Thursday, March 1, 2001
I might be blogging less frequently from now on. Putting my thoughts and feelings out there for all to see is beginning to feel a little strange. Of course, if I come across a great link to something, I might post that — such as the fan website for You Can’t Do That on Television — but lately, personal privacy is seeming more and more appealing. Sorry, no further explanation; that’s what the boundary between public and private is all about.
Thanks to all of you who have been reading — I’ve e-mailed and/or IM’d with some good people through this blog. Perhaps that sounds like a farewell; I don’t intend it to be. I’m not ending this thing yet, or at least I don’t think I am, but who knows. I guess we’ll see what happens.
12:02 PM | Comments Off Friday, March 2, 2001
I always get Jonno and Jockohomo confused. Am I the only one?
You astute readers may notice that this is indeed a new blog entry, one day after I wrote that I was thinking of giving this thing up. But I’m wondering if maybe I could keep blogging and yet enjoy it. It’s no fun blogging when your life seems like it’s in a ditch, because then all the posts come off sounding negative, and there’s a price to pay: a guy who otherwise might have thought you were lots of fun reads your blog and tells you that he thinks your personality is too serious for him to want to date you. Even if you didn’t want to date him in the first place, comments like that do hurt. Anyway, whatever. That’s not worth dwelling on.
The fact is, there’s something I’d lose if I stopped blogging: a connection to the blogging community. Even though I’ve only met one fellow blogger in person, and that was before I started my blog, it’s nice to be part of this community. It’s great to read others’ blogs and to hear from fellow bloggers.
Blogging is cathartic. And yet…
…it would be nice if my blog were read only by beings who lived on another planet, because then I’d know that I had no chance of ever interacting with my readers in real life. But the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle kicks in: things change once they are observed. At first you’re blogging about things that have no connection to your readers. But as more people read your blog, you find that sometimes the things you blog about involve other bloggers, or another blogger might do or say something that affects what you write. The barrier between your blog and your life is pierced. You realize that you’re not sending your thoughts out into a void, but out to other people who could play roles, big or infinitesimally small, in your life.
What I’m really trying to say is this: I don’t want my blog to turn people off from the person who’s writing it. I don’t want people to enjoy my blog but not me. I don’t want to be some observed being; I want to be a part of someone’s life eventually. It would be nice if I could keep the people who read my blog separate from the people involved in my life, but that’s not really possible. And it’s not like this is new to blogging; anyone who’s written a memoir, or even a work of fiction, has had to deal with this problem. What you write is affected by your life, and your life is affected by what you write.
Anyway.
I’m not sure what any of this means. Maybe I’ll try to be a more cheerful blogger in the future. Maybe I’m just going through some rough times in my life right now, which I am — the noise in my apartment building has been intolerable lately. I haven’t been able to sleep. The walls are so thin that you can hear people’s voices when they talk, and you can hear people walking around, and my upstairs neighbor comes in at 3 in the morning with a couple of friends and they laugh and yell and listen to music. I’ve asked him to stop, and I’ve gotten rude responses. There’s something important, though; I have a law degree. I know how to use the law. You can make the law work for you. I’ve already talked to my landlord, and perhaps things will get better. But if not, I think I have a good case for breaking my lease. In fact, I found a New Jersey court case, on this very subject, that comes to this exact conclusion. So if I have to move, I have to move.
On the upside, one of co-workers just left for a five-night vacation yesterday, and she’s offered me the use of her house. I slept there last night, and it was heavenly: a whole house to myself. A cute, kinda rustic house, and no noisy neighbors, and I can play music as loud as I want. I don’t want this to lull me into a sense of complacency, but it’s so nice to get away.
11:31 AM | Comments Off A Little Better
For some reason I’m feeling better than I was. There are a few reasons.
One, I have been told by the person in question that just because I’m “serious,” doesn’t mean I’m “humorless.” That makes me feel somewhat better, because if it were the case that I were no fun to be around, that would kind of suck for me.
Two, he’s also told me (I’m paraphrasing) that I shouldn’t take it too much to heart that I don’t click with him. And I’ve realized that it’s much healthier not to focus on what other people think of you. You have to be who you are. If you just be yourself long enough, someone will come along who likes that self. Part of me already knew all of this, but it’s easy to forget those things. We’ve got to learn to be happy.
Three, I just read through the last several days of East/West. Flip, I’m sorry that things with Beau didn’t quite go according to plan. And, not to piggyback on someone’s misfortune, but reading your recent entries reminds me that there’s nothing wrong with honest, raw blogging. It also makes me realize that I’m not the only person with doubts in the world. And the e-mail my friend sent me the other day still applies.
Four, I talked on the phone with my landlord — I’m also going to send him a letter documenting my recent noise troubles, because it’s always best for these things to be in writing. My landlord told me he’ll talk to the neighbors and he’ll send them something in writing about their excessive noise. He told me that if the problem continues, the neighbors will have to leave, because he can’t have tenants disturbing other tenants. (Residential real estate leases have an implied warranty of quiet enjoyment.) Anyway, I’ve always been polite and friendly to my landlord, and he seems to like me. Plus I’ve lived in the building two months longer than these other people. So things could work out okay. The apartment noise sucks; when you can’t even get a good night’s sleep in your own home, that’s a problem.
Anyway, things could be looking up.
Now, there’s a separate issue, which I’ll leave to a separate entry.
3:25 PM | Comments Off A Question
If you start dating someone, should you tell him that you have a blog?
This is totally premature, of course.
Three weeks ago I was in a chatroom, and a guy opened up a window with me. We wound up chatting for quite a while, and we had one of the most substantive chats I’d had in a long time. He thought the same thing; although he was relatively new to chatting, he’d never had an online conversation this deep before. Eventually he had to go to dinner, so I gave him my e-mail address and the chat ended.
The next day he wrote back, but getting back to him wasn’t at the top of my priorities, so a week went by. Then I figured, hey, I’ll write him back. I did, and he replied. We decided we’d try to meet up again online.
On a Saturday night, I came home from Wonderbar at about 4 in the morning and decided to go online. There he was. We wound up chatting for an hour.
For the next week, we chatted every night, probably at least 3 hours each night. We told each other much of our life stories. We really seemed to click, to understand each other in many ways, or at least to want to understand each other. He lives in New York, but lately he’s been spending lots of time in D.C. for work. He was hesitant to move on to further forms of communication, such as the telephone, but eventually he decided he wanted to give me a call.
On Monday night he called, and we talked on the phone for about three hours. We seemed to hit it off pretty well. Last night we talked again. We plan to move on to an in-person meeting at some point, probably soon.
The biggest thing is that I haven’t yet seen what he looks like, although he’s seen my picture. Perhaps the red flags should be going up for me, who knows. I know his height, his weight, and his age, and these all meet with my approval; and I know that he’s had a few boyfriends, so he must be at least objectively attractive.
Anyway, I don’t know if I should tell him about the blog. And actually, this has a lot to do with why I’ve been hesitant to blog lately. If you go back and read the entries of the last couple of days with this in mind, maybe they’ll make more sense.
3:50 PM | Comments Off My Evening Plans
You know what I’m going to do tonight? I’m going to take full advantage of having my co-worker’s nice quiet house to myself. I’m going to relax there, and I’m going to listen to the rest of Das Rheingold — the first of the four Ring operas — as I follow along in the libretto, and then I might move on to Die Valkyrie. Or, if I get tired of that, I’ll chill out and watch TV. I’ll get take-out Chinese and I’ll just sit there on the floor, eat tasty Chinese food, and watch TV. I’ll stay up until I get tired and then I’ll go to bed, and I’ll sleep late tomorrow morning. Oh my god, I’m going to be in heaven. This is like a mini-vacation.
