all neuroses, all the time
Thursday, November 29
overheard at dinner
old blind lady in a flowered mumu, speaking to her new attorney, who is from turkey:
"well, he is disrespectful to me. all of the tenants have seen this. and they tell me he walks around in his underwear all the time. the last straw was during thanksgiving. i had a living room full of guests and he walked in to the room in his long john underwear. i was holding the new puppy, i had told mary that we could get one more. and he walks up to me and hits that dog on the nose! kept hitting it! and i told him stop, don't you raise a hand to that dog. and he said 'fine, i won't touch him with my fist, i'll use my foot!' and then he leaves the room, laughing like a maniac, like a sinister maniac. and i was worried, so i put the puppy in my room with the other dogs and locked the door. now why would he act like that, in a house full of company? and he leaves fires on the stove, he puts tupperware on the stove and melts it. you can't heat that up on the stove! that is a direct violation of the no-smoking policy! and it's mary's pots and pans, and he burns them and ruins them. she told him to stop using her things and he just laughed. and he is always misplacing his things, last week he lost two shirts and a pair of pants. he stormed into the common room and grabbed mary by the arm and shook her and called her a chink! he said that the chinks always steal stuff, and he wished we were in saudi arabia so that we could cut her arm off as punishment! i'm sorry i had to say that, but that's what he said, if you'll excuse me."
mary, an asian girl with many sets of keys and i.d. tags around her neck:
"and he slashed my tires! i can't even park in the driveway anymore, i'm afraid he'll slash my tires again!"
"she couldn't park there if she wanted to anyway. his car is there, after i told him to move it, and it leaks a pint of oil a day all over the cement. i've asked paolino to move it and he won't."
older woman, with magenta hair piled high on her head, and from "new YAWK" judging by her accent:
"well, i told them i didn't want to get involved at all with this. but i can testify to him grabbing mary and shaking her. and he threatens everybody, in his way. last week i told him that this was the result of due process of the law. if he had just moved like we asked him to none of this would happen, because he is going on and on about how much money he out for lawyer fees and missed days of work. but i will testify to what i saw, that's all i can do."
old blind lady, again:
"do you think we have a case here? i mean, can we get him on the new rules we laid out?"
lawyer, who sounds a little like omar sharif:
"what new rules?"
new YAWK lady:
"well, the fact that we are changing the house to an all-women facility. so he can't stay, he's a man. we are all women. those are the rules. surely he sees that."
"why are you changing it to an all-woman facility?"
new YAWK lady:
"for the simple fact that women get along better and keep the place up and clean up after themselves. he never cleans. the bathroom is... oh, gawd. it's filthy. mary has to share a bathroom with him. he is filthy. a woman wouldn't leave the bathtub like that. and i have seen this, with my own eyes. i have seen how he leaves his room and the bathroom. i can testify to that, and i will. but i haven't been there for a lot of this, just what i've seen. i've tried to keep out of it."
"i've got all of this in this folder, all of the cleanliness issues. all of the house rules he has broken."
"i don't know if the judge is going to care about that information. we have to get the tenant on a real violation of the basic rental agreement. all of the things you have documented add up to the whole big problem, but we have to have something in writing, some specific rule he is breaking. the things in that folder are supportive of your case, of course. you can wave them at the judge during the hearing if you want."
"wave them at the judge? just wave them back and forth to get his attention? i can't do that. i don't understand."
"no, that's not what i meant. we should just have that, with us, just in case."
old blind lady, to lawyer:
"so how long have you been in this country?"
"twenty five years."
old blind lady:
"and do you like it here?"
"yes, it's been very good to me."
old blind lady:
"hm. yes. me too. this country has been very good to me, also. well."
(pause in conversation)
"you are right, mary: this chicken isn't spicy at all. i don't like that other one. i've still got a taste of it in my mouth, and i thought this new one was spicy like the other one. but it's not. this one is good, and i don't usually like this. what kind of chicken is this?"
(i certainly hope they get all of this worked out)
well, here i sit in the computer lab and who should walk in? him. he is as gorgeous as ever... oh my god, he's talking to somebody! such a sexy and strong and butch voice... listen to me, i'm sounding a little obsessive. okay, i actually am. i'm probably one quick stop away from stalking. i should calm down and ignore him.
but how can i? he's so damn cute!
i'm much better since yesterday. i'm all sighed out. enough of that, end of story.
yesterday i went to UT to go look at the graduate school, and while i was there i was lucky enough to run into the head of the soctume department and another high-ranking faculty member; both of them are legendary in the texas theater community, and both have credits that are well-known and impressive. like: "designed the costumes for the original broadway production of 'godspell'," or "has done principal muppet design for jim henson, inc. for 15 years..." etc. etc. etc. they are certainly people someone starting out would need to know, for their knowledge, skills, good attitudes and contacts. so... i'm applying. for fall. i hope they like me.
i have good drawing skills, and my aesthetic eye is pretty accurate, but my practical sewing skills need work. ho, hum. maybe i'll get in on charm? who knows. but i think they will like me. i hope so. oh, and hopefully they have some money to help me out. because i am poor. soon to be poorer, in grad school. gee, i don't sound like a bargain at all, do i?
at any rate, that's what's going on.
now someone explain to me this rupaul and jonno love affair is all about. jonno and rupaul, sittin' in a tree, t.r.a.n.n.i.e....
hee hee hee.
