Keeping in contact.......

I've worn contacts for 28 years.

Actually, I'm blind in my (left eye in my pictures), and I only wear one contact. No eye surgeon in STL will do surgery on me based on ethics. They all tell me that if something goes wrong with the surgery in the only eye that that has vision, my vision could be screwed up forever - so they won't do it.

(Likewise, they also say that they shouldn't prescribe me a contact, and that I should wear glasses to protect my eye from damage that could leave me blind. Have any of you EVER seen me in glasses - even though I own a pair of $$ Fysh glasses? Nope. And you never will.

Fysh Frames:
http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Fysh+UK&FORM=HDRSC2

Anywho - I can wear a contact wrong-side-out for an hour before I realize that 'it just isn't riding right', and I take it out and fix the problem.

(But then again, I have also had a piece of potato chip fly up and stick in my eye for an hour before I looked in a mirror, and saw it wedged in he corner of my eye!....

...and there's the story of the day that I thought I lost a contact while I was putting it in.... I have NEVER lost a contact in 28 years. I looked all over my bathroom for that damned thing before I got a new contact and put it in. FOUR days later, I was walking across a parking lot, and I thought I had a bad stroke. I suddenly saw eight of everything. I managed to find the door to my apt, and when I took my contact out of my eye, I had TWO in my eye, one on top of the other. Apparently, I never lost the first contact 4 days earlier. It slipped behind my eye, and decided to make a surprise appearance as I was walking across a parking lot. (I'm glad that it didn't make that appearance when I was driving down the interstate just minutes earlier!)

My prescription is a +5.5, so you know that these things aren't thin and easy to hide! he he

- Michael

Servanthood: Dedicating your life to somebody that never deserved it in the first place.

True suckership is servanthood.

I'm putting the interests of ME at the center of my decisions, and others can go do thou likewise.

When I was 19, I realized that "When that times comes, I will be the one to do the dying for myself, because nobody else can or will do it for me.  Those people that thought I should live my life for THEM, instead of FOR ME will be glaringly and obviously absent at that moment. 

In like fashion, I am also going to be the one to do the living for myself. I will not let anyone even attempt to do that for me, either.  Those people that can't and won't die for me will not be allowed to do the living, or to make life choices for me, either.

A month ago tomorrow, I had to drove to Hannibal to bury the #1 music mentor in my entire life. I have known this man since my birth (45 years), He was 12 when I was born.

To make a long story a lot more longer and tedious, we lost contact of each other in adulthood when his family moved from Hannibal to Chicago, where he had a Hammond organ business (both selling them and playing professionally) - for about 15 years - but became reacquainted and close friends again 15 years ago.

In adulthood, he had long, platinum blonde hair. and was a loud, boisterous little shit. I **very** incorrectly assumed that, like myself, he was at the helm of his ship, controlling every aspect of his life, and doing a good job of it.

In 2008, I made the trip from STL to Hannibal to go to his grandmother's visitation and funeral. This woman was the one that planted the music seed in my friend's mother (her daughter), and in Phil, himself. His grandmother was also the minister's wife. I remember when she rocked me in the cradle in the church nursery, and when she rocked me when she held me in her arms when I was 18 MONTHS old. I remember those moments because I felt a warm love from her that I never got from my own mother / family.

Anywho, back to Phil. I went to this man's grandmother's funeral in 2008. We were in the funeral home, and walked several feet from his grandmother's casket. His mother (her daughter) was standing at the head of the receiving line, at the head of the casket.)

In passing, and as we were walking by - SEVERAL FEET AWAY! - I casually mentioned some superficial gay issue that was so trivial that I can't even remember the subject of the actual conversation. (and if I have memories back to when I was 18 months old, memories made in 2008 are recent history!)

As soon as I made that light comment, Phil whirled around on his heel, looked at me, and quickly put his finger to his lips and hissed, "SHHHHHHHH!" at me. I was momentarily confused. I whispered back to him, "WHAT???? What did I say that was wrong?" He answered me back, "We don't talk about that (being gay.)"

I stopped for a moment in my tracks, letting the reality of the events that just occurred sink in my skull.

I'm fairly quick on the draw, and not more than a second of time passed before I grabbed him by the arm, and I yanked him in the hallway of the funeral home, and I let out this acidic hiss:

"Oh, Hell to the power of NO, Phil! You are a 50 year old STRONG man with your own business and your own life, and you STILL have not told your mother that she can love you for WHO you are, or she can go straight to Hell?"

