Category Archives: The Basics

Last weekend, Ray and I did all sorts of yard work in preparation of Spring.  The Equinox is right around the corner and soon the days will be getting longer and warmer.

I can’t wait!

Part of prepping for the upcoming season involved looking after my fish pond.  I have seven goldfish.  The big guy in the middle of the photo, Gaston, was one of my first.  He must be at least seven years old.  The other fish at the lower left of the photo is also about the same age.  They made it through a few Chicago winters and a cross-country drive in a five gallon bucket.  All the others are new to me.  I got them last year at a local pond place. 

We got the fish pond cleaned up, the fountains going again and Ray trimmed back all the dead stuff from last year.  The best, best part is that we’ve had a steady drizzle all night long and the temp has been in the 70’s so in just a matter of days, things will be popping out all over. 

I have been thrown off my workout schedule a bit.  I’m not happy with what’s going on at the moment.  You see, I was told to not workout as frequently and eat, eat, eat in order to build.  Well, I’m eating more and lifting less frequently (with even more weight) and all I’m seeing is fat, fat, fat.  It’s not a lot of fat but it’s enough to be alarming.  The gain-fat to gain-muscle ratio is not working in my favor.  I’m one of those lucky people who gains weight in his neck first.  If I add a few pounds to my frame, I instantly start sporting a meat-beard on my already elongated oval Nordic face.   Not a pretty sight. 

The good thing is that I can lose the fat quickly with my high metabolism.  I think I’m just going to resign myself to the fact that I’m ectomorphic and will probably always have a lean, trim physique.  While I still enjoy a good workout, I’m just not bulking up.  At least I sleep better, I’m happy and my sex drive is at full steam (which is probably the last thing I need–especially now that Spring is coming).

I was just kind of hoping I would bulk up fast like Ray does.  

I have to hit the shower.  Going to work half day and then to Tucson for a follow-up with the skin cancer doc.

On Monday the temperature went up to 86 degrees and pretty much stayed there for a while after sunset.  It was the first day of the year that felt kind of summer-like.  In Chicago, we called this the Yes Day (except it didn’t occur until late May). 

The Yes Day is that first really warm day at the tail end of the winter where you open all the windows in the house, put on shorts and a t-shirt (if anything at all) and walk around saying,  “Yes…oh yes…mmmmmmm….yes.”

It felt so good!

I had flipped the solar heater on over the weekend and now the water temp is in the 70s.  It was originally about 55.  There is a good chance we may be in the pool by this Sunday.  

I need a warm weekend.  I’m still depressed about my friend Brooke–as evidenced by my lack of blogging.  

While I’m sad at the loss of my friend, I am reminded of my own mortality.  I am reminded that people just keel over and die without reason, without a chance to leave a forwarding address.  I wonder where they go.  Brooke, where are you?  It’s as if the Grim Reaper trailed his finger ever so slightly down my back leaving an icy reminder that I too will eventually die.

Not to worry about me though.  I am a man who came out the same year as AIDS and understand the process of sadness.  Belive you me, those of us who made it through the AIDS crisis know how to grieve.  What we don’t know is how to comprehend the idea of barebacking, PnP and HIV positive people who have the uncanny ability to casually ejaculate inside of another human being knowing full well that it will infect them…but I digress. 

I feel like when Brooke died, she took a little piece of me with her and it still hurts–but enough about that.  

The other fun thing going on is–well, this isn’t exactly fun–I’m having a little bit of a health scare (again!). 

Every year at work, they do free health screenings.  In October, I had my annual prostate cancer screening.  It involves a digital exam (digital as in finger–not pixels and contrary to popular belief, I don’t like having things stuck up my arse).  I also had a PSA blood test.  My PSA was right where it always is at around 2.  

A couple of weeks ago, as part of the free health screenings, they offered a blood draw to test for a number of things including PSA.  Everything checked out fine.  My HDL and LDL levels were all perfect however, something was way out of whack to the point of the lab calling me personally to encourage having it checked out right away.  My PSA was at 10.3.  

