I've always said I don't have a "type". A type of man to whom I'm attracted. I've always found it a little sad that so many do. You often hear the phrase, "oh he's not my type". I'm only attracted to 25 to 27 year old blue-eyed blonds, between 5'7" and 5'9", a little thin but with a nice chest and arms with a little bubble butt of Scandinavian or sometimes German descent, no chest hair but with a little hair on his legs and ass, whose first name starts "B" preferably, Brent or Brandon and has a........what the f*#*! For me variety is the spice of life. So many men, so little time. I love them all. Short ones, skinny ones, men who climb on rocks. But you know, like I admitted yesterday, I do have a special little soft spot for the white-trash boys I grew up with. Not only did I travel back to my home town this past weekend but I actually spent time in one of the local bars. Thinking back now, I can hardly believe I did it myself. What was I thinking? But there they were. Some seated at the bar next to me, some at tables across the room. The old feelings (and hormones) of my youth came flooding back. Now what is it about a man in late twenties, with unkempt hair that needs a good cut, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt, tight jeans and boots, that wide toothy smile and twinkling eyes that make my knees go a little weak and my mind to think about stripping off all his ill-fitting clothes and licking him from stem to stern? Do you know, what can it be? I suppose it's mostly because I grew up with those kind of guys. They were the first who attracted me and were the subjects of my fantasies. I can still remember my pre-pubescent crushes, Curt Anderson (all the girl's dream-boat), Pat Kosman, Clyde Wallace, Tim Ryan, and Paul Schleier. Big sigh! Of course, at the time I didn't understand why I thought the boys were cute and not the girls but I sure do remember thinking so. Who says you go back. Well I really don't want to go back. Yikes. Sitting there in that bar last Friday, my common sense did prevail even though the half-dozen or so Budweiser and tomato juices I was drinking had gone to my head, and I didn't press my luck flirting with them........very much. Thanks to my guardian angel for that one. Instead I found myself playing pool with a toothless woman named Marci. She was on her second or third pitcher of beer and I think she thought I was cute and even interested. Double yikes! Fortunately for me, the beer got to her before she got to me and she disappeared leaving her last pitcher of beer partially full. I hope no one takes offence at the term I used, white-trash. For I consider myself or at least my roots to be that way. I do not use disparagingly or to be callous or cruel but with endearment and loving thoughts of those boys and my youth gone by.

I've always loved me a white trashy boy...

I traveled back to the land-o-my-birth this past weekend. A small town in south central Iowa called Albia. Now the good news is that Albia is in Monroe County which is in the second from the last row of counties at the bottom of the state. For they say that is Missouri would annex the last row of counties in Iowa it would increase the average IQ of both states. The scary part is that it's not really an exaggeration. Now it so happens my trip coincided with Restoration Days, an annual summer celebration with a parade, craft fair, music on the town square, and the annual "Follies" show. The theme of Restoration Days is of the time the town was first settled back in the mid-nineteenth century. Well, my mother bought me a ticket for the "Follies' knowing I'm an avid thespian myself. With bated anticipation, I slammed down a couple tiny triples of rum & coke and headed for the old King Theatre and the show. A short walk from where I parked the car on the square, I passed one of the local corner bars. I noticed a cute young man with a yellow T-shirt and ball cap on sitting out front, smoking. I smiled. He shouted to me, " Hey, come on and have a beer". I almost turned around right then but instead slowed my stride and shouted back, "I'm going to need something a little stronger than beer". "Well, come on then" he replied. I continued my short walk, entered the theatre, found my seat and while waiting the five or ten minutes for the curtain to go up, listened to the pre-show sing-a-long of Roll Out the Barrel. At last, the house lights out, the curtain's going up, the orchestra starts to play and I actually sat all the way through the opening number. I sat through the next act as well, eight septuagenarians doing what they called a dance routine. I won't go into any more detail about the show itself other than to say if it was only one tenth as good as Corky St. Clair's musical about Blaine Missouri in Waiting for Guffman, I would have stayed. So I decided to forego the rest of the show and head back to The Owl's Nest bar and the friendly young man. Now I really don't like to stereotype or label anyone being a victim of stereotypes my whole life but let's just Buddy (the young man's name) and the rest of the patrons in the bar only reinforced my believe that white trash is alive and well and living in Albia. I've always admitted that's the way I grew up. And Buddy, cute of face, a little hunky of body, a little slow of wit, why he's my fantasy come true. Can I help it if I still have a secret fondness for those white trashy boys. He was a good-looking one to boot. Then he started in on the "gay thing". That it didn't matter to him that I am gay but he's not. How many times did he say, "but I'm not gay" that evening. I lost count. Enough for me to say "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much." Sigh.