That was just the tip of the iceberg, as I quickly found out.

This VERY GAY MAN actually got married. To a female - when he was much younger. He has a daughter that is almost 30, and 2 grandsons.

Was his 'wife' at the funeral of this family matriarch?  No.  Was his daughter?  No.
In fact, the first time in my entire life that I had ever seen his wife was at his OWN funeral.

Another clincher:   Phil's #1 worry was that he would die 'alone, at home, and that nobody would find his body for days or weeks.'

I have a very important question / interjection:

"How does one die 'alone and at home, an nobody would fine your body for days or weeks' when one is 'married', with a wife 'at home?'

The answer.  While I believe that they were truly legally married, this entire fiasco was a 'cover up'.  It was a bad, put-on front.  You see, his family is very religious (ALL of them are First United Pentecostal people that went non-denominational, but they still harbor the evils and the bigotry that comes along with being past-Pentecostal.

I about shit myself when, at the graveside, Phil's brother listed ALL the surviving relatives during the committal service, and was several sentences away from that train of thought when he FINALLY remembered to mention Phil's 'wife'.  The brother said, "I want to thank Tilly, his wife, for standing by his side all these years!"  My sister was at this service with me.  I whispered in my sister's ear, "She wasn't standing by his side!  She was standing across Chicago, because they never lived together!  It took Andrew several sentences past the listing of the family before he even remembered to include her!"

Why did Phil's brother forget to mention Phil's wife?  Because she was a 'wife' in name, only, and was there only to serve as a cover-up because Phil was gay, and this family is chock-full of bigots.

I was, and I still am, floored beyond belief.

Granted, this man had HIDEOUS health habits.

(Further proof that he was a gay man lies in the  few next sentences.)

You see.... Phil was the blackest white man you have ever seen.  From the age of 9, he played VERY heavy, multi-national-award-winning black gospel music in an all-white Pentecostal church that had never heard a single note of black gospel music in their entire lives.  Phil was arguably one of the best gospel organists in this entire country, and most likely, in the entire world, for that matter.

Along the lines of playing all-black gospel music, Phil LOVED black men. When I say LOVED, I am talking about in both a very physical AND a relationship / romantic sense.  I have proof of that fact that I good taste and decorum will not allow me to write in this space, so you will have to trust me on that one.

Not only did Phil think he was a black man, but he also lived like one.  If you have ever heard his organ playing style, you would admit that the influence is 'thick and undeniable'.  Phil was also a non-denominational minister.   If you ever heard him preach or sing, and you closed your eyes, you would be most certain that you were listening to a LARGE black man, rather than a small, white man.  Not only did Phil play like a black man, but he also sang and spoke like a black man, too.

Phil smoked.  Heavily. Sorry, folks. It's the truth.

The only physical exercise that he EVER got was sitting on a Hammond organ bench.  

And, if there was ever a part of a diet that is associated with black culture that is bad for you, Phil found it, lived it, and loved it.  I'm talking about much more than 'soul food', which he loved and relished, I'm talking about fast food, and tons of it.

There is one HUGELY important factor in Phil's death that his 'loving' family never considered:
(I am a nurse, and I am a damned good nurse.  I have 20+ years of astute observations under my belt.)
Granted.  Five years from now, Phil would have died from the heart attack that did actually kill him - in the parking lot of a tanning salon! - as a result of his hideous health habits, and ignoring what he was doing to his body.  He would have been in his 60's, rather than in his 50's when he died.

** IN A VERY REAL SENSE, STRESS KILLS! **

This is jus a tiny fraction of a list that contains major life stressors:
* Minor violations of the law
* Major holidays
* Vacation
* Major change in number of family get-togethers
* Change in eating habits
* Major change in sleeping habits (a lot more or a lot less than usual)
* Taking on a loan (car,etc.,)
* Major change in social activities (clubs,movies,visiting,etc.)
* Major change in usual type and/or amount of recreation
* Major change in church or temple activity (i.e.. a lot more or less than usual)
* Major changes in working hours or conditions
* Changes in residence
* Changing to a new school
* Trouble with boss
* Revision of personal habits (dress manners, associations, quitting smoking)
* Major change in living condition

Living your entire life as a huge lie, just so your 'loving family' won't alienate you is a huge stressor that, by far, trumps any and all on the above list.  As was clearly demonstrated in Phil's case, living such a huge lie will knock many years off your already miserable life. 