Wednesday, November 28
my great-uncle died yesterday.
we weren't close, we were close, eh, who knows. i loved him, i didn't know him, i did, etc. etc. etc. he was good to me as a child, but we didn't stay in touch when i grew up.
is that why i'm sad? that as usual, another family member dies and because we are such a cold and isolationary family i don't feel anything? this sort of grief is harder to put your finger on. it's a vague sort of queasiness, an esoteric and (in my mind) unexplainable sorrow. no tears, no wailing. just nothing.
i feel like i'm grieving a missing heart, or one made of stone.
ugh. i am full of loathing right now. me, them, you, the world.
Monday, November 26
today was an odd day, in that nothing and everything happened. i woke up, took the bus to school and went to classes, and then shirked the rest of my duties at work and to classes and went and had mexican food with my favorite professor. his mother died over the holidays, and he needed to talk. so we did. afterward, he dropped my off at my bank, i took out some money and went to the bike shop and picked up my refurbished bike. i didn't tell you about the bike? well.
last week i called a friend of mine that i have woefully fallen out of touch with; his and my schedules are hectic for all the various reasons, and we never can meet up when we would like to. anyway, he asked me if i wanted to come over and look at some shoes he has never worn to see if they fit me. of course, i said yes. i also told him that i was interested in getting a bicycle, as i'd like to lose some gut before mardi gras; hell, i just want to tuck my shirt into pants again, or see my dick from above at some point. anyway, when i told him this he said how it was funny i should mention a bike, as he was cleaning out his storage shed and thinking about giving his old bike to goodwill. so lucky me, i got the bike and the shoes. and a picture frame. get it where you can, i always say.
so the bike had not been ridden in years, but was still very much new- my friend bought it thinking he'd be riding it around the greenbelt with lance armstrong and all the other bike athletes that populate zilker hills and town lake- alas, his zeal was premature. there the bike sat for years in his shed, tires deflating, grips drying and flaking, chain rusting. but 70 bucks later i'm the proud owner of a tuned-up greased-up new-tire-and-grip'd second-hand bike. which i promptly rode to willy's house, and i still feel invigorated. i actually was giggling at one point as i zipped down a hill, so full of joy to be out in the air moving and sweating and wheezing. i like this exercising thing, i think.
oh: the coolest thing:
i got my hair cut at a genuine old-school barber shop across from the UT campus. i sat and waited my turn, the barber (who was a big burly bear, by the way: black crew cut and goatee, and HAIRY FOREARMS) got out his electric clippers and gave me a long sort of "high and tight" (see number 6, "mike," for a picture if you have no clue about what this is). and honey, i look fabulous. butch and cute, and don't think i don't know that those illusions are shattered when i open my mouth and the pearls shoot out, along with a handbag and a copy of "valley of the dolls." ah, well.
anyway, after he cut my hair he lathered up the back of my neck with some warm shaving cream (at least i think that's what it was) and he shaved my neck with a bonafide straight razor. which gave me a raging hard-on. and then he put one of those old-timey massagers on his hand and rubbed my back and neck and shoulders. and i thought:
do any of the frat boys in here understand just how hot and homoerotic this all is?
so, a cute new haircut. exercise-induced endorphins rushing through my body. oh, and i smartly deflected an enormous guilt trip my mother tried to lay on me via a phone call an hour or so ago. i just don't have the time nor the sympathetic ear. you are either for me or against me, and right now if you standing in my way you will be plowed down.
really, none of this is a big deal. it's not exciting, it's not earth-shattering, it's not important. it's nothing.
but it's everything. see?
what to say, what to say. i feel like i took a huge break from blogging, you know? oh, wait. i did. well:
bright and early thursday morning my dad drove up to austin to come get me - yes, i'm one of those shiftless homos that doesn't own a car - and off we went to his house an hour away. on the trip we made sure to avoid the usual topics: the president, democrats, homosexuals. i often think that it is hard for him, as not only does he not want to talk about me and my "lifestyle," he also doesn't want to touch any topic that could lead us to a discussion of said "lifestyle" or is in any way even close to such taboo subjects; thus, i wouldn't put it past him to not talk about something like "fresh produce" as we would have to deal with all the ramifications of the word "fruit." it's very difficult, as you constantly have to be on your toes, steering the conversation towards more mundane topics like weather, and traffic, and pets. i also can't really ever mention will's name either, as then i would have to start the whole "he's a friend" charade and both of us know far better. so, ho hum. that sort of talk in the car. i did acknowledge the 8-year-old debt i owe him that we never talk about either. he assured me he's not worried about me paying him back. which was a comfort, as it won't be anytime soon. keep waiting, pops!
so. we arrive at the house and my stepmother is cooking away, she is an excellent cook. then we load up the mini-van and drive off to her sister's house. really, nothing much happened this thanksgiving. we ate, i played with the kids, i chatted with the grandmother, and we drove by her new house (which her children have all but forced her to move into, so they can sell her old big place and stick her in a garden home- which makes sense, i guess, she doesn't need all that space- but what amazes me is how callous they are to how hurt she is that she is leaving her home of 30 years. they act like she is being ungrateful that she feels any remorse, yet i might too if my kids suddenly badgered me into putting my house up for sale, found me a new one, packed my furniture and things and moved me to my daughters until the new house was finished. oh, and all in a matter of 3 months).
