Tag: Humor

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Artistic by Ricky

Anyone who knows me at this point in my life will know that I am mostly a critic of the artistic skills of others. I learned all about the art of being critical from 66 years of living and listening to others criticizing me and my efforts and activities. I also have some practical learning in the world of art. At one point, while attending art classes for two years, my teachers gave me high marks for my creativity and technical skill with media and color application.

So as not to seem braggadocios, I will share with you some pieces of my work to prove the accuracy of my statements about my skill.

The first piece of art I will expose you to is from my early career. Like many an artist, I began with still life, in this case some fruit. Notice the excellent application of color and texture.

While living with my grandparents in Minnesota and being somewhat depressed, I next entered into what I refer to as my blue period. Using a waxy medium, I created this beautiful colorful drawing of my home back in Redondo Beach, California, complete with school bus.

I then improved my style and technique to the point that my next piece you will see was described by my art teacher as nearly as good as Michelangelo’s work on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Modesty prevents me from contradicting her opinion.


Having reached the pinnacle of my technical skill in the world of traditional art, it was time to let my creativity run loose. The result was a decision to “marry” the styles of Salvador Dali with that of Picasso’s later works in impressionism and cubism.

The response was less than I had hoped for and I vowed to withhold my obvious talent and skill from the sight of the artistically insensitive, critics, and public.

By way of contrast with my work above, here is a recent piece of art by a famous artist. If my work doesn’t qualify as high quality, neither does her piece, in my opinion. Yet she is elevated to fame, while my works are dismissed.

Pablo Picasso once said, “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”*

My knowledge of artistic techniques is now used to evaluate the work of others and hold them to the same rigorous standards applied to my works.

I have created nothing of quality art since that time.

*Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/p/pablo_picasso.html#GRum34Xqs3xA2eIB.99

© 8 Sep 2014

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Bumper Stickers by Lewis

My favorite bumper sticker has long been that classic example that combines humor, existentialism, and a zinger, all in one–“If you can read this, you are following too close.”

I thought I would try to come up with a list of “The 10 Bumper Stickers I Would Like to See but Haven’t”. Here they are, in no particular order:

* I thought World War II was fought so that I wouldn’t have to eat sushi.

* Police are no more racist than the rest of us but they have a license to kill.

* Have you noticed that when a Texan says “Bible” it sounds like “Babel”?

* Boxer shorts must have been invented by a woman.

* Phones seem to be getting smarter while people are getting stupider.

* I wish the Tea Party would “bag it”.

* Over the Hillary and “Into the Woods” to Elizabeth’s house I go.

* If gays are only 2% of the population, we must possess 98% of the “fabulous”.

* If climate change is not a threat because “God is still up there”, isn’t that what Noah thought?

* And, finally, Your two-year-old knows where your gun is hidden and he’s after it.

© 5 January 2015

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Gay Music by Gillian

What the hell is that? I don’t even know what it means! A so-called “gay movie” or “gay book” is identified as such because of it’s GLBT content; it’s characters and/or subject matter. But the vast majority of music, even most music with words, is androgynous, unisex. A couple of weeks ago our topic was, “All My Exes Live in Texas.” In my short piece I also referred to that beautiful song, “Could I Have This Dance For the Rest of My Life?” Different as those two pieces are, they can both be taken to be heterosexual or homosexual, depending on the preference of the listener, as is the case with most songs. I am wiling to bet that many of us in this room listened to those old love songs of the forties and fifties and, when performed by a singer of our own sex, turned them into songs of love directed at us. Certainly there are, these days, a few songs that are unmistakably GLBT; amusing lyrics performed by drag groups, Lady Gaga singing about coming out, more recently even a collection of songs about gay marriage, but the total of all this specifically GLBT-themed music together would not add up to a single drop in the ocean of music in it’s entirety.

Is “Gay Music,” then, that which is written and/or performed by someone of the GLBT family?

If so we could talk about Tchaikovsky and Elton John and a vast number of others in between.

But what sense would that make? We don’t call a book a “gay book,” because it’s author happens to be gay; usually we don’t even know, although that kind of information is much more readily available these days. If J.K. Rowling unexpectedly revealed that she was a lesbian, would the Harry Potter tales suddenly become lesbian books and movies? K.D Lang is openly lesbian, but I would not call her songs “lesbian music.” Many movie producers and actors are GLBT but that doesn’t make their movies “queer.” No-one refers to “A Farewell to Arms,” as a gay movie just because Rock Hudson starred in it.