Phil died at the age of 57 due to a hideously cat-boxed lie.  Period.

I will agree with you:  It was PHIL'S responsibility to 'politely' tell every member of his family:

"I can love whoever the Hell I damned well please.  I can be physically attracted to whoever the Hell I damned well please.  I will not make excuses for who I am or for what I do.  There will never be any need for me to do that, so don't wait around for it."

"What I do in my bed - or in my entire life, for that matter - is none of your business or of your concern.  I am not a "What", I am a "Who". You will love me for WHO I am, not for WHAT I am.  I don't want mere 'tolerance' out of you, either.  'Tolerance' means, "I don't like what you are doing, but I will deal with it, in order to keep the peace.".  No. I can do you one better than that.  If you are going to be in my life *at all*, you are going to absolutely love me for who I am.  I don't want to burden you with 'tolerance'.  Get the Hell out of my life, and get the Hell out now."

"While we're on the subject, where the Hell do you get off thinking you have the authority to judge me at all?  More than just a little pompous and self-important, are we? Your life is no more valid or authentic than my own life, and the fact that you think you have been given a position to just, put down or persecute people for living their own lives just might lower your own life a peg or two."

I am proud - nay - down-right THRILLED to love and to live my life to the fullest extent that I see fit.

You are not welcome nor allowed to do so for me, so get the Hell out and get the Hell out now!"

(Trust me. The liberation that follows is the most cleansing feeling that will ever flood your soul.  I did the same thing to my entire family, and like Lot's Wife who is in that Bible that those people think they have the right to hurl at me, I have never looked back, for fear of turning into a pillar of THEM!  It worked for me!)

EVEN THOUGH.... Phil had the responsibility for setting those fools on the correct course, they should have had the wherewithal to NOT be royal jackasses and tell him that he is going to Hell for being a gay man.  He was gullible and vulnerable, and they took advantage of those huge weaknesses that he harbored and allowed to grow quickly out of control.

Come, now, people!  Which do we think will send you to Hell the quickest:

1) Living an HONEST, AUTHENTIC life that is based on LOVE for another individual or

2) Wasting your entire life while fabricating lie after lie and living an ENTIRE lie until the day you die, thus living miserably until the day you die. (And usually having a separate relationship with a person who you were INTENDED to be with in the first place, thus 'stepping out' on the fake relationship that you constructed as a cover-up.

(You do know that I could go on for another couple chapters of this 'book' on #1, but, in the immortal words of Sophia Petrillo from The Golden Girls.... "But, I digress."

To recap:

I will not live nor die like Phil did.  I have heard SO many people comment, "I love Phil!  He always spoke what was in his heart and what crossed his mind!"

The truth:  UH.... NO, HE ABSOLUTELY DID NOT!

I have also heard people say, "Phil was such a strong man!"

The truth:  NOPE.  NOT TRUE, EITHER!

(How the Hell strong exactly was he, when he wouldn't even allow him to life a fair, justified life, and in fact, he lived it for others, which ultimately killed him?)

Again...."When that times comes, I will be the one to do the dying for myself, because nobody else can or will do it for me.  Those people that thought I should live my life for THEM, instead of FOR ME will be glaringly and obviously absent at that moment. 

In like fashion, I am also going to be the one to do the living for myself. I will not let anyone even attempt to do that for me, either.  Those people that can't and won't die for me will not be allowed to do the living, or to make life choices for me, either.

It is a very sad fact, indeed, that **I** lived the life that Phil preached.  **I** practiced his preaching.  He did not.  I live happily.  He never did.  Was his sacrifice worth it?

If you answer 'yes' to that question, you need:  God, Jesus, Allah, Ganasha, Shive, Krishna, Rama - somebody, damn it! - but the help you need is beyond the scope of my skill set!

(The really scary part of this deal is that I know at least 5 very gay men that are in 'straight' marriages, or they are very gay men that call themselves 'straight'. All 5 of those people are truly and obviously as miserable as miserable can get, and most of them ooze that miserableness onto anybody that is unfortunate enough to be close enough to the afflicted individual to get some of that nasty ooze on them!)

