Age Before Electric Youth

[A conversation between myself and my Misfits brother Noah.]

Noah: “What do you think of my outfit in this picture? I feel like it’s quintessentially my style, but it’s not getting the reactions I expected.”

Me: “Hmm. It looks like the Devil showed up to claim Debbie Gibson’s soul and decided to make fun of her clothes first.”

Noah: “I… don’t know who Debbie Gibson is.”

Me: “I know.”

Noah wouldn’t give me the picture to post here, but trust me when I say that anyone not wearing polymer horns over a pork pie hat is missing out on the fashion trend of the century. Plus it’s a more accessible, family-friendly look than the gas mask and platform boots he wears to bartending nights. I’m just saying the boy is versatile in more ways than one.

And “foyer” rhymes with “Baphomet.” Language is weird.

Robert and I knew we weren’t properly equipped to deconstruct all the details of the Noodles & Beef horror show, which is why, on last night’s Facets of Leather, we brought in professional smart person Ty Lerman to help us get our brains around the situation. Oh, and speaking of horror, we debuted an exciting new segment — tentatively titled “This Week in Impotent Rage” — which was basically just ten minutes of me ranting about the Satanic Temple suing Netflix. Probably not my finest moment, but at least I processed my feelings honestly. I’m sure Ty approved.

The unsinkable Orin Slade also graced us with another amazing photo collage, this one serving as an effective reminder that I really need to pay more attention to what I say on the radio:


Robert handled the music selections this month, and he thoughtfully included the following homage, which is currently enjoying an unexpected renaissance in the Houston Leather Community. I hope it gives you as much pause as it did a bunch of drunk gay men when Carlisle snuck it onto the Ripcord jukebox.

Pavlov’s Shut-off Valve

Afternoon Drivetime Radio Guy: “Next week’s Blue Norther could possibly bring the first freeze of the season…”


Inner Me: You don’t work in community management anymore. The pipes to literally every townhome in Houston could burst, and not a damn one of them would be your problem.


Perspective is everything.

The secret ingredient is love. Or a prescription-strength antihistamine. One of those.

How to give me an anxiety attack in three easy steps:

1) Be my dad.

2) Call me on my cell phone in the middle of the day to confirm that I can’t take personal calls at work, and to double-check that you should only try to reach me on my cell in the case of a life-threatening emergency.

3) Repeat as necessary, or until desired results are achieved.

In related news, did you know that Advil PM can have the same effect on the human brain as Xanax? I can’t remember where I read that, although according to WebMD, long-term use of diphenhydramine (the active agent in both Advil PM and Benadryl) is linked to memory loss and dementia. Awesome. I won’t know what day it is, but I won’t be sneezing or panicking, I can tell you that much.

ETA: WebMD also says I have shirt cancer. Thoughts and prayers, please.

In Which The Samhain Grinch’s Small Heart Grows Three Sizes

Customer: “Hi. I’m looking for a harness.”

Me: “I’d be happy to help with that. Do you have a particular style in mind?”

Customer: “Not really. I’m just looking for a sturdy one. It’s for a Halloween costume.”

Me: “… Oh. Okay.”

Customer: “I’m going to attach giant fairy wings to it.”

Me: “Giant fairy wings.”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: [long stare]

Customer: “…”

Me: [nod of approval] “Let’s find you a harness.”

And so we did.

Happy Halloween, Whoville.

It’s when you can’t hear the wombats. That’s when you know the wombats are coming.

So this past Saturday, Robert texted me all, “I’m activating the Facets phone tree!” Apparently, the show’s regular 4th-Saturday crew had cancelled unexpectedly, and our producer was hoping we could come fill in for them. I didn’t have anything on my agenda (other than sleep), so I threw a Halloween-themed playlist together and headed down to the station for some laid-back, gay talk radio. And then suddenly there were all these Australians, and everyone was yelling about pink camouflage onesies, and I don’t remember the rest.

But yeah, give it a listen. The segment on drop bears is very educational.

I normally vet song lyrics pretty meticulously, but the following track somehow slipped past my radar. Fortunately, I was listening to it in the car on the way into town and caught the uncensored ‘fuckboy’ that would’ve brought the FCC raging down upon us. You’re welcome, people who put me in charge of things.

You Say Po-tay-to, I Say Corporate Stockholm Syndrome

New Day Job Co-Worker: “Hey, I just wanted to apologize.”

Me: “For what?”

NDJCW: “For what happened in the team meeting this afternoon. It got pretty heated. We shouldn’t have let it get so out of control.”

Me: “That was heated?”

NDJCW: “It’s never like that around here, I promise.”

Me: “At my last job, half the staff once quit in the middle of a meeting.”

NDJCW: “Wait… seriously?”

Me: “Managers were writing their two-week notices on sheets of scrap paper and sliding them across the conference table at our boss while she yelled at us.”

NDJCW: “…”

Me: “And then everyone started crying.”

NDJCW: “I… have an entirely new appreciation for this place.”

Less than a month in, and already making a difference in the lives of the people around me. I may be more of a saint than I give myself credit for.

Because “Shameless Self-Promotion Dot Biz” was a little too on-the-nose.

