Charlie

When one has nothing better to do, it is always fun to wonder what the next British monarchs will call themselves. Edward VII was actually named after his father, Prince Albert, and was called "Bertie" by the family, but he chose to use a traditional name rather than become the first "King Albert". George VI was also named Albert and called "Bertie" by his family, but he too chose a different name as monarch, only in his case it was the name of his father. Edward VIII was called "David" by his family, but he chose to continue his grandfather's name. Considering that Charles I and II were not exactly beloved monarchs, one wonders whether Prince Charles will want to resurrect that 17th century reference or choose something else (George VII?), or follow in the steps of Pope Francis and start a new tradition.

I have two cars, one with the gas cap on the left and other one on the right. Those little triangles are very helpful in reminding me which side of the pump to pull up to.

I just filled my car at my local station: $6.29/gal for regular. The person who used the the pump before me left the receipt at the pump: $170.88! It was obviously a pretty big tank.

I read it as a graduate student at U of P. The most unforgettable thing about it may have been the title.

The hoopla about the Platinum Jubilee this weekend has revived some memories for me. My maternal grandmother was born in 1885, in New York City, which qualified her to claim to be a native-born American. However, a child's nationality is usually determined by its parents, and in the 19th century, a married woman's nationality was determined by her husband's. Her mother was born and raised in Scotland by British parents, and emigrated on her own to New York, where she met and married my great-grandfather. He was born and raised in Bermuda, where his English family had lived for several generations; although he had moved to live in New York as a young man, he had never formally renounced his allegiance to his monarch Victoria, so my grandmother was technically a subject of the Queen-Empress. She was also the 12th of thirteen children born to my great-grandparents, and her two oldest sisters had both returned to Bermuda, where they married local men and raised their own families. My great-grandfather died suddenly when my grandmother was only three years old, and her mother sent her to Bermuda, to be raised by her father's elderly step-mother, helped by her two married sisters. She grew up as a typical child of the colonial Empire, with references to the monarchy everywhere, and she was seventeen before she finally returned to New York, a "British" teenager still mourning the recently deceased Queen Victoria. In New York, she lived with her twenty year old brother, who had lived there all his life, and his Irish-American wife. Her new sister-in-law had an unmarried thirty year old brother, who immediately fell in love with the teenager, and within a few months they were married, making her truly an American, by marriage as well as by birth. But she often felt confused about whether she was more British or more American. I spent a lot of time with my widowed grandmother when I was growing up (I was her oldest grandson), and I'm sure that my fascination with her bifurcated identity had a lot to do with my own personal and professional interest in American and British literature and history. By my adolescence, I had memorized the names and dates of both the American Presidents and the British monarchs. My undergraduate honors project was on Jane Austen (I hear someone murmuring, "That's so gay...." but she was a favorite of my grandmother as well), and I proposed a master's thesis on James Fenimore Cooper's feeble attempt to write an American novel in imitation of Austen to my advisor (he just rolled his eyes). The only cruise I have ever taken was to Bermuda, where I visited the family home in which my grandmother and great-grandfather were raised, and met some of my distant relations. I achieved my ambition to live in both New York and London. As a child, I watched Elizabeth's coronation on TV, and, of course, I went to England for Elizabeth's Silver Jubilee, the first such celebration in my lifetime. My grandmother always followed the news about all Victoria's successors, and if she were still alive, I'm sure she would be glued to the TV for this latest event.

Yes, like the fact that masturbation won't really make hair grow on your palms.

Actually, when I was young, no one knew the term "gay" except men who were gay.

I read the novel of that title sixty years ago, but don't remember anything about the plot anymore. Maybe I should find a copy and read it again.

Dancing on tiptoes.

Some people have wondered why I faithfully attended the high school reunions but didn't go to the college reunions. I grew up in a small town and went to school with pretty much the same kids from kindergarten through high school. But I went away to an out-of-state college and never lived in my hometown, or even my native state, again. The high school reunions were the best way to reconnect with the kids I had grown up with. My best friend in high school followed the same kind of path as I did, but we remained best friends for the rest of his life, and we always attended the reunions together. He even managed to attend the 35th reunion when he was dying of AIDS. As our classmates aged and became more sophisticated, many of them realized that both of us were gay, and often mistakenly assumed that we were a "couple." When I attended the 40th reunion alone, several of them privately offered me condolences on the loss of my "partner." The college experience was very different, because I didn't know anyone when I arrived there. Although I made friends over four years, the only relationship that survived long beyond graduation was with someone from a different class, so I didn't have the same motivation to return for the class reunions.

