social obligations

The date with (C) was a bust for the most part. He's very cute, very sweet, and not very interested in me. Have I already written about this? I feel like I have. Maybe I haven't blogged about it. I hope not. That would seem obsessive, and I'm really not obsessive, or don't like to see myself that way. That was last Wednesday. I had a little cry over it; nothing big, just a little flushing, and I felt better, and feel better.

Wednesday was kind of a weird double-whammy on the emotions. Wednesday evening was my second improv class at the new place. It's a level one class. I've taken a couple of each level up to level three, but I wanted to get a different perspective, expand my improv knowledge. I mentioned it to T and she approved wholeheartedly. (It's weird, it felt like a confession. I had mentioned it to a few people in the community randomly and hadn't mentioned it to her, so I felt like I had to make a point of telling her, which I guess is why it felt like a confession. But anyway...)

The teacher is a nice guy, if a little clueless. Or at least it feels that way to me. I don't want to make a deal about it, but there were a couple of things that got under my skin. Which makes me thankful that I'm back in therapy - twice a month. The first class, he made a completely innocent comment about the fact that we plan what we're going to do before we go on stage based on fear, wanting to be accepted, cool, funny, "attractive to the opposite sex so we can procreate." Maybe it sounds a little biblical, now that I write it out. I just had a feeling of "he doesn't mean me, he doesn't 'accept' me." I'm really not all that political about identity, but my religious and suppressive upbringing kind of makes it similar to a political feeling. Now that I write it out.

Anyway, so I had therapy the next day, and I was able to get over it, whatever that means. Truly, I'm only bringing it up because I'm writing about it. It's been so long ago now, the fact that I haven't written about it yet should point to the fact that it's not all that important to me. Same as with the date. I'm a little buzzed so I'm feeling eloquent, in the movingly expressive sense of the word.

In the more recent class, the second class of the six-week session, the class that followed soon after the date, the teacher told everyone to find the person they felt had the most in common with them. I went to the big dyke with the piercings and black rock T-shirt on. We were instructed to find three things we had in common. We both had spacers in our ears (mine a "2," hers an "0," which is bigger, natch), so I pointed that out. Then I said, "And we're both gay." It seemed to take her by surprise. Maybe I'm projecting. She said, "What?" I said, "You're gay, right?" She said, "Oh-- yeah," which sounded like she hadn't heard me the first time. Maybe I slurred it out nervously. I have a tendency to do that. The dreaded G word. But I'm facing it, I'm getting closer to an understanding, I think, slowly but surely, one day at a time, sweet Jesus...

We then had to choose the most interesting thing and write that on a strip of paper the teacher had passed out while we were all rumbling in our two-person teams. He said, "Not the most obvious thing; something that would make everybody in the room go, 'Ooh!'"

My partner said, "What do I write, 'We're both gay?'" I said, "Put 'We're both homos.'" Which she did after a smirk.

The strips of paper were put away and forgot about for the rest of class - almost forgotten completely. As we were about to leave, the teacher stopped us and said he had to read them. Everyone froze. They were probably all wondering if what they had written was good enough, I know I was. Had I tricked this poor 20-something into doing something she wasn't comfortable with? Or did the notion that we needed to point it out seem unnecessary to her? That could be the case, I guess, if she believed there was no need for distinction other than a way of dressing, if the need to define yourself publicly was/is passé.

What am I even writing? Did I say I was buzzed. Have you seen those billboards that say Buzzed Driving Is Drunk Driving? Well, Buzzed Writing Is Drunk Writing, Too, then. But I'm not so much drunk as I'm high. Not drunk at all, actually. I didn't have enough money for a beer tonight. I was at a film party at the Art Alliance or Art Authority or The Place Next to Spiderhouse - whatever they're calling it these days. I digress.