4:48 PM | Comments Off Saturday, March 3, 2001
Music, Laziness, Life, Love and Time
Last night I did what I said I was going to do, although slightly out of order. I got here to the house around 6 and napped until 8. Then I was feeling hungry, so I got dressed and went out in search of Chinese food. I walked around until I found a shopping center, and sure enough — like most shopping centers — there was a Chinese restaurant. I ordered a pint of hot and sour soup and a dinner combination — chicken with broccoli, fried rice, and an egg roll. I’m sure all of this was incredibly unhealthy, but so what — I’m thin. I walked back to the house, set up a nice Chinese meal, and watched TV. Afterward, I put on Das Rheingold and stretched out with the libretto. Then I went to bed around midnight, slept for many hours, woke up a few times, and finally got up around 10:45 in the morning.
All day I’ve pretty much done nothing. For the first time in a very long time, I listened to the weekly live Metropolitan Opera broadcast — it was Manon by Jules Massenet. I don’t know, sometimes I think I like the idea of opera more than I actually like opera. Listening to it, I never quite like it as much as I expect to. I think I need to let something else inside myself go in order to fully enjoy it.
(But I have to agree with Dean about Shostakovich.)
I was dozing off earlier, listening to New York’s classical music station, WQXR, and I suddenly had a desire to go into the city and get a ticket to the New York Philharmonic, being led tonight by guest conductor Colin Davis, or the Vienna Philarmonic, being led tonight by Pierre Boulez at Carnegie Hall. Ahh, it’s great living where I do… and were I home in Jersey City, closer to Manhattan than I am right now, I might have done it, but I’ve been revelling in my laziness today.
Earlier I wrote in my journal and realized what I’d really love to be doing tonight. I’d love to be out with someone I love, or even with a friend. With that person, I’d like to go to the symphony, followed by a long, relaxing dinner at a nice restaurant, followed by drinks either at a jazz club or a gay bar.
Do successful relationships require that the two people share common interests? Or can it be okay if they have different interests, as long as their personalities mesh? I don’t know.
When I was writing this evening, I had a revelation of sorts. I realized that one’s 20’s might not be the easiest time to fall in love with someone. A friend of mine says the 20’s are all about survival. (Of course, he’s only 24, so it’s not like he’s an expert.) Suppose I don’t fall in love until my late 30’s, or after? That actually made me excited, because I thought, wow — I have a great future to look forward to, with a great guy, probably someone I haven’t even met yet. Which means that in the meantime, I should be able to just enjoy myself, and not worry about whether someone is that guy or not, and just have fun.
I usually find it hard to do that — to just live in the moment. I’m worrying about the significance of what I’m doing, if it’s enhancing my life in any way, if it’s helping set a good groundwork for a better future. I find it hard to just let go. I’m afraid of time slipping through my fingers like sand. Why? Because I feel like I’ve missed out on things in life, and that I have to move at double speed to catch up. But that only compounds the problem, because I’ll never catch up if I do that; I’ll just find that I’ve missed out on more things.
Other times I think, wow, I’m so young! I have so much to look forward to. I have time to change myself. I have time. Sometimes I stupidly think that life ends at 30, but it doesn’t. You can have a terrific life at any age.
I have time.
8:12 PM | Comments Off Sunday, March 4, 2001
Snow
I watched the evening news a while ago and found out that because of the impending snowstorm, all state offices in New Jersey are closed tomorrow. All non-essential state employees should stay home! I, a non-essential state employee, feel pure joy right now.
I have my coworker’s house all to myself. I had it all to myself on Friday night, and all day yesterday, and all day today, and now I find I have it to myself all day tomorrow, too. I love being here. After having gone through several days of hell last week, the last few days have been pure heaven. It makes me think that maybe there really is some higher power out there, looking out for me. I feel so relaxed. It’s amazing how much your surroundings can affect the quality of your life.
This afternoon I listened to Die Valkyrie, which takes up four CDs. You can really lose yourself in Wagner’s music. And with tomorrow a blank slate to fill as I please, I plan to get lost in his music again; I’ll listen to Siegfried, the third opera of the Ring. It takes up four CDs as well. Why not? I have the whole day to hibernate indoors while the snow rages outside.
This morning I decided that I should probably have some food around, so I went to the supermarket. It was a madhouse. I’d never seen checkout lines as long as they were this morning — eleven or twelve lanes, each lane at least ten people deep. You’d think the apocalypse was coming; you’d think people were going to be stuck in their homes for a whole week. Why does this sort of consumer panic happen?
I couldn’t find a cart or even a basket, so I had to carry what I could. Having waited until the last minute to stock up, I felt like a member of the lazy unwashed masses. (I was in fact unwashed, and unshaven, too; I think I have four days’ growth of beard right now.) Anyway, I didn’t need much; I bought milk, bread, sliced turkey, two frozen pizzas, two apples, an orange, and a bottle of Splash juice (that stuff is delicious). Then when I got back to the house I realized I hadn’t bought the Sunday New York Times. I could just as easily read it on the Web, but it’s nicer to stretch out with the paper on the floor or the couch, and it would be nice to have it during a snowstorm. Also, you can’t do the Sunday crossword on the Web. So I went back out and tried three different convenience stores until I found the Times. I was so relieved. I guess that was my own form of consumer panic. (Although, while at the convenience store, I picked up some more things: two cans of soup, a bottle of ginger ale, two rolls (better for sandwiches than bread), and a box of Entenmann’s soft baked chocolate chip cookies. More than half the box is gone now.)
Anyway, it’s around midnight now, and there’s barely any snow on the ground. Most of it is supposed to come tomorrow. I feel so nice and secure and warm in this house by myself, sitting here typing on my laptop, listening to classical music on WQXR. This is a real blessing. Thank you, whoever you are.
11:40 PM | Comments Off Tuesday, March 6, 2001
Heaven Ends
So, yesterday the office was closed and the snowstorm was a dud. And today it’s snowing, yet the office is open. I don’t get it.
I left my coworker’s house this morning after spending five wonderful evenings there, including a three-day weekend of pure relaxation. Between Sunday morning, when I went grocery shopping, and this morning, when I packed up my stuff and came to work, I didn’t leave the house at all. It was fantastic. I listened to opera CDs and WQXR, ate, napped, did the Sunday Times crossword, watched cable TV. Tonight I have to go back to my apartment, and a feeling of dread is returning. Right now, there are only a couple of simple things I want in life — a quiet place of my own, and time to relax there undisturbed — yet I’m worried about being able to achieve even those small things. I’m dreading my upstairs neighbors and my building’s thin walls, and I don’t know what I want to do when my clerkship ends in August.
Why, oh why, is it so difficult for me to be happy?
11:09 AM | Comments Off Silver Spoons
Returning to an earlier theme of cultural detritus, last night I was flipping through the TV channels and discovered that Nick at Nite was running a “Silver Spoons” marathon. I watched the whole thing — I loved that show, and I hadn’t seen it in maybe 15 years. I used to watch it all the time; it was on Saturday nights at 8:30 on NBC, right after “Diff’rent Strokes.” (This was back when TV still had sitcoms that weren’t about a bunch of urban 20somethings — sitcoms that kids could watch.) Watching the eight-episode marathon last night, I got to see a young Ricky Schroder, as well as guest appearances by Mr. T, Gary Coleman, Menudo, and Whitney Houston. Wow. And one episode, from the later seasons, had 16-year-old Rick shirtless, wearing a towel. He was pretty impressive — smooth, built. Drool.
