ukranian guy is a stout, blond muscly rugby type- insatiable when we can see each other, retired from the business due the the ex-wife's legal issues leaving him to raise two preteens alone, poor guy Wish I could spend more time in FLA with them, but I'm hella proud he's doing the right thing by the kids and working days to provide a stable home!

Come on down!!

Yes, welcome- and please try to get to Palm Springs in April, and we'll share the sunscreen gladly!

An important point to keep in mind- be discrete about your request! More than one dancer has told me that they get either a bar fine for setting up obvious off-site meets, or are expected to pay a portion of their earnings if the bar management even suspects they are working for a bar patron. The importance for the liquor license/adult entertainment permit holder to prove to Johnny Law and the booze nazis that they are keeping prostitution off their floors is paramount to them- the dancers have their ways around it, but if you are sloppy drunk and roaming around, being filmed and recorded while loudly pursuing a cute dancer, yer gonna get shot down, cowboy! It's a fine line, and is different from bar to bar, some times it can take more than one visit to figure it out. Happy hunting!

The word "detente" is an accurate depiction of my upbringing. Parents were divorced, Mom had custody, every other weekend at Dad's except when he was working out of town (railway engineer), so 98 percent of life was at Mom's. Eldest child of six, both parents eldest children of their families also, so life was lived under the microscope of a lot of folks- we lived across the street from Mom's parents, in a small town. Looking back, it was a recipe for disaster, could have turned out really ugly. I'm fairly sure Dad figured it out first, unless Mom put him up to this: He would leave old Playgirl mags and such n the seat back pocket of the Celica for me to find on the weekends that he was in town for visitation. I must have been 9 yrs old, about 1973, I don't recall being particularly effeminate as a kid, but who knows- anyway, I guess he thought it might help me figure things out. I always read them in the back seat, left them in the car at the end of the visitation. Didn't think about taking them back to Mom's with me. Forward a couple years- age 11, in 1975 &76. Dad is remarried, new wife is NOT interested in having reminders of her husband's previous marriage, so visitation becomes a one-to-two hour outing every three weeks or so. Thus, no surreptitious magazine viewing anymore. I had a morning paper route to earn my own ducats; as long as I put half in my savings account, and show Mom the bank book proving the deposit, the rest of the money is mine to spend. I found that, if I added a copy of Playgirl to the few things I would pick up at the 24hr Osco Drug on Saturday mornings at 5AM-( that's where the paperboys picked up their papers, their covered loading dock), the cashier never gave me any guff. The mags were behind the counter, below the cigarette rack, and even at age 11, I was close to six feet tall, so I guess they assumed I was of age- aah the Seventies! Altho I was tall, puberty was not quite finished for me, so after looking at the mags I would throw then in the trash bin. Then one weekend at my friend Mark's home, I was introduced to the concept of masturbation, solo and mutual, and things became much more clear! So the mags started coming home with me, sometimes after a few days with Mark, sometimes right away. With many younger brothers in the house, privacy was not on the house menu, so Mom's solution was to give each of us a metal tool box and a combination lock. The things we wanted to not share with brothers went into the locked box, and GOD FORBID anyone break into your brother's box! Little did we know that she had kept a copy of the combinations for herself "just in case you forget". I didn't tell her when I suspected that Mitch had gotten my box open, and I swapped locks with my school locker. And because I was generally a good boy, I never gave her any reason to need to see inside my lockbox, unlike my brothers- who each had their boxes opened after some transgression or another, and finding smokes, knives, etc. She had made a couple of us open the box in front of her, but Donnie refused to, so she just opened it herself, boy was that a surprise! Anyway, the lock box idea died away, but I still had mine deep in my closet, filling slowly with printed proof of my (and slowly growing circle of confidantes) increasing sexual awareness Of course it all comes to ahead finally- Easter Sunday 1976. Dad is in town, and Grandma wants the have all the grandkids over for Easter brunch. Mom bundles all us kids into the VistaCruiser to take us across town to her ex-mother-in-law, warning us to be on our best behavior, "don't you DARE embarrass me in front of your Gramma Dottie!' When we got home, we scattered after changing clothes. Before late supper, Mom calls out, "I want all your dirty clothes to do laundry, Lennie come help me." So we gather things in my little brothers rooms, the she heads into my room (being the oldest I had my room to myself) and goes straight into the closet. Calls out with a tone to her voice, "Lennie, get in here!" I see that my lockbox is out in the middle of the closet floor, not where I left it on the top shelf, and the lock hasp has been twisted off, the now useless lock hanging off to the side. "You wanna tell me about what's in this box?", she says , with a cold edge in her voice that I don't ever remember hearing before- she sounds like when Grandma Lena has been drinking and wandering around the neighborhood. It dawns on me that she has taken the opportunity of having all the kids away from home for a full afternoon to do some snooping (in a way I can;t blame her, we are a wild bunch) . Looking back through a forty-plus year lens, I can tell that this might have been the first time I felt, well, ashamed of being myself, in a way. Sure, I'd been made ashamed of some things in my childhood, as anyone would- that's how you raise a kid, gotta make them see right from wrong, punish when needed. Going back and apologizing to the toy store owner after stealing a Matchbox car, telling the neighborhood girl who is a thalidomide victim that calling her a flipper girl was a bad thing and I'm sorry. and many others are what turn savage untamed children into productive upstanding citizens. But this was different. Feeling ashamed of WHO I was, not just something wrong I had done, having to be judged as a "bad person" about something that I was beginning to see was going to be a permanent fixture of life. I now see that I aged from twelve to eighteen that day, there was no going back. I spent the summer of 1976 taking a bus downtown Tuesdays and Fridays, talking with a therapist that my parents arranged. At first my walls were tall and strong, but eventually he helped me see things in reality, that life was going to be hard and I would need all my intellect to find my way thru to adulthood. As a twelve year old patient, he would have to report our findings to my folks,but he managed to do it in away that satisfied Mom and got her off my back. I was locked down hard that summer, but when school started (freshman year high school) the "detente" began, and what would now be called "don't ask, don"t tell" became the norm. Mom, new step-dad, and brothers moved across town my senior year, I stayed behind to finish with my graduating class, and then at sixteen,it was off to college in the Bay Area- another story for another time