A jump from 2 to 10.3 in only four months is alarming.  It’s also unusual so I called my doctor and she sent me in for some blood work.  There are a number of things that can screw up a test (like a recent orgasm before the exam which is, in my case, highly probable) so I’m getting tested again.  

Prostate cancer scares me more than anything because I’m a sex machine.  I know, I know,  you’re laughing, but it’s true.  I have the libido of a stoned horny teenager.   I need my prostate!  I need my orgasms!

I think I’m getting dangerously close to the TMI factor.  

All that aside, I’m looking forward to this weekend.  It’s the fourth Saturday of the month and that means karaoke in Old Bisbee.  I can’t wait.  I need karaoke as much as I need my prostate…hmmmm, interesting visual.  

What shall I sing?

*UPDATE*
My doctor called.  My most recent PSA test read at 2.0.  Must have been a fluke with the other test.  All is well.

The same day that I received news about my friend Brooke, I also found out that jazz legend Blossom Dearie died.  While some people may not know Ms. Dearie by name, any kid from the School House Rock generation knows her distinctive voice…

Figure Eight 

Unpack Your Adjectives

As a child, Figure Eight left a strong impression on me.  I’m not sure if it was the haunting melody or the warning about skating on thin ice and seeing the boy falling in the freezing cold water.  Either way, her wispy voice stuck in my head for years.  I had no idea that she was an accomplished musician and had released several albums–a couple being added to my music collection over recnt years.  I am sad to hear she passed away.  

My favorite Blossom Dearie song:

Rhode Island is Famous for You
[audio:Rhode_Island_is_Famous_for_You.mp3]

Brooke and I met in 1990.  She and I worked for a company called Entertainment Partners in Burbank, California.  We were, without question, cut from the same cloth.  We hung out all the time making each other laugh and talking about the mysteries of life, love and the universe.  I adored her and can say with utter confidence she adored me as well.

Brooke could make me laugh more than anyone.  She was what I called a guy-girl.  Very pretty and feminine but could burp like nobody’s business and kick your ass at pool.  She was a delicate flower but had a mouth that could make a longshoreman blush.  Men flocked to her like moths to a flame because she was totally sexy and liked to tell dirty jokes.  Women hated her for the exact same reasons.

I adored her.

One of her favorite things to do was to pantomime giving me a blowjob while sailing down the 101 freeway in my pickup truck.  She had a beautiful head of thick wavy black hair that would fluff up and down over my lap while other drivers would stare in astonishment.

If we were in public she would, without warning, shout out “I told you mister, leave me alone!  What do you want from me?!  Stop following me!”  and then run away leaving me standing there with a shopping mall full of people staring at me like I was some perverted asshole.

We had our own language–little isms that only the two of us understood.

Eventually our paths took us in different directions but Brooke and I managed to stay in touch over the past nineteen years.  Every once in a while we would both send out “the signal” and within a matter of hours or sometimes days we’d be on the phone with each other and in typical fashion, the time between us would melt away as if we had just spoken yesterday.  We were connected by some cosmic cord.

We both wanted to be writers and encouraged each other.  I was so proud of her when she wrote a children’s book about a boy living with HIV (her younger brother died from HIV complications years ago).  She pushed me to start (and continue) blogging and would laugh when I mentioned my “tens” of readers.

We relied on each other for occasional spiritual checkups over the phone.  It seemed like every time we talked we were both sharing a new success story and discussing the next new creative thing we were going to do with our lives.  I managed to get my college degree at the age of thirty-three and she, bless her heart, was just a few credits shy of getting her AA at forty six.  She wanted to become a psychiatrist so she could help others who had been though rough times.  Her childhood was something left to be desired.

While driving to the gym this morning, I had a fleeting thought of Brooke.  The signal was coming through loud and clear.  I had plans to workout, install my studio equipment and then shoot some timelapse of the impressive cloud coverage we were having.  I figured Brooke and I would be catching up on the phone at some point during the day. 

I was sitting in my office wrapping up my studio project.  The timelapse was clicking away in the backyard when the phone rang.  Ray looked at the caller ID and said “Who’s David Clavet?”  “That’s Brooke’s husband” I said.  Excited, I motioned for him to hand me the phone.  I clicked the talk button.

