Nice to See StevieB: Back to School

By StevieB

Just to make sure I know that summer is officially over; fall semester has started at College. The first day was true to form, our wolf mascots was running around the hall like the star of a Furries convention. Fellow classmates, less than half my age, wondered around wearing ironically ‘80s outfits. I snickered at the Dudes sporting the neon high tops and graphic - insert generic band here – tee shirts. I did it when it wasn’t ironic.

This semester has me in more history classes, as I’m now a “History Education Major” it’s not a surprise. In keeping with my history major, yesterday found me at my old study place, the Coffee Shop on 9th Avenue. On my first day of class it was decided we would write a five page paper on some part of western civilization in the eighteen-hundreds. Because I’m an idiot, I blurted out; “The Treaty of Utrecht” not knowing anything about this topic other than it was printed on the poster behind my Professor’s head.

Sunday, I found out how incredibly dull this time in history truly was. I’ll spare you the details. Unless they make a movie staring Channing Tatum as Louis XIV of France, and a shirtless Zachary Quinto as the King of Portugal you don’t need to know anything other than, France got some ass kicked. I got my paper done for class, which is all that matters. This was done only by imagining Channing Tatum giving up his power to Zachary Quinto.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission. 

Nice to See StevieB: Like a Rainbow

By StevieB

(In honor of this weekend's upcoming Denver Modernism Show 2012, here's a post that originally ran in August of 2010)

Over the weekend we went to the Denver Modernism Show. A trade show dedicated to all things Mid-century architecture and collectibles. We went because well…. We’re gay and it’s the law to like collecting quirky things. If we were twenty years older we would have been searching for the last bit of Erté for our collection at the Art Deco fair. So, in flip-flops and a strong understanding of late Bauhaus we marched.

During our search through chrome home furnishing and ironic art, the six of us started to discuss our childhood involving the Sears or Wards Catalogs. Here in the US you had the Sears Catalog or the Montgomery Ward’s catalogue to buy from. We were Wards.

When I was around eight my Mom took me the catalogue office inside our local Wards' department store. I remember that we were finally going to buy new towels and since there are seven kids, she was going to buy a lot of towels. I remember being so excited to have new towels to fold over and over on the unused towel bar in our heavily used bathroom. Since the plastic tiles in this room were baby blue I thought a nice Sea Foam green would accentuate nicely. As we approached the counter I explained my color palette idea like Candice on Divine Design would sit down with her clients, tossing around the color story I had in mind for this particular room of our over sized ranch house.

Quickly my design expertise was being ignored when my Mother started to order one of every color. “Like a rainbow” she explained. “No!” I shrieked. “How will I be able to folded out an entire splash of color if the towels don’t match?!” I started to panic; my design was being hacked apart. Doesn’t she understand her designer has her bathroom’s color story set?

I did what every eight year old gay boy did. I threw a tantrum in the middle of the Montgomery Ward’s catalogue department screaming that I wanted all matching towels. Candice Olsen would have done the same. She too would have been marched crying to the car.

For years I had to triple fold and hang a green hand towel on top of a red bath towel, which is why to this day I only have all white, Egyptian cotton towels.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to See StevieB: The Day After

By StevieB

I will not go into a post-Olympic downer. Nope, not me. Not like every time since my first Olympics I became obsessed with back in 1984. 
 

For weeks after the 1984 games ended I moped around the house with nothing to watch on TV, and nothing to dream about.  I spent the entire remaining summer, after the closing ceremonies, begging my Mom to let me try out for my Junior High’s Track and Field team the next school year. I knew that since we lived so far out in the country there wouldn’t be a way for me to get home when the after school practices were done. And no way I could make it to the meets.  

Every four years I become obsessed with the games and attempt to watch every televised event. I watch the Badminton, Lesbian Kayaking, and the even the hours of team Volleyball. I memorize as many athlete’s names as I can. I try to get their entire back-story, and find them on Twitter.  I quiz myself on the number of points each athlete needs to reach the qualifying rounds. I feel what they feel when they don’t win. I cheer when they do win.