He actually said, "You can't go home again."

I managed to attend almost all of my high school reunions--usually every five years--through the 50th, but by then I was living thousands of miles away and it became too much of an effort to see fewer and fewer people I still cared about. I went to only one of my college class reunions, the 50th, because one of my favorite professors was going to be there as well, and because I was going to be inducted into a couple of alumni societies. It was worth the trip, because the professor died shortly afterwards, so I had a chance to tell him in person how much he had influenced my life. Surprisingly, another one of my professors was also there--the one who had taken advantage of me sexually. He had become a pathetic old man attached to his oxygen tank, and when I sat down next to him to speak to him, I realized he didn't remember me at all, which was just as well. I doubt that I will attend any more reunions.

I believe her problem was with reimbursement by the insurance company for in-home aides (they were not in an assisted living facility). It was ten years ago, and she did not go into details with me.

Thank goodness I had nothing on my schedule today, because I watched both men's semi-finals--nearly 8 hrs combined--and they were incredibly good. I was sorry to see 19 year old Carlos Alcaraz lose to Zverev, but the match between Nadal and Djokovic was sensational. Nadal, despite his declarations about his physical health being precarious, played as well as I have ever seen him play. and Djokovic was brilliant until he petered out in the final tie-break. If Nadal can keep it up through two more matches, I predict he will win his 14th title at Roland Garros.

No, I cannot give you details about her problems with the insurance company.

Some of my longtime platonic friends have been guys that I had sex with once when we first met, and never again. What started as sexual attraction quickly morphed simply into pleasure in one another's company.

That reminds me of my parents and the parents of my freshman dorm roommate in college. They met only once, on moving-in day, but they continued to exchange letters and Xmas cards for years, long after I had lost touch with that roommate.

I strongly resemble my father. My mother developed macular degeneration in old age, and by her late 90s she was close to being blind. A few times when I entered her room in the nursing home, she confused me with my father and called me by his name. My mother had a photo of my father in his early 20s hanging next to her bed in the nursing home. One of the nurses commented to me once, "You were a very handsome young man" (I was in my 60s by then). I accepted the compliment rather than point out that the photo had obviously been taken at least 70 years earlier.

I just returned from a trip from Palm Springs to Austin. Driving east, the gas was cheaper at every stop, as low as $4.09 for premium in Texas. Coming back, even though I didn't need it yet, I stopped and filled the tank in Yuma, last stop before California prices.

I had just moved into my first city apartment. I went out to find a store, in midday. On the street, I passed an attractive young man, we glanced at one another, smiled, and said hello. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes, and I mentioned that I had a new bed and needed to break it in. A half hour later we were in it. We ended up living together for four years.

Robert Morrison's The Regency Years, about the years in the early 19th century when the future King George IV was ruling as Regent in place of his insane father George III. He divides the book into topics, and one of the longest chapters is Ch. 3, "Sexual Pastimes, Pleasures and Perversities." There is a lot in it about homosexuality, including male brothels, in Merrie Olde England.

I'm sure your interest in Marton is entirely charitable.

My father started driving in 1924; he got his first car with automatic transmission in 1958. I don't remember him having any difficulty adjusting to it. After all, he had already adjusted to not using a hand crank to start the car. I do remember him having a hard time adjusting to having a gear shift on the steering column instead of the floor, in our 1947 Pontiac.

I have been out of the sporting news loop for a couple of weeks. Has there been any talk of individual players boycotting Wimbledon on principle, especially since no ranking points will be on the line for them? What would really affect the AELTC financially is an absence of notable players to draw spectators to the event. Have any commercial sponsors pulled out?

I remember listening to my mother talking with a neighbor about sending a CARE package to refugee children in Europe. (The war in Ukraine resurrected that memory for me.)