i guess the big news is that my stepbrother, who was not with us this holiday, is in trouble again. he's a great salesman but a horrible businessman. he would take the money his clients gave him and blow it, and then not have any money to buy supplies to finish his jobs- and so he shut down his business and has been hiding from his old clients, dodging phone calls and creditors, etc. etc. etc. until finally the police came and got him. i feel sorry for him. he is not a stupid person, just sad and depressed at a life that has turned out not to be as exciting and adventurous as he had planned. he's stuck in that little town we grew up in, trying to be a big fish in a little pond, and yet all of our school friends think he's a loser (and recent events will only hit that opinion home). he wants to be a big shot in a town that couldn't give two shits about him anyway. so he's lonely, and sad, and stuck in a vicious circle of self loathing/laziness/self-sabotage that only mires him down in the muck. god, i wish he could get his life on track. maybe my graduating will do it. he's already talking about going back to school to finish his degree. i hope he does. i love him, and support him, and would call him and tell him that if his phone were not disconnected.
um, no real funny stories about my dad this trip, i don't why. oh, sure, he did have this to say:
"that rich guy jimenez starts that thanksgiving tradition where he feeds all the poor san antonio families, and the messkins just abuse it, they just show up and have a big family reunion and keep people who really need that food from a hot meal. and you know they have plenty of food at home, they're just lazy."
last night at the leather bar i turned around outside and spotted a crowd of woofy big beefy guys in a corner, and i thought: "who the hell are those cuties?" and lo and behold, one of them walked up to me later and introduced himself and his friends to me and my friends. and after a pleasant few hours of drinks and flirty conversation i invited us over to his house for a barbecue, which he graciously agreed to. and what a blast it was. great food, great company, and plenty of eye candy. so i think we've made a nice bunch of new friends, so much cooler than the usual drunks we meet out on the town. these guys are interesting, and have jobs, and are fun and like each other and joke and play and laugh; our last set of friends (long since dumped) were not like this at all. they walked on egg shells around each other and had no senses of humor, always afraid they had offended somebody in some way, always defensive and never willing to try something new. so i hope we all stay friends with these guys, as they are a lot of fun. and did i mention they are woofy?
(p.s. this was not written to impress or influence any of the aforementioned guys, but if it helps, so be it.)
and so now i'm going to sleep, as i've got class tomorrow and i need to get some rest. school is still going on, but i am in the home stretch. i can't wait to get out of classes. god, i can't wait. i'm exhausted...so, i'm fading fast here- not much else to say, at least, nothing is coming to me.
as lawrence welk's singers would say:
good night, sleep tight, and pleasant dreams to you
p.s. we also saw "from hell" on friday, which i thoroughly enjoyed. but i must warn you it isn't for the faint of heart- really grisly, and pretty shocking at times. it was a hell of a ride. only quibble: heather graham's accent, and her otherworldly cleanliness amidst all the stench and filth- i mean, at times, her skin glowed, which i found odd, as her cohorts were filthy. a minor detail. she was still good. as was mr. depp. as was mr. holm. as was mr. coltraine. all in all, a fun few hours.
Thursday, November 22
well, phone calls have been made and plans are hatched: i'm going to my dad's tomorrow (actually today, it's early morning now) for turkey day- i hope to have a few new quotes from him to post by friday- as you may recall, he's the one that got all bothered when an "A-rab" with a package under his arm walked into the restaurant we were eating at. my father was going to give him what for, you can be sure. he was convinced there was something... anything.... deadly, like a bomb or anthrax or something, in the parcel. ho, hum. superdad keeps the planet safe, i guess. he's real big on rules and protocol. i'll give you a rundown later. i'm preparing myself now. om. om. om. om. om. om. om. om. om.
happy thanksgiving! and talk to you friday!
Wednesday, November 21
since 1982, i have bought every prince release on the day it comes out, without fail. i had read a review of "controversy" in people magazine in 1981 and thought "well, here's an artist i need to know about." so i went out and bought "controversy" and loved it. then "1999" got some airplay and i was thrilled when the full-legth "1999" came out. i rode my bike to the mall, went to musicland, and bought the cassette. and my life changed. i had another musical hero. david bowie had always been one, and "scary monsters" and "ziggy stardust" are still top 10 records for me.
but prince was different; he still tapped into that outsider/alien/is-he-gay? thing i loved about bowie, but he was black, and funky, and used a ton more sythesizers and drum machines than anybody besides devo and the human league. i had grown up listening to my mother's sly and the family stone records, and the supremes, and i had bought all the funky disco singles of the late 70's, so i was up on the funk. i loved the funk. had to have that funk. ow.
i had decidedly adult taste in music as a kid. but then again, i had devo's first album at 10, the clash and the police and elvis costello at 11, and xtc's "english settlement" at 12. thanks uncle-who-had-good-taste-in-music! and this was no small feat, i lived in a little border town that had one radio station, and it played disco. which, as a budding homosexual, i didn't mind a bit. i had a great record and tape collection by 12, and for that i am eternally grateful to all the family members that let me blow that kind of money on music. but anyway, i digress.
anyway, i had to have that funk, ooowwwww.
and so, prince filled that niche. and then, surprisingly and deliciously, every new album from 1982 to 1989 was a classic. i still remember listening to "sign of the times" or "lovesexy" for the first time. every single thing he released was great, if not excellent. that's a lot of buyer satisfaction, you know? 7 years of going to the store for the new prince album and being dumbfounded at his talent and music and style and creativity. sure, circa "batman" i could see the writing on the wall. and "grafitti bridge," while a favorite, is still weak as compared to his earlier work. "diamonds and pearls," while a huge seller, is fair. the symbol album, which "sexy motherfucker" is from, is horrible. i always thought that would be his rock-bottom. he could never be more self-indulgent and out of touch again. of course "emacipation" tested me, as it was 3 cds that should have been 2. or an awesome single cd. but i thought prince had hit his nadir, you know?