For seventeen days I’m the biggest sports fan there is, then it is over.  To quote Michael Phelps, quoting Dr. Seuss, “Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

For more of StevieB's take on the 2012 Olympics, check out Olympics or Porn.

Nice to See StevieB: Under Where?

By StevieB

As part of my daily work life I have quite a lot of Skype conversations. I went from avoiding the whole “video chat” thing to having this as part of my daily Habitrail. Yesterday was no different, Two Skype calls with clients, and one with based on interviewing someone for a new position.


It seems that I have lost my aversion to video conferencing, and it is as easy as someone coming into my office for a conversation. You talk business, and then chat about your day and the weather. Yesterday, after my interview with the perspective new employee, he mentioned that I must be ready to go to the gym.

“Sure” I stated.

“Well, it seems you’re ready to head out to the gym, your gym bag is at the ready.”

Wondering why he knew about my gym bag, tossed behind my desk, I finally focused on my picture in the video chat window. Yup. There was my bag on the video. Completely open with my Under Armour briefs in full display.

I pretty much displayed my undies to clients all day long.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to See StevieB: Gym Time

By Stevie B.

I finally found my "real" gym in the last month. A gym without all the trappings. No cardio queens, no angry Moms pushing past on their way to a "stretch and fit" class. Just hard working dudes pushing plates. The gym didn't even have air-conditioning, it was truly a hard core black iron gym.

This gym is the type of place where I didn't have to hear from the other half that I wasn't stopping to gossip and chat with the muscle queens.

"Joe told me you haven't been talking with him at the gym?" I heard on several occasions. This kind of social hair salon setting made me glad I found a working class, blue collar gym.

With the testosteronieness of this gym, I even rediscovered and found it easily to ramp up my work outs. I wanted to push past my "comfort zone" and perform at the level of the muscle heads flipping tracker tires in the parking lot.

I was feeling pretty damn happy for my self. Well, until yesterday when I read the noticed taped to the front door. The one with the really bad grammar explaining that the gym was either being clothed at the end of the moth, or that it was closing at the end of the month.

I found out the gym was closing.

Bummer. I guess it's back to 24 hour fitness for me. Plenty of time to stop and chit-chat with the gays.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission. 

Nice to See StevieB: NTSSB.COM

By StevieB

Sometimes I feel downright clever. Like when the female prostitute approached me on the street the other day, my quick response of “Lady I’m wearing a yellow bow-tie! That should signal to you that I’m very gay!”

It helped my ego that she looked disappointed. I spent two days feeling quite smug about my quick sarcastic response.


Today I have spent feeling like a dunce. I didn’t handle the emails warning me that my domain name, NTSSB.com was up for renewal very well. I ignored the “This domain name is about to expire” emails because originally it was registered through GoDaddy.com, and sense we all know what a bunch of Douche Bags they are, I didn’t reply. I planned on just transferring to a new company.

I put it off.

The next I did think about it was when Patrick mentioned that my NTSSB site was dead. Well, if he’s upset then I need to act. The last thing I want is for him to pull quarters out of his ass and chucking them at me. Quickly I went to register the precious name, keeping in mind that nicetoseestevieb.com and nicetoseestevieb.blogspot are humming right along ... or else you wouldn’t be reading this.

This is about the time I began to learn the shady world of name registering. If you let a domain expire the registrar will then charge you $98 bucks. Just to renew it. I think they call it an idiot tax. The only other choice is to let NTSSB fall from grace and when it comes open to the public I can re-register it for $20 bucks. IF someone else doesn’t do it first; like it’s a big flipping deal.

This is an open apology to anyone who has missed my not-so-subtle sarcastic wit in the last couple weeks due to the NTSSB domain not redirecting to my BlogSpot address. I won’t be spending $98 smackers on redirecting you. But, here’s what you missed.

I ran.

I shopped for a new fridge.

I sat in the grass.

I’m an ENTJ.

It kicks like a sleep twitch.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission. 

Nice to See StevieB: The Grass is Greener

By StevieB

It’s funny how we can miss out on personal time. That quality “me” time that is so important for staying centered in this world. With priorities and commitments capturing our time, it is hard to unplug.  The simple act of running away, even if it is for just a couple of hours.