Another episode featured a young Jason Bateman, who had a recurring role on the series as Ricky’s troublemaking friend Derek Taylor. I always had a thing for Jason Bateman on that show, so this was a treat. And it turns out that he’s back on TV now, in a new CBS sitcom based on the movie “Kiss Me Guido,” and he actually plays the gay character. He’s on the cover of The Advocate this week. I don’t think I have as big a crush on him now as I did as a kid, though.
11:18 AM | Comments Off Arrgh
I need to move this blog to another server. Geocities sucks. Sometimes http://www.geocities.com/tinmanblog/index.htm shows my latest entries and sometimes it doesn’t, and the same thing with http://www.geocities.com/tinmanblog/ (no index.htm). I have no idea why.
Anyone have any suggestions for new places to host me? Anyone want to host me?
1:00 PM | Comments Off Reprieve
It turns out that my coworker’s flight back home was cancelled because of the snow, and they can’t get another flight until Thursday. That means I can stay here tonight and tomorrow night as well! I’m glad, because I went back to my apartment earlier, and the upstairs neighbor was watching a loud movie that might as well have been playing in my bedroom. Can’t stand it… can’t stand it…
I think I’ll have a good case to break my lease, since this problem doesn’t seem to be getting fixed. Hmm… I think I’ll look for a place in Brooklyn. I’m tired of New Jersey. But wherever I live, I’d at least like a quieter apartment. Is that too much to ask for? I don’t think so.
I have to start listening to my gut. I have to start doing what makes me happy. I have to realize that I won’t be punished for trying to have some personal happiness; that Fate is an ancient, worn out concept; that there’s nobody out there with any power over me. I’m an adult. I have nobody to please. No longer should I suffer for the sheer dignity of suffering.
11:01 PM | Comments Off Wednesday, March 7, 2001
I wound up writing the following sentence in my journal last night:
I will take responsibility for my own happiness.
That’s my new mantra.
10:20 AM | Comments Off Penn
I have tentative plans on Saturday to meet up, finally, with this person who I’ve been chatting and talking on the phone with for the past few weeks. I’ll call him Penn. He lives in Manhattan, but lately he’s had to spend most of his time in northern Virginia on business. We talk on the phone at great length, several nights a week, and by this point he knows all about me, and I know lots about him. We seem to click in a way that I haven’t with another person in quite a while.
I’m not sure what to feel, though, because there’s nothing physical to focus on. I haven’t seen his face or encountered him in person. So right now he’s still sort of amorphous — he’s just a voice on the phone. I’m trying not to get too excited, and in fact, what I’m feeling right now is more a curiosity tinged with restrained hopes.
Anyway, he’s hoping to be back in town this weekend; if he is, we’ve decided to meet up on Saturday. I’ll keep you all posted.
1:44 PM | Comments Off Personal Survey
A friend of mine just e-mailed me one of those personal questionnaires, where you answer questions about yourself and then send it back to the sender as well to anyone else you want. But instead of sending it to people, I figured, hey, why not put this blog to good use. Forthwith (and herein, and thereby) are my answers to the questions. These aren’t the most exciting questions, but hey.
And I don’t know what happened to question #22.
1. LIVING ARRANGEMENT?
Live alone in a large, aesthetically unpleasing, noisy apartment in Jersey City, NJ.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING RIGHT NOW?
In the middle of Godel, Escher, Bach (haven’t touched it in a week and a half or so).
3. WHAT’S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
At work: the Dell logo.
At home: no mouse pad (I have a laptop).
4. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?
Talisman.
5. FAVORITE MAGAZINE?
The New Yorker.
6. FAVORITE SMELLS?
My mom’s cooking.
7. LEAST FAVORITE SMELL?
Most bodily excrescences.
8. FAVORITE SOUND?
Classical music of almost any kind.
9. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?
Anxiety.
10. FAVORITE COLOR?
Purple.
11. RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE?
Three.
12. FUTURE CHILD’S NAME?
No clue yet.
13. WHAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN LIFE?
Achieving contentment.
14. FAVORITE FOODS?
Chili; french fries.
15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA?
Ice cream: chocolate.
Men: vanilla.
16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST?
Relatively.
17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
Sometimes. I have a stuffed Uncle Scrooge that I got at Disney World a long time ago.
18. STORMS - COOL OR SCARY?
Cool.
19. WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
A used red 1988 Honda Accord hatchback.
20. IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON DEAD OR ALIVE?
Right now, I’d say Leonard Bernstein.
21. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK?
Bourbon and Coke.
23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?
Yes.
24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT BE?
Writer.
25. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR?
No.
26. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
Not yet.
27. IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?
I can’t decide if it’s a glass.
28. FAVORITE MOVIES
Back to the Future I and II
Dead Poets’ Society
29. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS?
No.
30. WHAT’S UNDER YOUR BED?
Dust bunnies and a completed jigsaw puzzle of the School of Athens that I didn’t want to take apart.
31. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER?
Eight.
32. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH?
Porn.
33. SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU.
Always looking out for my best interests; caring; generous.
4:24 PM | Comments Off Thursday, March 8, 2001
Saturday
Saturday plans: Tentative dinner plans with Penn, and, earlier in the day, lunch with friend and fellow blogger Mike, since he’s home on spring break. Mike and I first met in early January, when he was home on winter break, and we hung out a couple of times. As far as I know, he’s the only reader of my blog who’s actually met me in person.
Speaking of colliding blogs, it looks like I was discussed last night. Hmm… that must be why my ears were burning. If only I could have been a fly on Flip’s BBQ chicken platter. (”That Tin Man… he flips me out. But the guy needs to relax.”)
11:25 AM | Comments Off Multitasking is Not Always Good
Penn called me last night after we found each other in the chat rooms. This seems to be our regular ritual — we find each other there, he calls me, we talk. Well, when he called, I left the chat room, after politely telling some chatters that I had to go. Then Penn and I talked for a while.
After we’d been talking for about 20 minutes, I thought I could hear the sound of him typing. “Working again?” I said, because the night before, he’d been working on a spreadsheet while talking with me. But no, he wasn’t working; in fact, he hadn’t left the chat room, and this closeted bisexual Temple University med student with a girlfriend, a guy with whom he’d chatted before, had just opened up a window with him. (I’d seen this guy’s photo before; gorgeous body.) Penn said, “Hold on, I’ll tell him I’ve got to go.” We continued talking, and about ten minutes later, I could still hear him typing, and I didn’t seem to have his full attention. So I asked, and it turned out he was still chatting with the guy. In fact, Penn hadn’t told him he had to go, but in fact had asked him if he’d finally gotten some action as the guy had apparently earlier mentioned he’d planned to. So the med student was telling him a story about his latest sexual escapade.
Penn was being a good guy with me about it — he was reading the story to me out loud, so I could be in on it too, and he asked me what he should type, and so forth. He wasn’t taking their chat too seriously — I guess it was just fun for him to chat with a hot guy and hear a good sex story. But he knew that it was bothering me, because try as I might, I couldn’t completely conceal my irritation in my responses, and he’d say things to me like, “I’m sorry… this is really bothering you, isn’t it,” as the online chat continued.
And yeah, it did bother me. One, I didn’t like being on the phone with someone whose attention was divided between a phone call with me and a computer chat with someone else. Two, I’ve really come to like this guy, and I want to see where it goes, and if I’m not mistaken, he does, too. Three, the med student has a great body, and that made me insecure (like you folks needed to be reminded of that latter point). On the other hand, Penn is someone who’s not comfortable with the idea of anonymous sex or sleeping around, and I get the impression he’s not a big buff guy anyway, so if it happened that we wound up dating, this might no longer be an issue. (And yes, I’m probably thinking too far ahead here.)
