Charlie

Mike Carey's comment convinced me that it would be foolish to get rid of the snow shovels, so I'm saving them---just in case. (After all, if we do have a blizzard, where does one acquire snow shovels in Palm Springs?)

"Twas the 18th of April in '75, hardly a man is now alive, who remembers that famous day and year." (From The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere)

What to do with it? I have started going through the shelves in my late partner's home office space, and I discovered numerous folders of photographs he had taken over the years in places he had visited. I am not interested in the photos, and I don't think anyone in his family would be interested (he was an architect and they are mostly of buildings that caught his eye), so I bit the bullet and threw all the folders in the trash--the trash bin was so heavy I couldn't lift it, and had to wheel it to the curb. I feel slightly guilty for throwing it away, but someone would have to do it eventually because I don't know what anyone else would do with it. Next I have to start on all the pages he cut out of magazines and newspapers.

I don't think I would call that "reading."

"Give me men to match my mountains"

Although I have traveled all over the world, and have even lived in other countries, I have rarely suffered any unpleasant experience for being an American. However, I have not been out of the US since the beginning of COVID, so I really don't know what to expect if I venture abroad again in the future.

I just paid $58 to put 12 gallons of regular grade gas in my car, at the station at the supermarket where I can use reward points from my food shopping there. I need to eat more and drive less.

Da king!

Before I saw the label on this photo, I said to myself, "That guy looks a lot like Rock Hudson, and judging from the cars, the photo is at least 60 years old."

I have almost always had an attic or a basement in which I store the things I don't use but can't bring myself to throw away. Now that I have neither space, I find that my two-car garage is overflowing with the stuff, so I can barely squeeze in my one car. I keep telling myself that I need to go through it and throw things away, but every time I start, I find things that I forgot I had, and can't bring myself to just discard it: do I really need to keep my late spouse's old architectural projects for a house I haven't owned in years? what about snow shovels (in Palm Springs)?.

My last house back East was a three story town house plus a full basement; in California my houses have been only one story and no basement. I don't miss the stairs, but I do miss the basements as convenient places for storing things.

If he is straight, I don't think he really understands the term the way most of us do.

I had a copy of that issue when it was new!

Unfortunately, I have a previous commitment that afternoon,, but thanks for the invitation.

I have no idea why a hairy ass turns me on.

My parents would pretty much roll their eyes whenever they heard anyone say, "Asians are ......," "Blacks are.....," "Italians are....," etc. They made it clear to me that human beings are individuals and should be regarded as such, no matter their ethnicity or race. When it came to who I was attracted to sexually, the most important characteristic was whether or not they were male. There were plenty of males who did not attract my sexual interest, but it was never due to the color of their skin, the language they spoke, or their preferences in food or music. I was much more interested in the shape of their bodies, their hair patterns, their facial character, and their behavior. He didn't have to be tall, dark and handsome--he could just as well be short, light, and handsome. And, of course, he had to be interested in having sex with me.

I realize that you are trying to be reassuring, but in fact I retired more than two decades ago, so I don't think my obvious memory lapses are a minor transient issue for me. I also spent several years caring for a spouse who had Alzheimer's, so I am pretty familiar with the disease's effects.

I used to be known for my memory of people and names. I used to be a college professor, and my colleagues marveled that after the first day of class I could remember every new student by name. Now I meet neighbors I've known for years on the street, and I can't remember their names. I find my loss of memory of names--people, places, products, etc.--extremely unnerving. I'm wondering if it's time to consult my partner's Alzheimer's doctor--if I can remember his name🤔.

My favorite gym years ago was at the McBurney YMCA on 63rd Street, because many of the guys using it were also staying there, so one could segue right from the gym into the privacy of their bedroom.

The Steel gym has apparently changed since I was a member there a number of years ago. when I never saw any activity in the locker room.

It is worth remembering that many gay men were raised at a time or in a culture in which homosexual activity was not merely disapproved but actually against the law, so being themselves and accepting their orientation was extremely dangerous. It is not easy to be self-accepting when one's natural identity is dangerous to one's very survival in the surroundings in which one is confined.

When I was young in the 1950s, American men could be persecuted for even being perceived as homosexuals, which is why I never even heard the term "gay" until the first time I had sex with another male in 1960. In the early 1960s I knew a somewhat effeminate young man who had been arrested in a suburban area because the police thought he was cruising (he claimed he wasn't, but he was convicted anyway). Now I can be open about my sexual orientation in a public meeting, can watch openly gay men on TV, and can be legally married to another man. That's my idea of progress.

I know I told this story here before on a thread about "My first time......" I started my sex life when most gay men were in the closet and there wasn't a resource like this one to consult (the personal computer still hadn't been invented). I was picked up in a public men's room by a guy who cruised me and took me back to his place, where he introduced me to all the basic acts. As I was getting dressed afterwards, I said, "Wow! I didn't realize that these things were possible!" He looked at me in confusion and said, "But I asked you if you were gay, and you said 'Yes.'" I had to admit that I didn't even know what "gay" meant. The OP obviously knows what the term means and where to turn for advice about the subject, as I did not. There has been a lot of practical advice offered here about how to start having physical interaction with other men, and the writer has taken advantage of it. I'm wondering whether he now feels "gay" as a result, or simply "sexually experienced."

Although I possess numerous CDs, I have gotten into the habit of only turning on a radio station called "Classical California" when I want to listen to music, especially when I am driving. It's a "classical music" (e.g., Bach, Beethoven, Stravinsky, etc.) station, hence the name.

According to today's LA Times, the average price for a gallon of gas in CA is $5.66, but there are places in the state that advertise as much as $9.69/gallon.😮