This thought struck me yesterday when I started out for a morning run, and couldn’t remember that last time I ran. My knees couldn’t remember either. Like chunks of rust falling off of an unused piece of ancient machinery, my body slowly began to move slowly down the running path. 

With road trips, houseguests, summer events, and the occasional household appliance catastrophe, the time to head over to Cheesmen Park and open up my personal sacred time had been shoved to the side. 

The funny part was that my body made me completely aware of my lack of running time. Yes, my knees creaked and my ankles burned, yet it was more the non-ability to shut off the business side of my brain. It was somewhere around the two mile mark when I stopped thinking about emails. At mile three I stopped beating myself up for not blogging enough. By mile four was when Steve returned. The Steve that doesn’t have “commitments” or “obligations” but instead enjoys the particular shade of green that the grass in Cheesmen offers.

You might not even really realize that you are not doing the things that make you truly happy. I implore you to stop and ask, “What do I love to do? Why am I not doing it?” 


This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission. 

Nice to See StevieB: Lunch Time

By StevieB

StevieB circa 1989

Starting out for lunch today brought me nothing but giggles.

My workplace is in the heart of Denver's hip and trendy Capital Hill neighborhood. It's a place I know very well. Right out of high school, my first apartment was in this gay, counter-culture area next to the downtown business center.

As I walked down the sidewalk I found myself in front of the first gay bar I ever frightenedly walked into, so many centuries ago. I snickered that it's now a hipster bar.

Out front was a gaggle of young gay kids killing time. I made my way through the gang, just a forty year old in a suit. The conversation I heard could of been from the days that I hung out in front of this stoop. One of having nothing to do, not enough money, and why are there so many old men in suits pushing past them.

I wanted to stop and inform them that they're nothing new. They didn't invent "being cool." I over styled my hair, wore Daisy Dukes, and sported tiny T-shirts to highlight my wash board abs too. And did it better.

Instead I straightened my tie, winked at the smoking hot twenty-one year old checking me out, and thought about the last twenty-two years.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to See StevieB: Good Friends

By StevieB

Sunday afternoons during the summer mean warm long shadows as the sun takes its sweet time to set. For me it means heading over to our local bear bar for Beer Bust. A longstanding tradition of beers, beards, and buds. You can tell the beer bust is in high season by the metal cattle fencing surrounding the bar’s parking lot turned play space for the bears, otters, and other animal themed male homosexuals.

This really is the time to connect with old friends. I get to have a couple quality hours without the pressure of everyday life; it’s less about hanging out in a bar and more about hanging out with friends. Old and new.

This last Sunday I had the chance to spend time chatting with a good friend I met way back in 2004 when I first moved back to Denver. I consider him a long-time bud. We were given some time to catch up on our lives, flirt a little, and generally spend time enjoying each other’s company. Please don’t ask me his name. I can’t remember.

Moving from Dallas to Denver was pretty traumatic. Leaving the gay ghetto, they had to peel my fingers from the door jamb of my beloved gay gym. When settled in Denver the first thing I did was to sign up at Denver’s small gay club, Broadway Bodyworks. This helped the decompression to a city without a centralized gay neighborhood. Around this time was when I met ___. We started to match our workout times to get more gym hangout time. We have been great buds ever since. Well, all but that small part where he greets me with “Hey! Steve! How’s it going?” And I once again, have to stumble over saying hey…. handsome. It’s been 8 years, how frickin horrible is it that I can’t remember his name.

Yes, I have tried all the games of introducing him to other friends, yet it seems that his name never comes up. “This is my good friend________. We’ve known each other since ’04.”

Maybe I should ask him to friend me on Facebook?

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to See StevieB: Pain au StevieB

By StevieB

It started on Friday morning. That twinge you get deep in your jaw. Something was wrong, horribly wrong in my mouth. I realized quickly that a filling I had replaced around a month ago had turned against me.