Just a Google search away

Do you ever wonder what ever happened to good old Delbert. You know, the college friend to whom you were once so close but after graduation and the real world, you have no idea where he is. What he's doing. Who he's doing. Well a few months ago, I started thinking about a dear close friend from college days, Cheryl. Cheryl Felicia Rhoads, the bull-horn of the mid-west. Cheryl came to the U of I from the burbs of Chicago to study theatre. A gifted and talented actress already she made her mark early on the theatre department and beyond. Back in the day we used to do huge musicals at the Hancher Auditorium, a beautiful 2500 seat house on the campus. Her freshman year it was Cabaret and Cheryl wanted the part of Fraulein Schneider, a truly great and dramatic musical-theatre role. Well after the initial "cattle call" auditions she did NOT get called back for the role. Taking after her sweet, timid, mother.....right?!?!...Cheryl marches herself into Cosmo Catalano's office. He's not only the director but the chair of the department. "What do you mean, I'm not called back for Schneider?!?" Well suffice to say Cheryl got the part. As a Freshman mind you among a cast of some the most talented graduate students I've seen, she got the part. And was brilliant in it! I can still see it, feel it, relive the moment when she finished her dramatic Act II song, What Would You Do? She didn't get thunderous applause at that moment. You could hear a pin drop in that huge auditorium. The ultimate compliment, the audience was so entranced with her performance, they could barely move, let alone applaud. I shall never forget it. Now back to my point I guess. So I Googled her name and lo and behold found several articles about her including her email address. I wrote right away and much to my delight she replied right away. She had been and still is making her living in acting and writing. For 21 years in Hollywood and now in the DC area, teaching. How lucky those students are to have Ms Rhoads as a teacher. I'm including (hopefully) a compilation video of some of her work. ( Ok, I can't seem to get the blasted video to load, yo can always go to You Tube-Cheryl Felicia Rhoads and check it out) I can recall her doing similar routines for our regular little college lunch click in the River Room Cafeteria. Although I don't seem to find the one of her singing the Aldonza song from Man of la Mancha as Shirley Temple. I nearly choked on my chicken. I love you Cheryl.

Just in case........

I installed a counter yesterday and much to my surprise I had several hits. More than I thought for only being up and running for less than 2 weeks. So I'm interested in feedback, leave me comment if you would, please. I'm sure my blog will evolve because who knows where the mind of mischa may go. Thanks so much.

Tea Rooms of Today or How I Learned to Type with One Hand so I Could Masturbate with the Other

Cruising used to be so much more fun. Not just when you landed some nice hunka chunka but the actual act of cruising. Even before the day of the dirty book store there was the Tea Rooms. Eventually this termed broadened to include public restrooms, hotel restrooms (even lobbies or so I heard) or whatever spot the often closeted gay men could seek out and try for a little nooky. Now we have ManHunt and Gay.com and a plethora of cyber communities so you don't have to leave the comfort of your home to go looking for, well, sex. I like the days when you at least had a chance of knowing what a person looked like in the flesh before you "assumed the position". Now you really don't know who is on the other side of the screen or the keyboard or the cyber-nether-world. I recall a cartoon my friend Vera told me. Picture of a canine sitting at a computer in a sex chat room. The caption said, in cyberspace no one knows you're a dog. I always find the truth the funniest joke of all. And ain't it truth? I am constantly amuzed and amazed at some of the profiles I find on ManHunt. Now these are for real.
Crombie21 Age 23. Pic is a headless torso with chisled chest and 6-pack abs. Headline: Chances are what you want doesn't match what I want.
Benj086 Age 22, Similar headless pic. Headline: Not into old fat hairy dudes so don't even bother ( 27 or under). Now I assure you no self-respecting old queen would ever refer to himself as "dude"
Freshandrew3 Age 25 No Pic, Headline: Into masculine athletic men ( hmm sounds good to me) No girly guys unless your ass is the IT of all asses.
TopperIC Age 36, Pic is of waist to knees seated in a chair, wearing white undies. Headline: Only looking 4 hot mouth or tight ass to fuck. Young and in shape is what I'm into
Then there is the numerous profile pix of dicks. Now believe I love a nice "do do" (that's my name for a penis) but I'd really like to see the rest of you before I took the plunge, as it were. Some are so gigantic they can't be real, or they're a photo from a magazine or movie. I truly wonder what these guys are thinking. I think some just like the idea of getting another guy all worked and thinking he's going to connect with that end all of do dos. Then never really come through because they are nothing like the photo they have posted. They just get off on the fact that they have made someone want them. Now that I've finally joined the 21st century and started this blog, I do occasionally use the computer to cruise. I have a real photo of myself in my profile, you can clearly see my face and clothed body. I've yet to be able to take a picture of my do do let alone put it on the internet. I want everyone to know what I look like so there are no surprises if there's an in person connection. I naively expect the same from others but like I said, in cyber space, no one knows you're a dog. And I have been surprised a few times. So cruise on, men. Have fun but be careful. And remember this, "I'm not a size queen.....but I can be impressed.