Maybe because, at least until recently, we of the GLBT community had little we could call our own, we would like to claim significance to “gay music,” but personally I find it a bit of a reach.

But wait! As I typed that last sentence, with one eye on the Winter Olympics on TV, I caught a few bars of our very own National Anthem. Perhaps I’m just missing it. When we strive to hit the high notes of the “land of the free,” could we be celebrating our freedom? Well, yes, we could, but I’m afraid I’m much too cynical to accept that phrase at face value. But, now I’m trawling through National Anthems, perhaps I really have stumbled onto something. After all, how many times in the first twenty years of my life did I sing out, in the British National Anthem,

“God save our gracious Queen

Long live our noble Queen

God Save the Queen!”

February, 2014

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

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The Idiom Maniac by EyM

Caught in the storm and down in the doldrums, she thought she had it made in the shade, when like greased lightening he came like a bolt out of the blue. Surely her dry spell would end and he would be the silver lining of her clouds. On cloud nine she threw caution to the wind and began to shoot the breeze. But one look rained on her parade as he was 7 sheets to the wind and looked like the twilight zone. Her thunder was stolen. Right as rain there was a cloud on her horizon. Always chasing rainbows, she hoped this blue sky would brighten up her day. But alas this guy in a fog had a cloud of suspicion over him. So not to give him the cold shoulder, she asked for a rain check .

So much for any port in a storm. She drew a blank. This was no piece of cake. Even though she felt like a basket case, she would have to play it by ear. She hoped her goose was not cooked.

Wouldn’t you know it, just then someone started making eyes at her. She wanted to turn on a dime and head for the hills. But she crossed her fingers and listened to the bee in her bonnet. To this knight in shining armor, she said “A little birdie told me you love to cut a rug.” Her match made in heaven replied, “No comprendo English senorita.”

© October 2014

About the Author

A native of Colorado, she followed her Dad to the work bench to develop a love of using tools, building things and solving problems. Her Mother supported her talents in the arts. She sang her first solo at age 8. Childhood memories include playing cowboy with a real horse in the great outdoors. Professional involvements have included music, teaching, human services, and being a helper and handy woman. Her writing reflects her sixties identity and a noted fascination with nature, people and human causes. For Eydie, life is deep and joyous, ever challenging and so much fun.

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The Idiom Maniac, by EyM

Caught in the storm and down in the doldrums, she thought she had it made in the shade, when like greased lightening he came like a bolt out of the blue. Surely her dry spell would end and he would be the silver lining of her clouds. On cloud nine she threw caution to the wind and began to shoot the breeze. But one look rained on her parade as he was 7 sheets in the wind and looked like the twilight zone. Her thunder was stolen. Right as rain there was a cloud on her horizon. Always chasing rainbows, she hoped this blue sky would brighten up her day. But alas this guy in a fog had a cloud of suspicion over him. So not to give him the cold shoulder, she asked for a rain check .

So much for any port in a storm. She drew a blank. This was no piece of cake. Even though she felt like a basket case, she would have to play it by ear. She hoped her goose was not cooked.

Wouldn’t you know it, just then someone started making eyes at her. She wanted to turn on a dime and head for the hills. But she crossed her fingers and listened to the bee in her bonnet. To this knight in shining armor, she said “A little birdie told me you love to cut a rug.” Her match made in heaven replied, “No comprendo English senorita.”

© October 2014

About the Author

A native of Colorado, she followed her Dad to the work bench
to develop a love of using tools, building things and solving problems. Her
Mother supported her talents in the arts. She sang her first solo at age 8.
Childhood memories include playing cowboy with a real horse in the great outdoors.
Professional involvements have included music, teaching, human services, and
being a helper and handy woman. Her writing reflects her sixties identity and a
noted fascination with nature, people and human causes. For Eydie, life is deep
and joyous, ever challenging and so much fun.
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Mirror Image by Lewis

Mirror,
mirror on the wall
Who’s
the feyest of them all?
Surely
can’t be said of me
I
strive so hard to manly be.
Oft
my image makes me wince
Asymmetric
from birth hence;
Discolored
lips far from lush,
Eyes
that skew, no hair to brush.
Yet,
altogether not amiss
Or
with a trace of feminess,
I
pass as straight among the crowd
No
cry of “fag” is heard aloud.
I
wander any milieu,
Yielding
not a single clue
What
physique might catch my eyes
Or
give a hint I might like guys.
Perhaps
it shouldn’t matter
What
veggie I dip in batter
But
if something’s going to fry,
I’d
as soon it not be THIS guy.
©
22 June 2013