I will spare you the tale of woe, if you have ever had a toothache, you know of the pain and utter ouchiness. What I will tell you about is when I called my Dentist, late on Friday; he prescribed heavy painkillers for the weekend. Steve. On Vicodin.

Late Friday night, after huffing my Vicodin happiness,  I found myself sporting gym shorts and a wife-beater standing in the candy isle of Walgreen's (chain drug store.) I was looking madly for “pain au chocolat” because when I get high, I either turn French or into Eddy Monsoon. Not finding chocolate croissants in a small town drug store, I stumbled upon a dog bed. It was shaped like a Homer Simpson stylized doughnut. My laughs turned into snorts when I thought of my dog lounging in the middle of the glazed treat. My snorts stopped as sadness covered me, I wanted to buy the silk-screened doughnut, but I was convinced I’d get pink frosting all over my hands. When expressing my sadness, I was escorted quickly out of the store.

Me. Shopping for
pain au chocolate.

Saturday found me filled with determination. I was going to the International Auto Show even if I was jacked up on painkillers. It only comes but once a year, so really I HAD to go. I whole-heartily endorse going to car shows hopped up on the drugs, it makes the shiny cars… “real [SIC] pretty.” Although I did ditch the guys a couple of times, once to spend ten minutes in the cab of a Dodge Big Horn convincing myself I owned it, and another time to spend time pondering if I just drove out the side door in a Wrangler anyone would even notice. I think, fun was had by all.

Finally, Sunday came. After a massive pancake breakfast and a trip to a local vintage electronics trade show, I finally slowed down enough to change shorts and head to the gym. This is where my body over-ruled my “man ‘bout town” attitude. As I changed into my gym shorts I fell back into the bed. Eight hours later I awoke. My jaw was killing me.

My weekends are usually non-stop. Even if they are hazed over, drug fueled, Stevie pumped full of Vicodin, goodness. Determined to keep my busy stride, I just really needed to stop and listen to my body. I was; however, very entertaining to my friends. So, not unlike Eddy Monsoon.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to See StevieB: My Ex, Hamlet

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Nice to see StevieB: Thai Me Up

By Stevie B

I have found myself addicted. Again.

I go through phases where I cannot get enough of one type of food. Last fall I stood in front of my favorite, and recently closed, Japanese fast-food restaurant and shook my fist and the locked front door. I had been eating lunch there almost every day for six months and without even consulting me, they closed the location. The betrayal of closing my favorite restaurant helped me spiral down into a cheese pizza tirade that lasted four months.

Although I still visit the cuisine of Japan regularly, I have gone to Thailand to find love. Peanut sauce and curry love. My fascination with the food of Thailand has grown to the point that I’m now the love slave of a nineteen year old Thai boy, named, Chad. I am at the point where I’ve visited his family’s tiny restaurant so many times that Chad now puts in my order as I walk through the door. As he places my over sized plate of chicken and veggie stir-fry, with extra peanut sauce and crispy garlic, he says, “Your favorite, Keith!” He calls me Keith, but that’s okay. Because I love him, he brings me spicy Thai peanut sauce.

Yesterday I found that I am cheating on Chad, as I have started to teach myself Thai cooking at home. After spending thirty bucks in the “Oriental Food” section of my local grocery store, I have all the ingredients to make a  เตะตูด Thai curry. Ya know, coming from a nerdy Mormon boy, I think I'm learning how to make a great stir-fry. This weekend there will definitely be a trip to Sakura Square and a shopping spree for more supplies. Please, don’t tell Chad. He’s sensitive.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permissio

Nice To See StevieB: Just Keep Running

By Stevie B

Yesterday I grabbed my new Puma NightFox TR running shoes, and headed towards the gym. I bought these visions of green and blue Puma technology in January and have kept them in their own special carry bag since then. I like to keep my running shoes in pristine condition and only wear them during actual running. This of course, makes me one of those nerds walking into the gym with a bag of shoes slung over one shoulder.