- Michael 

"You can't hit me, because I'm a girl!"

(The 'Trailery" girl that I speak of isn't in this pic - this pic was taken 2 years earlier, but I am in this pic, and the correct principal - Mr Donald Baumer - is in this pic.)

There's a necessary and discernible difference between 'strong' and 'attitude'.  One should never be used as an cover-up or exchanged for the other.

A easy, magnified example:

In 1978, I was in Oakwood Elementary School, Hannibal, MO.

I'm not much of a (physical) fighter, because I am a weak, gimp, because it's Hoosierish and barbaric, and from the moment that I could think for myself as an infant, I made a pact with myself that I would make every attempt possible *not* to turn out like the rest of my family, which I have successfully accomplished.

Anywho, When I was in grade school, this Hoosier / Hooker looking, loud-mouthed girl approached me while we were playing in the cafa-audi-nasium (Cafeteria / Auditorium / Gymnasium) during a recess break.  I'm sure that this young 'lady' is still steeped in her trailerish squalor because she was wallowing so deep in it then that it would take a deliberate and strong, sustained effort to climb out of that society, and to make a respectable human being out of herself that not many people are willing to turn 180 degrees, and run in the opposite direction.  (Unlike Lot's Wife, I did such, and I never looked back, for fear that I would turn into a pillar of THEM.)

("Hoosier" in the St. Louis vernacular, not the Indiana usage  Scroll down to "Hoosier in Missouri":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoosier)

Also keep in mind that, during this little exchange, the principal of the school was standing less than an arm's length from me and this young idiot girl.  

At any rate, Hoosier girl walked up to me and exclaimed loudly:

"You can't hit me, because I'm a girl!"
(Note that I never, ever did ANYTHING to this ill trained bottom feeder.)

Without missing a beat, I answered:

"Do you want to give it a whirl? I won't hit a woman... I won't hit a girl but I will readily attack a bitch!"

Still, with this look of justified entitlement on her face, she slapped me across the face.  

(The only other person I ever hit while I was in school was my older brother, because he was a jackass then, and he's an even bigger jackass now.)

With the only strong arm that I possess, I pulled back my left fist, and punched her squarely in the forehead.

That punch made her 'a bit dizzy', when she fell, she landed - lucky her! - with the back of her head on top of the principle's shoes!  

Principal Fredrick Baumer look down at the sleeping beauty that was using his shiny shoes as a pillow.  She had a large, red goose egg on her forehead (The red kinda clashed with her parrot blue eye shadow, but I digress.)

With one hand, Principal Baumer yanked this fool off his shoes and, with one hand on each shoulder, steadied her wobbly self in front of him until she could open her eyes, and look HIM square in the eye. 

The only response he gave about the entire ordeal to this girl was precious and priceless:

"Now, young lady.  I do believe you actually DID learn something in school today!"

And with that authoritative push that he was so well known for, he turned her body in the direction of the hallway, and shoved her off in the correct direction.

There is still a difference between "strong" and "attitude".

I'm still strong, and this person probably still has an attitude.

- Michael

"Oh, Ma'am! Excuse me! You don't understand! I'm Father Fox!"

While we are on the subject of self-important religious fanatics:

I, personally, don't give a damned who you SAY you are.  Instead, I DO give a damn about your actions.

When I was working at Home Depot as a cashier, I had a day off - and I was standing in a check out line as a customer.

I wondered what was taking so long to ring these people out, because I knew the cashier personally, and I knew that she usually worked much faster than that.

I was the 3rd person in line.  There was a small lady that was basically going off on the cashier. Mind you, she should have NOT been yelling at the cashier for a misunderstanding on the price of an item, which was the customer's fault in the first place.

 HOWEVER....}
I could see the front end manager walking towards the scene, but before she got there, the collared priest that was standing directly behind her (who thought he had had enough of her cursing) clutched his chest and said:

"Oh, Ma'am!  Excuse me!  You don't understand!  I'm Father Fox!"

This little firecracker of a lady snapped her head in his direction, and, without missing a beat, in Linda Blair-style, she spewed in his direction:

"I DON'T GIVE A GOD DAMN IF YOU ARE MOTHER GOOSE!"

It was at that moment that she realized that she was going to have to shift into overdrive.  Until the front end manager reached the scene of the incident, this little upset customer then divided her wrath between the shocked priest and the unfortunate cashier, equally cursing them BOTH out!