It’s probably because of yesterday’s food pun blitz, but this morning I decided to rename my Zazzle shop:


I haven’t bought the domain yet, but I’m definitely going to need the DBA once our fantasy café expands, and we have the space to open a curiosity/notary service emporium.

In the meantime, I can tell you that a commemorative Mr. Firedancer Notary Seal hockey puck is the ideal gift for any occasion. Plus you can use it to take out an aggressor, either up close or at a distance (aim for the face). It’s like a Canadian manifestation of the Self-Defense Buddha Beads. I am storyboarding the infomercial as we speak.

And a naked beef toasty called the Ralph Bruneau. We should probably start taking reservations now.

Ben: “Guacamoldie Hawn.”

Me: “Is that your Sisters name?”

Ben: “It was the daily special at a pizzeria in Brooklyn. It accompanied the Death Becrumbs Her.”

Me: “Wow. It’s like my brain opened a restaurant. We should totally get to eat there for free because of that.”

Ben: “We should open something similar.”

Me: “I was thinking the same thing. Should it be kink-themed? Or just terribly gay?”

Ben: “Both. Not gonna lie, I have always wanted to run a café/bakery. And also a restaurant called Fried Stuff in a Sauce.”

Me: “I’ve always wanted to run a coffee shop called King’s Corner, named after the card game some friends and I used to play in college. We added a rule that you could say whatever you wanted to the other players without repercussion. We worked out a lot of resentments that way.”

Ben: “Yes! Can we? Let’s do that.”

Me: “You bet. there will be little game tables and nooks and what-not, and then a back room for the more… flavorful games of chance.”

Ben: “Ooh! Good idea. Coffee. Baked goods. Maybe some sandwiches?”

Me: “Yes. Noshy things. Definitely scones. and a St. Andrew’s Croissant. And Spencer Spanking Plancakes.”

Ben: “Stop.”

Me: “I am so proud of the pancake name, I can’t even see straight.”

Ben: “I’ll make a cheese, bacon and tomato sandwich and call it the CBT. Or a bacon, egg, lettuce and tomato.”

Me: “Daddy’s BeLT?”

Ben: “Yup!”

Me: “We are frighteningly good at this.”

Ben: “Well, duh.”

Me: “And for Sunday brunch, Lonely Top Mimosas… because they’re bottomless.”

Ben: “Sold. And Beat Me Bloody Marys.”

Me: “10/10 Fuck yes. And melted white cheese with black beans and red bell peppers over blue corn tortillas. Leather Pride Flameado.”

Ben: “Nacho Pride Flag.”

Me: “Yesssss.”

Ben: “I want to figure out the perfect aftercare cake slice…”

Me: “Oh, shit. I’m about to drop the mic. Brace yourself.”

Ben: “…”

Me: “Whenever somebody orders a specialty coffee drink, we’ll ask them if they’d like it plain, or Drew Kramer.”

Ben: “What’s Drew Kramer?”

Me: “Topped with whip.”


And then I was like, “I honestly don’t know if I’m shivering over this menu, or because I forgot to eat lunch,” and Ben was like, “Uh, go eat, dude,” which was quick thinking on his part. I mean, you can’t win James Beard and/or Pantheon of Leather Awards on an empty stomach. That’s just basic gastronomy.

Timepiece Bandit

Customer: “Is it okay to try a few things on?”

Me: “Of course!”

Customer: “Great! I’ve never worn leather before, but I’m starting over and reinventing myself.

Me: “I totally understand. Let me know if I can help with anything.”

Customer: “Actually, maybe you can help with something. You do leather repair, right?”

Me: “I don’t do it personally, but one our owners does do repair work.”

Customer: “Well, I’ve got this watch, and I need to add a couple of links to the band. Could you do that for me?”

Me: “If it’s a metal band, you’ll probably want to take it to a jeweler. I don’t think we have the tools to do that.”

Customer: “Could you at least try? I really want you to do it. What’s your name?”

Me: “My name is Thomas, but–”

Customer: “Let me go get the watch. It’s hidden behind a trash can.”

Me: “…”

[He scampers out and returns a few minutes later with a small, cloth bag.]

Customer: “Here it is! Can you add the extra links?”

Me: [pulling the watch out and reluctantly examining it] “Yeah, this is really going to require specific tools that we don’t have here.”

Customer: “Oh. That’s a shame. I really wanted to wear it tonight.”

Me: “You could always run by the main store in the morning and have Rok take a look at it, but it would probably be better to just–”

Customer: “I got out of prison two months ago.”

Me: “… Congratulations?”

Customer: “So now I’m reinventing myself, and wearing this watch is very important to me.” [He puts on the watch and, with much effort, snaps the clasp shut.] “Hey, it fits! Kind of!”

Tank ended up on the closing shift that evening, and the next day he was like, “Some guy came in last night, and he kept grinning and tapping the face of his watch and asking if I knew what time it was.” In retrospect, I should’ve left him instructions on how to properly handle the situation, which would’ve been to yell, “IT’S TIME TO REINVENT YOURSELF, FREEMAN,” followed by a hearty fist-bump. That would’ve been epic. I’ve really gotta work on playing the tape forward.