Why do I love this movie?......

It would be so hard for me to pick an all-time favorite movie. Top 20 sure, top 10 with some thinking, top 5 ok, maybe with a gun to my head. There are a handful for whatever reason I would put on that top 5 list. Aliens is one of them. I've watched this movie maybe 200 or 300 times, almost as much as Auntie Mame and Strictly Ballroom. For several years I worked a part-time job at a local video rental called That's Rentertainment. It stayed open till mid-night and every night at 9:30pm, like clock-work, I'd pop Aliens in the VCR. The story really isn't original and a sequel, to boot. Screenplay and direction by Titanic giant James Cameron, it's pacing is taut, tight and tense. The dialogue is as quotable as the two a-fore-mentioned films. Of course due to some interpersonal problems I've been having for almost a week, it's the line, "You're not going to sleaze your way out of this one, Burke. I'm gonna nail your ass right to the wall, ya hear, right to the wall". Ah, there, I feel a little better just putting it print. There are SO many great lines! Who can forget Newt's (Carrie Henn) eerie delivery, "We'd better be getting back soon. They mostly come at night...........mostly." Squeal! Whenever I use regular James Cameron actor, Bill Paxton's line as Pvt Hudson, "We're on an express elevator to Hell. Goin down!" I get the oddest looks from the company I'm in. I can't imagine why. I guess I just love the characters and the actor's portrayal of them. Adrian Biddle's dark and dank cinematography captures and enhances the sinister, isolated and even claustrophobic feeling in the colony base. Kudos as well to James Horner's score and Peter Lamont's production design. But bottom line it's Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) and her Oscar nominated performance that must really do it for me. She's strong, courageous, loving, smart, loyal and a good shot. She confronts her fears. She spits in the eye of danger. Destroys her enemy and even though I have just a smidgen of sympathy for the main villain only because she a Queen, in the end........she blows it out of the goddam airlock. If only............

They're back....

Ah, life in a college town! I live in a Big 10 university town, The University of Iowa, go Hawks. ( I can't believe I said that). Tens of thousands of students monopolizing, parking, restaurants, movies, streets, they are everywhere. Then there's that wonderful, albeit all too brief period, in August when you can always find a parking spot down town, movies aren't too crowded and traffic isn't all jammed up. Sigh. You have to appreciate it while it lasts because it isn't long before they once again they descend upon my city. Then I look around and think hmmm....I remember now why this isn't all that bad. Cute, shirtless boys! They're everywhere. Tragic, isn't it? I'm thankful for warm summer weather that with any luck will continue well into September. Those college boys just can't wait to strip off the top for the smallest of reasons. Frisbee on the Pentacrest, a jog down the street, a stroll down the street, a walk down the street. Look at those flat little tummies, chiseled chests, bare bulging biceps. I could weep. I wish I knew who first designed those fabulous nylon shorts, I'd give him a big gold star and a medal. Can you imagine the titillation of spying the various sized bulges and wobbles in the front of those shorts. No tighty-whities for that one. Boxers maybe, most likely commando, especially when you can see the outline of........well....you get the picture. Some how it makes up for all the inconveniences of putting up with them almost year round. The cute, young, wide-eyed freshman fresh from the farm or the burbs or who in the heck cares where they're from, they here...........in my city..............wearing practically nothing.......... looking all so enticing.......... cute as can be......... all ready and willing........... for the looking. One can still look. Ah sigh.