This touches on one of those complicated issues:
Monogamy.
When should you become monogamous? I tend to become monogamous too soon; for example, right now I don’t want to sleep with anyone else; I want to wait for Penn, because what if I sleep with someone else and that hurts him? I know that if he slept with someone else right now, that would bother me. But we’re not even dating, for goodness’ sake. Yet, recall what happened with The Guy: we were fuckbuddies, but inside, I was hurt that he was sleeping with other people.
My current idea is that monogamy should not be assumed, even if you’ve gone on a few dates with someone; it should be something that two people discuss and agree to have. Where does the desire for monogamy come from, though? During my first year out of the closet — a couple of years ago — I had three short relationships, about two months each, and each time, after a couple of months, monogamy was not easy. I didn’t really have strong feelings for any of those guys. Do you develop a strong desire to be monogamous once you develop stronger feelings for someone? Does monogamy become something that you just naturally want? I imagine that the strong romantic feelings fade, and that after a time it becomes more difficult to be with just one person.
Are people monogamous because they’re so in love with someone emotionally that they lose all desire to sleep with anyone else, or are people monogamous because they think that the other person will feel hurt if they sleep with someone else?
Obviously, right now my desire to wait for Penn is based on the second reason, not the first. Yet he and I are so incredibly far from the point of explicit monogamy, right? I’m just insecure about this crap.
11:28 AM | Comments Off According to SiteMeter, my blog has been visited by someone at the domain name gastricbypass.com.
I don’t think I understand. Or want to.
12:19 PM | Comments Off Friday, March 9, 2001
Manhattan
Last night after work I went to the legendary Astor Place Hairstylists for a haircut. I didn’t feel like going back to my apartment — in fact, I was dreading sleeping there last night — so instead, I wandered around the streets of downtown Manhattan. I walked up Broadway to the Strand Bookstore, where you can get lost among the tall claustrophobic shelves for hours. Then I walked up a couple of blocks and hit the Virgin Megastore at Union Square, specifically the classical section, where I spent a short while browsing and listening.
(I love how the classical music section of every huge mega-CD store is glassed off in a separate room, enforcing the impression that classical music is something completely inaccessible to the unwashed masses. It also gives the illusion that it’s fragile, that it needs to be protected from the big bad noisy world of Britney and Christina and Metallica. I think there’s some truth to this, actually; and to me, the classical music section of a CD store — like the music itself — is an oasis. (That’s oasis with a lowercase o.))
From there, I walked through Union Square and spent some time at the beautiful Barnes and Noble store there. After I left, I still didn’t want to go home, so I walked a few blocks west and it started drizzling lightly. I wound up in Chelsea, where I walked down Eighth Avenue, the Rodeo Drive of Manhattan’s gay world, and around 16th Street I ran into a guy I know who lives in Hoboken. I really don’t like this guy: it’s something about the way he talks, and the fact that his idea of conversation is jokingly insulting the person he’s talking with, and the fact that we have almost nothing in common and therefore have little to talk about. Unfortunately, I never seem to remember any of this until we’ve spent some time together.
I asked what he was up to, and he said, “Oh, you know… hanging out… cruising.” I still didn’t want to go home, so I asked if he wanted to grab a beer at Barracuda. He said sure. So we walked back up Eighth Avenue, looked through the windows of the Big Cup — which is basically a gay bar except they serve caffeine instead of alcohol — and continued on to Barracuda.
It was pretty empty, so we easily found a place to sit. But before we sat down, a guy came over to me and said hi. It was Joe, the only member of my high school class in Tokyo who’d been openly gay. He now lives in Chelsea. He was the first gay person I ever knew, but I never talked to him back then, because in high school I wasn’t ready for that sort of thing. But when I finally came out a couple of years ago, I got his e-mail address off the annual class newsletter and wrote him, basically saying Hi, do you remember me from high school? I’m gay too. We got together for dinner a year ago, but I hadn’t seen him since.
He and his friends were on their way out, so we said our goodbyes, and Latent Annoying Guy and I sat down. I had a Corona, he had a margarita. After several minutes, the conversation fizzled out. I had been a little horny, and his “cruising” comment had piqued my curiosity, and we’d hooked up once last spring, but now I remembered how much I didn’t like him, and he didn’t seem to be interested anyway, and I also knew that by the time we got back across the river to either Hoboken or Jersey City I would have lost any interest in him that I would have been trying to sustain, so I said I needed to get up for work in the morning and that I had to be going, and we parted ways.
I came home, heard too much noise from the neighbors, called the landlord and left a message, in which among other things I said “either they have to go or I have to go” and “could you please call me at work tomorrow.” But by around 11:30 the noise had stopped, so after talking on the phone with Penn for a bit, I got into bed and managed to sleep pretty well, a blanket over my head and a stuffed Uncle Scrooge doll in my arms because I needed it.
12:24 PM | Comments Off Only Connect
It’s old hat, but I love how our lives are all intertwined in strange ways. This was true even before the Internet — especially in gay circles, where, for instance, we’ve long been able to make diagrams of who’s shagged whom. You and your acquaintances (or you and strangers) can play your very own Kevin Bacon game.
Malcom Gladwell wrote about this in the New Yorker a couple of years back in a great article, definitely worth reading, called Six Degrees of Lois Weisberg:
We’ve all met someone like Lois Weisberg. Yet, although we all know a Lois Weisberg type, we don’t know much about the Lois Weisberg type. Why is it, for example, that these few, select people seem to know everyone and the rest of us don’t? And how important are the people who know everyone? This second question is critical, because once you begin even a cursory examination of the life of someone like Lois Weisberg you start to suspect that he or she may be far more important than we would ever have imagined — that the people who know everyone, in some oblique way, may actually run the world.
So, holy cripes, one link today from Jonno — our own Lois Weisberg, our gay Kottke (unless Kottke’s actually gay, which he says he’s not) — and my hits go through the roof. See, we’re all connected.
One reader, after finding this blog through that link today, wrote me:
This whole thing is a facinating process that reflects the very best of the web. Give us time and we’ll come find you, slowly crawling across the thin strands of web that connect us to each other.
Apparently, he’s right.
4:40 PM | Comments Off Saturday, March 10, 2001
Deception
Back in early January, having made a New Year’s Resolution to meet new people, I put a personal ad online. Over the next couple of weeks, assorted responses trickled in, some that I responded to and others that I ignored. One response was quite interesting and intelligently written, and the writer had an MBA and also a law degree. My ad had mentioned that I was looking for guys in their 20s, and he seemed to have more professional experience than a 20something, but his response didn’t mention his age. I wrote back, thanking him for the response, mentioning some other things, and asking how old he was. He replied with some more details, responding to some things I’d said, and toward the end of the message — perhaps the second to last sentence — he mentioned that he was 38. Oh, I thought. That’s too bad, he’s older than what I’m looking for. Well, maybe he’d still be a good person to get to know, even if I don’t want to date him. But I never wrote back, and I completely forgot about him.
I was looking forward to having dinner tonight with Penn, the 24-year-old guy with whom I’d been chatting and talking on the phone for the past few weeks. He called me this morning so we could figure out where and when to meet. But before we started discussing the details, he said, “First, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Oh, god. He’s going to tell me he’s fallen in love with someone.
But nope.
He told me:
“I’m 38.”
Um.
Wow.
Not only that, but he’s the 38-year-old guy who’d responded to my ad back in January.
Holy shit.
