Eye Candy
Eyes a brilliant blue
Shiny as marbles
Dimples, too
A scrubby goatee
Gleaming white teeth
Blushing cheeks
“Eye candy,” I thought.
Definitely eye candy
“What’s your name?” I asked
“Andy, my name is Andy.”
What better name for Eye Candy?
Andy.

Reattached after years
Of being separated by time and distance.
Reconnected memories
Music, familiar places, people
Revisited teenage haunts
Lover’s lanes, groping groves
Leisurely lakes.
Will the youthful love of time past be enough to give birth to a
Mature love of the present?
Will it have the ability or the “want-to” to be the cement that brings the past into the future and hold it together?
Time passes
Pieces come together with much laughter, love and romance.
Both afraid it wouldn’t last.
Enjoy each moment
Too good to be true?
Only time will tell.
But will I know when enough time has past
No future in sight?
Will I be able to see?
It was what it was?
A reconnecting and revisiting of the past in the present but no future.
Now I must choose
To cut loose
Let the kite of rekindled love fly freely on the wind of
Remembering and reminiscing
Watch it vanish and hold fast to the moment of
Recaptured love
No longer in sight
Hold tight
Closed eyes
Cut loose.

According to the results of the seventy-two question Jung typology test, I am an ESFJ—one of sixteen possible personality types in the Jungian classification system.

My scores on a scale of one to 100 are:
Extroverted = 44; Sensing=25; Feeling=38 and Judging=67. Thus, the acronym ESFJ.

Just what kind of a person am I? The Keirsey Temperament Sorter says ESFJers are “Provider Guardians who take it upon themselves to arrange for the health and welfare of those in their care, but they are also the most sociable of the Guardians, and thus are the great nurturers of established institutions such as schools, businesses, churches, social clubs and civic groups.

“Providers are extremely sensitive to the feelings of others, which makes them perhaps the most sympathetic of all the [sixteen] types, but which also leaves them rather self-conscious, that is, highly sensitive to what others think of them. Because of this Providers can be crushed by personal criticism and will work most effectively when given ample appreciation both for themselves personally and for the service they give to others. This is not to say that Providers are afraid to express their own emotional reactions. They are quick to like and dislike—and don’t mind saying so—tending to put on a pedestal whatever or whoever they admire and to come down hard on those people they don’t care for.”

My wife also took the Jung test and she is an ISFJ (Introverted, Sensing, Feeling and Judging)—a Protector Guardian as distinguished from a Provider Guardian. She is introverted. I am extroverted, but we share the same basic attitudes toward people, events and behavioral mores.

Is the Jung test definitive typology or junk science?
For $15.95 I can buy a book that will give me the necessary tools to validate or invalidate the test results. I may be an ENTP, not an ESTJ, but I’m not going to spend $15.95 plus shipping, handling and sales tax to find out.

I know who I am. I’m a bald-headed, opinionated, self-righteous, judgmental, loud-mouthed, angry, maudlin, untalented, senile, impotent, 86-year-old man who hates people who are intolerant of others because of their of race, religion, sex, color or sexual orientation. I am probably a BASOM (bald, angry, senile old man).

My wife, on the other hand, is a calm, loving, dispassionate, accepting, thoughtful, intelligent, attractive duplicate bridge and golf-playing saint. It’s not easy for a BASOM to live with a LIADB&GPS (loving, intelligent, accepting, duplicate bridge and golf playing saint.)

But she has put up with my obnoxious behavior for more than sixty-four years, so the least I can do is tolerate her sainthood for the few additional years we hope to have with each other.

He is much bigger than I - he is almost 38 inches but looks just like me. We are a “pair!” We arrived in the airport in Madrid early in the day on 5 August with 30 other students with luggage like my partner and me. We were returning to our homes in California, USA, after attending classes for six weeks in school during the summer. The airport was not very busy, perhaps, because of the hour. It was 4 AM. The lady at the airport confirmed our tickets and gave each of us a tag. After she finished with our paperwork, she put my partner and I on a belt as we waved “Adios, until Los Angeles” – BUT, WHEN WE ARRIVED IN LOS ANGELES, MY PARTNER (other bag) WAS NOT WITH ME! Our owner notified the officials at the airport in Los Angeles.