and then i bought the new one, "the rainbow children."
prince is now apparantly a full-fledged jehovah's witness, thanks no doubt to the meddling influence of childhood hero/father figure/bass god larry graham. at his proxy-dad's suggestion, prince has sworn off cursing, explicit lyrics, sexual content, etc., which of course were all the things that made him a) prince and b) funky. and so, the new album, while the music is pleasant enough and it is nice to hear him finally give up his half-hearted and misguided attempts at hip-hop and rapping, is really a musical doorstep-visit from a pamphlet-toting brother or sister. if i may be so clever, here is the headline for a review i would write, if i wrote such things and worked for "entertainment weekly":
"the rainbow children: god awful."
and i mean it. the music is good- very jazzy, mostly real instruments (except for those fucking tinkly bells and gooey whistly pipe sounds he uses to "cutesy-fy" his music of the last 10 years. it's aural cotton candy, like using a music box as the background music for a scene in a movie where a baby is shown and heart strings are meant to be tugged). but for some reason, prince has chosen to narrate the convoluted storyline (which is another issue: after the "symbol" album, and that ridiculous mayte-the-egyptian-princess storyline, one would hope prince could give up his mini-operettas. but alas). he relates this goofy tale in a sluggish and hard to understand slowed-down voice, which worked back in the old psychadelic "lovesexy" days but is meaningless and stupid now. i think he did this because he was ashamed to narrate in his own voice, as if his conscience told him how ridiculous the whole concept was. it sucks because the voice starts most of the songs, continues through them, and just when you are enjoying the music again the voice starts up and ruins it all. ugh, i can't describe it. give it a listen. you'll see. i'll just cut to the chase here. here is the milestone:
this is the first prince album i have ever returned to the store i bought it from, and i happened to return it on the same day i bought it.
this is an absolute first. i never thought it would come to this. i had it 5 hours, and it would not and could not grow on me. i listened to it 3 times. the music was no problem at all. it was the stupid-ass narration, and the message. i don't want to be a jehovah's witness. i am happy as is. i resent prince for doing this sort of witnessing to me, even though i admire his courage to let his art reflect these new changes in his life. but fuck, give it a listen, you'll see what i mean.
when i returned the cd, the guy at the counter said:
"ah, another 'rainbow children' return. we just had this on, what has happened to him?"
my thoughts exactly. what has happened to him? sadly, all i can do now is wait on another vault release from him, and hope for some releases of some of my favorite bootleg tracks. there will be no new material from prince in my collection for a long while. ::sigh:: goodbye, hero. i feel like a part of me has died, after a long, ugly, lingering illness. sorry about that last sentence, i'm being a little drama queeny. but i am sad, for him, for me, and for all the other people that have stuck with him thus far. it's a real wake-up call, and a shame to see his greatness reduced to this.
p.s. i bought the new garbage album instead. and it is fabulous, of course. i think garbage are the new "blondie." think about that and you'll know what i mean.
or maybe i'll explain it, with cross-referencing, at a later date.
p.s. again: oh! i talked to ron last night- continuing the "surprise phone call from texas" tradition that my out-of-state friends know and love. and fear. so bill, cory, et. al.: if you want a kamikaze phone call, drop me a line.
(ron was, as expected, funny and charming and smart. we dished a little, but it was all good- lots of lerv in this gay blog world. and did i mention he was smart? and had a cute voice? yankee, we texans would call it. hee hee hee.)
Monday, November 19
so choire over at east/west wants a salacious post? i've been posting some pretty randy posts for the last month. here's one. oh, and here's a tawdry tale. oh, here's another.
of course, he could just mean something totally personal, that has nothing to do with sex at all. hmm. i can't think of one right now.
and andy wants everyone to tell their friends and family about their blogs. no dice, there. i've got to keep mine on the downlow. not because i am ashamed or anything like that. but because it's mine. all mine. and yours. but not theirs.
okay, i also don't want my mom to read about how i feel about cum facials.
she's not ready. nor am i.
but i have thought about letting a few friends know about brucehoax. and once i start designing men's wear (which is in the cards for this year- hand-dyed and distressed t-shirts and maybe some leather goods- like summer camp wallets and key chains) it will be easy for someone to research the hoax label and find this. so we shall see.
until then, i'll take it easy and keep it sleazy. and keep my freak flag FLYING!
Sunday, November 18
in need of a little escape we went to a fab restaurant last night, as we had been invited there as guests of a friend who i did some halloween sewing for. i made him two superhero costumes for he and a friend, and i must say he filled out the spandex admirably. anyway.
we had oysters on the half shell and fried calamari with a creamy ancho chili sauce to start; i had a great tomato and mache and watercress salad, and then i had the ahi tuna steak with avocado and sweet bell pepper relish. yum. other fishy entrees at our table: broiled snapper with mushrooms and lobster jus, baked sole in a lemon cream sauce with a parmesan crust, grilled mahi mahi with blue crab fritters. oh my god, i'm so hungry right now. we also drank a bottle of ferrari-carano sauvignon blanc- excellent, if i say so myself. i like me some white wine, pardner.
we drank our desserts. i had 4 manhattans at the "speakeasy" downtown and shook shook shook my booty to a fine funk band who played some favorite prince and the time songs just for lil' ole me. then it was off to the boy bars to ogle men and continue the debauchery. a fine time was had by all.
fuck it, i want to have some fun! let my house turn black and musty and moldy with mildew and grime- oh wait, it already has. just 3 days since the flooding and it's a reeking pit. ah, well. i'm moving. in with willy. after 4 1/2 years together. finally.
