This morning, getting up, making coffee and typing out a little bloggie, I caught a Rolling Rock commercial on TV (at 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning?). Set in an upscale bar, it was shot using over-saturated colors and twenty-something models with vaseline hair and skin: "Grab a Rock," gruffed the voice-over, as the girl and guy exchanged meaningful looks.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in an alternate universe in Ohio.

Rolling Rock was the "cheap" beer in high school. Piss water cheap for piss water beer. But as cheap as it was, we didn't turn our noses up at it. My friends and I saved our scorn for even cheaper: Meisterbrau and Iron City. Genessee Cream Ale was rock bottom. They were cheap AND tasted awful.

Rolling Rock was passable. A few years later and on her own, one of my high school friends vacationed to Latrobe, Pennsylvania, where Rolling Rock is produced, and toured the plant. We Ohioans know how to have fun, huh?

At some point, Rolling Rock upgraded. It became trendy. Imagine my surprise at paying $5 for a bottle recently. Suddenly everyone's taste buds changed and everyone came attached with their green bottle.

Its cache appeared sometime after I had moved out west. Out there, things were in reverse. Out there, Coors -- from the crystal polluted streams of Golden, Colorado -- was the cheap beer.

Well, just some random thoughts. I really logged on this morning to talk about my attempts lately to meet single, eligible gay people.

Although it's so cold the air cuts, I've made it into at least one rehearsal of Romeo and Juliet. Like my volunteering with the opera last summer, I really don't know much about the ballet. The music is by Prokofiev. Although I haven't seen all of it yet, I can recognize a few strains as being "popular" classical music.

Originally, I was asked to be a Guard. Since I was a Guard in La traviata and in the Nutcracker, I thought I'd either been typecast, or it's not a ballet or an opera unless there's a Guard. But I've been upgraded to monk. There are two scenes where I stand, praying.

They practice against a CD-Rom right now. For the one monk scene -- I don't know where it is yet in the ballet -- the dance director (internationally-known, it is whispered), fast-forwards the CD -- blipblipblibplbipblipblbip -- until stop. "This is where the MONKS come in!" she yells, and I hustle on stage with a chair (in the production I guess it will be a shrine or something), take my place, and stand still with head bowed and arms folded. "Dance dance dance, the ABBE is dancing!" the director yells as she bliplpiiibilpilipblbpilp through another half-minute shot of music, "Then CUT! MONKS! Off the stage!" I grab the chair and hustle off. So much for rehearsal.

And no intriguing (or any) combination of single, cute, gay guys.

My other hobby this past week has been volunteering for the Cincinnati World Cinema. Its mission is to bring independent films that promote diversity to the community. It took me an hour-and-a-half to drive to austere Northern Kentucky University campus where the festival is being held this year.

Last night, I helped handle ticket sales and will-calls for Gaudi Afternoon starring Judi Davis. I enjoyed it, although this was not shared by much of the audience. At the discussion afterwards, some of the audience mentioned the "characters weren't well-rounded enough." Others -- pooh pooh on them -- compared the film unfavorably to "Victor, Victoria" and "The Birdcage." Not! To me, it was like a combination of an Aldomovar and a Woody Allen movie.

Afterwards there was a reception in an art gallery. I put on some headphones and listened to a sampler of "songs" created using vacuum cleaners and other found objects. hee hee.

No eligible singles here either, that I could see. Mostly couples, mostly older, and... it seemed, mostly Jewish. Not that that matters, but hmm, I wonder, Why? *sigh* There were a lot of youngsters, some of them appeared single. But I'm 41, not 21. For whatever any of this is worth or means.

It is, like, 5 below zero here. Hmmm... time to grab a Rock?

They should give blizzards names like they do hurricanes or tropical storms: "Be prepared," anchors will warn, eyes widened in alarm, "Blizzard Mary is coming this way and she packs a mean punch: Up to a foot and more with drifting!"

Here's what I was supposed to do today:
* Have lunch with my friend C
* Rehearse as a monk in Romeo & Juliet
* Have dinner with J and B (my now-former landlord and his boyfriend)

Instead, the morning began with non-stop, full-coverage on the "great winter storm" heading our way. It was sort of laughable -- this is Ohio. We get snow here. And the grey and overcast view outside was typical. But from the morning on, the closing notices began crawling across the bottom of the screen -- churches, youth groups, senior activities -- followed by Monday school and work closings. Channel 7 had web-cams and weathermen posted all over town reporting minute-by-minute triple-Doppler advance of the storm.

To make matters worse, on our saturday night walk, Grace ate some roadkill -- gulp gulp, down the hatch -- before I could stop her. This sometimes happens.

The result: Messy. While the TV pleaded for considerate driving during the upcoming weather "emergency conditions", I tackled a few emergency conditions of my own inside. I spent pretty much all day scrubbing the off-white carpets with ammonia and vinegar. (The off-white's a little more off now in spots. I hate carpeting.) No lunch with C. No rehearsal for Romeo and Juliet. No dinner with J and B.

My friend R in San Francisco sent me an article about "cozies": Crime novels with little blood or gore, and Absolutely No Sex. Think Miss Marple, apparently making a come-back. One set of cozies are co-authored by a cat. Cozies are fast-track revenue-growth books these days.

Partway through carpet-scrubbing, my tenant knocked. It was embarrassing because things were still a bit rank. "I hope you don't mind my son washing the driveway with clorox," she said, "but you know how things are when a vile murder has been committed."

(KIDDING!) She came to tell me about her "breakdown". That's why the ambulance visited the other night. "I'm being asked to do too much at work. I do what I know, and very well, but when I'm asked to do payroll -- that's not in my job description! And it's just too much." The doctors haven't 'released' her back to work yet. At least she's paid her February rent.

"I just love well-behaved poopies!" My tenant said, as Grace jumped all over her. She's left now, and Grace is curled in the 'forbidden' chair. She's eaten, but so far no antsiness -- her sickness has broken. It's dark and still outside: The snow has stopped (but not the TV coverage). In the end, we got about 6 inches. I'm disappointed with our great winter storm.

Redesigning my blog page earlier this week, I had smugly thought How cute, people can write my dog. "I hope you're feeling better, Grace," you can now write, "You shouldn't eat roadkill -- It's yucky and will make you sick."

Blllllccccchhhh!! Just like this blog entry.

Not quite a blizzard and not quite a cozy. Oh well, there's always next time...Time for walkies!