The improv teacher read through all of the strips of paper, some interesting, some funny, some just fine. "We're both homos." was the very last one. When he read it, he stopped on the word "homo" and read it carefully, then said coyly, "Well, okay, that may be true-- And that would be okay..."

It doesn't seem like much. It didn't seem like much when it happened. I felt a weirdness in my center. My partner didn't seem to react, and everybody else just kind of laughed or ignored it, as with the others. When I mentioned it to S and others, though, I started feeling a little more isolated by the experience. It drives me crazy that I can't see these things in the moment, can't work with them. I know, I know, recognizing it at all is a step in that direction (Thank you, Pëma).

I had therapy the next morning, and when I told the story to L, he stopped me a ways down the path and said, "I'm sorry. As a straight man, I didn't even realize that was what you were saying." I love L, he's a wonderful therapist. What he said made me realize what I suspected: A doesn't even realize it; he is speaking only from his own experience. That's good to know, but it may make me judge his teaching efforts differently. I hope this isn't truly the case.

Thursday, I took S to the airport and he flew off to NYC for forever (not really, he's back on September 20th, driving back from Indiana in the car his parents are giving him). I'm going to NYC on the 9th and his rock opera (I guess that's what it's called) Lizzie Borden opens on the 10th, and I'm gonna get to see it!

I didn't do a lot else on Thursday or Friday. I had a barometric pressure headache (I don't know if that's a clinical term or my own); I get them sometimes when rain is coming. It feels like a hangover and/or a minor migraine. Sometimes the migraines get full-blown, but this one didn't. I felt feverish. And then I realized that my window unit was frozen over and blowing outside air in, and it was in the triple-digits! The rain came at some point in the afternoon, and amazingly, the headache all but disappeared.

I was thinking about going to see a movie on Thursday evening, but the a/c episode butted into my schedule. The foam over the cooling intake part of the a/c had frozen to the iced over ribs, and in trying to remove it, I pulled a hole shaped like Africa about 2 x 3" big. So I was thinking I needed to get a new one of those. I also needed to go to the store for candies, and it was almost time for the stores to close. I carried the foam thing to Home Depot, and they didn't have anything like it! Then I went to Target (because I had to go there for the candies anyway) and carried the muddy foam thing in with me in case they had one. They did not.

I needed the candies - mini Snickers, Twix, 3 Musketeers, etc. - for a Christmas Tree I was making for T's surprise birthday party (with a Christmas theme!) on Friday evening. I popped popcorn on Wednesday and it sat in my room getting stale, which I eventually told myself I intended. Friday morning I strung two strands (12 feet maybe) of popcorn and mini candies. It was quite lovely. The tree I got last weekend at a garage sale; it's a 4-foot tall fiber optic tree, so it didn't need lights. S&E put up other Christmassy decorations and the three of us made collage cards for T. I wish I had taken a picture of mine.

C had no real plan for getting T to the theater after their show at the Hideout. They were heading to East Side Pies, she thought, then somebody in the car said, "Let's go to the theater and drop off these fliers." T is easygoing, she said, "Sure." She was the one with the key at the door; I stood peeking out of the door curtain after we got the text. I saw her arriving, shushed everyone. The door was unlocked, so when she turned her key in the door, she thought it had finally happened, they had gotten broken into. She had a quick succession of dreadful thoughts - We don't have insurance; they took all our shit! - and she turned to run away, not wanting to go inside in case the bad guys were still in there. C grabbed her and pushed her into the room; she stumbled onto the stage and fell laughing. It was the best party she's had in years.

Last night I saw my friend M at Cafe Caffeine doing a monologue (with several other good storytellers) on the theme of "Clerks." M's bit was very funny, as was another guy, who read a story about a fat kid (him) trying to slide a 64-ounce Coke across a movie theater countertop Western movie style, only to hurl it onto its side sending sticky liquid flying on everyone in the lobby except him. I had tears flowing!