I was standing behind them, cackling like an entire hen house! What a gem!


- Michael

The Power of PEE!

The Power of PEE!

Last night, while attenting the Air & Art Festival in the clean little St. Louis 'burb of Webster Groves, MO, I had 2 beers.  By *no* means am I an active beer drinker, but I do like to have a beer or a glass of wine while schmoozing.  

Even though this event was less than 8 miles from our home, I decided to use one of the available Porta Potties before I left the venue.

I had used one of these facilities a couple hours earlier in the evening, and I noted that for such a large crowd, the waiting time in line wasn't more than a couple short minutes.  There was an adequate number of potties per attendee.

When I approached the bank of 15 potties (and there were probably a total of 45 for the entire venue), I headed straight for one of the johns before I noticed that, had I continued, I would have been butting in front of an uncomfortably long line.  Because I had not seen a line earlier in the evening, I wasn't expecting a line to be formed at this time, either.

I noticed my own faux pas before anybody had a chance to speak up and say something about my error, and I politely stepped to the back of the line.

And I waited.... And I waited.  After an uncomfortably long wait, I noted that out of the 15 green and red 'occupied / unoccupied' indicators on the doors, *all* of the indicators were 'red = occupied', with the lone exception of the first and last potties in this string of 15.  The other 13 pottied had the red 'occupied' indicator showing.  

Anybody that has attended functions with strips of these potties will know that you usually can hear the doors of the potties banging at a consistent rate, and the waiting line continues to creep slowly forward.  

On this particular evening, only the first and last door saw any action at all.  The 13 doors in the middle had NOT MOVED in the 10 minutes that I was standing in line.  

After making a few comments such as, "I have seen MUCH longer potty lines at Mardi Gras move MUCH Faster!", I decided to take action.  Why the Hell the other 15 people in front of me didn't do something about the situation before I arrived sure beats the Hell out of me!

I was dressed in my normal garb.  I told the man standing behind me, and the sheepish woman standing in FRONT of me, "Hold my place in line!  I'm going to check doors!"

They laughed to see such a sport! (Remember:  I'm a nurse - I've seen every shape, size and color of everybody's everything!)

I went to the strip of potties, and I skipped the first potty. I knew a small girl just walked into that one, and it was being used as it should be.
FOR THE NEXT 12 potties, I opened the door WIDE, looked inside, and exclaimed to the waiting crowd behind me, "Unoccupied!  NEXT!" (opened the next door)... "Unoccupied! Next!", and I continued the process for 12 doors.  I knew the last potty was being used approperiately, so when I got to the 12th EMPTY potty, I flung the door open and said, "Occupied?  Nope!  This one is MINE!"

The waiting crowd gasped, then laughed - and then lunged forward to claim their potty.

Hindsight being 20 / 20, I firmly believe that, in a moment when no one was looking, a prankster turned all the indicators to 'occupied', just to watch the people staning in line, holding their pee!

Why will I forever be the first person that 'gets it', and exclaims, "Nope! That Emperor STILL ain't wearing no clothes!" 

GEEZ!  Such Sheeple!  :D

- Michael

Mental - and sometimes Physical - Calisthenics: Keeping it Malleable

Global Foods and Jay's Foods are the 2 biggest International food markets in the St. Louis area, but we have quite at least 8 other international food markets and many culture-specific stores in the area.

Global Foods is about 3 miles from our home, and we go there quite often.  At Global, for example, there is an isle dedicated to each ethnicity, with some isles sharing more than one culture.  (They have the specific flags flying above the isle, along with the names of each country:
Poland, Bosnia, Germany, Mexico, Japan, China, India, Russia, and several more.

Many of the foods have their entire labels written in the native language of that particular country, with no English translation on the package.

Even though we definitely have our favorite foods from around the globe, each time we shop there, we make a point to get a few of our favorites- and also a few things that 'I have no idea what it is, but I'm going to find out!"