“I was totally just thinking of you!” I shouted.

Silence.

“Hello?” I said.
“Is this Bob?” It was a man’s voice.
“Yes.” My stomach tightened.

In the mish-mash of recollection, all I can remember was hearing “Brooke blah blah blah passed away blah blah stroke or aneurysm blah blah blah forty-seven years old blah four children…

Brooke died.

Dead…like no longer alive.  No longer breathing.  No more laughing.  No more catching up.  No more pantomimed blowjobs.  No more Brooke-isms…

The worst, worst part is that she died in early September.  Her husband couldn’t find my phone number. 

From what I can piece together, she was at home in the kitchen and suddenly collapsed.  Her son asked if she was OK as she started to stand up.  She said she was fine and as she got up she collapsed again.

By the time she got to the hospital, she was paralyzed on her right side and could not speak.  They inserted a feeding tube.  Over a few days, she started to improve.  The tube was removed and they started therapy.  Her speech started to come back.  One day, she complained that her head hurt and then, just like that, she quietly slipped away.  If only I had known, I could have seen her one last time. 

I hung up the phone.  Brooke had been dead for months but somehow, through her husband,  she still managed to send out “the signal”.  With that realization, I started to cry.  A little part me died too.

Oh my God Brooke, you can’t be dead!  You’re my other half.  You make me laugh.  You’re one of my most favoritest people in the whole world!  We loved each other unconditionally.  You are one of the only people in the world who understands the inner workings of me.  We still had so much to experience!!  We’re not done living–you’re not done living!!

After a good long cry, I collected my camera equipment.  The timelapse had been shooting for a hours (Ray managed to get into a few frames).  I plugged everything into my computer.  When I first saw the footage, I could feel Brooke there with me.  Seeing time moving along so quickly reminded me that life is indeed a fleeting moment and should be savored like a fine wine.  It should also be used, abused and bruised.  Don’t ever stop living just because you might get hurt.

To quote Auntie Mame (one of our favorite movies), “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving!”  Brooke and I tried to live by that saying.

She used to say she couldn’t wait to grow old and be that crazy old lady on the end of the street screaming at the kids to “git off mah lawn” while squirting them with the garden hose.  I guess that won’t be happening after all. 

This video is for you Brooke.  I love you very, very much.  Please put in a good word for me wherever you are and remember, if you’re in heaven, you may want to watch your language.

I was twenty-eight and miserable.  He was thirty-five and had his shit together–and he was on the phone.  It had been years since I last spoke to him.  I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece and leaned over to my roommate,

“He says he’s moving to Chicago…want’s to take me out to dinner…hey, free dinner…”

The guy I used to rent a room from was moving to Chicago.  Instead of having a big blowout party to say goodbye, he went through his phone book and took his friends out to dinner one by one so he could actually say goodbye.  I never considered myself one of his friends.  He was cool, handsome, had a nice body and was successful.  I was…I was me.  Dorktastic. 

I never had any attraction to Ray when I lived with him.  In my opinion, he was way out of my league.  I just put any thought of the two of us together out of my mind.  Now, here he was two years later asking me out to dinner.  I’m not one to turn down a free meal.

We went to a place called Cobalt.  Ray ordered Cadillac Margaritas.  They were strong.  Halfway through my second one, I was examining Ray’s handsome face while he was talking to me.  I suddenly got a flutter in my stomach.  I was surprised at my sudden attraction.  I was also feeling really loose from the booze. 

The next morning, I woke up in his bed.  So much for courting.

He was still dealing with the sale of his house and getting other things in order so he was going to be around for a couple of months.  At that time, I was desperate for a relationship to the point of driving people away.  They could smell it on me.  Even the most eligible suitor is going to recoil at the notion of someone who is desperate.

The situation was perfect, we could have a “play” relationship for a few months and then he’d go away.  I was going into it knowing that there was an expiration date.  No fuss, no muss, just some great sex with a hot man that I already knew.  Hell, we had already lived together.