After that, I went to S's regular hangout, the Chain Drive. I've gone there a few times, but I'm not much of a bar person, and the times I've gone haven't been with S, and I've had some social anxiety issues there. But I got a notion to text S's friend G and see if he would be there. That was where S met G, I'm pretty sure. He indeed was going and we met up after the show. It was nice getting to know him a little better, as well as D, his ex-boyfriend best friend, who showed up. A weird thing happened, though. There was an attractive guy possibly looking at me, "cruising me," as it were. (He could have been cruising G, but I'm pretty sure we were making eye contact.) G was content to just sit there and chat with me, and I was trying to decide if it was rude to excuse myself to talk to a stranger. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that. I don't think he would have considered it rude. D did that very thing when he showed up and the three of us were talking.

The young man went inside and back out a few times, and when G, D and I were talking, I was thinking to myself that that would be a good time to excuse myself and make my feeble attempts. But I couldn't figure out the wording for it. So I just became anxious and eventually had to leave. I did do one "Fruit Loop" as D called it (a walk around the square bar with the seating lining the walls opposite it). It was during my Fruit Loop that I realized my potential suitor had left, so when I returned to G and D, I told them that I had decided to do a "Fruity Pebbles" and "rock out!" (Weird, I know.)

Today was Sunday. I started working on some minor revisions to my manuscript - woo-hoo! At 5 I had book club at BookPeople, this month discussing J. M. Coetzee's Nobel Prize winning novel, Disgrace (Wow.), but I left the house at 2 and stopped by P.Terry's for a #5 and a double-chocolate shake. That was good, of course, the book club was good. After that I met up with M at Spiderhouse to hang out before HomoScope, the film party that was going on at the place next to there. There were a lot of really weird but pretty interesting films. I saw a number of people I knew and so felt socially relaxed. I snuck out in the middle of the after party right after telling someone I wasn't going home, that I was just going to my truck, which was the truth, because I was thinking I would roll a cigarette and go back to the party and join them where they were all smoking cigarettes, but I'm not much of a social smoker, I have realized. I like to smoke alone. That's a good thing and a bad thing. Good because if I'm busy I smoke less. (I guess that's what I'm supposed to say; I actually like smoking.) But if I'm lonely I smoke more. (Oh, that's not really true. I've smoked three or four a day for the past couple of days - two or three more than my usual daily intake - and I'm feeling indulgent.) When I got to my truck, I decided I did want to come home. It feels good to be home, particularly when I left a party feeling good and brought that feeling with me as opposed to the opposite.

a letter to the new man

Have you read the letter Alice Walker wrote to President-Elect Barack Obama? It's good...

Nov. 5, 2008
Dear Brother Obama,

You have no idea, really, of how profound this moment is for us. Us being the black people of the Southern United States. You think you know, because you are thoughtful, and you have studied our history. But seeing you deliver the torch so many others before you carried, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, only to be struck down before igniting the flame of justice and of law, is almost more than the heart can bear. And yet, this observation is not intended to burden you, for you are of a different time, and, indeed, because of all the relay runners before you, North America is a different place. It is really only to say: Well done. We knew, through all the generations, that you were with us, in us, the best of the spirit of Africa and of the Americas. Knowing this, that you would actually appear, someday, was part of our strength. Seeing you take your rightful place, based solely on your wisdom, stamina and character, is a balm for the weary warriors of hope, previously only sung about.

I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life. To make a schedule that permits sufficient time of rest and play with your gorgeous wife and lovely daughters. And so on. One gathers that your family is large. We are used to seeing men in the White House soon become juiceless and as white-haired as the building; we notice their wives and children looking strained and stressed. They soon have smiles so lacking in joy that they remind us of scissors. This is no way to lead. Nor does your family deserve this fate. One way of thinking about all this is: It is so bad now that there is no excuse not to relax. From your happy, relaxed state, you can model real success, which is all that so many people in the world really want. They may buy endless cars and houses and furs and gobble up all the attention and space they can manage, or barely manage, but this is because it is not yet clear to them that success is truly an inside job. That it is within the reach of almost everyone.