What could I say? I was stunned.
I know — you’d think that with all the time I’ve spent chatting with people online, this would have happened to me before. But it hadn’t.
Here, according to his explanation, is what happened. He was new to chatting. He was never expecting to meet anyone — he was just there to chat, to see what this thing was like. One day he saw my profile, my information looked interesting, so he opened up a window with me to chat. We did. He said he was 24 and so forth. After chatting for a while, he told me that in his short time chatting, he’d never had such an intelligent online conversation before. Eventually he had to go, so I told him he could e-mail me. He did. A week went by before I responded, and then I did I included a link to my photos and so forth, which he hadn’t seen.
According to him, it was at this point that he realized who I was. He remembered me as the guy whose ad he’d responded to, and who hadn’t written him back when he’d learned he was 38. He wanted to tell me, but he wasn’t sure how I’d respond, and he really was coming to like me.
We began chatting more and more, several hours a night, but he was hesitant to move on from there. Finally we decided to talk on the phone, so we did, and for the next couple of weeks we talked almost every other night. He kept wanting to tell me, but he kept putting it off.
Until this morning.
As I said, I was stunned. He’s not 24, but 38. He’s not a recent college grad at all. Certain things make sense now. Like the fact that for so long he resisted talking on the phone. Like the fact that he doesn’t have a picture. Like the fact that in the past, while chatting, I’d say, “I’ve really started to like you,” and he’d respond, “Listen, you don’t know me…”
This morning he told me that I had every right to be mad at him, that he’d been a jerk, that he was mad at himself too, et cetera, et cetera. And he said he knew this was completely self-serving, but would I still like to have dinner with him tonight, and it would be on him.
Here’s the thing. I’m very age-conscious. Theoretically I’d like to date someone who’s within 3 or 4 years of my age. I want someone whom I can consider my peer, and I’m not really attracted to older guys — I’ve certainly never desired to date someone 11 years older than me. But I’ve found that friendships with older men can be very valuable, as those men have “been there” and have experiences and stories that they can share with you.
So this is strange. I’ve been chatting and talking intently with this guy with whom I’ve seemed to click, and yet it turns out he’s 38. And yet, despite his age, we’ve had such interesting conversations. He told me on the phone this morning that he was surprised I hadn’t figured out he was older, because of the things we talked about and because of his insight into certain topics. And this is interesting in light of what I wrote a week ago about thinking that I might not meet someone I clicked with until well into my 30s. And now I’ve had these great conversations with a guy in his late 30s. So what does this mean? Do I want a guy who’s physically in his 20’s but emotionally and intellectually older? My gosh, wouldn’t we all? Then again, the guy lied to me, so how emotionally mature can he be?
I went back and forth. I told him, I can’t have dinner with you tonight. Then I told him I’d like to. Then I said no. Then I said, let’s do it anyway. No expectations. (Now that I think about it, this explains why there was a silence on the other end several nights ago when I said that we should try not have expectations when we met up.)
You’re reading this and you’re thinking, what the fuck? Are you nuts? Be mad at him! Don’t have dinner with him. Don’t have anything to do with him!
But you know what? I told him I’m mad, I told him I’m stunned. (But maybe not enough — he told me I should be angrier than I was reacting.) I don’t want to date him. I’m just curious to see what he’s like. We’ve had good conversations. What if he’s good looking? Maybe I could at least get good sex out of it. And most importantly, if I don’t have dinner with him, I’ll have no plans for tonight.
Isn’t that lame? I’m having dinner with him for lack of anything else to do?
And he lied to me.
You know, I should call him back and say I’ve changed my mind. (I told him I might.) Then I could find something incredibly lame to do tonight, like go to a bar alone and wind up meeting nobody. Or I could see if any other friends are still planless tonight. Or I could come back here (I’m at my parents’ house for the weekend, taking care of the dog while they’re away) and rent movies and listen to Wagner and chill out alone.
I really should keep my dignity.
But I’m curious.
I don’t know.
Update
About 20 minutes after I finished this entry, I thought, what the fuck? He lied. There are tons of guys out there, guys who will be honest. Why should I give this one the opportunity to meet me? So I called him back and said I couldn’t have dinner with him.
I may not get to satisfy my curiosity, but at least I’ll feel good about myself.
12:31 PM | Comments Off Sunday, March 11, 2001
Aftermath
Yesterday afternoon — after cancelling my dinner plans — I met up with Mike for lunch. We went to the White Horse Tavern, where we had to move from our first table because I couldn’t stand the cigar smoke from the guy next to me. Our next table was right near this group of about ten people who seemed to be reciting something Shakespearean; it turned out they were reading King Lear aloud. Go figure. Anyway, Mike and I had a nice lunch.
I didn’t do much for the rest of the day; stopped by my apartment, brought my laundry back to my parents’ house — I’m still watching the dog — and went grocery shopping; I also watched “Saturday Night Live” for the first time in quite a while. Conan O’Brien hosted, and it was one of the funnier episodes I’d seen in a long time. I assume that in addition to hosting, Conan helped write some the sketches, as he used to do. I particularly enjoyed Moleculo — “The Molecular Man!” Major excitement, I tell ya.
I’m still trying to get used to the idea that the person I’d been conversing with for the past few weeks has turned out not to exist. I mean, he does exist, but not in quite the way I’d thought. When he confessed the truth to me yesterday, he told me that other than his age, he’d been truthful; everything he’d told me about his life, his ex-boyfriends, his college experiences, were all true, it’s just that the time frame was different. But I feel like I was played for a fool, even though he apparently didn’t intend any malice. And yet, I’m still sort of curious to meet him. I might wind up doing so at some point.
On the other hand, I’ve realized that almost every gay person I’ve met in the last couple of months has come through the Internet, and I’m tired of devoting so much emotional energy to a person before I actually meet him and find myself disappointed. I’m tired of getting to know the warm creamy center of a person before discovering the crispy crunchety outer shell. I want to be shallow. I want to become smitten by someone purely physically first, and only then do I want to find out that the person is intelligent and charming to boot.
I need to find better, old-fashioned ways of meeting people. It would probably be good to volunteer, to join some other gay social groups and so forth. And it seems to me that another great way to meet people would be through people I already know; there’s not a better recommendation than one that comes from a friend who can vouch for the person. So I need to go to more parties. So I need to meet more people who throw them.
4:39 PM | Comments Off Monday, March 12, 2001
Gay Life Now
Last week’s issue of New York magazine is all about gay life now.1 The articles aren’t really New York-focused, though, so you may find them interesting wherever you are. I had no idea that the New York Times’ Adam Nagourney, Frank Bruni, and Richard Berke were gay. And I’m not at all surprised about Nathan Lane, although I can’t believe I hadn’t realized it sooner. It’s weird how, like most people, I assume an actor is straight until he or she says otherwise. (Then again, 95 percent of the world is straight.) I really need to work on that gaydar thing.
It’s also good to see Andrew Sullivan knocked down a peg. Some things Sullivan writes, such as this, are pretty ridiculous, and the guy is just way too pompous. I saw him speak at UVA a couple of years ago; a friend of mine gave him a pretty harsh review.
Yet sometimes I find myself agreeing with what Sullivan has to say, and even when I don’t, I’m glad he’s around. Annoying as he is, he makes me reconsider many of my existing assumptions about modern gay life and gay politics. Even when the man’s wrong, he has some value. Of course, you can judge for yourself.