With very rare and few exceptions (like a Balut egg!), I will try any and everything.  I have a friend that was born without arms - not even stumps - and he has lived his entire adult life alone, with no assistive devices.  How does he do it?  He never lost the flexibility of his lower limbs that a baby has naturally. (Ever see a baby gleefully sucking on his toes???) This man can comb his hair with a part so straight that is scares me, give himself an impeccably clean shave, button his shirt - AND his pants, play guitar, and drive a standard car with no alterations, whatsoever, etc, etc, etc.  When I asked him, "how do you do it?"  He told me that if he wanted to remain independent, he had no choice but to maintain the flexibility that we all had since we were babies..  Keeping the senses and the brain equally as malleable prevents one from getting "OLD".  I'm not talking about 'old' as the general time that anything that has been on the face of this earth, I'm talking about "OLD", as in constricted, sheltered and narrow-minded, and all-too-willing to defend such a mental status.   

At 45 yrs. old, there is a good chance that I will NOT become one of those people.  :D

(If you want BOTH mental and physical Calisthenics, go to the St. Louis City Museum - but wear a good pair of tennis shoes, and it would behoove you to buy a quality pair of knee pads, and have them strapped on when you walk in the door!)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Balut_(egg)

- Michael

EEEEEW! What's that smell? (And fun with torturing friend's olfactory nerves!!)

  
The Devil's Tongue

This song might come to mind:




Now on display in the Liniean House at the Botanical Gardens is the Devil's Tongue, the 'little brother' of the huge Corpse Flower (scientific name: Amorphophallus titanum, translated, means "Giant Misshaped Penis")

The 'Devil's Tongue's botanical name is "Amorphophallus paeoniifolius" - translated, it is "Misshaped Penis Elephant Foot" !!!
(The bright yellow 'stem' of the flower IS the actual flowers of this plant, which are actually very tiny, yellow flowers for such a huge, smelly - interesting - plant.

A friend asked me, "I have to ask; what do they smell like? Are they floral at all?"

My answer - characteristically lengthy, of course!:
Floral? Nope. More like something from The Bog of Eternal Stench (from the David Bowie movie "The Labyrinth" !)

I never got a whiff of THIS one, because it was freshly open.

Having had maggots eat half of my right foot off then I was 4 yrs. old, I can tell you that, if you are standing down-wind of the Devil's Tongue's cousin, "The Corpse Flower", the odor - and TRUE odor - smells like rotten, dead flesh. Much like the same smell as if you pass road kill that has been on the road for several days. There is a difference between road kill that is STARTING to smell, and one that has had a chance to cook in the sun for a few days.

If I had to make a choice, I would rather smell the one that has cooked a bit longer than one that is freshly rotten. The 'freshly rotten' smell is much more acidic, and stomach-turning for a good reason.

Mother Nature made us revolt - actually get nauseous - at the smell of rotten food to keep us from eating bad things that would make us sick.

I had a BIG, BUTCH nurses's aide that worked under me when I worked as a nurse.
I was in a double patient's room, cleaning up a lady that, well, made 'the mess of the century'.
The privacy curtain was pulled around her for obvious reasons.

This big, butch, straight man cam in to care for the non-messed lady, and suddenly, I heard him yell to her, "I'll be right back!", as he bolted for the door. Then, I heard horrible vomiting noises coming from the hallway.

Bud came back into the room, and apologized to both me and the patient he was caring for, by saying, "I'm sorry.... I don't know what hit me, but I know I had to get sick QUICK!"

The clincher:
Bud was born with no sense of smell **AT ALL**.

It seems that this 'if we smell something bad, we vomit' response is such a instinctual response that hie consciously didn't have to know that there was a hideous odor in the room for the response to work!

You see, I KNEW Bud had no sense of smell, and I was testing him to see if the 'bad smell - vomit' response worked on a person who was not aware that a bad smell is in the air.

When I TOLD him that I knew he would respond that way, he dragged me out in the hallway, and started playfully beating me about the head and neck!

Since that time, I dated a guy that also had no sense of smell. He lived alone, and was seldom home, so the trash in his trash can (in the kitchen) built up slowly. On several occasions, I would go over to visit him, and when I opened the door, a 'bad trash' smell would nearly knock me over. Before I had a chance to say something to him, he would tell me, "I don't know what's wrong, Michael, but I have been feeling nauseous. all day!" I would tell him, "Bill, it's time to take the trash out." I also had to tell him when to change his bathroom towels, and I finally put him on a schedule to change his towels AND his trash. He was a VERY clean man, with a very clean house, but slowly accumulating trash and a one-man towel can be stinky in just a few days!

- Michael