Now, you may ask, what’s so important that your owner needs her clothes? What was in that piece of luggage? Of course, the clothes that she packed before leaving the US can be replaced; but, what about those things that was purchased in Spain? –a beautiful green double-knit sweater and a Navy top with a gold strip, both made by Berber, the top brand name in Europe, - a pair of Liz Claiborne Jeans that fit like a glove along with several tops in the latest styles of Spain, -a pair of elegant sandals, so popular in all the cities in Spain, made from the finest leather that comes from those millions of cows that graze the rural areas and continue to proliferate to give an array of many textures and colors. Then, there were gifts - an expensive handbag for her daughter, another for her granddaughter, a special bag that was to be used as a book bag, some small coin purses for her musical colleagues, photos of her professor with her class at graduation, some valuable literature from the El Prado Museum to help write a required seven page essay of the artist, “Salvadore Dali.” And, there are the items that need to be replaced, as her tap shoes and costume, a“fanny type” bag and a book bag which were “on loan” and a pair of special walking shoes and a knee brace needed for long walks. Certainly, there were many other things; however, these are the most difficult, if not impossible, to replace. It breaks her heart to realize that she will never have the joy of giving those wonderful gifts that she spent so much time and effort to buy.

It was with deep despair when she said “Goodbye” to all the 30 other students who received their luggage as she asked, “Why me” with a broken spirit. She has written letters to Madrid Airport and Frankfurt Airport and sent emails and made many telephone calls to Lufthansa Airlines with no success.


A SAD TALE OF A SMALL LUGGAGE
WHO IS VERY UNHAPPY WITHOUT HIS PARTNER

Timothy Glasby
Assignment 10/Definition

An Unscientific Research Conversation on Male Sexuality

“Brian, did you leave a hand full of old Playgirl Magazines in the back of my car,” I questioned my best friend on the phone after his visit.
“Why would I come to Los Angeles and tote a bunch of old magazines? Must have been someone else.”
“Who would be so dumb as to give me Playgirl Magazines?”
“They have naked men in them, don’t they?” he queried.
“Yes, but the stories are all oriented towards woman.”
“And you only buy it for the stories, right?”
“I told you, I didn’t buy them. I’ve never bought them. Why would a gay man buy a magazine oriented towards women?”
“Cause they have naked men in them. Who do you think gave them to you?”
“No idea, somewhat who thought they were being a good Samaritan. When I looked through them there was information on how to get rid of post teen acne, articles on managing your menstrual cycle, and how to keep you man happy.”
“That might be useful information,” He advised.
“Have you ever seen the naked men in one of these magazines. They’re as pretty as girls, they don’t even look like men.”
“I know.”
“You used to buy this magazine?”
“Nope, stole them from the 7-11. I was too young to get in the adult book store and the only pictures of naked men were in Playgirl.”
“How old were you when you conducted this felonious behavior?”
“Sixteen or seventeen, I tried to buy them and they wouldn’t sell them to me and the only alternatives were to steal pictures of Greek statues out of history books or explain to my Mom what happened to the men’s underwear pages in the Sears Catalog.”
“Sounds like you would stop at nothing to get an eyeful of male nudes. How old were you when you first knew your were gay? ”
“Probably six or seven,” He answered.
“I’ve never bought into the idea that you know your sexual preference at that age.”
“How old were you?”
“Maybe twelve or thirteen. After my testicles dropped. If you ask most seven year old boys if they have a girlfriend, they’ll tell you they hate girls,” I informed.
“I didn’t hate girls at seven.”
“Proves my point. All straight boys, at seven, hate girls. Gay boys like them. They want to make mud pies and play jacks with them.”
“I wouldn’t base your doctorate thesis on that information. Too many holes in the concept, and not nearly enough scientific study to validate your logic,” He advised.
“So you didn’t put the magazines in my car?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, I gotta track down this purveyor of free journalism and set them straight. Bye.”
“Bye,” he said hanging up.