1 Just realized that RJ blogged about this a little bit last week. As for me, I found the issue at my parents’ house yesterday. Hmm…
11:27 AM | Comments Off Some Signs You’ve Been Blogging Too Much
10. Your dog is named BlogSpot.
9. You choose a certain course of action just so you can blog about it afterward.
8. You get an uncontrollable urge to BlogThis!TM, even though you’re nowhere near a computer.
7. You give out your blog’s address to strangers at parties.
6. You blog at work.
5. When someone asks if you’d like to see a movie, you say, “That’d be bloggerrific!”
4. You start to tell your therapist about something and then you say, “Oh, just read my blog.”
3. You won’t be friends with someone unless they have a blog.
2. You accidentally address someone by the name you’ve given that person in your blog.
1. You think “Doogie Howser” would have been better if he’d just blogged everything.
2:29 PM | Comments Off Tuesday, March 13, 2001
Some Possible Slogans for This Blog
10. Stay for the content. Leave because there’s no fucking design.
9. The Tin Man: 100 percent recyclable.
8. Angsting daily since 1973.
7. The Tin Man: Because I can’t focus on my work.
6. Apophantics.
5. The Tin Man: Because lead is poisonous.
4. Pre-surfing life for anxiety so you don’t have to.
3. We make butter the old fashioned way: we churn it.
2. All your bases have become our property.
1. The Tin Man: Oil me.
11:59 AM | Comments Off Crunch!
Rarely do I enthuse about a candy bar, but I love the new Snickers CruncherTM (visit the website, and watch what happens to your browser). This thing has the crunchy texture of a Nestle Crunch bar (it’s got that crispy rice), it’s chocolatey with a little peanut buttery taste added, and it’s almost as thick as a Snickers bar. Yumm. If I didn’t have such high metabolism, I’d be a blimp. (Fortunately, I have high metabolism, which is why I can eat what I want and still weigh a svelte 125 pounds, to go with my height of 5′6″.)
Diff’rent Strokes
Nick at Nite has added Diff’rent Strokes to its lineup. Since I’ve been at my parents’ house for the last few nights, I’ve been able to watch cable TV, so I caught last night’s episode, which happened to be the very first one, from 1978. I’d never seen this episode. Some thoughts:
– It was weird to see Mrs. Garrett before she met Jo, Blair, Natalie and Tootie.
– It was unsettling to see Dana Plato alive.
– It was more unsettling to see Mr. Drummond encourage the two young boys to use his hot tub. See, the premise of the series is that Arnold and Willis are the young sons of Mr. Drummond’s former housekeeper, who, on her deathbed, asked him to take care of her two boys. Arnold and Willis are from Harlem, and rich middle-aged white guy Mr. Drummond owns a “de-luxe apartment in the sky” — wait, wrong series — he owns a duplex penthouse in the sky — and he takes them in as his own sons. Toward the middle of the episode, he shows them the hot tub, tells them how great it is, and says they’re always welcome to use it. Um, hmm. Then, later in the episode, there’s a surprise delivery of a whole bunch of toys to make the boys happy, including a live pony. Arnold is enthusiastic about living there, but older brother Willis isn’t, because he says they belong in Harlem, and he accuses Mr. Drummond of trying to buy their love. He says he’s not trying to buy their love — he just wants them to be happy.
By the end of the episode, Willis seems to have changed his mind, because Mr. Drummond finds him soaking in the hot tub. Mr. Drummond kneels down, leans in close, and tells Willis he’s glad he’s decided to stay. Then Arnold, in his tightie-whities, runs into the room and jumps into the hot tub too. Arnold and Willis move close to the edge of the tub so Mr. Drummond can hug the two wet, shirtless young boys and kiss them on the cheek. End of episode.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I just found this all a tad bit creepy.
1:53 PM | Comments Off Wednesday, March 14, 2001
Afternoon Off
At around 10:30 this morning, the lights flickered at work, and then the power went out. We all wondered what was going on, and we looked out the windows and saw tons of people outside, and some firetrucks, and thick billowing smoke, well, billowing from a building across the street. We’re right above a Newark city subway stop, and there have been renovations going on for the last few months; apparently, someone cut a cable or something, causing a power outage and some sort of explosion. There was apparently also a car on fire, but I didn’t get to see that. Anyway, seeing as how we had no power, they decided to close the office for the rest of the day. I love working for the government!
So I got home (well, back to my parents’ house, where I’m dogsitting), but not before stopping off at a great sandwich place near the house called The Cheese Shop. Great sandwiches. I had smoked turkey, havarti, honey mustard, lettuce and tomato on peasant bread. Mmmm.
Got to eat the sandwich. Got to watch a little bit of the afternoon soaps.
Which reminds me, I got an e-mail from a friend this morning telling me that his sister, Eden Riegel, has just been nominated for a Daytime Emmy for her role as Erica Kane’s lesbian daughter Bianca on All My Children. Erica Kane, if you don’t know, is played by venerable daytime diva (and finally an Emmy winner!) Susan Lucci. I feel kind of cool that I know Eden’s brother. He and I sang in the same college a cappella group — well, actually, he joined the 15-man group the year after I graduated, but I was still around the campus then, and we’ve mingled and sung together at alumni events and such, and all of us alums are pretty close. Of course, none of this really has anything to do with me, but I think it’s cool nonetheless.
(As for me, my mom raised me as a Days of our Lives fan, but more on that some other time.)
Later on in the afternoon, I went to Tower Records in New Jersey (the third Tower I’ve been to in several days) and bought a couple more CD’s — recordings of Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 and Symphony No. 9, conducted by Leonard Bernstein. I think this almost completes my collection of Bernstein’s later recordings of the Mahler symphonies under Deutsche Grammphon. Lately I’ve wanted to re-read this great biography of Bernstein that I bought several years ago. Last night I was walking through midtown Manhattan, past Lincoln Center, right near Central Park West and lots of tall apartment buildings, and I thought about a few things: 1) I need to spend more time in Midtown, 2) this area used to be Leonard Bernstein territory, and 3) I want to make friends with older rich gay men who love classical music and have amazing apartments where they throw wonderful parties. Ahh, the life.
So anyway, it’s been a nice day.
5:24 PM | Comments Off Thursday, March 15, 2001
The Greatest Fear of All
This morning I made an appointment to get tested for HIV on Monday evening. I don’t engage in anything particularly unsafe — I’ve always used condoms when I’ve had anal sex, and I’ve rarely let guys come in my mouth — but from time to time I develop a great, overpowering anxiety that I’ve caught the virus. I’ve tested negative twice before, but the anxiety’s still there. (Of course, I’m a worrier anyway.) I try to play mindgames, I try to calculate probabilities, I try to relive in my mind the encounters that could have been the most potentially unsafe, trying to convince myself that there’s no way I could have gotten HIV from them, reminding myself that as far as I know, I’ve never even been with someone who had HIV. I try to convince myself that I’m most likely fine. But the anxiety doesn’t go away. Finally I get to the point where I know that the only way I’ll be able to alleviate my anxiety is to be empirical — to get myself tested so I can put my mind at ease.
(By the way, ever notice how when you see the word “HIV” or “AIDS” in a paragraph, your eyes are drawn to it? All those uppercase letters together, so loud, so blaring, so uncouth and impolite, so disturbing.)
I’m feeling slightly nauseous just writing about this. I don’t even really know if I want to blog about it, because it means that people will want to know the results, and if by some quirk of fate I tested positive, I’d either have to talk about that in the blog, or I’d have to lie. But something is compelling me to write about it here. In a weird way it makes me feel better. The sense of community. I want and need the moral support. So if you have anything inspirational to say, anything that can help alleviate my anxiety, feel free to say it.