Usually I have the local friends and relatives over, around 8-10 people. Last Thanksgiving, my longtime friend and roommate Therese passed away the day before, so Thanksgiving was basically called off- drinks at the lounge of the Chinese restaurant in downtown Tigard was the get together, as a farewell to her. This year, my brother's inlaws asked if I could do a ranch-sit for them at their orchard in the Columbia River gorge above Hood River, OR, so they could travel- I jumped at the chance, to have the time alone and not have to be reminded about all the changes over the last year. Its been bittersweet, but I did cook up a regular turkey meal and fed the two farmhands staying over for the winter. At least the food isn't going to waste, could not have eaten all that myself! Happy Thanksgiving to all of us!

As a Northwestern native, apple pies were always present at any family function, and I have trained myself to make a passable blackberry/marionberry pie and crumble. While in Florida, a slice of Publix key lime is part of any barbeque supper.

My number is 16, over the last five years- still friendly with most of the guys:)

Do it- it"s hella fun, and great people too- I hit the Long Island venue whenever I'm in NYC

One sister and four brothers, all irredeemably straight. Two nephews and two nieces, both the girls are lesbians.

Observatioms from my weekend Miami visit - Just my opinions, feel free to discuss! 1 - This is NOT the same as the old Doral FR. If you had visited that locale, you will find a completely different experience in North Miami. Talking with the staff on a Friday night, they explained that the Doral business plan was unsustainable, with the location and staffing issues. The new Rooster is meant to be more like a Twist for the North Miami neighborhood., set up with several smaller rooms. The building is a converted Seventies restaurant, low ceilings and all. The location at the west end of the 79th Causeway should work for the persons in North Beach- valet parking for $10, but I was able to parallel park on 79th Street within a block. Door fee was $10 and yes, you have to fill out a membership card. As long as the name on your ID matches the name you put on the form, that's all they need. The place has two bars, a billiards room, and the main stage area. Seating for about 30 in the main room- a low small stage in the center of that room--, with the low ceiling, it seemed to be an intimate room. 2 - The crew seems very determined to make the new Rooster a neighborhood venue- hours are 3PM to 3AM. Dancers started at 9PM Friday night, as the night went on, more guys showed up- by midnight there were about twelve guys, mainly muscly types. Just a couple of smaller guys (including one I have seen before at Johnson's), so if ya like "em big, this will work for you! Drinks seemed to priced at the average, not a ripoff. One bar just inside the front door to get your first drink ( they said it's a two-drink minimum, but I saw no enforcement mechanism.) Main bar is in a long room outside the main stage area, so the drinks line doesn't interfere with the show room - a great idea that more clubs should consider! Billiards room is off to the side of the main bar, again to avoid viewing interference. VIP rooms are in a hallway to the back side of the show room. As in the Doral FR, it's a mixed crowd, 80 pct male, 20 pct female. Not hard to figure out which dancers are straight, they flock to the females- kinda funny to watch! 3 - Yes, the main stage is not full-nude here, down to briefs and buns shots only. Just a little bit more revealing than Johnson's or Boardwalk, but not enough to be noticable. Typical three-song set for each guy. Because of the low ceiling and the low stage, the dancing is more restrained- Damn do I miss those high ceilings and two 18-foot poles in Doral- but you're much closer to the guys. 4 - The VIP rooms are FAR better than the old club! The rooms have full doors- no curtains or beads, but honest-to-God privacy, yay! VIP entrance fee $40, $100 per 15 minutes to the dancer. I took two guys back, both very accomodating- apparrenty, dancers rules seem to be anything goes. Both stripped completely once the door closed, none of my requests were refused- a sweaty funky time was had by all! Best VIP room experience I've had in years in Florida. This alone made the trip into Miami worth the trouble. So, if you give it a chance, you might have a great time if you have an open mind.