I would further advise you not to take on other people's enemies. Most damage that others do to us is out of fear, humiliation and pain. Those feelings occur in all of us, not just in those of us who profess a certain religious or racial devotion. We must learn actually not to have enemies, but only confused adversaries who are ourselves in disguise. It is understood by all that you are commander in chief of the United States and are sworn to protect our beloved country; this we understand, completely. However, as my mother used to say, quoting a Bible with which I often fought, "hate the sin, but love the sinner." There must be no more crushing of whole communities, no more torture, no more dehumanizing as a means of ruling a people's spirit. This has already happened to people of color, poor people, women, children. We see where this leads, where it has led.

A good model of how to "work with the enemy" internally is presented by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that, kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of us, lighting our way, and brightening the world.

We are the ones we have been waiting for.
In Peace and Joy,
Alice Walker

this is the day that the lord has made

Are you working? Or are you looking at blogs, watching the media, keeping an eye on what is happening on this historic day, like I am?

S told me he woke up at 3 a.m., anxious about today, about something going horribly wrong and Obama not getting elected.

I cut the end of my finger off last night, just a little slice with a pair of scissors while I was happily chopping up a credit card, thinking as I did it, "The future will be better with Obama!" and then chunk-- a sliver of finger came off and lay there in the pile of tiny credit card shards. The wound eventually started bleeding, so I picked up the flap of flesh and stuck it back onto where it came off from and bandaged it into place.

I tried to write for awhile -- earlier I had finished the longhand version of chapter three and wanted to type it up, and saw that it was only 10 o'clock when I started. But that was with Daylight Savings Time ending, so it was really 11, and by the time I got to the point of cutting off my fingertip it was more like 11/12, and typing was like trying to drive on a floppy flat tire, so I went to bed.

I was a little weary, a little anxious about what today would bring, about where I would be when the final announcement was made, who I would be with. A friend recently said that she didn't want to sit at home with a glass of wine nervously chewing her nails and watching the TV with her partner because that's what she did in the last several elections. She said this time she wants to be out in the world, with lots of people, watching the returns on a big TV, in a celebratory mode.That's how I feel about it, too.

Tuesday is normally S's long day at school, so I was afraid he would be absent, that I would be riding my bicycle around the streets of Austin, lonely and happy...but lonely, making out with curious lesbians in the middle of the street when the announcement was made. (That's not really a fear, there are several lesbians I might be drawn to make out with, even though I'm observing celibacy, particularly on an occasion such as this promises to be!)

But then S told me his class has been canceled for the night because it's Election Day, so I offered to buy him dinner at a Mexican restaurant called Jovita's down on South First Street where my tattoo artist told me a queer-friendly Obama Watch Party was happening. And then we'll meet up with others, perhaps, at the Driskill Hotel on Congress, if the election drags on.

I'm thinking it's likely our future will be sealed early and I can go to bed by 10 -- if not for the excitement of the world keeping me awake (which will probably also keep me from being able to write), so I might have to drink myself to sleep.

But then I think "Am I being too optimistic?" I've been cruising my regular web stations this morning -- The Dish, Huffington Post and The Daily Show -- looking for signs that the other shoe has fallen, or that the half-glass of water tipped over and spilled while nobody was watching and now it's not half-empty or half-full.

Then I read that John McCain and Sarah Palin have a 1.9% chance of winning the election and my optimism returned.

This is not just about politics. This is about changing the world. Or rather, this seems to be more about changing the world than about politics. I already feel woozy; how am I possibly going to get any work done today?

Tomorrow I expect to have the sweetest hangover that, like Diana Ross, I don't wanna get over...!

it's all good

That statement annoys me when I hear it, I don't know why. But I'm feeling much better today. Actually, I was feeling better last night. I don't know if it was the weather change, masturbation, or the presidential debate, perhaps all of it. It's all good!