About the Author 

I came to the
beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the
state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my
native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two
children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married
to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was
passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were
basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very
attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that
time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.
Soon after, I retired
and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13
blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to
fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE
Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.
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Wisdom – A Recipe by Betsy

1/2 cup fresh information
1 lb. knowledge
3 quarts experience
1T time
1T sage
pinch of spice
Mull information until clear.  Add time and sage. In a large pot simmer the
3 quarts of experience for several minutes, then add the knowledge. When the
knowledge is well blended with the experience stir in the fresh, mulled,
clarified information.  Continue
simmering for a long, long, time, stirring slowly and constantly to keep the
mixture from curdling. 
Allow ingredients to blend for a
few years before serving.  Then, when the
time is right serve with a flair by
adding spice and color to your presentation.

© 22 June 2014 

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Reframing Reality by Will Stanton

Some years ago, I had a very curious experience with my elderly Aunt Muriel. She never had married and did not socialize very much. The person closest to her was her own Uncle Fred, some years her senior. Muriel was very fond of Fred and deeply felt the loss when he passed away.

Muriel apparently believed in mysticism and séances. Eventually, she thought that she could reconnect with Uncle Fred through a medium at a séance. I tried to dissuade her, telling her that séances are just a scam to take money from the gullible; however, Muriel was convinced that communicating with the dead through a séance was real. So, I reluctantly agreed to take her.

The medium welcomed Muriel and me to her appropriately decorated parlor, colored beads hanging in the doorway and the expected crystal ball in the middle of an old, oaken table. Fortunately, the medium did not ask for more than twenty dollars.

The lights were turned low, and the session began with the medium connecting with her usual spirits and imploring them to contact Muriel’s departed Uncle Fred. I was startled when a man’s, distant and wavering voice answered. Muriel’s head straightened, and she appeared to be excited. I, on the other hand, quickly guessed that the medium had strategically placed some small speakers around the room.

Then Muriel eagerly spoke up. “Uncle Fred! Uncle Fred! It’s so good to hear your voice again. Oh, please tell me, what’s it like on the other side?”

The man’s dreamy voice responded, “Oh, it is so beautiful and peaceful. When I awake in the morning, I am blessed with the sun shining warm on my face and the sound of songbirds singing. I am not obligated to be up right away or to go anywhere. I can relax as long as I like. When I feel like it, I can take as much time as I like having something to eat. During the day, I can take a leisurely stroll through the woods, listening to the breeze in the trees, enjoying the flowers, and watching the butterflies flitting from blossom to blossom. And in the evening, I enjoy just relaxing and watching the sunset.”

Thrilled, Muriel exclaimed, “Oh Fred, I had no idea that heaven was like that.”

After a moment of silence, Fred responded, “What do you mean ‘heaven?’ – – I’m a moose in Minnesota!”

© 9 June 2014
About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Straight Friends Who Love Me by Ricky

Sadly, except for my siblings, my children, and my grandchild, I cannot think of any other straight people who love me. Not even my surviving aunts and uncles fall into that category. There is one straight person who tolerates me now. He once told me years ago that he loved me, but he has never said it again.

He was a school friend of my then 13-year old daughter. At one point my daughter told me he actually told his mother to divorce his dad and marry me. His dad is deaf, refuses to learn sign language, and is a drug addict. All his son wanted, was to have the same kind of relationship that my daughter had with me. The quirky thing about this is that my daughter asked me, if I married his mother, could my daughter marry him. I said no, unless they married before I married his mother. I find the mind of 13-year old’s to be very strange. It must be the raging hormones. I never figured out if it was their hormones or mine.

On the other hand, I have a few happy friends, who are very cheerful when around me, and probably even more joyful when not around me. Nevertheless, not to confuse anyone with these multiple designations, I will just call them my gay friends. To me they are as straight as my non-gay family members are, because to me, they do not appear to be bent or crooked.

It is rather depressing not to have straight friends, so I will end this story session with a happy little anecdote sent to me by a friend.

It was a dark and stormy night. Bob Hill and his new wife, Betty, were vacationing in Europe…as it happens, near Transylvania. They were driving in a rental car along a rather deserted highway. It was late and raining very hard. Bob could barely see the road in front of the car. Suddenly, the car skids out of control! Bob attempts to regain control of the car but to no avail! The car swerves and smashes into a tree.