As I drove to the gym, ready for some quality time with a tread mill, I started to mull over why my “strictly running” shoes were not the answer to my shin pain. Even with all the support and cell technology built into these shoes I was having the same problem. Heel strike. I have never been able to really change my stride. It has improved; my crippling shin splints have decreased dramatically with training how to run on my forefoot instead of smacking down on my heels, yet after any amount of running I still had soreness and pain in my lower legs. This is due to the tendons and muscles surrounding the tibia being unable to absorb the shock I force this muscle group to absorb in my bad running form.

When researching how to correct my stride and relieve my pain, I found that proper foot landing during running was critical, but improper footwear, including worn-out shoes can also contribute to shin splints. This is when I started treating my heavily padded Pumas as if they were my children. My new kids were disappointing me. I thought back to an article in Runner’s World* about barefoot running. Proponents of the barefoot movement argue that barefoot running is healthier for feet and reduces risk of chronic injuries, notably repetitive stress injuries due to the impact of heel striking in padded running shoes. Figuring that I would try anything, I stopped off at my local REI store. After no less than five associates warning me to break them in SLOWLY, I strapped my new Vibram FiveFinger shoes on and headed to the gym.

The United States Army recently banned the use of Vibram FiveFinger toe shoes for image reasons* I can see why, they… take awhile to get used too. On my walk from the car, through the locker room, and to the treadmill I had four people stop and ask me how they felt to wear. In spite of the friendly sales associates at REI warning me that if I didn’t break them in slowly my feet would fall off from pain, I hopped on the treadmill and took off.

I would like to report that my feet did not, actually fall off. Today, they feel… amazing actually. My normal feeling of shin splints is non-existent. The barefoot feeling forced me, without me knowing, to land correctly on the treadmill’s belt. Yes, these shoes force unwanted attention down to my toes, but with the help they give me running I’m okay being a toe exhibitionist. 

 

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Eulogy for Logo TV

By StevieB

I’m sure you have heard the news. The bell tolls for the death of Logo, the gay TV channel. It won’t be a nice peaceful death, covered in olive oil, reposing in a Beverly Hills’ Hotel bath tub. No. The corpse of the little gay TV network that brought us Rick and Steve and Jeffrey and Cole will be gutted, and reanimated like Frankenstein’s Monster. The Network will arise from the slab attempting to look like so many overly processed Housewives on the Bravo Network.

If you read my blog for long you’ll notice that I stay away from anything political, there are much better and more astute bloggers for popular news stories. That being said, when I read about Logo changing its platform, I felt as if RuPaul had just told me to “sashay away.”

Logo has decided to attempt a Bravo Network format. This grabbing at Bravo’s Housewives franchise will be mixed with some Lifetime channel and other female centric shows, along with reality shows just to make the train wreck “fabulous.” If the channel’s inauthentic reality show, The A-List was the canary in the networks coalmine. The bird is dead.

I will miss my Logo channel. It won’t pass peacefully and much as it will be murdered.

America will have a new source for faux reality shows about the housewives of mobsters, forcing their toddlers to compete in pageants as tables get flipped in arguments over the bidding of abandoned storage units. Must avoid TV.

For a short time we had a channel for us. Like when MTV showed music. My hope is that young gays will be able to grow up remembering how this channel helped them come out and not remember how The A-List made inauthentic stereotypes of our community.

Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for gayTV ...

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

My Furry Happy Weekend

By StevieB

We had three great days of sunny, warm weather over the weekend. Maybe our first truly warm days since fall, fell. You can tell that everyone was jumping on the chance to enjoy the great weekend by the hordes of people spilling into the park and jumping at the chance to go out on the town for dancing and mischief-making. Visitors to Cheesman Park were trying their best at soaking up the sunny weekend, not knowing when they’ll get the chance to feel it again. The running path in Cheesman was crowded as runners gave up the treadmill and ventured out into nature.

I watched all this unfold from behind the plate-glass of the coffee shop on 9th and Downing Street. I spent my weekend writing a paper on the topic of homosexuals and how they were portrayed in mid-century media. How movies and literature portrayed homosexuality as a sickness, something to be feared or pitied. As I typed away on the topic of self-loathing in the GLBT community, two twenty-somethings sat at the next table hatching a plan to raise funds to bankroll an awareness campaign for our local meal delivery program for people living with HIV.