I realized after yesterday afternoon's rain that the weather was so disagreeably hot and muggy prior that I was on the verge of tears. S often complains about weather like that, sometimes I think he's overreacting. But now I get it, finally.

When we got home from the airport I said something about it being "moist," he said, "It's been like this for three days." We have different thresholds with regards to weather -- I don't like it cold, he doesn't like it hot -- but he's more apt to comment on his discomfort. Not that there's anything wrong with that. (It's all good...)

Maybe it was because I'd just gotten back from Tennessee where the weather was quite agreeable, and where people had their thermostats set to 70 (which seems a bit frigid for indoors to me) and I had become accustomed to it (somewhat, with a down comforter on at night), but something was putting me on edge yesterday. I couldn't work, I couldn't do much of anything; I almost felt depressed, except that it was just inability to do anything, not inability to do anything combined with the wish for death!

The presidential debate gave me a renewed hope for this country. Barack Obama is the sweetest, most genuine and generous president (to-be) I have ever witnessed. Maybe it's an act, but if so, he's deserves the Award.

I had a dream a few nights ago that I hugged him. Or I should say we hugged each other. It wasn't one-sided. The thing I remember as I drew in close was that there was a dimple in his earlobe where an earring had once been. I don't know that he ever wore an earring, but for some reason that made him all the more real to me. (This was a nice follow-up dream to one I'd had a week or so earlier in which Michelle Obama had died -- been killed? -- and S and I were sent to Barack's hotel room to notify him. That was a really upsetting dream; I was rolling around on his hotel bed sobbing while he hugged S, and when I woke up I was still crying.) The day I woke up from the hugging dream, I saw on the web that he was walking door to door in Ohio shaking peoples' hands and giving them hugs. Therefore my dream seemed fortuitous.

I was actually quite jazzed when I got home last night; so much so that I thought I would do some more work (since I hadn't yet clocked in six hours and the end of the work week was today at 1:00), but instead I read through some blog comments on the debate and felt uplifted by all of it; it really is all good.

This morning I got up and worked, and I turned in a time sheet with twelve hours on it. Not what I'd hoped for, but I was about ready to call the whole week a bust this time yesterday afternoon.

tuned in and turned on

Time is strange lately. There's excitement in the air, but anxiety, too. Anxiousness. It feels hopeful, still I'm having a hard time getting any work done. I've getting a fair amount of writing done, that feels good, but I'm having a hard time getting my forty hours in. It's closer to thirty-five, which is a constant struggle to reach. Thirty-five is a good amount of hours, but most of the rest of my time is spent on the upcoming election, reading blogs, watching Jon Stewart at his website and other stuff like that. You know, the real news. It's a very exciting time in the world. Tonight I'm spending two hours at a stranger's house with ten other people making "Calls for Change" at an Obama Phone-a-thon. I love bing alive in this historic time!

I'm going to Nashville this coming weekend. I'm taking four or five days off from work. That's what gives me a sense of urgency, a need to work more now, to make up for lost time before the fact. That's the great thing about my job, the flexibility. It's not just about the money I need to make; it's about the time security, the something to do, part of my ritual. I get sort of antsy when my schedule is interrupted. And I'm totally neurotic about my cat. There better be a good reason for dragging me away from my cat and my life and my work and my regular checkups on the media elite coverage of the '08 Election.

Well, there is. It's a boy with a capital B. If I could stand living in Nashville again, I would for him, or if I could talk him into moving here for me, I would. But I can't.

I'm sure B has a TV -- who doesn't, right? I hope I don't get sucked into that, into all the shows he invariable has to watch, like everybody. The Amazing Race, Lost, shows I've never even seen. The other day S said we oughta look for a crappy little TV so we can watch debates and stuff. But I know how I am. I'd like to say I wouldn't get stuck in front of a TV ever again, but it's bound to happen. TVs are evil; they suck you in and destroy your brain!