Moments later, Bob shakes his head to clear the fog. Dazed, he looks over at the passenger seat and sees his wife unconscious, with her head bleeding! Despite the rain and unfamiliar countryside, Bob knows he has to get her medical assistance.

Bob carefully picks his wife up and begins trudging down the road. After a short while, he sees a light. He heads towards the light, which is coming from a large old house. He approaches the door and knocks. A minute passes. A small, hunched man opens the door. Bob immediately blurts, “Hello, my name is Bob Hill, and this is my wife Betty. We’ve been in a terrible accident, and my wife is seriously hurt. Can I please use your phone?”

“I’m sorry,” replied the hunchback, “but we don’t have a phone. My master is a doctor; come in, and I will get him!” Bob brings his wife in.

An older man comes down the stairs. “I’m afraid my assistant may have misled you. I am not a medical doctor; I am a scientist. However, it is many miles to the nearest clinic, and I have had a basic medical training. I will see what I can do. Igor, bring them down to the laboratory.”

With that, Igor picks up Betty and carries her downstairs, with Bob following closely. Igor places Betty on a table in the lab. Bob collapses from exhaustion and his own injuries, so Igor places Bob on an adjoining table.

After a brief examination, Igor’s master looks worried. “Things are serious, Igor. Prepare a transfusion.” Igor and his master work feverishly, but to no avail. Bob and Betty Hill are no more.

The Hill’s deaths upset Igor’s master greatly. Wearily, he climbs the steps to his conservatory, which houses his grand piano. For it is here that he has always found solace. He begins to play, and a stirring, almost haunting melody fills the house.

Meanwhile, Igor is still in the lab tidying up. His eyes catch movement, and he notices the fingers on Betty’s hand twitch, keeping time to the haunting piano music. Stunned, he watches as Bob’s arm begins to rise, marking the beat! He is further amazed as Betty and Bob both sit up straight!

Unable to contain himself, he dashes up the stairs to the conservatory. He bursts in and shouts to his master.

“Master! Master! The Hills are alive with the sound of music.”

© 28 October 2012

About the Author


I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.

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Exaggeration by Ricky

In civilian life, fairy tales usually begin with “Once upon a time… .” The military equivalent phrase is “This ain’t no shit … .” When used properly, these expressions are essentially the same but not always. Sometimes the fairy tales sound more real than the story told by a military member as the actions of the military are often unbelievable; activities which we never heard of due to security classifications, cover-ups, or possibly just the passage of time. I would relate some of those unknown activities, but then I would have to kill you to protect the secret, and I don’t want to do that.

All advertisements for commercial products contain major exaggerations or out-right lies. I do not believe that statement to be an exaggeration in any way. Ever since I was 5-years old, I hear about the “New and Improved Tide” for washing clothes. The only thing I know that changed is the box it comes in. During all that time, I have not seen any of my clothes get cleaner than in any previous version.

Some exaggerations are in common usage. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times;” “I’ll bet you a million dollars you can’t do it;” and “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” are just three of the hundreds of possible examples.

Myths are similar to fairy tales. Another type of exaggeration is the myth type of story that is so outrageous, no one would believe it. This type is of the category Tall Tales, which is just a nice way of saying it’s a big lie. This type is not so much harmful as entertaining, in effect; a big white lie as it were. For example, most people believe the Grand Canyon is the result of river and wind erosion. The reality is a fact well known; the Grand Canyon is the result of Paul Bunyan dragging his axe along the ground while walking from Minnesota to the redwood forests of California. (I actually believe this is probably true, because the story was in my reading textbook in 3rd grade elementary school in Minnesota. Schools never teach bad information.)

I cannot count high enough to list all the dining establishments that proclaim their cuisine is the “best” in town, state, nation, world, etc. If I tried to add them up, I would fry my brain or burn out my calculator’s batteries.

Did you notice that even the Weather Channel is not above reproach on this issue? It seems that each-and-every common and routine weather event is portrayed as being a major disaster in the making. So, I’ll end my story today with a warning to all of us, “global warming” will kill us all, because we did not do something about it a hundred years ago, and now it’s too late.

I’m so thirsty from reading this paper, I’m going drink ten gallons of water before I go home.

© 3 June 2013

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los
Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to
turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm
in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents
divorced.

When united with my mother and
stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at
South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.
After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where
I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from
complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the
summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is
TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com