In Which We Are Eclipsed

 

A solar eclipse, even a partial one, is the kind of nerdy phenomenon that always interests me.  So when this latest one was going to pass Northern California, I was all in.  

Then the morning of it, I set my alarm, spring from my bed, and was confronted with 

the densest overcast you can imagine.  Gray as a landlord's heart, foggy as mrpeenee's attention span.  The weather seemed determined to make a point; it was even more overcast than usual, certainly more than was necessary to foil any attempt at eclipse watching.

I love San Francisco, I do, and the fog here is just part of the package.  An afternoon in Houston was enough to remind me how much I adore our chilly weather.  We just have to accept views of things like meteor showers or fireworks or eclipses are going to have to fight it out with the fog and the fog always wins.

Guys who also always win:

Matthew Cameron, now with extra photoshopped meat.

Sometimes, muscles are enough.  Julian Aryouelo.

Levy Van Wilgen.  I have simply given up trying to avoid the sins of photoshop

The overwhelming Marbys Negretti.  Sometimes he goes by Mr. Kent.

A new favorite here at mrpeenee Enterprises, Jett Wayne.

Jett also frequently poses as the gas station attendant of your dreams.  Cleanup on aisle My Dick.

I think Steven Dehler looks better with longer hair, but who is gonna argue with that ass?

Jon Kale, one of those Bel Ami sluts.  I wish I had a round window.

Marbys Negretti again.  I wanted to mention how much I admire great big muscley guys who are also enthusiastiic bottoms.

Let's end on a classical note, Jake Tanner from Colt Studios.

In Which We Reunite

 

See, if you graduate from a high school (and I did, despite evidence to the contrary.  I really did.) and then subsequently you don't die, you run into the inevitable high school reunion.  Thus, my 50th one is coming up this weekend so I am returning to the swamps of my youth to celebrate it.

I have mixed emotions about the entire affair.  Diane von Austinburg knows me so well she is already making book that I will duck out and just not go.  If you want in on that action you'll have to take it up with her.  Another old friend warned me the reunion has all the ear markings of a hostage situation.  Her advice?  "Keep the motor running."

Pooh, I say.  I escaped the grimy little town I grew up in once, I can do it again.  Plus I'll be able to visit with my family while I'm there, including my niece Amber, who's always good for a laugh.  If that's not enough high times, I'm planning to visit the cemetery where my great-grandparents, grandparents, and sundry other relatives are enjoying being dead. 

Lastly there are the twin pillars of the real delight of visiting Houston, really good Mexican food and really good barbecue.  Now we're talking.

Guys with whom I wish I was reuniting:

The entirely too flexible Trevor Adams.

Do you remember the guy last week with the extreme farmer's tan?  Here he is with his suntan more under control.

Diego Reyes is also good for a laff.

Some joke about arrows, I don't know, fill in the blank.

Paulo Victor Melo and his Ass of Death

So serious.  Lighten up, baby.

The hotel where I'll be staying closes their pool at sundown.  Fatheads.  I love swimming at night.

And in conclusion, Letterio Amadeo