HA! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!!!
Friday, November 16
apres le deluge, moi.
so yesterday afternoon i'm walking across campus to work and there is a fine mist of rain in the air, not even a drizzle. 20 feet later it's a sprinkle. 20 feet later it's a downpour. by the time i get to the theater it's tornado weather. literally.
i sat in the box office and watched out the front windows and saw the sky start turning green (which is a tornado indicator), and the windows were shaking and rattling, and then the water started seeping in under the doors, and the computer went out, and the lights flickered, and it was all very noah's ark. this continued for almost an hour, so we turned on the news channel on the radio to hear what was up. it turns out that a tornado did indeed touch down behind us a half mile or so on the highway: picked up a big rig and flipped it over. the whole thing was fascinating, and terrifying, and exciting, and scary. hearing the wind whip around the building, the doors rattle and and support beams creak, the ear-shatteringly loud thunder and brilliant white hot lightning, the jet black of the sky; well, it was thrilling. granted, we could have been killed, but anyway.
so, the rain subsides a bit and i run to the bus stop. it magically comes right then and i get on and think that soon i'll be in my house and all will be well. one hour later, i'm still on the bus, and we've moved maybe 5 miles. the storm came growling and screaming back up, and a tornado has touched down downtown a block from where we are. traffic is at a standstill. i pull out my bruce la bruce book and hunker down for some deleriously fey and catty reading. 30 minutes later we are halfway to my house and i can't stand it anymore. i get off at my bank so i can make a deposit. the doors of the bus open, i step down into what feels like a river and am drenched. my hat, my shirt, my shoes, my pants, all sopping wet. i run to the front doors and slip, almost busting my ass on the sidewalk. i go in, do my business, and come back out. i wait for the next bus. i get on, get close to my house, and walk the rest of the way. it's still raining, but lightly. and then i get home.
my house has flooded. the kitchen is in a half-inch of water, the sisal rugs are drenched and have mud and degris on them, the linoleum in the kitchen is peeling up, the book shelves are in standing water. in the bathroom, the water not only came from below but through the roof, too. a leak i've never had has mysteriously appeared. but the best is the closet. the carpet in there is soaked. you step, and water squirts up at you. on the floor: my sewing machine, my devo collection, all my vinyl albums, the bottom row of my cd holder, school paperwork, new shoes, and sadly, my art and design portfolio. everything: wet. or ruined. my albums now are going to the trash, they're gone. and so i start mopping. willy calls and i tell him to come get me. he calls back 15 minutes later to tell me that there is water in his house too, seeping up from the floor somehow, and he locked the car keys in the car. with the dog. so his brother comes and gets me and hours later the dog is rescued and all is well. except my house, that's fucked. and after mopping and sweeping and all that i just abandoned the shack and went to the b.f.'s. who knows what new catastrophe awaits me back at home, as it rained hard all night as well.
ho hum. i always wondered if i needed renter's insurance. now i know.
p.s. more rain expected today
Wednesday, November 14
last night, out of the blue, i called andy. just felt like it, knowing he would be, over the phone, as funny and warm as he is via computer. and i was right.
i have this sort of vague dread, a real blue funk. i'm tired all the time, i'm pissy, i'm sarcastic, etc. so i reached out to him and he was kind, and interesting, and humorous. it cheered me right up.
today, of course, i'm tired, and pissy, and sarcastic again. but thanks for the brief vacation from doom and gloom land.
maybe it's because i graduate in 3 weeks, and this is freaky. my whole adult life has been guilt-ridden because of not finishing college. feeling like a loser. feeling out of sorts, out of place. no degree was the thing that pushed me on, like the goal i had. now it's almost here. then what?
lately, and i apologise to all 5 or 6 of you, this blog has been a forum for all sorts of weenie-man kvetching and navel-gazing, a place for me to unload all sorts of baggage and dogma. and i'm not like this normally, and i'm certainly not like this in person. how strange that this blog has become my actual journal, the thing i swore i could never keep, as my attention span did not indicate i could keep a constant diary of any sort. but here it is, for better and worse.
i told andy that there is someone i link to that i'm tired of reading his whining day in and day out. nothing is ever good enough, nothing ever goes right for him, boo hoo hoo. it's tedious, in a way where you just want to swoop in and whack him one upside the head and tell him to get over himself. i mean, the self-pity is stifling.
but then, so is mine. and maybe that is why recently i don't have the patience to muddle through his weblog anymore. maybe it reminds me of mine, or is too close for comfort. it brings up all sorts of issues i have with myself, and that might be the problem. ah, who knows.
anyway, thanks andy.
and: if any of you guys linked to at the left want to email me your phone number i'll be glad to give you a surprise ring. it's kind of a trademark, phone calls for no reason. just because. i love calling people to say hi. just ask david!
and i'm not like this in person, i stress that again.
or am i?