I did put down the lap-top long enough to attend Bearracuda: A fun, friendly party for Bears, Cubs, and other wildlife. It’s like a circuit dance party for the happy, furry set. I’ll blame the weather, but I had an amazing time. My good friend Gary Givant was DJing and it's always a great to dance to his tunes. Gary is a Billboard.com DJ and constantly has his feelers out for new tunes; he seems to always have new, upbeat songs before anyone else. My opinion may have been skewed by the hot muscle dudes tromping around, but it seemed like just the perfect prescription to top-off the weekend.

The thesis of my paper was how our GLBT community had their identity originally formed by fear mongering, agenda driven media types. This was an attempt to drive self-hatred down into our very collative soul. It may have worked for a while, yet this weekend proved to me that we have come a long way. 

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to see StevieB: Happy Leap Day

by StevieB

Happy Leap Day.

Today is February 29, A day born from a Civil Servant named Sosigenes of Alexandria, and his get rich quick scheme. Sosigenes, wanting extra funds in the bank, convinced Mr. Boss Man Caesar to add on an extra 24 hours every four years to the Julian calendar. This was just to mess with everyone’s calendars for all time.

Alexandrians being notorious jerks, where also cunning enough for the Caesar to fall for the plan. Caesar never connected Sosigenes to his Alexandrian headquartered calendar making company. To this day the North African empire is solely driven by making all the world’s calendars.

For me, this day marks the anniversary of moving from Dallas, Texas to Denver, Colorado in 2004. Marking eight years I  living on the base of the great Rocky Mountains. Here are some other historical Wikepedia events:

1720 – Queen Ulrika Eleonora of Sweden abdicates in favour of her husband, who becomes  King Frederick I.
1936 – February 26 Incident in Tokyo ends.
1940 – Finland initiates Winter War peace negotiations
1960 – Family Circus makes its debut.
1988 – Svend Robinson becomes the first member of the Canadian House of Commons to come out as gay.
1992 – First day of Bosnia and Herzegovina independence referendum.

It is uncanny, the strange occurrences that seem to happen on this, Leap Day. I for one, will always remember where I was on the February 29, when I heard that the Tokyo incident had finally ended.

So, go forth and make your own wonderful memories today! Attempt your own coup d’état on your own Japanese ruling party.* Go witness the strange and awesome sight of a day that only comes but once every four years.

*The staff of the Nice to see StevieB blog, its affiliates, and/or Stevie B. neither advocate nor
  claim any right to overthrowing the Japanese ruling power in a romantic and/or
  sexy Yukio Mishima kind of way.


This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice to See StevieB: Corvette Gets Married

By StevieB

You get to a point in your life where have seen your high school friends get married, have families, and pretty much just grow up.

I understand that my situation was atypical for my generation, openly dating my first boyfriend during my senior year of high school after dating other boy in school.  Today it seems that it is just part of everyday high school life. Your first love, however is universal. The person you waited for after class, eating in the lunchroom together, making out in the student parking lot before school.  The horribly written love poems where I tried to compare his beauty to Pete Burns. You never forget your first love. But, you graduate, grow up, and somehow stop writing horribly written love poems.

I believe it would be cathartic for anyone to watch a high school sweetheart get married. To see them amazingly happy on the day designed to celebrate finding the love they sought. Your high school love is the person who first broke your heart, or you theirs,  yet taught you that broken hearts helped you grow up into who you are now.

I believe it a little strange; however, when your high school sweetheart’s marriage ceremony shows ups on the gay society column of Towelroad.com, a premier gay news blog.

View the link and video here:

 http://www.towleroad.com/2012/02/gwvaaroncorvette.html

And before you ask … yes, his name is Corvette. In the video he was in the blue tux … and … the red dress.

Yes. It is cathartic to watch your high school sweet heart get married. It reminds me of the kid I was in high school. The type of unguarded and immature love we have in our high school years. Maybe I should go write some horrible love poems. 

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission. 

Stevie B makes me laugh/hungry ...

... with his clever, meat-oriented wordplay.