Now, I learned recently that it’s harder to get HIV than I’d previously thought. And I read recently that only seven percent of gay white men in the New York City area have HIV. But rational considerations don’t play a part in my anxiety. Rather, I feel that I deserve the disease somehow, because I’ve had gay sex — and especially because I’ve had casual gay sex. Even if it was safe, I feel like I have to be punished. And I worry that if I relax, if I convince myself that I don’t have it, then God or whoever will decide to give me it — retroactively. To spite me. Like the outcome of the test will depend on my emotional state. More mind games. Isn’t that weird?
To a large extent, this is so obviously caused by internalized homophobia.
I would rather die of cancer than of an AIDS-related illness. At least with cancer, there’s no shame. At least with cancer, you’re not stigmatized. If I developed cancer, at least I’d know that it wasn’t because of something I did. At least I’d know that my parents wouldn’t be furious with me. I can’t think of a worse way to die. I mean, there are physically worse ways, but mentally, emotionally — I would feel such incredible shame if I developed HIV. Plus, there’d be the big wait — I’d constantly be wondering when I was going to deteriorate and die. This link from Dean drives it home.
A year and a half ago, after I came out to my parents for the second time (long story), my mom told me that her biggest fear was of someday sitting by my hospital bed, watching me die of AIDS. Her eyes were welling up with tears and her voice was shaking as she said this, and it broke my heart. I wanted to bawl. All I could tell her was that I wasn’t stupid and that I didn’t want to get AIDS either.
And yet the safest way to avoid getting HIV is to not have sex at all, and yet I’ve still had sex. Gay sex, at that.
It’s a cruel irony. Sex is one of the greatest pleasures imaginable; it’s a human instinct. We are biologically programmed to engage in an activity that, at least heterosexually, propagates our species. And yet the same instinct that encourages you to create life can also kill you. Freud would have laughed; how poetic! Western society has always been ashamed about sex, but now we actually have a reason. It’s like being diagnosed as paranoid only to learn that the CIA really is after you.
Sex can kill you. Think about that. Sex can kill you. That’s so fucked up.
A year ago, when I was going through this same anxiety — before I got my beautiful negative test result back — a friend played me a song by Alanis Morisette, That I Would Be Good. I need to remember this song. We all need to. The italics are my own:
that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten poundsthat I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowingthat I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingythat I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you
That I would be good.
4:40 PM | Comments Off Woof!
Strange thing. I’d been anxious and depressed all day about everything related to the previous entry… but then I came back to my parents’ house after work and wound up saving our dog’s life.
I’d come home from work, gone out for a walk, come back, and then put food in her bowl. I went into the next room. After a few minutes I heard a thud, and I ran back in. She was lying on the floor, on her side, choking. This is maybe the third or fourth time this has happened in the last few months; the poor girl is 14 or 15 years old. But this was the first time I’d been around when it happened. I did what my brother had done in the past — I stuck my fingers down her throat, pulled out a big chunk of half-digested dog food. Got a rush of adrenaline. Called my brother to see if I should do anything else, half-frantic. He asked if she was breathing… she was. I got her to stand up and walk around, and she seemed okay. Whew.
Anyway, strangely, the adrenaline rush made me feel physically, mentally and emotionally better. It’s amazing how anxiety and depression are not just mental phenomena but also physical ones. I realized how pointless it is to worry about something that probably hasn’t occurred. I will continue to be careful sexually, and I will not be punished for having gay sex. If I get infected it will be tragic, but I will still be a good person. Life will still be worth living. And anyway, given the odds, chances are I’m okay.
Nothing like a good adrenaline rush.
7:14 PM | Comments Off Friday, March 16, 2001
To Inspire
(I just wrote the following in an e-mail to a friend, and I thought I’d post it here. For me and maybe for others.)
I felt fine after I saved the dog last night; but then later at night, and this morning, I was panicking again.
It’s such a mental thing. But there are certain things you can do to feel better.
Be good to yourself. Get enough sleep, eat right, get exercise, get the blood flowing. Think of other things. Read. Do you what you need to do to calm and relax yourself, because that is more important than almost anything else in life. It’s why we live in the first place.
Be kind of Zen about everything. Go for a walk and become aware of details. The way a certain tree trunk twists. The exact shade of blue in the sky. A bird. This actually does help.
Live in the now. Of course be careful, take all the precautions you can, but that’s not what I’m talking about. What I mean by “live in the now” is, be okay this very moment. If you can be okay this very moment, be okay for the next moment. And the next. And so on. Life is a string of present moments. Worrying involves the future, and most of the things we worry about never come to pass.
Waking up every day and getting out of bed, making it back into your bed at night — these are accomplishments.
Notice every little good thing that happens during the day, no matter how insignificant. Something that makes you smile. A good meal. A good thought. Anything. Why? Because it tells you that no matter what kind of crap is going on in your life, it is always, *always* possible to find great moments each day. Live in anticipation of those moments. It gives you something to hope for.
Most of the things we worry about never come to pass.
10:35 AM | Comments Off Puzzled
Apparently the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament is this weekend. Among other things, the official website has a short biography of its director, Will Shortz (he’s also the editor of the New York Times crossword); a sample tournament puzzle; and a Brief History of Crossword Puzzles. Enjoy.
2:20 PM | Comments Off Monday, March 19, 2001
Walk
On Saturday morning, still housesitting for my parents, I decided to drag myself out of bed and go for a walk. I just didn’t feel like sitting inside, reading the newspaper, letting the day go by. So at around 9:45 I threw on some clothes and went out for what I intended to be a 20-minute walk or so. Instead, I was out for about two hours, and I had a wonderful, wonderful time. When I can get myself out of bed and outside early in the morning — which is rare — I’m usually glad I’ve done it.
It was a gray morning, and I just picked a direction and started walking. I walked up, down, and around my town, the town where I grew up, walked along winding meandering streets with hardly any cars in sight, past suburban houses of all shapes, styles and sizes, getting lost among it all. I walked past the houses of three childhood friends, all of whose families moved away long ago. I walked past the house of my childhood piano teacher, who spent three years trying unsuccessfully to get me to practice regularly. I let my mind fill with memories and thoughts and ideas. I thought about anything and everything — my childhood, my dad, my mom. I walked past one house that had big double doors and it made me think of Frank Lloyd Wright, Batman, the Life boardgame, and 1930’s Hollywood. I came upon a park with a duck pond and sat on a bench for about 15 minutes — just sat there, Zen-like, staring at the ducks, thinking of Holden Caulfield. At that moment I was at peace. It didn’t matter what year it was; civilization did not exist. I’ve long had a dream that everyone in the world would disappear, and I’d be free to go in and out of their houses at will, undisturbed, sleep in their beds, root through their porn collections, eat their food, curl up on their couches.
Eventually I walked back to the busier section of town, stopped by CVS to buy a new spiral notebook to continue my journal, picked up a delicious tuna salad sandwich for lunch at a local sandwich shop. By the time I got back to the house, where there was nobody but a tired, loyal dog waiting for me, I felt like I’d traversed the universe. Worlds had come and gone, and I had a tuna sandwich to look forward to for lunch.
All this, and it wasn’t yet noon on a Saturday. I love days like that.
I have a dream, and walking around town helped reinforce it. I want to be a middle-aged person with my own little house where I can cocoon myself whenever I want, where I can go days without seeing a single human being if I don’t feel like it, where I can read and write and listen to classical music. I want to work in a library, filled with books and ideas and the entirety of human knowledge.
These are such simple dreams, and I’m sure I can achieve them. But in reality, I wonder how satisfied I’d feel. Because I also want a great little apartment in Manhattan, and I want to have Exciting Times, and achieve Great Things. I’m only 27, far from middle-aged, and there are some other things I want to get out of my system first, because if I reach the simpler goals, well, then what?