Tuesday, November 13
this guy that used to come into the store i worked at when i first moved here and then coincidentally lived on the street i lived on and coincidentally ended up going to night classes when i did and coincidentally worked at the arts library i spent a lot of time in when i first came back to school and who coincidentally keeps popping up in my life but not really because i have never talked to him just came into the computer lab and sat down.
i don't know his name, i don't care. he is positively gorgeous. why would the fates continuously thrust us together only to allow him to not give a flying fuck who i am? i mean, i have ogled him from afar now for almost 6 years. i have always assumed i would see him again, so i never talked to him. and sometimes a year goes by with no sighting of him and i assume he has moved away, and then bam! sometimes i'll see him around town like 3 times a week. who is he? why do i always see him? how did he get to be so damn cute?
well, back to not talking to him.
so all weekend long i had to hear people keep complimenting my boyfriend about how much weight he has lost, how good he looks, etc. etc. nobody even recognizes him, especially since he shaved off the goatee. i, of course, will keep mine until i find some chin up in there, otherwise i look like rep. phil gramm: like a turtle.
but anyway. it's tough when you are with someone and kind of in the same boat, and then your fellow fat-ass drops a bunch of weight. maybe i can't stand that he looks good in his clothes. maybe that any haircut now looks great on his proportionate face. maybe it's that his weenie looks bigger without that bit of a gut over it. maybe it's that i can't bear to be the one that people ignore now.
AHH. there it is.
when he and i first went out, i tipped the scale on cuteness. well, my sort of cuteness. i was never a hairless skinny leo dicaprio cute, and although i know many 'mos find such stickboys attractive, i do not. if i wanted to fuck a 14 year old, i... well, i wouldn't, actually. the point is, i like a little meat and lot of hair on my men. so in my own way i was a popular guy, in that i dated a lot, screwed around a lot, was considered "cute."
willy has always been cute, but didn't know it. he never socialized like i did, had the friends i did, went to the parties, did the drugs, etc. etc. he is just now coming into a sense of self, and it's manifesting in his appearance and attitude (which is pretty smart-alecky sometimes, but i understand these are his missed teenage years. i guess). and so, 6 months ago he started walking around the neighborhood and then he was jogging and then he was cutting back on pastries and bread and suddenly he joins a gym last week and BINGO, I'M THE UGLY ONE.
oh, this is a whole can of worms, isn't it?
3 years ago i got some news from my mother that paralyzed me with guilt and worry and sadness. this was the beginning of the hermit period i blogged about last month. and so i got more and more out of shape, clothes stopped fitting me, i ate and ate and ate, trying to literally fill up the big empty hurting hole where my heart used to be.
well, i've found my heart, and soul, and self again. but what do i do about all this extra body? i'm too lazy to work out. or am i too scared? am i still punishing myself, and don't think i deserve to be cute again? i'm not content to let him hog the spotlight. but i don't know if i have the fortitude to start caring for myself the way i used to. giving a shit, as they say.
today, for fun, i pulled a picture of me that was taken about 10 years ago and showed it to my classmates, as we were talking about what family member we most resemble. nobody could tell it was me. in the picture, i am fit, dressed cute, tan, have a crew cut (which is no easy task with wavy hair, but an hour under the blowdryer will do anything- ah, the foibles of the young. it was so important then. now, i just get up, throw on a hat and hope for the best). what is funny is that even then i felt unattractive, and it is so blatantly and obviously not true. where did i get this idea that i'm not cute?
certainly, now, if one looks at the bloated picture of me at the link at the left, one could surmise such a thing. i'm just a big goofy guy in a hawaiian shirt (which, we have realized, is what the "b.f.p.a." wears in the teen-sex comedies of the '80's- that, and a beer hat with the tubes from the cans that go to your mouth. oh, b.f.p.a. stands for "big fat party animal." ---and they are usually named "moose").
where does all this lead me?
i think i have to join a gym. i mean, i do alright. and if i wasn't with willy i'd still be out getting laid and all that. but, as shallow as this is, i have to admit it:
it's hard going from the "cute one" to the "funny one."
can i claw my way back? does it even matter?
Monday, November 12
too much information
so, another plane falls out of the sky in new york, and i'm left with a feeling of such sorrow for all the people who live there- whatever the reason for this latest crash, it's just more and more horrible p.r., you know? as if not enough has happened there already, and now this. more grist for the uninformed, more reason for the clueless to be scared of this great city, more reason for national hysteria and fist-shaking and self-righteous jingoism. i should be more hopeful and strong, but today i'm not. i'm exhausted. and wishing new york could just get a break.
nyc is not tainted for me, however. recently i told someone i am looking at nyu for grad work, and the look and tone of voice i got back told me volumes about the person. it said: "new york? why, that's where planes crash and buildings fall, and anthrax is spread on every letter and package that travels along the east coast! why would anyone want to be there?!!"
well, simple. because it's new york. long the mecca for theater queens and artists and musicians, and anyone wanting to start over or reinvent themselves, anybody who wants to test their mettle, to learn how strong they are, to become the person they want to be. i, of course, have always found myself too weak a person to go there. yet. but it's coming, and one day i will be a new yorker and feel that pride that must come with telling people where you live.
i don't much care for austin. i mean, who cares? a bunch of stoner hippies and white blues guitarists and transplanted californians hoping to get rich in the dot-com frenzy (which, by the way, is over. the economy sucks here now. business have all gone under, people are laid off left and right here. maybe rent will go back down. ugh, but there's still the blues guitarists to contend with). i don't feel any real civic pride being an austinite. a texan, yes. of course. it comes with the territory. but an austinite? nah.
at any rate, here is a texan blowing kisses to all you manhattanites and brooklynites still muddling through, the remnant scars and bruises of 9/11 still too fresh, and still too recent, and hurtful and aching. my heart goes out to you.