I'm working in South Florida the next ten days, be glad to check out the place and write up a review

Plus one on the hot tub- a single guy can have a good time by having an open attitude and pushing yourself a bit outside your shell. I'll be there in a few days myself, but with my Phoenix guy, for our three-year anniversary - looking forward to meeting a new, varied assortment of like-minded men. Beware, the W can be habit-forming!!

When I've done this in the past, I've always offered to set up the escort's flights as a "do you want me to get your flight home for a couple days after we are done?" so that he knows that his free time would be after our visit had ended. Never been a problem in my experience.

Jesus Christ its 98 degrees out, and we gotta deal with effing pumpkin spice- aaargh!

Being in a partnership with a female certainly does not preclude having an interest in our hobby, altho there are different ways of participating in the activity and requires a level of honesty with your partner that can be hard to develop.

"Darsh" was a not-uncommon term for us growing up in the '70s in Montana and North Idaho, maybe it migrated east when Seatle kids came over to Lake Coeur d'Alene on summer vacation. Another one I never hear anymore is calling an upholstered couch a 'daveno", as in Grandma saying "You kids canNOT have your ice cream on my nice daveno, go out and make your mess on the patio!" I always thought is was a contraction of "davenport", describing the lounge sofas in the lobby of the Davenport Hotel in Spokane, WA. But, the only time I've ever heard "daveno" is in North Idaho and environs.

A while back, while working and living in Washington State, I had the habit of running across the street from work to the Zippy Mart and grabbing a morning donut and coffee. Got to know the morning staff well, including one cashier who was the younger sister of a high school chum. Once we figured out how we knew each other, we would have a brief chat each day she was working. I also picked up the nasty habit of a weekly lottery ticket purchase. Just one per week, like the odds of one in eight million was enough to keep me honest! One Friday, Stephanie and I had our chat, and she asked if I was buying my lottery ticket for Saturday- so, of course I got my ticket. Got up on Sunday and while reading the Spokesman Review, I checked my ticket and, lo and behold, it was a five-out-of-six match- good for $1200! Yay! I cashed it in at the lottery office, and put a $100 bill aside- the next time I saw Stephanie, I"d give her a gift for reminding me to get my ticket. The next Thursday, I go across and she's working - I play it casual, get my fix and chat, and on my way out the door, I turn and say, "by the way, your reminder to get a lottery ticket was a good omen, it was a winner! So, here's a hundred for you as thanks." Her face turned three shades of purple, and she began quietly sobbing. I asked what gives, and she told me that she needed $80 to pay for her kids' school pictures the next day, and she was going to have to go without pictures this year, but now she could get them done! Altho she was a friend and I would have given her the money if she had asked, she never would have, so it was kismet that worked out in that way. Since then I have tried to pay it forward whenever the opportunity presents, and it helps me combat the ugliness that sometimes can take over the psyche.

Check out the article in this week's Willamette Week ( wweek.com ) concerning the experiences of Ms. DiCarlo, and the cottage industry here in Oregon of developing advanced dildo technology- who would have thought this industry would take off? Or, maybe, why did this industry take so long to explode might be the more thoughtful question.

The state/provincial govt's of Washington, Oregon, and British Columbia have announced a study to develop the Cascades service between Eugene, Portland, Seattle and Vancouver into a 200-mph high-speed service. Portland to Seattle down town to down town in an hour, Seattle to Vancouver in 75 minutes. Unfortunately, the existing Burlington Northern-Union Pacific track bed can't be improved to that standard, so a new route will be needed, and land acquisition cost will be in the billions. The cost of widening I-5 to handle the car and truck loads will also be in the billions, and the air shuttles are feeding into already overburdened airports, so no matter what, money will need to be spent. Rail is by far the least ecologically destructive transport, but government needs the taxpayers to learn to give up their cars

Fer sure:D

Speak of the devil - an email today advertising for auditions at the new NE 79 ST location this weekend, hope they are up and running by the time of my September visit.

What is this "meal on a plane" thing of which you speak?!?