Ray and I play dated for a short time and then, one frosty morning, he drove away.  Having no expectation of seeing him again, I stood there and waved as his car disappeared down the street.

A few days later, he called to let me know he made it to Chicago.  A short time after that he flew out to see me.  Then he flew me to Chicago to see him.  Before I knew it, I was engaged in a long distance relationship.  This went on for a year. 

During one particular time while arranging a visit to LA, Ray kept changing the dates and postponing because things were busy at work.  This long distance thing was starting to wear thin.  We both knew I would never leave LA.  I had just got to the point in film production where I was employed way more than unemployed and the band I was in was playing clubs on the Sunset Strip and we had some minor record label interest.  Things were starting to happen for me.

Ray called to tell me that he was going to have to cancel this trip but he was ready to set something up for next month.  I told him that I didn’t want to do the distance thing anymore and politely broke his heart over the phone.  He agreed that this was getting difficult.  During the entire time we dated long distance, he never once brought up me moving to Chicago because he knew I wouldn’t. 

A few weeks passed by.  Surprisingly, I didn’t really feel any sort of sadness.  Hey, I went into this knowing there was a termination date.  It was not going to last.  I was OK with it…but I sure did miss him. 

One night, I was hanging out with a friend when the phone rang.  It was Ray.  He sounded a bit tipsy–he was drunk actually.  He said, “I love you. Please move to Chicago” and I said “I’ll think about it”.

The next day, I went to see my friend George.  George has degrees in psychology, biology and theology.  He was also a Native American and kind of like my spiritual guide.  I told him that I had to make this big decision and that I wasn’t sure how to do it.  I felt that I was doing everything the right way.  George quickly informed me that making a decision was the wrong way.  He told me to let it sit and the “for sure” answer would come to me in an instant.  I told my roommate (who was also the lead singer of the band) about this.

A while later at band practice, our guitar player stopped short right in the middle of a song and told me to turn down my keyboards.  The nano-second those words were leaving his mouth, I was engulfed by a tsunami of clarity.

I hate our guitar player!  I hate LA!  I hate the film business!!  There’s a totally hot man in a new exciting town waiting for me to move and I’m standing here being told to turn it down!!!!

I shot a look to our lead singer.  The smile melted off his face as he simply said “Oh shit! You’re leaving.”

And that I did.  I left it all.  My hometown, my career, my band my friends and family.  Left it in a cloud of dust and I never once looked back.  It was the best thing ever.  Ray and I started a new life together in Chicago and then here in Arizona all from a dinner that happened fifteen years ago today. 

Happy fifteenth anniversary Raymond.  I love you more than ever.

I found a replacement component for my music studio.  It was much, much cheaper than I originally thought.  It should be here by Thursday. 

Yesterday I had lunch with someone to discuss the possibility of collaborating musically.  We bumped into each other last week and she asked me about recording.  Seems like we both have the same tastes musically and we’re both the same age.  I like that.  The age thing.  She just wants to  make music.  Not really chasing fame and rainbows.  Famebows?

She gave me a CD of her recent work.  It was intimidatingly good.  Ray and I listened to the first two tracks while driving home last night.  Just as I was thinking how much her style is similar to what I’d like to do, Ray turns to me and says,

“This kind of sounds like your stuff.”

Could life, the universe, God, be setting me up for my final frontier?  I have always wanted to produce music but had to deal with a self-appointed creative block the size of Manhattan.  The past two years were dedicated to getting past that block.  Practice the guitar! Get your studio up and running!! Keep singing, no matter what!!  I just feel like I suck!  I am my own worst critic and I’m good at what I set my mind to.  You do the math.  Medic, I need a medic!  I’m beating the shit out of myself over here. 

I have invited my potential new partner in crime over this Sunday to check out the studio and to play some of my own less intimidating music.  I had a little review of my “collection” last night.  Fuck, it sounds terrible in comparison to her refined polished sparkly stuff. 

In all honesty, I’m scared to take this leap of faith.  What if I totally suck?  What if she tells me that I need a few more years before I should even try to produce anything and then eats my head off?  Oh fuck it, I’m just going to give it a shot anyway.