that being said, here's some inane chatter about my weekend. resigned with my show being up and running and ready to let that baby just be birthed and out of my womb, i decided to spend my weekend doing nothing but self-indulgent and lazy things. so, we went out saturday night to the leather bar and looked at the daddies in chaps and harnesses, and got a little drunky, and slept in. there had been some sort of leather bear convention or something at the bar, and so it was more packed than usual and there were all sorts of hijinks out on the back patio behind the tree in the dark corner. people on knees, various degrees of nakedness, that sort of thing. so we watched some old guy give blowjobs and jeered at some of the jockstrap-clad circuit boys (who were a little long in the tooth to pull off the look they were sporting). oh, and of course, given the bear connotation, it smelled like distilled and concentrated b.o. whew!
i'm no fan of smells. i know some guys are, and i certainly like the smell of a man's armpit- just not one that is unwashed for a few days. or that rank ass smell you get at bathhouses and saunas, i don't know who finds that a turn-on. someone, i'm sure. but not me. i don't mind the smell of cum, i guess. just don't get it on me. which leads me to a little story which also happened this weekend.
now, it's not that i'm all cumphobic or anything, i certainly like a nice long theatrical cum shot- it's like fireworks, you know? dazzling and awe-inspiring, but really it means nothing. i don't get off on it hitting me. it kind of grosses me out, but am resigned to indulge this kink in him because that's what married people do, like listen to dance music you don't really like or watch marathon barbra streisand dvd-fests.
it just so happens that my b.f. cums like a porno star. great thick wads of the stuff sprays out of him, and you have to turn your head and shut your eyes sometimes, because you never know where it will land. and that shit burns. you know those water snake things you attach to a hose in the summer so your kids can run around in the yard while this hose frantically spurts out water at them, wiggling this way and that, never letting you know where the blast will come from next? well, that's like him.
so, saturday morning i was in the mood to suck some dick. normally i don't let him shoot on me, it's just too much to deal with. afterwards i always feel like a chicken-fried steak, smothered with mashed potatoes and cream gravy. for some reason, i agreed to let him cum on my chest, certain i could somehow stem the tide, and control the geyser.
have you seen those old keystone cop movies? where they inevitably stumble on a table full of cream pies, and everyone, including the snooty duchess, gets a pie in the face? and they are left with a face full of whipped cream, where all you can see of them are two little holes where their eyes are blinking and squinting back at you?
well, that's what happened. i guess i had it coming though, i know not to play with that snake. it was if a big hot bowl of oatmeal or something was dropped on my upper body. i lay there, looking like a big fat glazed doughnut, and cringed. i know that lots of homos love this sort of thing, and it's met with all sorts of appreciative exclaimations like "oh yeah stud, shoot that hot load!" (and other strykerisms). but me, not so much. another hang-up, i'm sure. the product of my cold presbyterian upbringing, or something. at any rate, i was a mess, which provoked much giggling from the man who made said mess. s'okay, though. cuz i've still got the bigger dick. petty, yes?
end of smut
um, then we went to eat dim sum. which is really good, you know? i first had it in san francisco a few years ago and it became a real favorite of mine. it appeals to my down-home love of cafeterias and the neurotic need to binge. but not purge. anyway, the waiters walk around the dining room with these steam- carts and you can pick out all the little nibbly things you want to eat. it's fun, and you can try all sorts of horrific things, like fried chicken feet. which aren't bad, i discovered to my surprise. gross in concept, certainly. but not bad.
then we went to see "mosters, inc." which was good in that wholesome pixar way. and then it was off for some shopping, and then we watched the simpsons, and then i went to a friend's house and hung pictures for him. he very gratefully gave me a little baggie of pot in payment. which is fine with me, as i've been wanting to turn into a bit of a pothead lately anyway. it would really take the edge off me, you know? mellow me out. and as i've taken a hiatus from therapy i need something to help me deal, right?
willy, however, had this to say:
"if you want to get hooked on drugs, why don't you try cocaine? it would make you want to go out dancing more, and you might actually lose some weight."
ah, that man of mine. such a charmer.
Friday, November 9
well, in the words of the electic light orchestra, "i'm alive."
did you miss me?
judging by my site stats, no. but, alas. all 3 of you that read regularly will be happy to know that my life has returned to normal, somewhat. the show is up, the costumes are mostly finished (i will continue to tweak and futz for the next two weeks of the run- which is strangely masochistic, as i am ready to be done with it but i just can't let it go) and my schedule is about to be back on track.
i haven't been to work or class in a week and a half. i see willy and the dog briefly every few days or so, as he comes down unexpectedly to the costume shop to check in on me and say hi. these last two weeks were a real cruncher- i shouldn't have been in "romeo and juliet" i guess; i could have started on this show much sooner and not had the shitty dramas that happened alarmingly frequently this last week. doing a show with nazi uniforms? find the boots and medallions first, the rest will come. need a white tux jacket for a big guy? start hunting early, as they are impossible to find at other theaters to borrow. oh, and buying kid's shoes that look somewhat period and accurate and trying to get them at the various thrift shops is a lesson in hair-shirted martyrdom. ugh, what a week it was.
and i did something i haven't done in years: pulled an all-nighter. monday night i got home from the shop, leaving a trail of clothing from the front door to the bedroom and stumbling into bed with a dirty face and greasy hair: it was 2 a.m.
at 8 i woke up and put on the same clothes and walked out the door, not showering or brushing hair or teeth. i'm very fancy, you see. got to school and started working again, and working. and working. and suddenly it was the next day, and i had been up for 20-something hours. and then 30. and i was driving around town searching for last-minute stuff, alternately cursing everyone and everything and self-pitifully weeping at the futility and horror of this design job. it didn't help i was so exhausted and headache-y and nicotine jittery (oh yes, smoking again). my emotions varied from elation to depression, manic highs and lows. weird laughing fits and crying jags. i was, in a word, mercurial.