I’m afraid that if I achieve them, I still won’t be satisfied, and I’ll have to find yet more goals.
I hate making choices, because that closes off other choices.
But so what? I should go for my goals anyway, no matter how small.
There’s an abundant universe out there.
10:51 AM | Comments Off Mom
My parents came home from Paris over the weekend, and before I returned to my apartment on Sunday night, my mom invited me to stay for dinner. I’m never one to pass up free, home-cooked food, so I stayed.
I sat in the kitchen while she was making dinner, and we had a terrific conversation. Sometimes a much-needed conversation can do you more good than a month of therapy sessions. I was upset; lately I’ve been obsessing over the mistakes my parents made in raising me, feeling like a victim, going over and over in my mind how I felt so hyper-criticized as a kid. But my mom and I had a really good heart-to-heart, and I realized how truly and deeply she loves me. We worked through lots of stuff, and I feel less like a victim of my parents’ actions now, and more like a person who is the way he is partly because of nurture but also partly because of nature. And I feel more empowered to work on changing some things about myself.
She recommended that at some point I have the same sort of conversation with my dad. Which might be harder, because he never seems comfortable having those really earnest heart-to-hearts, and in turn that makes me feel uncomfortable having them with him.
I had an interesting moment with my mom, though. At one point she said, “Look — if it makes you feel better, I don’t care that you’re gay. I’m fine with it. It doesn’t bother me anymore.” She said that she’d come to realize this was just who I was, and that yeah, it’s not what she would have chosen for me, but that it’s what makes me happy.
I couldn’t believe it. But that wasn’t the end.
My mom is a student this year. She told me that one of her fellow students is a gay man, and she said to me, “I can tell that he’s really comfortable with himself. And you know what? You’re not. You’re not comfortable with yourself.”
And she was completely, utterly correct.
I never thought I’d reach the day when my mom was more comfortable with my homosexuality than I was. But it’s here.
My world is now topsy-turvy.
11:06 AM | Comments Off In trying to figure out what I really want to do with my life, I’ve found that the Occupational Outlook Handbook is pretty helpful. Or at least interesting.
11:35 AM | Comments Off Tuesday, March 20, 2001
Last night, on the way home from getting tested, I got mugged. Just writing down that phrase gives me the creeps. I can’t believe this happened to me.
It wasn’t at all violent, and it happened pretty quickly. I was in a part of Jersey City I hadn’t been in before. I’d been at the clinic, getting tested, but before that, I wound up spending about an hour talking with the woman giving me the test. After talking with her, I feel so much more confident that I’m perfectly healthy, and I also feel so much better informed. I described my behavior, and she seemed to think I was probably fine, so that was very reassuring. I’ll find out in two weeks.
And I thought getting tested was going to be my traumatic event of the day. Hah.
After the test, I asked the woman for directions to get back to the appropriate PATH station. I’d taken the bus to the hospital, but it hadn’t been a very long distance and I thought it would be okay to walk. Even though it was already dark. Hah. So she suggested I walk over to this particular well-lit street, and “as long as you walk purposefully, you shouldn’t have a problem.”
So I was walking, hadn’t yet reached that particular block. I was on a relatively wide street with a couple of people walking by; though no cars were passing, it didn’t seem particularly unsafe. This one woman was walking about 100 feet ahead of me, and this guy was walking in the other direction, toward me. After the woman passed, the guy came up to me and put his hand on the front of my coat. He was taller than me (which is not unusual), African-American, with facial hair. First I thought he was going to ask me for change and I’d ignore him and move on, because there are always people asking for change. But I tried to move, and he wouldn’t let go of me. He said, “Just hold on a sec.” I saw the woman ahead of me, continuing to walk, completely unaware of what was going on a hundred feet behind her. (So close, yet so oblivious, dammit.) I thought of screaming for help, but he said, “Don’t say anything. I got something really dangerous on me.” I said “okay,” as nonchalantly as I could. Then he said, “Gimme twenty bucks.” I said “okay,” and I took out my wallet. Fortunately I only had about fifteen dollars on me, and I gave that to him. He seemed disappointed. (Yeah, fucker, just because you see a short white guy with glasses carrying a satchel, you think he’s loaded with cash?) Then he walked off in the other direction. He didn’t even try to take my bag or the rest of my wallet or my watch. It was probably impulsive — he just saw me, this white guy, I looked like an easy target, and he decided to use me as an ATM. For all I know he wasn’t even armed, but I wasn’t going to take that chance; I just did what they always tell you to do when you get mugged — give them what they want.
The whole thing lasted maybe 15 or 20 seconds. I’m thankful, because obviously it could have been a lot worse. After he left, I just wanted to get the hell back to the train station. I saw a police car, but it turned out it wasn’t the real police; it was the postal police, whatever that is. I told them I’d just been mugged, and they said that if I wanted, they’d go call a cop and I could wait there for one to show up. But I didn’t really feel like waiting around, so I told them that’s okay, and I continued walking to the station, my eyes wide open, nervous of every single person walking by.
I really feel fucked with. I’ve been on edge since last night. I’m scared now. I feel powerless. I feel like I never want to walk outside, ever again. I even feel nervous about riding public transportation. So, this is what trauma feels like. On the phone, my mom told me stories of people occasionally getting assaulted in the parking lot at the upscale supermarket in my hometown. And that made me think, I could buy a house in a safe neighborhood and get burglarized. I could get assaulted in the suburbs. I feel like I can never be safe again, anywhere.
I didn’t think I’d be reacting this way. And this was one night after Dr. Melfi (Lorraine Bracco) was assaulted and raped on Sunday’s episode of The Sopranos, so it reinforced the reaction I got from watching that.
I spent most of the evening on the phone with four different friends and with the aforementioned Mom. (When talking to my mom I changed the details slightly; since I wouldn’t have been able to explain what I was doing in a different neighborhood, I changed the location to a similarly sketchy area on the way to the supermarket.) My mom suggested I go around the corner to the local bar/restaurant and get some dinner and a beer, and that’s what I did, accompanied by a book of crossword puzzles. Nothing like a good Bass to ease your soul. And having no cash on me, I paid by credit card.
I didn’t sleep well last night, because I kept replaying parts of the incident in my mind, sometimes reimagining the scene to include the things I wish I could have done. I know I did the right thing, I really do. But I wish I could have kicked his ass. I wish I could have punched him, knocked him down, told him not to fuck with me. Listen, asshole, I’ve never met you, I’m not responsible for your fucking problems. I’m tired of being stereotyped just because I’m a short white Jewish guy with glasses. Sure, pick on the guy who’s not strong enough to fight back. And just so you know, asshole, I’m hardly swimming in as much dough as you think I am.
I think in order to get over this, I may have to reimagine the scene with comic elements. I go off on him with this heavily-worded lecture, and he’s just so confused that he gives me a quizzical look, says “what the fuck,” and walks away. (And then I knock him down and kick his ass and call the cops.) I hope I get over this soon.
Oh, I forgot the weirdest part. Yesterday afternoon I bought lunch at the big cafeteria-type place down the street from my office. It cost four dollars. I gave the cashier a five, and as change, he gave me back a ten. I left without saying anything. So nine of those dollars weren’t even mine to begin with.
Cosmic justice? I don’t think so, unless the Fates were feeling particularly cruel yesterday. After all, I didn’t traumatize the cashier, threaten him with violence, or invade his psyche when he tried to sleep later that night or his thoughts the next day.
I�m ready to move.