So I'm going to assume there will be some TV watching, which I'm powerless to resist. --Well, that's not completely true; it takes a lot of work to resist it, and I have the ability to do so, but I wouldn't want to be rude by going out to the patio or yard to smoke and write while B watches his shows. Though I will take my writing implements and keep that option available.

That's another thing: the smoking. Another thing to keep in mind, the probability that I will smoke more while I'm in Nashville. B smokes, so it just seems to reason that I will. I'm not smoking right now -- I quit for a while, a few days or a couple weeks, between pouches (not packs) that I buy, just to take a break. I'm not going to set a goal to resist or to smoke out, I'm simply going to try to be myself. And will take my favorite brand and my little rolling machine.

It may be an unrealized fantasy I'm walking into here. B and I had sex twice. There's definitely an attraction there, or there was three years ago. But maybe his interest in allowing me to visit him now is more platonic in his mind. I don't want to set myself up for disappointment; I've done that before and don't much like it.

I'm not blaming R (on the contrary), but my relationship with R caused some dis-ease in me, some mental illness, I have to be careful about relapses. I recognize that it's there -- so that's a good step, but god-damn it, why does it have to exist at all? "Have to." That's funny. It doesn't "have to."

But still.

I've lost my place. I wanted to come here and write something completely different, something humorous about my cat, or about my neuroses related to leaving my cat behind while I go out of town. Maybe later. But instead, this.

I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open any longer.

"you fucked me"

As a person raised in the religious faith that was on the cutting edge of rooting out backwards-masked messages on rock albums years ago (and having had some albums removed from my collection because of it), it's interesting to note that in the series of slides in the ridiculous poll on Huffington Post asking whether or not Sarah Palin's lip liner is tattooed on (i.e., "Do you think she's White Trash?"), if you begin at the fourth slide and click the right arrow under the picture quickly you can very clearly see that Sarah Palin is saying "You fucked me." (Just keep clicking, really fast, it becomes more obvious a couple of times through.) Whether this was intended by the person who put the slide show together, or is merely a Satanic message remains to be decided. And for whom is this message intended anyway?

this is why i stay out of it

I am very disillusioned by the reports that Bill Clinton will do anything to get John McCain elected. Is this a fact? Even after having lunch with Barack Obama and saying to him and to reporters he believes Obama will win the election, "and will win handily," or something like that? Is Bill Clinton as stupid as Sarah Palin?

The first whiff I got of this was after Bill Clinton was on David Letterman, followed by Chris Rock, who said, "Was it just me, or did he not wanna say Barack Obama's name out loud?!" I thought Chris was just being a blowhard, but when I asked S about it, he seemed to concur that Bill is furious at Obama for not nominating Hillary as his vice presidential running mate.

But so much so that he would do anything to get John McCain -- and, gulp, Sarah Palin -- elected? What's going on here? If it's factual, this is all big baby politics in play, and that's why I generally prefer to stay out of it.

If Bill gets his way... Spain is nice.

At a dinner party a couple of nights ago with A, her long-time friend and some young Democrats (plus a Dutchman who's here for a semester of school at Southwestern because he wants to be in the States during this historic election cycle), I mentioned to the woman sitting next to me (who just returned from a year in a town near Wasilla, Alaska, doing post-graduate work for a judge there) that I will move to Spain if McCain/Palin get into office. Her response: Well, you'll still have to pay taxes."

So?

And for the record, Spain is not definite. Southern Italy or even Central or South America would be fine by me. Someplace warm that's not the Republican States of America. S wants to go to a Spanish-speaking country. And if he's going with me, I'll go for that. Fortunately, I have a job that I can take anywhere with me.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Barack has got to win this election. I feel pretty confident that he will win it handily. I'm keeping my options open though, because there's some weird shit going on around here.