i'm leaivng out the good parts, of course: members of the crew, pushed to the point of delerium, breaking down and screaming at each other, the director threatening to fire everybody, cuts, tears, rips, etc. in costumes and people, friends turning on friends, hostility abounding, tension suffocating, the careless mistakes of slapping together something at the last possible second just because there is not enough fucking time left in the day, etc. etc. etc.
a life in the theater, and all that it entails.
ugh, it was horrible.
finally last night i went to bed, ending a 40 hour marathon that wiped me out. and the show has opened and i am still having to go to the theater every night and help those absolutely clueless actors and actresses (and truly, if i recounted some of the jaw-droppingly stupid conversations i have been a part of this last month you would see what i mean) find their ever-misplaced hats, shoes, gloves, etc. how does someone lose a blouse and then the replacement blouse they are given later? how? it's like malicious carelessness, but i know it's not on purpose. it's just... well... stupid.
but enough of that. i am home. i am good. i am tired. i am ready to get back into the swing of things. i missed you guys and gals!
that all being said, goodnight. i have to get some sleep. i have a presentation tomorrow for the faculty and staff of the university. every show we have a day where university relations pays for catering and we do an hour of scenes and costume and set presentations while everybody munches away on fruit salad and cheesecake and quiche, ignoring us.
i'm sure my descriptions of the aging and distressing of garments to simulate bullet holes and dried blood and dirt and excrement is going to go over really well during the luncheon. yum, have another brownie, connie! enjoy those pigs-in-blankets, mr. president!
of course, plenty of people just come for the food, and sit in the lobby and gossip: i walked out there one time dressed as friar laurence to raid the cheesecake plate only to find a gaggle of secretaries tearing an absent officemate to shreds. when i walked up they stopped and moved on to another important topic: "who keeps taking the stationary pens from the copy area? i mean, that's why they are on strings!"
simple pleasures, you know.
Friday, November 2
one more, this one from '91, then off to work.
i'm so sorry, i just couldn't control it.
it just seemed so perfect.
i just knew that you wanted to kiss me,
so i leaned over.
now i stand in thw lawn and your car has just gone round the corner.
and i've sat in this grass after too strong a pass
more times than i care to remember
and i've sat in these weeds after beggings and pleadings
more times than i care to consider.
i'm so sorry i just couldn't think
after one too many drinks
i just knew that you wanted to kiss me,
so i reached over.
now i stand in this lot and the liquor i bought got me nowhere.
and i've sat in this grass after too strong a pass
more times than i care to remember
and i've sat in these weeds after beggings and pleadings
more times than i care to consider
and tomorrow, i'll apologise:
"you looked like you had something stuck in your eye"
and of course we are only and always friends
(and one drunken evening it happens again)
(copyright, again, by me)
another one, from '96
she was the queen of sleeping in,
a shooting star scared of the dark.
her sleeping pills her only friends,
her lover boy: her broken heart.
(more here i don't remember right now)
she told me once she had a man,
she used him up and cut him loose.
no explanation why she ran,
no sorry story of abuse.
i think she never trusted men,
they only snagged her in red tape.
and yet, they always took her in,
while she devised her next escape.
when they found you,
did they count you out or cut you up?
did they shake you, try to fake you out
or wake you up?
hey hey hey, good morning. good morning. good morning.
(copyright me, again.)
a song i wrote in '92 or '93:
don't do this to me.
when you know that i hurt so willingly.
tell me no.
tell me lies.
just please don't go.
i will sit and obssess
till i love you much less
(though it may make me love you much more).
or i might wring my hands,
inventing one-night stands.
because i'm a misery whore.
there is another verse, but i don't remember it
(copyright by me)
oh, and by the way:
should i move to london after i graduate, and start over?
Thursday, November 1
BOO, MISS THANG.
tonight, as i was fitting one of the girls in the cast, she turned to a friend next to her and in a very earnest and concerned little mouse voice said:
"oh, you need to be careful tonight, don't go to the mall because i have heard that terrorists are going to do something at the malls this halloween."
to which i rather rudely interrupted and said:
oh my gawd, are you fucking kidding me?
when i told her that this is just a new urban legend, like the aids-infected needles in coin-return slots or the spider eggs in bubbleyum gum or the kid who will get a liver transplant if everybody emails somebody or other, she just looked at me and said:
"now, what? it's not true? oh. well i just heard it today."
remember how i warned you all about my spiteful, hateful attitude this week? how i have no patience for stupidity? how i could fucking sock the next dumbass that even winks at me funny?
well, i'm proud to say i turned the other cheek. no sigh of disgust, no eye-rolling, no "tsk" sound with a meaningful shake of my head. no sarcasm, nothing. well, after the "are you fucking kidding me" part, i mean.
let her cook in her own fearful and uninformed juices. it's not my job, after all, to point out all the doofus behavior i see every day. sure, it's fun, but bitchy queens are just so tired.
(although i am fully aware i still managed to swipe at her in the preceding sentence. couldn't resist. you just had to see her face when she reported this most grave and heavy news. like she could cry from caring so much about us. or something.)
i guess what i am saying is that this year i feel like a whole weird wave of peace and calm has washed over me. i let things go. i let people be. i concern myself with me.
it's a first little baby step to zen, and honey, it's a long time coming.
happy halloween motherfuckers!